The Cockney Canuck - 1. Chapter 1 Arrival

I pressed my face against the window and stared out at the bright empty space, anxious to see a piece of land. Ahead, the sun was still strong, but now much lower in the perfectly blue sky. Even I had to admit it was a beautiful sight, like the most serene of summer days. Below us, for as far as the eye could see were fluffy white clouds, giving no hint of what was underneath. I wondered what it was like below. I had been told to expect snow and lots of it.

“Can I have a beer?” I thought it was a reasonable request, I could see them handing them out to other passengers. She had asked me if I wanted anything to drink but apparently, according to the flight attendant with the permanently fixed smile, I was too young to be served alcohol. “But I’m eighteen,” I protested, “honestly.”

“Nice try Robbie, but the legal drinking age in Ontario is nineteen.”

“That’s what I meant. I was nineteen yesterday. I forgot it was my birthday.”

“They told me you were fifteen. Sorry, honey but I’m not allowed.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“You can have any soft drink tea or coffee.”

“Have you got wine?”

“Yes.”

“Can I have some?”

“No.”

“Duh.” I was flogging a dead horse; it was time to change tactics.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

She looked suspiciously at me. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Nothing,” I said with a smile. “I think you're very pretty, that’s all.”

“That’s very sweet of you but I already have a boyfriend.” She was trying not to laugh. “Now do you want something to drink or not?”

“Just one beer and I’ll leave you alone.”

“No.”

I could be cheeky, charming and very annoying when I wanted to be and it often got me what I wanted but not this time. She thought I was sweet but I had to settle for an orange juice and lemonade.

My name is Robbie Fullerton and at the time, I was a fifteen-year-old boy traveling on my own from London, England to Toronto, Canada. It was only my second time on a plane. The first was eleven years ago and I was going in the opposite direction.

According to the icon on the screen in front of me, we were somewhere over northern Canada, but still ninety minutes away from landing. We had been flying for over six hours, and in that time I had watched a movie, several sit-coms, some music videos, and a documentary on extreme sports. Now I was bored, restless, and feeling sorry for myself. A recipe that usually got me into trouble. I took off my shoes and put my feet up on the empty seat next to me so I was sitting with my back against the side of the plane. I didn’t realise flying would be this uncomfortable. It was too long for me, Canada was too far away, and I was already missing Tom.

‘He'll be indoors by now, probably watching TV or sitting in his room. I wish he was here’.

This was already the longest we had been apart since the beginning of November, almost two months ago. I knew it was going to be difficult to adjust to life without him, but I hadn't even made it through half a day yet. Already my life felt dull and empty. Tom had been such an important part of my world for so long I had no idea how I was going to cope without him. It was something else I would have to deal with; another painful loss I could have done without. Only this time, I would have to face it alone, because no one else would understand, and I didn’t want them to.

* * * * *

I was still only thirteen when my mom sat me down to tell me about her illness. She couldn’t keep it from me anymore because she needed to start her treatment. She told me there was nothing to worry about, and she would make a full recovery. She cried when she told me this, and later in bed alone, I cried too and prayed she would get better. It didn’t happen and I spent my first year as a teenager watching her die. Everyone told me she would get better, but every time I saw her, she looked worse.

I think she realised quite early on this would be a battle she could not win. I could see it in her eyes and in the way she spoke to me. When they took her to the hospital for the last time, I went to stay at Tom’s house. He was my best friend, and his parents knew me well. They told me I could stay with them until my mom was well enough to come home. She never made it home, and neither did I.

It was hard at that age to lose somebody so close. She had been my only family for as long as I could remember, but soon after reaching fifteen, she had gone and I was an orphan. It wasn’t a surprise; I was expecting it, even talking about it with the doctors and on the phone with Don. He was my mom’s younger brother and her only close relative still alive. Like her, he was born in England and had immigrated to Canada in the late eighties in search of a better life. He found success in advertising and started his own agency in Toronto where he met and married Sue, a nurse at the local hospital.

They settled in the town of Cobourg, a small sleepy community about eighty miles east of Toronto best known for its sandy beach and summer festivals. They had three children of their own and I was about to become the fourth by adoption. My mother arranged it with her brother when she realised her illness would be terminal. The alternative, would have left me in the hands of the social services and they would have put me into a foster home. It was her wish, therefore, when she passed away I should go and live with her brother, his wife, and their three children in Canada.

