Chapter Four #2
I’m tutting at this when a member of the cabin crew offers us hot drinks.
I decide to accept a coffee, because more caffeine will definitely help with whatever’s going on here.
The way Callum said my name made me feel, I don’t know, things.
Clearly the altitude is playing havoc with my system, I deduce, tearing the lid off a little pot of milk and pouring it into the cup.
There’s not nearly enough to make a proper milky coffee, which is the kind of comforting beverage I need right now.
Callum, meanwhile, hasn’t even opened his little milk and is already drinking his tea. Black. Who drinks black tea?! I can get on board with black coffee, for sure, but black tea? Only for psychopaths, surely.
Which tracks.
‘Could I—’ I begin, pointing at his milk.
He deliberately pretends not to know what I’m doing, because he is obtuse and aggravating and the very worst.
‘Hmm?’ he says with a questioning look as he drinks from his cup of devil’s brew.
‘May I—’ I don’t know why I’m being so British about this.
Just get a sentence out, Nina!
Callum’s brows shoot up as I continue to stab a finger in the direction of his tray.
‘Are you drinking that milk?’ I finally manage.
At that completely innocuous question, Callum’s entire face darkens, and a storm cloud settles right above his head.
‘Nice,’ he says crossly. ‘Really nice.’
See! I told you he was a psychopath! Ask for some milk and get that response? Insane.
‘Nice?’ I snap back. ‘I was just asking if you’d be using your milk because if not, I’d be very grateful if I could have it.
But clearly, that’s way too much to ask.
Don’t you worry, Callum! Don’t even consider inconveniencing yourself the tiniest bit to hand over a small pot of milk. I’m so sorry I asked!’
Instead of looking suitably chastised, Callum is shaking his head at me like I’ve done something wrong. So now we’re staring at each other, me in self-righteous rage, him in apparent disbelief.
‘You’re the worst, Moss,’ Callum says, delivering the milk onto my tray with evident distaste.
Unbelievable!
‘You’re the worst,’ I hit back, incredibly confused. What just happened there? Why do I always feel like I’m on wobbly ground with this man? One minute he’s being almost human and the next? Welcome back, Hades. Well, I refuse to be Persephone in this set-up.
‘I’m going to get back to my romcom,’ he grunts.
‘I—’ I begin, ready to get in another retort, but Callum’s already putting his earphones in. I stare at him, basically dumbstruck. But before he totally tunes out, he turns to me and says, ‘It’s Cal.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s Cal. If we’re going to be pedantic about names, then I would much prefer it if you called me Cal.’ And with that, he’s tuned out.
I’m smarting from the pedantic comment for so long that the rest of the film passes by in a total blur.
Seriously, what is up with Callum Bang? Sorry, Cal, I think irritably.
Although there’s no way I’m calling him that.
I will be sticking to his full name because every time I say it, it sounds distinctly like he’s in trouble. Which he basically always is.
In trouble for being a terrible human being.
It absolutely sucks that I’m stuck sitting next to him, too. His aura is so … grating.
I unplug my earphones and look around. The lights have been dimmed.
The divorcee behind us is still snoring away.
I should probably try to get some sleep too.
Quick bathroom trip first, I decide, grateful that the extra legroom means I can step past Callum without having to ask him to move his stupid long legs.
A small win. Although it’s at this point that I realise I need my washbag, which is in the overhead locker.
Summoning all the strength I can find, I tap Callum on the shoulder.
He turns to look at me.
‘Could you grab my bag for me. Please?’ I ask through gritted teeth.
‘That sounded painful,’ he retorts.
Then he stands next to me, reaching up to open the locker.
As he moves, I get a waft of this intoxicating fresh citrus smell.
It’s so good my lids flutter shut and I take a deep inhale.
When I open them again, he’s watching me.
Mortifying. I find myself trying to style it out by muttering about yogic breathing on flights, which one hundred per cent does not work.
Callum is definitely still giving me curious looks.
In silence, he hands me my bag and waits patiently while I reach inside.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say pointedly as I pass it back. He reaches to slot the bag back in the locker and in doing so, his T-shirt rides up to expose a waist I’d like to take a bite out of.
It is deeply unfair that my arch nemesis looks and smells like this.
‘Happy to help,’ he smiles at me, green eyes twinkling.
I scurry off to the toilet.
