Calvin wanted to lose his virginity.

Staring at the departure board updates from the cafe he could think of nothing else. His right foot, resting on his left, jigged and flicked with nervous energy, stopping for a few moments every now and then, only to begin once more. Every part of the trip, from flights, to the city he would be staying in, to the location of the hotel, was a cog in the machine designed to propel him into the realm of the sexually active. Every part except one.

“Calvinsweetheart, I asked if it was time to check in?”

Calvin pulled his eyes away from the screen to look at his mother. She arched her eyebrow.

“Calvinsweetheart?” She always said it as one word. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Well, is it time?”

Calvin checked his watch.

“There’s still a few minutes,” he said. “Finish your tea, then we’ll take the bags over.”

“Didn’t I tell you it was worth leaving a few hours early dear? This way we get to relax before the rush of check-ins and boarding calls. When I flew with your father, Godresthim, we were always running late for flights. Did I ever tell you about the time we…”

Calvin stopped listening and watched her mouth moving. Over the years he had grown adept at shutting out her droning. He nodded now and again but let his thoughts drift back to the trip. If he could just get Mother settled in the hotel, she might well have an early night. He could still get away, explore a bit before putting his plan in motion. Forty-two was quite old enough to still be a virgin. For goodness sake, there were Hollywood movies lampooning the sad state of his personal life. Something had to be done.

Calvin originally booked the trip for one, but was forced to plump for another ticket when Mother, during a search of his room while he was at work, found his holiday stash.

“There must be no secrets between us,” she had said. “Don’t you want your old mum to have a holiday too?”

He shook his head just as he did when a child.

“That’s settled then. I mean, who wants to go on holiday on their own?”

Uncomfortable on the hard plastic of the airport cafe chair, Calvin cringed at the memory of his spinelessness.

“Are you okay, Calvinsweetheart? You don’t look well.”

Calvin shrugged. “I’m fine.” He shook his head to clear it a little. “We should go.”

He stood and took his mother’s tweed travel jacket from the back of her chair, waiting as she checked her purse, stood and smoothed down her skirt.

“Thank you,” she said as he helped her into her jacket. “Such a good boy.”

She stretched up to kiss his cheek. Calvin felt his teeth grit.

“You’re welcome, Mother.”

  

In the check-in queue, Calvin waited while Mother rummaged through her purse. He put a hand to his pocket and retrieved the tissue inside. He unfolded it carefully, mesmerised by the signature scrawled across the soft paper surface. Ava Scott. Film star. Ingénue. Glamour model. And wasn’t she recording an album of show tunes soon? Calvin’s thoughts filled with the image of her signing the napkin. Again he was struck with how his Cilla managed to capture some of Ava Scott’s look, at least in her photos.

“Put that away, Calvinsweetheart,” Mother said.

As he slid the napkin gently back into in his pocket, Calvin noticed the two men standing behind him. One kept glancing around nervously, but the other looked right at him, eyes cold, mouth grinning as if enjoying a private joke.

“Here we are, Calvinsweetheart.”

Calvin, glad of the excuse, turned back to Mother. The man behind him laughed then started whistling, as Mother handed Calvin the tickets and passports.

“Now don’t go losing them. I want them straight back when the lady has finished looking at them.”

Calvin nodded and wheeled their trolley forward a few inches with the movement of the queue. His fingers rested on his only piece of hand luggage, a laptop bag strapped over his shoulder and across his chest in case anyone should try to snatch it. His laptop, a necessity in his line of work, was his only private space. Mother’s unfamiliarity with modern digital devices allowed Calvin a retreat where she could not follow. Nor could she argue over the time he spent on it in his room.

“I have to work,” he told her when she tried.

The laptop made the trip possible. The planning, the booking of tickets. Most importantly the abundance of social networks helped him find Cilla. Calvin could barely believe she was waiting for him. Only a short plane flight between them meeting in the flesh.