Bird of the Gods

Chapter Three

"Passengers Williams, Conrad, and Grenville-Temple, Fiona, flying to London on flight EK029. Please contact the Emirates information desk."

Fiona looked up from her phone trying to recall what the clipped, impersonal voice said. Did she just hear her name? She knitted her brow, concentrating, but the announcement wasn't repeated. The only way to find out was to visit the information desk. Reluctant to leave her seat in a quiet corner of the busiest airport of the world, she unplugged the charger of her phone, shouldered her backpack, and braved the masses of travellers.

The long hall of the Dubai flight terminal resembled a huge cathedral, a temple of technology with its polished white stone floors, curved ceiling, and enormous windows. People of all colours and ages populated the terminal like bustling ants, each focused on their own business and ignoring the others.

With a sigh, Fiona dived into the stream of bodies to search for the information desk. To think that before the pandemic, far more passengers had crowded this hub every day was mind-boggling.

After five minutes, she cursed whoever designed an airport like a shopping mall. She didn't want to buy new shoes or a handbag. And she couldn't with her meagre teacher's salary from a poor country. She might go back to the fancy bookstore later but, right now, she only needed to find the Emirates information desk.

One hundred meters and two collisions with stressed, luggage-loaded strangers later, she spotted the bright red sign. Relief loosened the hard knot in her stomach. At least the queue was short. The employee of the airline handed some papers to a dark-haired man, explaining something in Arabic. His wife, wearing a pale pink hijab, walked up and down and hummed a quiet tune to her sleeping baby. When she caught Fiona watching, she smiled. Avoiding the curious glance of the red-haired stranger who was next in line, she then followed her husband down the hall.

Now, only the redhead stood in front of Fiona. He stepped up to the desk while brushing his too-long hair behind his ears. "Hey, I'm Conrad Williams. I think you called my name."

"Ah, yes, Mister Williams. Thank you for contacting us. There was a problem with your booking."

A cheery ringtone prevented Fiona from following the conversation. She searched her bag for the battered smartphone and accepted the call. "Mum?"

"Fiona, my dear, thanks for your mail. I thought I'd call you instead of writing. How are you?" Her mother sounded upbeat, much better than the last time she'd called her. When had this been?

"Nice to hear from you, Mum, but I'm standing in a queue at the airport. Not sure how long I can talk."

"Oh, you're on the way already? When will you arrive in London?"

"I should be there tomorrow morning, if all goes well. How about you? Can we meet?" She hadn't seen her mother since the funeral of her father, four years ago. Of course, the pandemic had further complicated their relationship.

"Ah, I can't hop to London on such short notice, dear. You know how it is."

Fiona knew. Both her parents had been workaholics as long as she could remember. Until her father died of a heart attack. She sighed. "How's work, then?"

Her mother laughed. Fiona wondered when she had last heard that sound. "It's satisfying. You know I love helping people, just like your father did. By the way, I might have met someone." The voice at the other end of the line sounded hesitant now.

Fiona took a deep breath. Nothing would bring her father back, and if her mother remained single, this would just make her unhappy. "I'm glad for you, Mum. Is he nice?"