Last Call For Croatia
The following is based on a true start, with perhaps a little bit of embellishment!
“Granny is trying to ring you.” I woke with a start and glanced at the clock - just before 1am. “What - she should be on her way to the airport”
That folks is where our story begins….
I shot up out of bed. “What did she say?” - Dom answers with the dreaded words “Their taxi hadn’t shown up”.
My mum who is 80 is going off on holiday to Croatia with two of her friends. We live about two and a half hours from Bristol airport - on a clear run.
“Shoot shoot shoot!” I say, by now George has risen from his slumber. “What’s going on?” I explain that the taxi hasn’t turned up as I’m running down the corridor to retrieve my mobile. George says “well that’s unlucky, they’re screwed then aren’t they”. With that he rolls back over.
By this time I’ve rung my mum. I ask her what’s happened, she explains that Heather has tried ringing the taxi firm but there’s no answer. “Why didn’t you ring me straightaway?” Mum replies “I rang the landline but nobody answered and I didn’t want to wake you”. I let out a sigh and say “but mum how are you going to get to the airport if you didn’t wake someone - I’m on my way”.
I’m now frantically groping round in the dark for anything that resembles clothing. I pull on yesterday’s jeans and a top, trying to recall if I’d spilt my tea down it last night. Once again sleeping beauty rolls over - “What are you doing?” he murmurs, still half asleep. I explain that I’m taking them to the airport, he asks what time their flight is, I tell him it’s about 5:30am - at this point he just sits up and says “you will never make it”. I very stubbornly reply “well watch me try!”. This is followed very quickly by a pang of mild panic. “Come with me?” I plead. I knew the answer before he blurted it out - “no chance”.
I quickly run a comb through my tangled hair - look at my makeup bag and think nope I’ve really not got time. It’s dark anyway and who am I going to know at Bristol airport anyway?
I dash out the door and head to my mums house, which is about 10 minutes - in the wrong direction! To my surprise she’s stood on the doorstep all ready to go. I jump out, I grab her suitcase, shouting to her “get in, get in, quick” - it began to feel like I was some sort of getaway driver. I put mum’s case in the boot and climb back into the car. I turn to mum and start to bark orders, like she’s my rally co-driver. “Right mum I need you to Google Bristol Airport and find the postcode, then you need to ring them and ask them what time the next flight to Croatia is”. I leave mum with her homework and set to picking up Heather.
We pull up at Heather’s house two minutes later - once again I dash out the car and grab her case. Now I have a Volkswagen Polo - in my moment of thinking I could be some sort of holiday saviour I had not given a thought to the fact that three ladies equalled three cases. Ohh crap I think to myself - where’s Myra’s case going? Maybe she will just have a hold-all.
I dismiss this minor detail as we drive on (again not en route) to get Myra. I pull up and see Myra and her case, which looked almost as big as her. Oh double crap I think - that case is not going in my boot. I tell Myra to wait a minute to see if I can get her case in the car. I heave it up, determined deep down to prove these men wrong and get the women on their flight. I wedge the case in the middle seat and Myra squeezes in beside it. I glance back and see Heather and Myra with a case, sat like the Chinese wall, between them. A wave of relief washes over me - where on earth would George have sat if I’d dragged him along - on Myra’s lap?
At this point I actually stopped, glanced at the satnav estimated time and thought we are never making this flight. Then I heard the chorus from the back - “thank you so much for this, we are so grateful”. I smile a feeble smile - “errrr it’s ok but we are not there yet”.
By now my mum was on the phone to the airport, she quietly says - “so there’s no other flights today - not for another couple of days”. My heart sank - I feel the pressure of a whole holiday weighing on my shoulders. What am I doing I think to myself and I’ve got work today - not even tomorrow - in fact in a few hours. What am I going to tell my boss - yeah I’m going up be a tad late, funny story, I’m in Bristol.
I think right I’ve got to give it a go - I think of George and Dom back in the land of nod - a pair of doubting Thomases.
“Right ladies, let’s see if we can catch this plane”! So off we set, at least the roads were dead. Inside my stomach is churning like a washing machine because what I haven’t disclosed to my passengers is that even with a satnav my sense of direction is awful. We could end up anywhere - I cannot get lost I’m thinking with determined resolve.
It was a quiet journey, I think the ladies slept a little. At one point my mum turned to me and said “don’t go too fast” - I turn and say “mum if I don’t drive to the speed limit you will never catch that plane!”.
I will never know how I did it but I cannot tell you the huge sense of relief when I actually found my way to the airport without making a single mistake. I even managed to find the short stay drop off car park. I park up and quickly get out the car. I quickly get the cases out - I’m shouting again “come on, come on, we’ve got to hurry”. I turn to my party and the realisation dawned on me that they are all mature ladies so they are not running anywhere, “I will go on ahead” I shout. As I now think I’m some sort of hero I grab two of the cases and with one each side I start running, deep down thinking there’s no way the we are making check in as the flight is due to leave in about 30 minutes.
