The Long Haul

Chapter One

ONE

Bounding out of bed with the energy of a boy band backing dancer, I reach for my phone, glowing bright through the pitch black of night, to silence the blaring alarm clock.

Today is the day! My belly flutters with that specific kind of excitement you only get on travel days and I am instantly wide awake even though it is hours from morning.

Careful not to wake my best friend and flatmate, I pad softly through to the bathroom, peel off my pyjamas for a shower, then head back to my room to get dressed.

I might have laid everything out last night so I didn’t have to worry about making a sleepy sartorial error first thing this morning.

Soft joggers and a matching sweater for maximum comfort, because it’s going to be a long old day.

Checking my bags for the tenth time, I throw my keys and phone charger into my carry-on and drag my wheely suitcase out onto the street.

Then I bounce towards to the Tube station like a freshly pumped football, deciding that there has never been a more thrilling Monday in history.

Let’s face it, they usually suck. But today, instead of commuting into Soho, I will be flying to Australia for the engagement party to end all engagement parties.

I’m so giddy I could yelp, but I won’t because the rest of Ealing is still slumbering.

In fact, there’s not another soul on these strangely silent streets as I make the short walk towards the Underground. Scratch that, there is a snail on the pavement. Gently, I pick it up and set it back down on a leafy hedge nearby so it doesn’t get squished when things get busier.

It feels unusual to be witnessing life at this time of day, as if I’m intruding on London at her most calm and private hour. A fox pops out of an alleyway and pauses when she sees me, sitting down to watch me clatter past. She’s beautiful, russet-coloured with a thick tail and bright eyes.

‘Hello, fox!’ I whisper cheerily. She flicks her tail at me.

The September air is cool and fresh, and there’s a flare of pale orange on the dawn horizon hinting at a bright, warm day to come.

My heavy suitcase thuds on each step as I make my way down to the Piccadilly Line, and I wonder how the day dawned in Perth.

At seven hours ahead, the Aussies will be well into their Monday by now.

Last time I checked (literally moments before I went to sleep) the weather at my destination was looking gorgeous. It seems mad to think that while we wave goodbye to summer, the Antipodeans are just moving into spring. For the people of Perth, spring means twenty degrees and blue skies.

The Tube train is pretty empty, bar a few fellow early-morning travellers, but I decide against sitting down just in case it gets busy and my massive suitcase becomes a nuisance.

Instead I tuck my case into the space by the connecting carriage doors, and perch on a padded ledge while listening to a podcast about productivity.

‘It’s all about making time work for you,’ says the perky American podcast host. ‘Overwhelm is real, especially when we think about our to-do list and how much time it will take. What we need to start doing is breaking it down, bit by bit, into manageable chunks. Don’t let time boss you around when you can be the master of your own destiny. ’

I nod along, even though it all sounds a bit, you know, bonkers, until the train rattles into Heathrow.

I’m here! I practically skip towards the terminal, almost unable to believe that today has finally arrived.

I’ve been planning this trip for so long that at times, it just felt like a strange, unknowable blob in the future.

On second thoughts, I probably shouldn’t be calling this engagement party a strange, unknowable blob. That’s definitely not the vibe we’re going for.

It’s not my engagement party, by the way. Ha, imagine that! The truth is, I’ve been working so hard planning other people’s momentous occasions that I *may* have forgotten to focus on matters of my own heart.

Which probably explains why I am newly dumped, again.

But honestly, so what if my love life is in silly little tatters? Genuinely, who cares about that? Today I am off in hot pursuit of career excellence and the fact that I got dumped a month ago matters not a jot.

Besides, organizing other people’s parties is much less terrifying than starring in your own.

I’m definitely a behind-the-scenes kind of person, making sure everything is running perfectly so that other people can step into the limelight.

And today marks the start of my biggest work gig to date.

If you’d have told mini-Nina that one day she’d be gadding off to the other side of the world as part of her actual job, she’d have burst into flames.

