Crossing the Line

The airport buzzed with a blend of excitement and melancholy—people saying goodbyes, others returning to their homelands, and the distant sound of flight announcements echoing through the terminal.

As I entered the doors of Norman Manley Airport, the cool air from the air conditioning washed over me, contrasting sharply with the warm humidity I was used to. I took a moment to savour the familiar scents of jerk chicken wafting from a nearby café, reminding me of home.

My heart raced as I scanned the chaotic scene, searching for the British Airways counter among the long queues at American Airlines. Finding it still closed, I sighed, gripping the handle of my small suitcase a little tighter as I wheeled it past the counters toward the restaurant area, trying to ignore my friend Nadine as she hurried to catch up with me.

“Why did you have to take the job?” Nadine asked, her breathless tone laced with concern.

In that moment, I didn’t stop or answer immediately. My mind was heavy with thoughts of what lay ahead. This trip was about more than just a job offer; it was about seeking the truth behind my father’s unsolved murder.

“This is important to me,” I replied, the urgency in my voice reflecting my inner turmoil. “You know why you keep asking me the same thing?” I knew my tone was short, but I had already explained my reasons.

In that moment, I glanced at my watch; I still had three hours until check-in, so I turned to her. “Let’s get some lunch.”

Nadine rolled her eyes as she followed me to the food court, where we found an empty table at one of the grill restaurants.

As I tucked my suitcase next to me, she said, “I don’t think this trip is a good idea.”

In that moment, I felt my ire rise. Nadine had been my best friend since primary school. She knew me better than anyone and understood my thoughts, so telling me what I was doing was wrong felt redundant.

“My father is the reason I’m doing this,” I said, my voice softening, revealing a flicker of vulnerability hidden beneath my determination.

Nadine eyed me with a frown, her arched brows creasing. “You should leave your father’s situation to the police.”

“You know I can’t do that.” If the police had followed up properly after his death, I wouldn’t be in this position right now.

Nadine brushed her thin dreadlocks behind her ear. “Dessa, why would you want to put yourself in danger when you know the people who got him killed are so powerful?”

In that moment, I stared down at the white circular countertop of the table. God knows I didn’t want to put myself in danger, but I owed it to myself to find out who was responsible. My father’s murder had cast a long shadow over my life, and I felt an unyielding need to uncover the truth. That was why I decided to take the job of auditing Clearview Holdings’ finances. The company was a small subsidiary of Harcourt Enterprises, a conglomerate based in the United Kingdom. From what I knew, my father’s murder had something to do with Clearview Holdings.

The scents of grilled meat filled my nose, and my stomach rumbled as I searched the menu on the lighted board above the counter.

“You won’t answer me because you know you can’t, right?” Nadine hurled at me across the table.

In that moment, I glowered at her. “I know you’re worried. It’s not as if I’m going to a place where I don’t know anyone. My father’s side of the family still lives in West London. I won’t be alone.”

“I bet you can’t tell them you’ll work for that place.”

It was true, I couldn’t. My aunt would lose her temper if she found out, mainly because she blamed the company for ruining her life. If my father hadn’t wanted money to send me to university, he wouldn’t have worked as a dock supervisor for the company in Kingston.

Giving Nadine a tolerant smile, I told her, “The only way I will know if the boss of Clearview had anything to do with Daddy’s death is if I go there. Once I see the financials, I will be able to determine the shipments that were on the dock the night before Daddy was killed.”

“You heard the rumours just like I did. Didn’t they say that the docks Lawrence worked at were smuggling guns, and it was because he saw this that they killed him?”

That was the rumour. There was even gossip that Darius Steele, a competitor of Clearview Holdings, had pulled the trigger. I didn’t want to believe this because, though Darius had a bad reputation and was somewhat of a thug, he was also my cousin. It didn’t mean that he didn’t have a hand in things. I knew well that some truth caused rumours.

My eyes went to my phone, which I had laid on the table. A photo was tucked inside the clear case of my father and me. My throat tightened. In that moment, I missed him so much. My eyes wandered over the picture. We were standing outside the community centre he helped build in our Westmoreland community. He was smiling like he had just finished saving the world. I was beside him, grinning, my hair plaited in two, my skinny legs a little ashy, and wearing the pink slippers he had brought me that day because the strap on my old ones was broken. I blinked hard, trying not to let the tears fall from my eyes. The lump rising in my throat is sudden and unwelcome, and I tell myself that wasn’t the time to break down.

My father, Lawrence Blake, was the man people respected the moment he walked into a room. He didn’t wear power like a suit. It clung to him naturally, sewn into how he spoke, carried himself, and never stopped fighting for the people no one cared about. And it got him killed.

In that moment, I met my friend’s gaze. “I have to do this. Once I learn what happened on the docks that night, I will hand over the evidence I find and wash my hands of it all.”

Nadine was quiet for a moment. “Fine, if you say so.” Her voice was doubtful, but I was glad she accepted my explanation.

My stomach rumbled again. “Let’s order. I don’t think I will taste this food again.”

“How long will you stay?” Nadine asked, searching through the small purse she had slung across her chest.

