Waiting Games

I took my seat upstairs in the empty coffee shop and watched across the soulless terminal, all scuffed white walls and industrial brushed steel, peppered with lit yellow signs that gave vague directions and sternly denied access at every turn. Sunday afternoon made the airport seem almost deserted, sleepy in the low, weak October light filtering across the runway through the giant tinted-glass windows. The air was different since the smoking ban; it smelt of stale espresso and disinfectant spray. A small grotto-like arcade entertained itself noisily in the corner, bursting with bright flashing lights and fairground noises that promised fun-filled distraction from the tedium of it's surroundings, but it was enticing no-one. Occasionally, it battled to be heard over announcements mumbled in several languages, all similarly unheard or ignored by the small crowd of people beginning to gather below. The coffee shop stirred as if woken by them all. Teaspoons and cups clattered and chimed on saucers like rain on discarded bottles, and the steamer spluttered into life, hissing and frothing like an erupting geyser with every order.

A line of people waited behind the steel barrier, leaning against it, necks craned in unison, all eyes fixed on the two small screens that relayed line after line of landing times. They looked like men in a bar watching the football. Some had bored children in tow, and they climbed and swung on the barrier railings, making the terminal their improvised playground. One small dark haired boy implored his father to watch him do cartwheels - "Watch this, Daddy, watch!" - and began flinging himself across the hard floor in a flurry of camouflage tracksuit and bright red shoes. His young but greying father nodded and approved, with distracted "Wows" and "Well Dones". He hadn't actually looked, he had remained fixed on the arrivals board along with all the others; but the boy hadn't noticed and he beamed with delight. Neither noticed the weary cleaner dressed in disposable plastic, who smiled, amused at their game as she trudged along the gallery above them, pushing her squeaking trolley laden with mop and yellow wet floor notices.