Organizing a star-studded, overseas bash is something I’ve dreamed of ever since I started out as a fresh-faced event planner, so this engagement party is a huge deal.

Before I’m swallowed whole by the hustle and bustle of the international airport, I nip outside to take one final gulp of fresh air and bid a fond farewell to dear old London.

Then I stride with purpose back through the automatic doors and into the belly of the beast, swerving just in time to narrowly avoid dragging my suitcase through something beige and crumpled on the shiny airport floor.

It’s a discarded egg sandwich.

The mind boggles.

I stare at the half-opened packet, sad bits of limp cress now splattered onto the floor.

Who is buying an egg sandwich at this time in the morning?

Not to mention abandoning it in the middle of Heathrow’s hectic departure hall?

I have so many questions, but I mustn’t allow myself to get bogged down in the minutiae of someone else’s questionable breakfast choices right now. I’ve a flight to catch!

Galloping towards the departure board as fast as my little legs will carry me, my heart skips with excitement when I see that the flight’s on time. Next, I locate the correct check-in counter.

‘Good morning!’ I sing as I hand over my passport and heave my suitcase onto the scales.

The airline operative, name tag Alan, gives me a look that is both stern and withering.

‘Just inside the weight limit,’ he says.

Some may suggest that I didn’t need the full baggage allowance for a mere seven days Down Under, and to that I say pah!

Of course I did. Did I mention the weather?

Also, there’s going to be a lot to do which means I’m going to need options.

Work-wise, I’ll be running errands, meeting with suppliers, making sure my clients are happy, not to mention attending the party itself.

And on the off-chance that I’ll manage to squeeze in any down time, I’ve packed cute outfits for coffee-shop trips and shopping and lazing around on the beach.

Okay, fine, I’m a notorious over-packer.

Bag-check Alan knows this, and he does not like me for it.

I deploy my best smile which usually works a treat.

‘That’s going to need a heavy weight sticker,’ he scowls, now looking personally offended by my very much acceptably heavy suitcase.

‘Oh dear.’ I try to look contrite while he continues to eyeball me.

With a loud sigh, Alan finds an offensively bright sticker from somewhere behind his desk and slowly, deliberately, unpeels it.

Then he looks at me pointedly as he attaches it to my suitcase.

I catch a brief glimpse of instructions to the baggage handlers to bend their knees printed on it and feel sheepish.

‘Thank you so much!’ I say when my passport is finally returned to me.

‘Next,’ he barks.

Must be having a more traditional Monday, I decide. Poor Alan. We can’t all be jetting across the world on ridiculously exciting work trips, can we?

‘Have a nice day!’ I call as I leave, an attempt to cheer him up.

His glare hardens. Pretty sure he hates me.

Right, suitcase dumped and I am now feeling much lighter.

Much more ready to browse the bejaysus out of all the shops.

The security queue, however, has other ideas, I realize as I round a corner to be greeted by the world’s longest line of travellers waiting to have their carry-on bags scanned.

I join the snaking file, overhearing someone further down suggesting we have at least a thirty-minute wait.

I could be miffed that this will significantly eat into my browsing-the-shops time but I refuse to be deflated on such an auspicious occasion.

The possibility of delays like this is exactly why I left the flat pre dawn.

There was no way I was missing this flight, and if that meant time spent loitering at the airport, then so be it.

Besides, I am nothing if not productive and efficient, so I can totally keep myself busy while I queue.

I’ve been getting a fair few overnight emails from companies I’m using in Perth, so I decide to open up my inbox.

Some spam, some borderline spam, someone from Latvia thinks I’d make a great husband?

Ooh, an offer on the posh coffee I like to buy when I’m feeling bougie!

I’m deleting everything but the coffee offer when an email from my boss pops up.

Odd.

It’s barely 6 a.m. which is early, even for Kat.

The subject title reads ‘GO GET ’EM, TIGER.

’ The queue surges forward so I slip my phone back into my bag as we move towards the scanners.

She’s probably just sending some sweet words of encouragement, I decide, pulling out the clear plastic bag with all my liquids in.