The terminal is heaving with people, chilled out people, in holiday mode - everywhere. I just start shouting, like my life depended on it “excuse me, excuse me”! I ran through the doors and there I see the biggest queue - snaking round and round. I do a quick scan, a bit like the one Wonder Woman used to do, when assessing danger. There, I spy someone in a holiday rep uniform - I just push my way through, still trying to wheel two cases. I just blurt out “Croatia flight, taxi didn’t turn up”. The rep tells me to go straight to the end desk. I run as fast as I can.
I arrive a sweaty wild mess. “Taxi didn’t turn up” I puff “are we too late to check in” - to my surprise she answers “no, we can probably just get you checked in - passports and tickets please”. At this point I glance across the terminal floor to see my ladies, strolling across towards me - well to be fair, they are a little bit past sprinting age! I remember Heather has the tickets, I see her and turn to run back to her. At this point I realise I’m now in an airport and I can’t leave the two cases, they could end up part of a controlled explosion! So off I go again with the two cases. “Tickets, Heather, tickets”. Heather had them to hand and we make it back to the desk. By now my whole party are at the desk. The lady is checking passports and tickets, I’m loading the cases onto the belt (feeling pretty smug) - the lady then hands over the boarding passes. She then utters the words “you’ve not made this flight yet you’ve got about 10 minutes to get to the gate”. Well it hadn’t quite been challenging enough, had it. My heart sank. What a fool I was to think I was home and dry.
It was at this point my mum said the words “I need the toilet” and like children in school Heather and Myra concurred. “You’ve not got time for the toilet” comes the voice from behind the desk. “I’m desperate” mum pleads. “Quick then, pee like your life depends on it”. I stand outside the toilets, shuffling like someone needing the loo. You know the toilet dance we all do.
I’m tapping my watch because we all know when you tap your watch you reverse time - not! I hear the hand dryers going, really ladies? I lift my hand to my face and sigh.
I turn to find the security signage and see the stairs. I know my mum can’t climb those stairs but I spot the lift. At this stage my stress levels are off the scale. I’m back in some sort of teacher mode “the lift, there, come on”! We arrive at the lift doors and there’s a lady with someone in a wheelchair, I’m thinking these ladies are squeezing in with you come what may. “I’ve called the lift” the lady advises us, I smile back, glancing at my watch (still not going back in time) and I’m feeling quite sick. We wait, we wait - no lift. Come on, come on! Then I look at the lift panel, nothing is lit up. It was at this point I realised the lady hadn’t pressed the button. I politely reach across “I’ll just press it again”. Lo and behold the lift doors open, it was like winning the speed boat on Bullseye. Joy, but realising it’s still pointless if they don’t get to the gate. I run upstairs to meet them at the top, where I throw myself at a security guard. “Croatia” I gasp. The man shot into action - “quick follow me “ he says to the ladies, we’ve got about 3 minutes, at the same time he’s reaching for a walkie talkie. He immediately can see that my mum is not very quick so he grabs a wheelchair “climb aboard madam”.
At this point I realise - my work here is done. I can do no more. I can’t go any further I have to let my babies fly the nest - literally! I wave them goodbye and turn to go, watching my mum being whisked away in her new chariot.
I’m exhausted, I am dying for a cuppa and starving. I glance round and see all the coffee shops. Ohh yes I think I will have a nice cup of tea and bacon butty. However, I suddenly remember I’ve left the car in the short stay car park which is probably £5 a minute. No time for a drink - I take a deep breath and inhale the smell of freshly baked croissants. I walk back to the car park, I pull out my phone, best text my boss - explain - I won’t be in by 8. I text her thinking I’d get a reply saying, just work from home today. Nothing.
I pay the car park fee, or should I say, the ridiculous ransom to release my car and I set the satnav for home. I’m completely confident I can find my way home. I pull into a garage and grab a cold drink and some sweets. I head off feeling a lot more chilled and if I say so myself as proud as a peacock. I wanted to say to people - I saved the holiday for three ladies - they said it couldn’t be done but I got them on that flight. Super powers? No, just pure grit and determination. At this point I imagine me laughing and saying - well anyone would have done the same thing.
Now don’t ask me what happened - I have no idea (probably the daydreaming) but a few minutes later I’m phoning George asking him what to do as I’m currently heading the wrong way down the motorway destined for London…
It would appear getting three ladies to Croatia, against the clock - easy. Getting myself home - an entirely different story.
Joanne C Hicks copyright ©️
