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The five of us rode to the airport together: Mom, William, Hans, Hugo and me. Dad would be waiting for us in the arrival hall of Heathrow, and he would hug me and Hans and slap William on the shoulder and lift Hugo into the air and turn in little circles, and Hugo would laugh and yell and we would all be together again, one happy family. That’s what I was trying to think, the little edge I was clinging onto in my head to stop myself from crying. Hugo was sniffing silently in his kid’s seat, just a little eight-year old with no such thing as self-preservation or pretence to make Mom feel happier about this whole thing. As it was, she was sniffing, as well. William sat in the front with her, one arm comfortingly around her shoulder, (which I wasn’t sure you were allowed to do when somebody was driving) and for once I was glad that he was here. I simply sat in the middle of the back row, my head on Hans’ shoulder and my feet bundled up for the large suitcases at my feet. Hugo sat on his own, arms around himself, head buried in his knees and twitching a little. I ignored them all, to make it feel like it was just Hans and me here. I imagined a happy world in London, a beautiful place where the sun always shone, where everybody was kind and thoughtful and I had lots of friends and… It wasn’t working, because I didn’t believe in the perfect world anymore. I hadn’t for a long time. I wouldn’t for a while.
I still couldn’t believe that Dad was making us move to England for his stupid business. I had missed him so much in the past year, I had fallen asleep crying about him, but now I suddenly wanted to scream every bad word I had every heard by accident in the past at him, make him experience the same pain that I had when I had heard that we had to leave everything behind, even Christy, my Best Friend For Life In The Whole World. And Georgie, my Worst Enemy For Life In The Whole World, suddenly seemed so sweet. I realised I was going to miss her. I was going to miss every one here. I was going to miss every little part of my life that had been built up in Holland. I was leaving it all behind, with this little choice of Dad’s.
Of course, I wasn’t the only one who was sad now. Mom had lived in Holland for all her life, and she was giving everything up. Forty-nine years spilt, thrown away for an impulse decision that she hadn’t even made herself. It was all Dad’s fault.
And Hugo was still so young. He had a whole life in front of him yet to come, and suddenly its path was being changed so dramatically. His friends didn’t understand what was happening and in fact, nor did he. He only knew he was going away and wouldn’t see them again. Maybe a short visit, once or twice a year. No more.
William had just moved out. He had a decent place, a nice girlfriend and a job that could keep him going. He was nineteen. Still, he was moving with us, after just making a start with his own life. I’d have preferred him to stay behind, actually. He could do nothing but make jokes about me, tug at my curly blonde hair and call me rude names. The only good thing about him was that he was improving my vocabulary. I hadn’t been teased with my hair for ages, because I was so good at responding by now. Great.
And Hans…
I loved Hans. Not in the lovey-dovey kissing way with butterflies in your stomach and romance in the air, but as my brother, sweet and caring, and he loved me. We suited each other perfectly. As far as anybody knew, we had never had a fight and were never planning to have one. As a brother and sister we looked nothing alike, but our souls fitted like a jigsaw puzzle, unconditionally and irrevocably. If he was sad, I was sad. If I was happy, he was happy. It was just a fact, and everybody was aware of it.
But Hans had always been bullied in Holland. He was heavily dyslexic, though actually rather clever. People stole his belongings, spat at him, called him names and hit him, so that sometimes he came home with a black eye and I had to dab at it softly with a wet tablecloth and be careful not to jab. Hans didn’t mind going to England. He hoped that he could start again, be clever rather than the stupid guy that other boys thought he was. Hans thought there was a future, and therefore, so did I.
I didn’t know how, though. I hoped Hans had some ideas.
After a while, we arrived at Schiphol airport. We bundled out of the car and walked to the big entrance. Crowds of people were waiting in little groups outside, smoking yucky cigarettes and yelling at each other. I didn’t like them, and apparently, nor did Mom – she steered us right around the little bunches of people, in wide circles, so that it took twice as long to get to the turning doors. We didn’t all fit in one of the spaces, so Hans, Hugo and I walked into the first and Mom and William followed, carrying their own suitcases and Hugo’s. Most of our belongings were being shipped to England, but we had taken a few bags for the first days. It would take a while before I could put on different clothes every day.