She knew the place well; she had moved there twenty-two years earlier after marrying my father who was Canadian and it was my mom who recommended it to her brother when he was looking to leave the UK. I was born in Toronto in 1994, at the same hospital where Sue worked and I spent the first four years of my life there before moving to London with my mom. She divorced my father two years after I was born and we lived with Don and Sue while my dad fought and lost a custody battle. I had no memory of Canada or of Don and Sue who were strangers to me when they came to England the day after my mom died.

She had left nothing to chance arranging it with them months before she passed away, without me even knowing. At her request, Don was made my legal guardian and was responsible for me until I reached eighteen. The only thing I had to do, was show up at the airport with my passport.

When my mom first told me of her plans; I wouldn’t listen because I didn’t want to talk about her dying. I was still hoping that she would get better; even though I knew it wasn’t going to happen. This was the way she was, even with a terminal illness she was in control making sure that everything was in place to help me and give me the best possible chance in life.

Don and Sue, agreed to her request without hesitation and had done everything they could to ensure that her wishes were followed. They were good people, who I believed genuinely wanted me to join their family. They even wanted to adopt me. I wasn’t sure if this was necessary or if it was something that I really wanted, but it made my mom feel better, and I would have done anything for that. I promised her when the time came I would agree to be adopted by my uncle and aunt, and live with them in Canada, at least until I was old enough to move out.

When I called my future parents, to tell them she was close to the end, they flew over as soon as they could, but my mom went quickly and they arrived the day after she died. I didn’t know them at all, other than from stories my mom told me but they were nice to me and it was difficult not to like them. They stayed at the apartment where I lived with my mom, and I moved back in for those two weeks to get to know them. Don handled the funeral arrangements while Sue helped with my mom’s will and paperwork. Everything was done to help pave the way back to the country of my birth but with every day that passed, I became more hesitant.

Under different circumstances I would have jumped at the chance to visit Canada. I had been told so much about the place and I always expected to go back, but not then, and not under those circumstances. It would have been nice to go for a holiday or maybe even stay for the summer but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to move there permanently. I just didn’t know enough about the place to want to live there.

Most terrifying of all was I didn’t know anything about the people who were about to become my new family. Don and Sue already had three kids, two girls, one older and one younger than me and a boy who was a year my junior. Although they were my cousins, the distance between us meant I hadn't seen or talked to them since leaving as a small boy, and had no memory of them. I would have to fit into this family and it wasn’t an arrangement with which I was particularly comfortable.

I would be invading their lives and I was certain they wouldn't want me there. It was this that worried me the most. Living with virtual strangers and in a place I knew nothing about other than it was very cold and very far away.

Whatever happened from that day on, it was clear that my life was going to be completely different from the one I had known.

I didn’t want a new school, I was perfectly happy with the one I had been going to in England, and I didn’t want to have to make new friends, because I had Tom, and no one could ever be closer than he was. Besides, I wasn’t much good at making friends and it would be harder for me in another country, where I would be regarded as an outsider.

The odds seemed to be stacked against me, but if things weren’t already going to be difficult enough, I was worried about what would happen if somebody found out about me. How would I be able to keep my secret if I had no privacy? Living in a house full of people watching me all the time. People who may even resent me being there. What kind of life would I have to lead in order to be seen as normal? Just when I was finally beginning to understand who I was and come to terms with how I felt. I would have to go back into hiding. I didn’t know if I could be that convincing anymore. I had enjoyed a brief glimpse at what life could be like and I didn’t want to give it up.

It would have been easier for me in London, a cosmopolitan city where everyone was accepted. Now I would be living in a small town that may not be very tolerant of people like me. I didn’t want to cause problems for Don and Sue and I wasn’t sure of their views but I got the impression that they wasn’t the most open-minded of people.

I was on that plane mostly because I promised my mom, and because the alternative would have seen me placed in a foster home, but I was confused and felt guilty for not wanting to leave. Canada wasn’t a bad place to live. A lot of people from the UK had immigrated there over the years to find a better life, including my mom and Don.

* * * * *

I was starting to feel nervous again, as I made the short journey to the washrooms. They were too close to where I was sitting and I needed a much longer walk. The cabin crew were taking a break in the galley and they stopped me as I walked past. Officially, I was a minor traveling on my own, which afforded me special treatment. At fifteen years old, I didn’t feel much like a minor, but I enjoyed the extra bit of attention. I liked being fussed over, it was one of the things I missed most now my mom was no longer there.

