At least tell me which airport we’re going to?
she asked. I meant to say London City Airport, but it was too early in the morning and I blurted out Dublin City Airport, letting the cat out of the bag — or at least its head.
And so we set off on Friday, Air France e-tickets in hand, for the flight to Dublin. I had planned to keep her guessing to the last minute.
Surprise number 2 was staying in The Shelbourne Hotel,
Number 3 was a romantic birthday dinner for two, or so she thought, in a nice restaurant — until she recognised the first guests already there. Then the others arrived and all the chairs were taken and the wine and conversation began to flow. And that was that, or so she believed.
The last and best surprise appeared 15 minutes later, with a smile on his face. He’d followed on a later flight. His mother’s mouth fell open and her eyes opened wide in disbelief. Perfect! She had suspected nothing.
What a coup!
said my neighbour during the hugs.
The meal was historic, for everybody.
By a sad coincidence the funeral of our sister in law took place in France earlier in the day. On any other weekend we’d have been there. And what a weekend. Even the weather was perfect.
Best weekend ever!
texted the boy on Sunday, en route to his plane as we walked the East pier in the sunshine.
East pier walk
Mum’s just seen a razorbill and is happy, finally!
I replied. He said he laughed so hard that people were looking at him.
I had a hunch as I looked at the sailing boats that he’d return someday.
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