Walking through the airport wasn’t interesting. Hugo was picked out at the security check because he had a pair of scissors in his pocket, and they made him hand it in. He was in tears until we walked into the plane and he got to sit by the window. Mom and William sat beside him, whilst Hans and I snuggled into the row of seats behind them, and a large and rather fat elderly man sat next to Hans, who was sitting in the middle. I sat by the window, and if I turned around and sat on my knees I could talk to Mom and Hugo and do my best to ignore William because now he wasn’t comforting Mom anymore so there was no need to like him. The plane wouldn’t leave, so I sat that way for quite some time. Hans held my hand but didn’t turn around like me, because he would bump into the old man when turning, who looked a little grumpy. After a while, William somehow managed to flick an elastic band at my cheek without my noticing in time, and Mom scolded him and I turned around and sat beside Hans with my head well down, so that there was no chance that he could hit me again. We sat in silence, because neither of us had anything to say. Hugo passed a bag of crisps in between the gap between the chairs, so we thanked him, but when we opened it all the crisps had been reduced to crumbs because Hugo had had to squeeze the bag to get it to us. We ate them anyway.
And then was announced that the plane was about to leave, and a whole list of escape methods followed. Behind us, Hugo was literally bouncing on his seat, but then Mom told him to buckle his seatbelt and the sound stopped. Hans and I buckled our seatbelts too, and the old man beside us had to put it wider because his wouldn’t fit around his belly (no wonder). Hans put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned my head on his shoulders. I felt the plane start to move under me, but I didn’t look out of the window to see the landscape. Suddenly, I felt the contact that the wheels made with the ground, and I knew we were really picking up speed now. I wrenched upright, and looked out of the window just in time to see us leave the ground. We quickly rose into the air and I looked in marvel at the rows of little houses that were growing smaller each second. After a while, we flew into a cloud and I couldn’t see anything anymore, so I lay back and put my head on Hans’ shoulder again and…
‘Manny, wake up,’ Hans whispered in my ear. I opened my eyes lazily and lifted my head. I realised we were no longer in the air but standing still. I sat up and Hans lifted his arm from my shoulder. His seatbelt was unbuckled, and Mom and William were already on their feet, lifting the hand luggage from the spaces above us. I sprung up and looked out the window once again.
The rain was falling in sheets from the sky, blurring everything grey. I was used to that, because it was always raining in Holland as well, but it still seemed like an unwelcoming welcome, as if London didn’t want us there. I could see the terminals of Heathrow, one after another, a long plain row. With my deep purple shirt and flowered shorts, I suddenly felt horribly out of place in this grey world. It was like a prison, every block alike.
Hans walked me through the plane and through Heathrow too, until we came to the Arrival hall, and we saw somebody waving in the middle of the waving crowd. Someone who stood out, because we knew the face. It was Dad.
Suddenly I forgot that I was supposed to be blaming him for this whole moving to England thing. Because he was there now, and so were we, and there was no going back. It was no use crying over spilt milk, like Mom always said.
But we were all crying, tears of happiness to be together again after those years of living a sea apart. Dad was hugging me and Hugo and h kissed Mom on the lips, very sweetly. William smacked him on the back, and then Hans turned up at my side and joined in with the hugging. We were one big happy family again.
We took a yellow taxi across London to Dad’s place, which would be ours now, too. It was just a little flat, third storey, but it was still big enough for Hans, me and Hugo to explore. William sat with Mom and Dad in the tiny living room to have some coffee. Next to the living room there was a little kitchen with lilac tiles along the walls and hardly room for the three of us, and from there we walked into a little hall and past the miniature toilet where William would have trouble finding space to put his legs (ha!). There were also two bedrooms, so Hans, Hugo and I would sleep in the smaller one and Mom and Dad and William would be in the other. Ours was tiny but beautiful. Our three beds were crammed together in a small space, and the walls were painted the same tint of lilac that the kitchen had. Little dotted lines and baby blue flowers were painted all over them, probably by Dad, because they were a bit messy. In the scarce space that was left stood an ebony chest of drawers, with engraved handles and little elephants carved into the drawers. A green silk piece of fabric was woven over the top. Next to our room was a bathroom, with a douche but no room for a bath.
After the exploring we went to William and Mom and Dad and we got lemonade, and Hans took a coffee like the big ones, and we just sat together, enjoying the sensation.
When it was ten o’clock, I was sent to bed. I got the bed in the middle, with indigo patched covers and a white pillow. It was very warm. I fell asleep with the feeling that maybe, this would all work out.

Reacties? P.S. sorry dat het engels is!