“Hey Robbie.” It was the flight attendant who had earlier refused me a beer and an offer to be her boyfriend. She must have noticed the bored expression on my face. "Come here and tell us a bit about yourself.” She sounded a little more relaxed than she had been earlier and beckoned me closer.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Why are you going to Toronto? Are you visiting relatives?”

“I’m going to live with my uncle and his family and go to school.”

“You don’t look very happy about it.”

“I’m not.” I didn't offer an explanation, but I knew that there would be more. At least it gave me an opportunity to stand up for a while.

“Canada is a nice place; you may like it? How long will you be staying?”

“Forever,” I said despondently. “Or at least until I’m eighteen. They’re adopting me.” I put on my best little boy lost expression and it seemed to work. There was a collective sigh from the four crew members gathered in the tiny galley and some words of encouragement. Maybe I had given away too much information, they probably didn’t care for my life story but I was willing to tell anyone in exchange for even a morsel of sympathy. I wanted people to feel sorry for me, although I had no idea why and I wouldn’t admit it, not even to myself.

“Ah I’m sure you’ll like it,” she said. “It’s a nice place to live and Toronto is a fun city.” She looked to her colleagues, who smiled and agreed.

‘They would say that’.

“I won’t be living n Toronto. My uncle lives in Cobourg. It’s a small town about--”

“I know Cobourg quite well,” said her colleague “It has a great beach, and it rocks in the summer. Did you say that you're gonna be living there?” I nodded. “You’ll have a lot of fun. All the girls will fall in love with your accent.”

I had a London accent and although not really cockney, it was still very British. I could feel myself blushing and it made them laugh but I wasn't interested in girls.

“Is your uncle going to be picking you up from the airport?”

“I hope so,” I said, “but if he doesn't, then maybe I could go home with you?” I knew it would get me a few laughs.

“Don’t you think that I’m a little old for you Robbie?”

“No, I prefer older women and you’re not that much older than me. I’d say you're about twenty-one.” She looked more like thirty but I knew this would get a reaction. The others laughed, but she looked quite chuffed at my little fib and I was sure that she even blushed a little. I knew everyone over twenty liked to be told that they looked younger than they actually were, and happy to accept a compliment even from a cheeky teenager.

“Thank you, Robbie,” she said.

“Well am I right?”

“No, I’m actually twenty-nine.”

‘I was right’.

“You look younger,” I said. Then I turned towards her colleagues who were laughing. “No, really she does.”

“I think you're being very generous Robbie,” said the steward with a hint of sarcasm. He smiled at me as he squeezed past. He was quite camp and looked gay.

‘Are all male cabin staff gay’?

“Well I think that you're very sweet Robbie and I’m sure you’ll find yourself plenty of girlfriends in Canada,” she said.

‘I wouldn’t bank on it’.

I knew she would make a fuss and want to mother me most women did and as her colleagues went back to work, I stayed to ask her a few questions mostly about Canada. I enjoyed our little chat, but there was another reason why I was there. Right in front of me, being prepared for another journey along the aisles was the fully loaded drinks trolley. I thought if I could hang around the galley long enough I might get an opportunity and I was right.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and rushed off to answer a call leaving me on my own, with only my conscience standing in the way of a good time. ‘I can resist anything except temptation’, was a quote from Oscar Wilde which I enjoyed repeating to myself whenever the opportunity presented itself for a little devilry.

I didn’t hesitate. The moment she left I grabbed two cans of beer slipped them into my pocket, and returned to my seat to devour my booty.

‘How easy was that? We can talk later’.

Chatting with the cabin crew helped me to relax a little but not nearly as much as the cold beers that I guzzled down afterwards. The drinks were complimentary on this flight all I did was help myself. I wasn’t an experienced drinker by any stretch of the imagination but Tom and I had been drunk a couple of times. There wasn’t much that we hadn't done together.

‘She said the drinking age was nineteen. That’s ridiculous. I’ll have to wait four years before I can buy a bloody drink. I doubt if I’ll still be there in four years’ time so I’ll never be able to drink legally’.

I was underage in the UK too but it hadn’t stopped me and I found it amusing that I was already flouting the drinking laws before I had even set foot on Canadian soil.