“About a month, give or take a few weeks.”

“That’s a long time.” Nadine finally fished out her purse. “What do you want? My treat.”

In that moment, I grinned at her. Although we had the same income, we always shared. That’s what I loved about Nadine; she always looked out for me.

As she took my order and went to the counter, my eyes roamed the airport. I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing, but at twenty-six, I didn’t have a boyfriend or anyone to keep me from leaving Jamaica. My grandmother was young at heart and had her things to do. She even had a new boyfriend, which didn’t leave her much time to worry about me, a grown woman. I was free enough to do as I pleased without worrying about my family.

A few minutes later, Nadine returned. “They will bring the food once it’s ready,” she said with a grin. “Did you see that guy at the counter? He was very buff.”

My eyes drifted to the counter, where a tall, dark, muscular man with cornrows stood. He was well-dressed and possibly a foreigner.

“I don’t think he’s my type.”

“What’s your type then?” Nadine coaxed. “Since you and Richard broke up six months ago, you’ve let your pum-pum cobweb up.”

“Nadine!” I looked around to see if anyone was watching, then lowered my voice. “I’m not looking for a man. They bring too many problems.”

“You’re only saying that because you went to Richard’s house to have sex, and his babymother almost beat you black and blue,” Nadine laughed hard, as if remembering the event.

In that moment, I lowered my eyes, and the tips of my ears heated. “You’re a bad friend. How can you laugh? Do you know how afraid I was? I nearly pissed myself.” I pouted at her. “No more men for me. Right now, I want to focus on Daddy’s things.”

Nadine relaxed back in her chair and eyed me up. “Since you’re returning to London, why don’t you find yourself a booty call?” My friend gave me the once-over. “Maybe some good cocky will loosen you up somewhat.”

“Jesus, Nadine. Have some shame, man.”

Nadine grinned. “You know what I mean. Just have some fun while you’re there. What’s the point in being in a place with variety if you don’t sample some?”

In that moment, I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. “Whatever,” I muttered, but then I thought about it. “You’re not wrong. If I get the chance, I will take it. Will that make you happy?”

“I’m sure it will make you happy,” Nadine said. “And if you do sample some variety, I want to know if it’s true that white men have small dicks.”

Oh God. I wanted to cringe inside, but just shook my head and grimaced. “Just get the food, girl. In that moment, I don’t want to miss my flight because of your foolishness.”

Nadine laughed hard as she followed my instructions.

A few moments later, she brought back my food, and we ate while giggling over the stereotypes of men’s lower parts. When we finished eating, Nadine followed me to the queue. I checked in my luggage, and we said our farewells.

Hours later, when my plane took off from the airport, my mind wasn’t occupied with what my friend had said. All I could think about was what would happen when I reported for work on Monday morning at Clearview Holdings and whether I would be able to find the evidence I needed to link the company to my father’s death.

~~~

Nine hours later, when I walked out of Heathrow airport and searched for signs, the cold greeted me—sharp, damp, and cutting through the layers I believed would shield me. I tightened the belt of my dark plum Mac coat and pulled my scarf higher over my chin, but it made no difference. The chill infiltrated anyway, and I braced myself against it.

In that moment, I don’t complain. I welcome it.

After Montego Bay’s heat, this moment feels like a refreshing reset. It’s somewhat bitter, but bracing is necessary. I pull my suitcase behind me, wheels softly rattling over the uneven pavement as I stroll toward the Underground. The signs overhead are like helpful friends guiding me to the Piccadilly Line, and I follow my instincts—my body humming with a mix of nerves. At the same time, my mind stays sharp and focused. I’m on my way to Hammersmith. The company I worked for had secured a temporary flat for me. Because of my younger days spent attending school in West London, I was familiar with the area. I even recognised the street where my new temporary home would be, which was a blessing. As much as I had taken on this journey, nerves bundled in my stomach at the prospect of something new and unexplored.

In that moment, I cautiously descend the escalator into the dimly lit confines of the Underground, the stale, musty air rising and clawing down my throat, making it dry and uncomfortable. I searched for the signs for Hammersmith and the platform. Once I know where to go, my steps become confident, echoing along the still empty corridors as I hurry towards the platform.

When I reach the platform, it is just after 6 a.m. Overnight workers and early morning commuters shuffle in like ghosts, faces blank, wrapped in scarves and exhaustion.

The train pulls in with a rush of wind and a metallic scream. I boarded quickly, slipping into a seat and tucking my suitcase between my legs. My fingers go to my earphones almost automatically. The voice that fills my ears isn’t music—it’s a narrated report on the financial summaries of Clearview Holdings.

Lost in thought, the train screeches to a halt as I reach Hammersmith. I gather my suitcase and step into the early morning grey. The scent of rain and fresh bread is thick as I walk out of the station and into the bustle of Hammersmith High Street.

The flat is just a few blocks away, and as I gather my bearings and turn in the direction I need to go, I can’t help but wonder if I am doing the right thing. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I remember my father’s phone number. My shoulders stiffen. In that moment, I am going to find answers, and no one will stop me.