The nearest bathrooms are at the back of premium economy but when I pull back the curtain between this section and economy I can’t see any sign of Hamish, so I decide to go and explore the toilets further down the plane.
The gentle thrumming noise of the aircraft accompanies my walk, and I keep scanning the seats.
I still haven’t spotted Hamish by the time I reach the bathrooms, and there are a couple of people standing in line, so I do some stretching while I wait. It’s as I’m quietly lunging, trying not to look like a maniac, that I finally see him.
My heart skips a beat.
Hamish is sitting on the other end of a central row of four, an empty seat between him and another passenger on my side of the row. The lights are low, and just a handful of people in this part of the cabin are still awake, illuminated by the glow of the screens in front of them.
But Hamish is sleeping. He has a travel pillow around his neck, his head leaning against one side of his seat.
I honestly can’t believe he’s really here.
After all these years, it feels so strange to be in the same place at the same time as the man I once thought I’d spend my future with.
We were once so close that we instinctively knew what the other was thinking.
We’d spend endless nights with my friends at the beach, playing card games where you’d describe the word on the card to your partner without saying that word.
Even playing against mates who’d been friends for years, couples who’d been together far longer than we had, Hamish and I always won. We just shared a wavelength.
I’m longing to talk to him now, but even if he were awake, I’d struggle to get to him because the passenger on this side of his row is sleeping too.
I feel almost giddy as my gaze flicks back to him, a sense of possibility building in my stomach.
I cannot wait to see how he is after all these years.
A bathroom becomes free and I step inside the tiny space.
Time for some skincare! A brief glimpse in the mirror confirms my worst fears, I look travel-weary at best. My eyes are a delightful mix of puffy and bloodshot, which simply will not do for my romantic reunion with Hamish.
I clean my teeth, cleanse my skin and smooth on some moisturizer which instantly makes me feel brighter.
As I head back to my seat, I take an eye mask out of my washbag and tuck the bag in next to me so as not to disturb the devil himself again.
I’ll have to ask him to stow it before landing, but that can be a fun problem for Future Me.
Once I’m sitting down, I tuck myself in with the airline blanket.
It’s not the comfiest, but my whole body feels exhausted and I stifle a yawn.
Time to catch some sleep and dream of Hamish.
‘Can’t sleep?’ Callum asks an hour later, after I’ve spent a full sixty minutes fidgeting in my seat, failing to get comfy.
I stretch my legs out in frustration. ‘Nope.’
‘Me neither,’ he says, rotating his neck from side to side. ‘Can’t seem to switch off.’
‘Same,’ I reply. ‘And I can’t cope with watching another film.’
‘Likewise.’ Callum nods.
Both of us look around, as if seeking inspiration for something else to do. The lights are still dipped and everyone else seems to be resting. By now all the divorce squad have passed out, splayed out across each other in their seats.
‘Maybe they had the right idea,’ Callum suggests, following my gaze.
‘What’s that, drink yourself to sleep?’
‘I might try it on the return journey.’
‘At this point I’d be willing to give anything a go.’
‘Have you seen Bridesmaids?’ he asks.
‘Of course. Have you?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ Callum grins. ‘I told you I like a romcom. I’m picturing the plane scene.’
‘The bit where Annie takes two of Helen’s pills and a glass of Scotch because she’s a nervous flyer and then basically disgraces herself?’ I chuckle as the scene replays in my mind.
Callum nods.
‘So, you’re planning to go full Bridesmaids on the flight back?’ I ask. ‘That’s something I will need to see.’
‘Help me, I’m poor.’ Callum delivers this Bridesmaids quote in such an understated, unexpected way that I find myself properly laughing now.
Damn it. I was not expecting to find this man amusing.
We catch each other’s eye, and the briefest moment passes between us.
A flash of both understanding and confusion as it dawns on the two of us that we’re enjoying communicating with our ultimate adversary.
‘So,’ I say hesitantly. ‘Neither of us can sleep. There are still several hours until we land in Singapore. How are we going to pass the time?’
‘Wanna do some work?’ Callum offers.
‘Could do, I guess. Though the whole week has already been extensively planned out, by me, so there’s not masses for you to do.’
‘Is that your not-so-subtle way of suggesting you’ve done all the work on this one?’
‘If the cap fits.’ I shrug.
‘Wow. And there I was thinking we’d reached an entente cordiale.’
‘Entente cordial,’ I scoff. ‘You’re so annoying.’
‘Will you two please stop bickering?’