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The Wind from Nowhere

Nora McDonald

    Kathryn Harrison’s guardian angel had been dead for seven years. Or asleep. Either way she was unreliable. In fact the only thing Kathryn could rely on her for was her unreliability. Until the day of the wind from nowhere.
    Until that day Kathryn had never really believed in guardian angels anyway. Though she’d often wondered why some people had much more luck than others.
    “You make your own luck!” her father had often counselled her and in his case it had appeared to be true. Fired with genes of dynamism, Kathryn had tried to emulate her father’s example that hard work and determination made for success. But somehow success, happiness and even financial stability had all seemed to elude her. The death of her mother, her divorce and the children leaving home had left her raw and lacking in either confidence or hope for the future.
    The trouble was herself. And she knew it. She was a master of bad decisions and bad timing.
    But it was this last one that had her particularly agitated. And her daughters weren’t helping.
    “You’ve booked a holiday on your own! You can’t do that!” they’d both said.
    “Why not?” she defended, though secretly she had great reservations about why she had. Travelling with her husband and children had been easy. But herself? How would she cope?
     “It’s no big deal,” she said, more confidently than she felt. “Lots of people go away on their own. It’s time I did.”
    “But it’s not safe – a woman travelling on her own! Anything could happen!”
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said her friend, Maureen, at work the next day. “Did you hear about Rose and her husband?”
    Kathryn didn’t really want to but knew Maureen was going to tell her anyway.
    “They were mugged in the Paris Metro. Someone pushed them from behind and ran off with Rose’s husband’s wallet – all his money and credit cards were in it.”
    “But I’m not going to Paris,” Kathryn corrected her.
    “Paris, Cyprus? What difference does it make. There are criminals everywhere. And a woman on her own. You’d be easy pickings. No, if I were you I’d cancel the holiday. You’d be safer staying at home.”
    “It’s the evenings that are the worst,” said her single friend Muriel, who’d inspired her to holiday alone in the first place. It was Saturday and they’d met up for their usual cup of coffee and a chat. “Everyone’s in couples or families and you feel terribly self-conscious sitting in restaurants and bars alone. Mind you, the days are just as bad. Everyone stares at you and wonders why you’re alone.”
    As the days to the holiday approached, Kathryn felt more and more anxious.
    Why did I book the holiday in the first place? she thought to herself. What am I trying to prove?
    Then she remembered all the wonderful holidays she’d had in the past.
    I deserve a holiday, she scolded herself. Why should the fact I’m on my own make any difference? You’re going and that’s that! she decided.
    But by the Monday of the holiday week she felt ill.
    You’re not ill. You’re just getting yourself in a state about going! she reprimanded herself.
    But it only made her feel worse.
    “For God’s sake, just cancel the holiday!” said her daughter, Leanne. “You can’t go away if you’re ill. I’ll spend the whole time worrying about you! And what if you’re ill when you’re away!”
    A mental image of a foreign hospital flashed across Kathryn’s mind.
    Leanne was right. She couldn’t take that risk. She’d cancel the holiday!
    An hour later, she’d changed her mind.
    I can’t afford to lose all that money, she thought. And there’s no way I’m going to get it all back! I’ll just have to go!
    “You don’t have to go, you know,” said Leanne at the airport the day of her departure.
    “Yes, I do,” said Kathryn, more confidently than she felt, at the sight of thousands of other passengers, at the airport terminal.
    “Well, if you’re sure. But if anything goes wrong, phone me and I’ll come straight over.”
    Kathryn smiled, thinking how lucky she was to have someone to care about her.
    “I will,” she said, giving Leanne a hug as she joined the queue to go through security.
    Leanne’s reply faded into the noise of the terminal as Kathryn felt herself moving forward and emerging out into the departure lounge.
    Kathryn was suddenly aware of everyone around her talking. A feeling of foreboding hit her at the thought of having no one to talk to for a whole week.
    Ridiculous! she said to herself. There would be plenty of people to talk to. She just had to make an effort to speak to people. And she’d start in the plane. She’d speak to whoever was sitting next to her. She might even make a new friend.
    It was the ideal seat. The lady who had allocated her it obviously thought so and she would have too. Seven years ago. Room to stretch out and even put your feet up. But Kathryn looked at the two empty seats beside her in the plane with a feeling of gloom. She looked around the plane. Everyone else had people sitting beside them. Except her.
    Never mind she comforted herself, stretching out her legs on the vacant seats. There’ll be plenty of people to speak to in the bus. At least a few of them would be going to her hotel.
    “You look a little lost by your self,” said the slim, dark-haired lady who had clambered on to the coach followed by a silver-haired man.
    Kathryn smiled. She looked around the empty coach.
    “You’re unlucky,” said the woman. “The coach is usually full. With lots of people on their own.”
    Kathryn felt her heart sink at her words.
    Unlucky, she thought. Yes. That about summed up her life. She’d come to expect nothing else.
    Still there was one consolation. At least there would be one friendly face at her hotel.
    After an hour the coach stopped. Kathryn peered out into the darkness. Was this her hotel?
