Sisterchicks Go Brit! (3 page)

“We are going to have such a lovely time.”

W
e
″ I echoed
slowly lowering my teacup and looking Opal in the eye. “Did you say
we
are going to have a lovely time?”

Opal didn’t miss a blink. “Yes, I’m going with you. Did I not mention that fact? My sister, Rose, is immensely eager to meet you both.”

Kellie placed her teacup and saucer on the end table. “What exactly did you have in mind for this trip, Opal?”

“I plan to stay in Olney with my sister, of course. I’m sure the two of you will have lots of sights you’ll want to see.”

Apparently the relief in our expressions was evident because Opal dipped her chin in her childlike way and asked, “Oh, me. Did you suppose I was inviting myself along for the tour?”

Kellie and I offered slight nods.

Opal chuckled. “I’ve thought about this so much that I forget you haven’t been privy to all the details in my little head.
I do confess I was so overcome with the thought of surprising you that I didn’t fully consider how my presentation might appear.”

“That’s okay,” I said quickly. “We just want to be clear on the expectations.”

Opal’s only request was that we assist her to and from the airport and get her safely to her sister’s home in Olney. Kellie and I felt confident we could accommodate her request, so we accepted the generous invitation enthusiastically.

That afternoon Kellie and I made hotel arrangements for London. Kellie’s husband, Martin, worked for one of the large resorts in Orlando and constantly was accumulating free nights at partner hotels. Since Opal had contacted him a week and a half earlier with her happy idea, Martin already had pulled together a list of London hotels that would honor the discount available to his family members. That first step was easy. We booked a honey of a hotel on Oxford Street and clicked on every photo the Web site provided. We would be sleeping like royalty in fourposter beds with puffy down comforters and lounging about in complimentary robes and slippers.

Even though five days is a ridiculously short time to prepare for such a trip, Kellie and I worked like crazy to get everything in place for our big jump across the pond. We are a good team when it comes to focusing on a project.

I went into what Kellie called my “hunt and gather” mode, and for the next two days I kept our computer at home humming
as it printed out a ream of sightseeing information from a variety of helpful Web sites.

Roger looked at my research. “Are you going to have enough time to do all this?”

My lighthearted answer was, “If not, we’ll just have to go back.”

He smiled. “Maybe I’ll go with you next time.”

I appreciate my husband. He’s solid, affirming, and strong. His weak spot is that he only likes to try things after someone else has tested the waters, so to speak.

Several years ago Roger’s company sent us on a cruise to the Bahamas. It was the first time either of us had been out of the country and is the reason I have a current passport. At every buffet on the ship, Roger waited until I sampled the food before trying it himself. It took him three days before he was acclimated and relaxed enough to enjoy the final day and a half at sea.

I was glad I was going into this uncharted British territory with Kellie. If I ever did return to England with Roger, it would be a much easier trip once he knew I already had tried the underground system and tested a few restaurants.

This position of being the first to take the risk felt more empowering than I would have imagined. My husband called me “a brave woman,” and I liked that he thought of me that way after thirty-one years of our sedate life together.

The only detail Roger said he was concerned about was the agreed-upon responsibility of driving Miss Opal to her sister’s
house. I showed him on a map that the town of Olney was located in Buckinghamshire north of London and estimated to be an hour-and-twenty-minute drive from the airport.

“You’re planning to rent a car?”

I nodded.

“Which one of you wants to drive on the opposite side of the road?”

My empowerment high wobbled and waned with his question. Not to be daunted by the challenge, I set up an appointment with a travel agent for the next morning. Kellie met me there.

The travel agent put us at ease, saying she had been to England many times and had rented a car on her last visit. “Renting a car is certainly an option, but you’ll find the train and bus systems to be easy and efficient. In many cases public transportation is much less expensive than gas and parking.”

“What about taxis?” Kellie asked.

“Taxis are readily available. They can be expensive, but they’re just as much a part of the London experience as the double-decker buses and the underground. You should have no trouble getting around.”

The travel agent provided us with helpful maps and brochures. We left her office feeling more confident about how all this was going to work. Our plan was that after getting Opal to her sister’s, Kellie and I would head right back to London on the bus and check into our luxury hotel. We might even catch a play later that night if everything ran smoothly. The list of options was long.

With a round of hearty blessings from our husbands, extended limits on our credit cards—just in case—and our passports tucked in thin fabric pouches hung around our necks, we headed for the Orlando airport on February 23. I couldn’t stop smiling. My childhood wish was about to come true.

“I would prefer the center seat,” Opal said sweetly as we boarded the red-eye flight to Heathrow. “I have heard the window seat can be drafty, and I don’t care for the aisle seat because of all the movement and bumping about.”

