He glanced behind swiftly as if to confirm that my gesture was meant for someone else. I gave the cordial giant a quick, nervous wave.
Big Pete looked up at me briefly, just as he bent down to see about his hand luggage. It felt good not having to be among their numbers. They were off to a conference on AIDS in Madrid, I recall. All of them are from the same research centre that shared a building with my former employers in Brixton. At a separate check-in counter not too far from where I stood were the two Peters, little and large, Forde the friendly Australian guy, and the boss-eyed Canadian woman whose name I can never remember. But looking around, it seemed as if everyone from work was in Heathrow airport with me. I had got to the airport on time with at least ninety minutes to spare. “And has anybody given you anything to carry?”
