They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

92 June 2017

Things have moved fast, a lot faster than this damned travelator — walkway — thing I’m on at Munich airport, heading to Gate E17 for my Lufthansa flight to London. It’s half-term and Bruno has his little arm linked in mine. I so treasure these moments as I look at him proudly, my little human.

I see all the people coming the other way, so many of them stooped by backpacks that make them look like tortoises. And years of looking at their phones. But that’s not my problem right now. I’ve something far more important on my mind.

Jack Roberts has discovered Roy has a new lady in his life. This was a heart-sinking but inevitable find. She’s called Cleo Morey and she’s a mortician, who runs the Brighton and Hove City Mortuary. Only they don’t call them morticians any more. No, she has a much grander title. Senior Anatomical Pathology Technician.

She spends her days with people who are even more dead than I am.

But Jack Roberts has found out more still. Cleo Morey is very pregnant, in fact she may have already given birth, which makes me feel really sad.

But there’s even more to come from Jack — and this plays to my advantage. Roy is now living with Cleo Morey — at her place, and I have the address. Given our old house in Hove is on the market, I have arranged an appointment to view it at 10 a.m. tomorrow.

My plan is coming together.

Then my phone rings. It is Hans-Jürgen.

‘Meine Liebe!’ he says. ‘I—’

Then the call disconnects, as if he has gone into a tunnel. This happens all the time with him. Why does the stupid guy always pick the places with the worst reception to call me from?

My phone rings again. But as soon as I answer the connection has gone again.

Then I do a double take.

I see someone coming towards me, some way off, on the opposite moving walkway.

Albazi? It can’t be? Oh God no, please. I am frozen in panic. The figure gets closer, and I try to hide myself. Not Albazi. Definitely not Albazi, but so very alike.

Why does he sit in my subconscious like this? It keeps me on edge, my adrenaline pumping.

Curiously, my mind darts back to a time last December. I was again on a travelator, and I was so sure I’d seen Roy. He had Roy’s posture, Roy’s height, and facially, from what I could see, so similar.

But I was so flustered I dropped my phone, and ducked down to retrieve it. When I stood up, he had passed. I turned to look at him and he turned to look at me.

But we were both too far away to be sure. It gave me goosebumps. Like this Albazi double has just now. Like a fiendish Albazi shadow I can never shake off.

I’m half tempted to turn and run back. But the path behind me is totally blocked with people and their stupid luggage. And I know it wasn’t him.

We reach the end and, cautioning Bruno, we step off.

Get a grip, Sandy, get a grip.