53 23rd October
Helen’s heels clip-clopped across the polished surface of the airport terminal’s floor, her small case trundling along behind her, the wheels skipping over every chip in the tiles. She passed shop after shop: fashion accessories, books, electronics. It had always struck her as bizarre how airports were like small town centres with no permanent residents. Everyone was just passing through. A nice metaphor for life, she thought.
She thumbed the passport in her jacket pocket, thankful — not for the first time — that she’d managed to secure her new identity before passport and identity restrictions in her new home country had been tightened. She was sure it wouldn’t be foolproof; Jack would find a way if he wanted to. The fact that it was a genuine passport meant there’d be a