    “Hotel Potamos Beach,” said the holiday representative from the front of the darkened coach.
    That’s not my hotel, thought Kathryn and watched with dismay as the friendly woman and her husband gathered their belongings, said goodbye to her and left the coach.
    It can’t just be me going to my hotel, she thought.
    But she knew it was.
    How about giving me a little luck for a change! she thought angrily gazing up at the dark, brooding sky.
    There was nothing but a sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought of a long, lonely week on her own.
    Everyone had been right. Holidaying alone was a bad idea!
    This will be the last holiday I ever take on my own! vowed Kathryn.
    It was a long week. And by the end of it Kathryn felt like a blocked volcano unable to erupt. If only she had someone to speak to! Not that she hadn’t tried. There’d been the beach attendant who hired out the sun-beds, the taxi-drivers who’d taken her where she’d wanted to go and the hotel staff and, although she’d been grateful to have them all to talk to, their knowledge of English and their time was limited.
    And now it was her last evening. And she was glad. Muriel had been right. The evenings were the worst. The daytimes she had filled with trips to the beach, the city and the mountains but the evenings after dinner had either consisted of her sitting on the balcony of her hotel and going to bed early or tramping aimlessly round the café-filled streets near her hotel, envying the happy, laughing groups of holiday-makers that seemed to fill them. And tonight was no different.
    The air was warm, still and humid as she walked down the hotel steps. It was too hot to sit on her balcony. The trees opposite the hotel hung depressingly listless, as though praying silently for a breeze. But none came.
    Kathryn walked along the street that ran parallel to the sea. The pavements were full of couples walking hand in hand or large groups of families forcing Kathryn to step off on to the road.
    I should turn back, thought Kathryn, when she’d walked a fair distance from her hotel.
    She wiped the beads of sweat that had gathered on her top lip.
    If only there was a breeze, she thought. It would make everything much more bearable. But there was not the slightest stirring of the tree above her head.
    She stopped at a table outside a travel agency. Piles of leaflets lay there covered in the week’s dust. Kathryn didn’t know why she stopped. The leaflets were all about trips. She wouldn’t be going on any more trips. She was going home tomorrow. And she couldn’t wait.
    Someone else had stopped to pick up a dusty leaflet when out of nowhere came the wind. Like a tornado that sprang from nowhere it seemed to centre on the table whipping the dusty leaflets into the air and scattering them like falling leaves fluttering to the ground.
    Hands grabbed for the leaflets. The shop owner appeared from somewhere and Kathryn felt herself picking up leaflets from the ground. Her hand grabbed the same one another woman had. Their eyes met. And the wind that had sprung out of nowhere was gone as fast as it had come.
    “That sure was strange,” said an American voice.
    Global warming, probably,” said Kathryn.
    “Maybe,” said the woman, “and then again, maybe not.”
    She smiled. It was a nice smile.
    She must be around seventy, thought Kathryn. Imagine travelling at that age! She’s probably come away with her family.
    “We don’t want to lose these, do we?” said the woman placing them tidily back on the table. “We won’t know what trips to take.”
    “I won’t be taking any more trips anyway,” said Kathryn. “I’m going home tomorrow and I can’t wait.”
    The woman looked at her strangely.
    “Haven’t you enjoyed your holiday here?” she said.
    “No,” said Kathryn. “It was my first holiday alone and I’ve hated every minute of it!”
    “You have? How strange.”
    What would you know about it? thought Kathryn. No one knows what it’s like until they’re on their own.
    “I’m on my own too,” said the woman. “I’ve holidayed alone since my husband died.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Kathryn.
    “I’m sorry too,” went on the woman. “But then Larry never liked travelling. That’s when I decided I wanted to see a bit of the world. I’ve been all over. And I don’t regret one minute of it.”
    Kathryn looked at her, amazed.
    If a woman this age is not afraid to travel on her own, she thought, what am I making such a fuss about?
    “See the world,” said the woman. “While you can. It’s a wonderful place,” she said, grasping Kathryn’s hand warmly.
    And then she was gone. As swiftly as the wind had.
    “I think you’re very brave,” said the Glaswegian lady waiting along with Kathryn for the pick-up coach to take her, her husband and Kathryn to the airport the next morning. “Going off on holiday by yourself. My mother just sits at home and won’t go anywhere. She’s too frightened.”
    Kathryn smiled.
    “I’m not brave,” she said, “unless being brave means doing something you’re totally terrified of.”
    She paused, suddenly remembering the effect the effect the American lady’s words had had on her.
    “Tell your mum to do it even though she’s terrified and it seems like a bad decision. She’ll never regret it. The world’s a wonderful place, you know. That’s one thing you can rely on.”
    Kathryn smiled to herself as she stepped aboard the coach to the airport. She’d been wrong. Her guardian angel wasn’t dead. Or asleep. She was the one who had been both. And now for the first time she felt alive. And lucky. This wouldn’t be her last holiday. This would be the first of many. She had so many interesting people still to meet. Her dad had been right. You make your own luck. You don’t rely on anyone else. But along the way, you might just get a little help from a wind from nowhere.

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