‘I wonder what Don and Sue would say if I turned up completely shitfaced? Would they even let me in the country? They might arrest me as soon as I enter for being drunk or something stupid’.

I found the whole thing quite funny and I was sure that Tom would have too if he had been there. I laughed to myself imagining what it would have been like traveling with him.

‘He would probably have been trying to think up ways of dragging me into one of those ridiculously small toilets with him’.

He wouldn’t have been able to resist an opportunity to join the mile-high club, and no way would we have been able to make it through seven and a half hours of sitting next to each other without doing something naughty. Tom would have had his hand inside my pants within minutes of take-off, and I wouldn’t have complained. We could have used a blanket to cover our activities and no one would have suspected a thing, why would they? Nobody in England ever did except for that nosy Mrs. Oakey. I laughed when I remembered the look of shock on Tom’s face as I kissed him on the lips in front of his family that morning at Heathrow.

* * * * *

I decided I didn’t like airports, Heathrow airport especially. Police with dogs and automatic weapons patrolled the terminal buildings, while cameras watched and recorded everything and everyone. A few days earlier, the government had raised the terror threat level to ‘extremely likely’ or something stupid. I had no idea what it meant, but it sounded bad, and the police and security were wound up tighter than a gnat’s asshole.

At the check-in, I had to pay extra money because my suitcase was overweight. No one told me. Tom and I had spent ages messing around with it the night before, stuffing as much as we could into it, and forcing it closed.

I found the atmosphere oppressive, and the security staff unfriendly and intimidating. These were the people who were supposed to be on our side. They told me it was for my own safety, as they made me walk through a metal detector three times. I had been scanned, questioned and searched. My bottle of water confiscated, my bag x-rayed, and then had some hyperactive, over excited, dog, sniffing around my ankles. I very nearly tripped over the bloody thing! I’ve never had a problem before with animals but by this time, I was pissed off and had to resist the temptation to boot the annoying creature as hard as I could up the backside. I would have launched the little fucker into orbit given the opportunity but I settled for some mumbled verbal abuse instead. It earned me a hard stare from its female handler, which I returned with interest. Bitch!

I had to calm myself down; I was stressed with all the security checks. I knew why they had to do them, but I didn’t like being interfered with or told what to do. It reminded me of the time that Tom and I were arrested for smoking a spliff in the local park. The police took us to the nick¹ and questioned us for ages, before putting us in a grotty cell for hours until Tom’s dad came to take us home. We were only cautioned but the old bill² had given us the full treatment to try to scare us and Tom’s dad wasn’t pleased. At least he didn’t throw me out. Tom’s parents were nice; I told them that it was my fault because I didn’t want Tom to get into trouble, knowing that they wouldn’t punish me. With my mom close to death, they didn’t have the heart to be angry.

At the airport, there were people who seemed to enjoy being humiliated by the security. They tried to be friendly and share a joke with them, even though they showed no intention of being nice back. I knew exactly how to treat them and all they got from me was a demeaning look and plenty of teenage attitude as they searched through my personal stuff with their grubby little mitts.

When I finally made it air-side my guide was there to meet me and unlike the security staff he was quite friendly. He took me to the shop, so I could buy another bottle of water but it wasn’t a good start. I was wound-up, dehydrated, and flustered, before even setting foot on the plane.

I told my guide that I wasn’t a little kid and could find my own way to the gate, but he insisted on walking with me right up to aircraft door, where he handed me over to the charge of the flight attendant who I would befriend. He must have considered me rude and bad mannered, and it would have been a fair assessment.

I had every reason to be upset. I had just said goodbye to the only person left in the world who I loved and had no idea if I would ever get to see him again. At first, I thought that I had managed to cope quite well, even after our emotional goodbye. I was able to give him a friendly wave and a big smile before I walked through passport control. It hit me as soon as I took my seat on the plane, knowing that I was unable to even talk to him until I arrived at Don’s house. That morning I had given Tom the mobile phone that my mom had bought me for my fifteenth birthday. It was my last ever present from her and possibly my last ever present to Tom.

The sadness I felt from losing Tom, mixed with the nervous uncertainty of what lay ahead, turned into anger and frustration as I shunned early attempts from the cabin crew to be nice to me, and opted instead for my headphones, and some mind-numbingly loud drum and bass to help me sleep. As for airports, I decided that these were places to avoid at all cost along with my other dislike, hospitals.