“I’ll take the aisle,” Kellie said. “I had three sons, so I got used to a lot of movement and bumping about a long time ago.”

I gladly took the window seat, excited out of my skin over the possibility of having a first peek at England’s grassy hillsides as we approached our destination.

Before the plane had left the runway, Opal was asleep. Her middle position made it impossible for Kellie and me to do what we had planned during the flight. We were going to put our heads together and look through all the info I had compiled on what to see in England.

“Why don’t I look over the information now?” Kellie suggested once we were in the air. “We still have the bus ride to Olney when we can go over details together.”

I handed over the prized binder to her. She plugged in her earphones and contentedly listened to in-flight music while going over the tome of options. The front section had a list of all the theater performances scheduled during our time in London. Many of
the theaters offered their unsold seats through discount ticket booths in Leicester Square, which wasn’t far from our hotel. I loved the idea of starting off with a play our first night in London and hoped Kellie agreed.

One thing we had decided was that we would let the days come at their own pace. We would see all we wanted to see, when we wanted to see it, without turning into sightseeing maniacs. At least that’s the way Kellie had worded it two days before we left. I told her I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t embarrass her at some point with my enthusiasm. She said that was fine as long as we made sure we stopped every day at four for what she already was calling “a proper spot of tea.”

I had no problem agreeing to that. Opal had gotten us into a very enjoyable little habit with her four o’clock teatimes.

“Something for you to drink?” the flight attendant asked as her cart blocked the aisle.

I almost said “tea” since her timing coincided so perfectly with my thoughts. But then I remembered from my travel research how extra vitamin C helps fight jet lag. I had also read it is best to avoid caffeine until you have time to adjust to the sleep rhythm in a new time zone.

“Orange juice,” I said, feeling like a savvy traveler, even though this was my first trip across the Atlantic. The tea would wait.

“Something to drink for your mother?”

“Oh, she’s not my … she’s …” Opal was sleeping and didn’t rouse even though I was talking over her. “I think she’s fine for now.”

“Do you know if she would like the chicken or the pasta when we serve the meal?” the flight attendant asked.

I looked at Kellie, who had removed the earphones and tuned in to what I was saying to the flight attendant. Neither of us had any idea what Opal’s preferences were in food or in anything else, for that matter. We had spent weeks with her, and yet we knew very little about her. She liked her newly painted yellow walls and her new ceiling fan. And she liked gingersnaps with her tea. Aside from that we were both at a loss.

“Chicken?” I guessed.

Kellie nodded. It was a fairly logical choice. Who didn’t like chicken?

Apparently Opal didn’t.

She woke a short time later when the enticing fragrance of hot food reached our aisle. I noticed she ate the roll, the salad without dressing, the green beans, and all five of the miniature white potatoes. Her chicken went untouched.

“You must not be a big fan of chicken,” the flight attendant commented as she cleared Opal’s tray.

“Never have cared much for the foul fowl.” Opal’s soft smile and little play on words managed to evoke a chuckle from the previously somber flight attendant.

“Did you get enough to eat?” the attendant asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Opal,” I said, waiting for her to turn my direction before making my small confession. “I was the one who ordered the
chicken for you. I didn’t know what you liked. Are you sure you got enough to eat?”

“I’m quite content, really. If I know my Rose, she will have tea ready for us. We should be arriving at just about teatime.”

“Tell me about your sister,” I said.

“There’s not much to tell, really. Rose lost her William a year ago. She lives in the same house we grew up in. Olney is a lovely town. It was a lace-making village, you know. All the best lace for the British royalty came from Olney.” Opal covered her mouth as a kitten-sized yawn escaped.

“We should probably nap while we can.” I nodded at Kellie, who had already given in to the drowsiness that followed the meal. Opal closed her eyes and seemed to drift off immediately.

I flexed and unflexed my cold toes. Opal was right about the draft next to the window. It was chilly. I closed my eyes and tried to think warm thoughts. I didn’t sleep, but resting in sync with the airplane motor’s hum was nice.

Several hours later the tip of my cold nose touched the airplane window as we made our descent. All I could see below was what looked like a batch of peach and white cotton balls. We continued to descend through the clouds, then clouds, then more clouds, and then suddenly there was a break. All I saw was the approaching black strip of the runway. Our arrival was in a London fog, but we were here! And I was about to set foot on English soil.

O
pal kept up just fine
as we followed the lines through to customs at Heathrow Airport. She had a U.S. passport, apparently because of her husband’s dual citizenship, and calmly pulled it from her purse.