* * * * *

When I looked out of the window again, the sun had gone and it was starting to get dark. I still couldn’t see anything below other than cloud, although it looked a little closer.

‘Whatever, who cares’?

My earliest recollection was flying to England with my mom as a young boy, and this well-worn memory, visited me again as I sat motionless in the seat. I closed my eyes tightly and tried once again to remember how it felt that day. The memory was vague but I could feel myself there once more and hear her talking to me. I wondered if she had been nervous that day. She had been through so much, but she never looked sad, at least not to me. She was always so strong mentally, even at the end. I really missed her. It had only been a few weeks and it still hurt as much as that terrible day. People told me, as time passed I would begin to feel better, but what did they know? They were the same people who had been telling me she was going to recover. They were wrong then and wrong now. They couldn’t possibly understand how I was feeling. I knew it would always hurt. I screwed up my eyes tightly to hold back the tears and took a deep breath. I hoped I would inherit some of her mental strength, but I was beginning to doubt it.

She had spent so many years grooming me and preparing me for a time when I would have to do things on my own. Because of her illness, that time had arrived quicker than either of us had imagined. It was too soon; I wasn’t ready. I doubted if I would ever have been ready.

Even before she became ill, she would say to me. ‘There will be a time when I’m no longer here for you’. As a young boy, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. What did she mean? Of course, she would always be here, she was my mom. She wasn’t old so why wouldn’t she? I didn’t understand then, and I still didn’t understand. Sure, I knew the reason why but I couldn’t accept it. Not her? Not me.

It was unfair. I still needed her. There were things I needed to tell her and things she needed to tell me. So much had been left undone. Empty gaps in my life where she should have been, that I would no longer be able to fill.

I was an only child; my father had died a few years earlier, but I never knew him and his death meant nothing to me. When my mom died; it was like losing my whole family in one go. Even though I knew it was going to happen; I was devastated, and nothing could have prepared me for it. Now Tom had been taken from me too, for the first time in my life, I felt completely alone.

The beer probably didn’t help, but I was consumed in self-pity as I drifted in and out of sleep. I hated everyone and trusted nobody. I hated my uncle for forcing me to move and live with his family. I was sure that they wouldn’t like me and make my life miserable. If it were me, I wouldn’t have wanted to have a strange kid suddenly move into my house, no matter what the situation was. I would have hated it, and it seemed right to assume that they weren’t going to be too keen on this arrangement either.

I hated the social worker, Mrs. Oakey because she had wanted to put me into care and take me away from Tom.

I hated my dad for turning his back on me and being a drunk and getting himself killed before I had the chance kill him myself.

I hated myself for not being normal!

I hated myself for not being able to even say the word!

I hated myself for not having the courage to tell my mom before she died.

I hated her for dying.

I knew that if she were here everything would be different and I would be happy. How was I going to manage without her? I missed her so much. I needed her with me so that she could take me back to England and back to a time when I was happy. Why did she have to leave me alone? Why wasn’t she sitting next to me? I really needed her to be there.

‘Why do they have to cram so many seats into these bloody things, I should have asked Don for Business Class. No first class. If he wanted me that badly he would have paid. Now there’s something wrong with my ears because I can’t fucking hear anything. I think that it’s something to do with the air pressure’.

I pulled the blanket back over my shoulders and sat upright to face the seat next to me. It was empty; I knew it would be. I sat there motionless, eyes open, staring at the empty seat, where she had always been, but would never be again, and wondered whether I would always feel this lonely.

* * * * *

The beer had made me a little tipsy, but now I felt sick, although I couldn’t tell if it were the beers, the nerves or the turbulence. The latter was causing the plane to lurch uncomfortably up and down, turning my stomach and providing extra work for the cabin crew as they rushed around to secure everything. According to the captain, there were storms around the Toronto area and heavy snow. The flight attendant told me to fasten my seat belt, but that was my cue to visit the john.

The turbulence had made it difficult for me to aim my pee, and I nearly got it all over me as the plane suddenly dipped in mid-stream. It was like trying to take a piss on a rollercoaster. Afterward, I took the opportunity to have a quick look at my willy before tucking it away in my boxer briefs. It was still a little sore and much redder than usual. Tom’s fault. At least that made me smile.

“Are you okay Robbie?” asked the flight attendant as I left the washroom. She asked me if I wanted anything.

“Tom.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s okay I’m cool.” I was anything but.

The more apprehensive I became the more obnoxious I would get, but it wasn’t the flying that was making me nervous. I wasn’t frightened of flying, I even enjoyed the turbulence. What scared me the most, was what lay ahead, after we had landed.

* * * * *

The wing of the huge plane dipped as it circled Toronto, and finally, I was able to get my first glimpse of the country that I had left as a boy. It was only five o’clock, but it was already dark and the lights were on all over the city. Toronto was huge and was bathed in white. It was snowing and the screen in front of me said minus two. I had heard countless horror stories of Canadian winters and it seemed as if they were true.

The great bird finally planted itself onto the runway and a few minutes later came to halt at the terminal building. We had landed in the middle of snow storm, but it didn’t seem to make a much difference to an airport that looked as busy as Heathrow had been earlier.

‘So this is Canada, my new home’?

I glanced once more out of the window, watching the workers on the tarmac. They were dressed in big winter coats and hats as the snow fell all around them. It looked cold and daunting. If this was going to be my new home, then I hated it already.

I didn’t really hate Canada or the people. I was a citizen myself, and I had a passport to prove it. Officially I was returning home. Only it didn’t feel like home to me and I certainly didn’t feel very Canadian. I acted and sounded very English and despite what the passport said I considered myself British, it was all I knew.

I was average height, medium build, with mousy brown hair slightly parted on one side. It was long enough to cover my ears and my neck at the back, but generally a mess. My eyes were very dark blue and gray with fairly long eyelashes that were the envy of most girls I knew. I had a fair complexion, with constantly rosy cheeks that made me look a lot healthier than I was, and nice teeth. I liked the way I looked and so did most of the girls, but I also knew that I was quite average. I wasn’t going to make it as a model, but I didn’t think that I would have any trouble finding a partner when the time came either. Although that was going to be a bit complicated. Other than that, I was just an ordinary kid, with a few hang-ups, a few secrets, a lot of attitude, and now a long way from home and a long way out of my comfort zone.

Eleven years after we had left for a new life in England, I had returned to the place where I had started, and once again, I had no choice in the matter. Maybe I should have been thankful for the opportunity, but as far as I was concerned, I had to lose my mom to get it, and it was not a trade that I would ever have agreed to.

I tried to leave the plane with everyone else but the flight attendant stopped me at the door and told me that I had to wait for my guide to arrive. The butterflies had returned in my stomach and I felt very uneasy as I stood next to her trying to make small talk.

“It’s been nice meeting you Robbie,” she said as a large man in an ill-fitting suit approached us. “I hope that everything works out well for you with your new family.” Then she moved uncomfortably close to me to whisper. “But if it doesn't sweetie, then you know where to find me okay?”

“Huh!” She must have seen the look of shock on my face as she winked and smiled. She had just supersized the anxiety attack that I was already having and raised my terror threat level to catastrophic. “Thanks…err…I’m sure I’ll be okay.” I turned on my heels and walked straight into my helper, knocking him backward and sending his clipboard and pen flying out of his hands. I apologized but he wasn’t too happy about it. Then as he picked up his stuff and began walking up the jetty, I dared to look back at the flight attendant and shrugged my shoulders. She had her hand over her mouth laughing, as I turned and rushed to catch him up.

‘She had to be joking right, getting her own back for earlier. I hope that she didn’t really think that I was trying to chat her up. It was only meant to be a laugh’.

She was a quite pretty but not really my type and even if she had been, I would never have been brave enough to try something like that for real.

I must have clumped him on the leg when I walked into him because my escort was definitely limping as he led me through immigration and showed me where to collect my suitcase. He left me the moment I cleared customs, probably to get his leg looked at, but I didn’t need him or his funny accent anyway.

The wheels on the bottom of my suitcase had stopped working properly, making it difficult for me to pull it in a straight line, but I wasn’t in any rush as I made my way slowly toward the arrivals hall, trying perhaps to delay the inevitable. It was stupid, like a condemned man walking towards his execution, delaying it by a couple of seconds wasn’t going to make it any easier. I knew that there wouldn’t be any last minute reprieve for me that’s for sure. I don’t know why I was so scared, but it was something that had been building in me for weeks, and now the time had finally arrived for me to meet my new family.