Chapter Six #3
Of course it isn’t. I remind myself that my stress levels are currently through the roof thanks to the whole possible time travel-slash-newfound psychic ability thing.
Neither of which are actually happening, obviously.
I have to keep reminding myself that things only seem weird today because of the ripple effects of a very vivid dream, like a huge wave has crashed out at sea and now tiny foam tides are washing in to shore. That’s all.
We go through the exact same conversation with Cody, where Clio asks if we’re a couple and I scoff so hard I end up coughing. Only this time, when it’s Callum’s turn to board, he looks at me expectantly.
‘I’m in economy,’ I say.
He frowns.
‘I thought we were sitting together?’
‘Maybe Kat got you an upgrade because you’re her nephew?’
Callum’s face darkens. ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘I don’t know why we’re not sitting together, Callum,’ I say, which is a tremendous lie. But it’s not like he has a clue what I’ve been up to, is it?
‘Never mind where we’re sitting. You reckon I get preferential treatment from Kat because we’re related?’ In fairness, Callum looks positively horrified by this suggestion.
‘Don’t you?’ I shrug.
‘What the fuck, Moss?’ he huffs angrily.
Wow, he’s really annoyed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so tense and now I’m wondering if I went too far.
Damn it. Callum looks like he’s been punched in the gut.
He pulls off his glasses and runs a hand across his face.
And I’m met with the sinking realization that I’m going to need to apologize, which sucks.
My apology dies on the wind when premium economy flyers are called with more urgency, this time, and a member of staff comes over to us to shoo Callum through the boarding process.
‘Callum—’ I say as he moves off.
‘Enjoy your flight, Nina,’ he shoots back with one last hurt look.
Nina? I’m struck by the way my name sounds on his lips, an echo of my ‘dream Monday’. I liked it then, just like I like it now. I stare, bewildered, as he moves through to the passenger bridge.
What I’m doing is sweeping everything under the carpet.
I’m pretty sure that’s the best way to deal with life’s major problems, isn’t it?
Concerned that you’ve defied reason and are now time-travelling?
Sweep away! Said some hurtful and potentially uncalled-for things to your colleague? Brush, brush, brush!
This carpet of mine is, by now, very lumpy and covering a multitude of sins, but it’s all going to be okay.
Because now I am sitting next to an empty seat, in the middle row of the aeroplane, waiting impatiently for Hamish to show up while the rest of the passengers are getting antsy about leaving on time.
There’s a man sitting next to me tutting loudly about inconsiderate flyers, which is ironic given that he is emitting a noxious body odour.
Can’t say I’m thrilled to be sitting next to a person who smells of sweat before we’ve even taken off.
At least I’m doing this in the quest for true love. One day, Hamish and I will look back on this we-meet-again-cute and I won’t even remember that our reunion was played out to the smell of somebody else’s perspiration.
And, to look on the bright side, I can at least have my bag in front of me on this flight.
Back in the lap of premium economy luxury, when I had extra legroom and only the presence of Callum Bang to deal with, I had to stow my bag in the overhead bin for take-off and landing.
Which meant I had to rely on pleasantries with my arch enemy whenever I needed him to grab it for me.
Today, I can reach into it whenever the heck I like!
I do so now, definitely not thinking about glimpses of Callum’s toned torso when he accessed the lockers as I grab a pulse point roll-on from my bag.
I dab some on my wrists and inhale the calming aromatherapy smells.
Much better!
Here comes the announcement about a late-boarding passenger. I run my fingers through my hair, giving it a little extra fluff. What a time to be having a great hair day! I smooth on some lip balm in anticipation.
And then there he is.
Hamish.
Finally. Walking towards me after all these years (or yesterday, or in my dreams, depending on how you look at it). I notice his sandy-blond hair, his laughter lines, that apologetic smile as he moves quickly to take his seat.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he’s saying cheerfully to a plane full of angry flyers.
I find my breath has caught in my throat. Suddenly, I don’t know what to say.
For heaven’s sake! It’s not like I haven’t had the time to get this right, I think to myself crossly as my ex-boyfriend stows his backpack and settles down next to me. He hasn’t noticed me yet.
‘Hamish,’ I manage eventually.
Those piercing blue eyes turn to meet mine.
‘Bloody hell. Nina?’ he says, and I take a moment to let his lilting Scottish accent wash over me for the first time in years. To bask under his gaze like a sunflower in the sunshine. ‘What are the chances!’ he says, delighted.
Well, Hamish, the chances were greatly improved after I time-travelled and switched seats so that we could be seated together, I do not reply. Don’t want the guy to get the wrong impression and think I’ve become slightly mad since we last met.
Which maybe I have?
Another thought to brush right under the bulging carpet.
I beam across at him as the plane starts to taxi. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘Mate!’ he says, and I falter. Mate? I’d forgotten that he used to call me this, along with ‘dude’. At the time I thought it was just, you know, Hamish being Hamish. Now I’m struck by that immediate prickling-skin sensation you sometimes get when you’re annoyed. We aren’t still teenagers, Hamish!
Wow, I need to get a hold of my emotions, I decide as we take off. Today has been a lot already. Don’t be dismissive, I tell myself, preparing to meet-cute the shit out of him. Say something alluring, Nina. Think!
While I’m thinking, Hamish gets in there first.
‘Bro, is that you?’ he asks, sniffing the air.
Okay, ‘mate’ I can just about deal with. But bringing back ‘bro’ ten years on? It’s a no from me.
‘Sorry?’ I ask, perplexed.
Hamish wrinkles his nose. ‘That smell,’ he says, giving me the once-over. ‘Major body odour.’
‘Of course it’s not me, Hamish,’ I say crossly, before remembering myself. I’m not here to admonish my erstwhile love, am I?! I’m here to win him back. Hamish is looking mildly chastised, unsurprisingly. I need to backtrack and I need to do it quickly. I need to be the easy-breezy love of his life.
I briefly ball my fingers into fists and take a deep inhale. (A grave mistake given the aromas emitting from Passenger Stink next to me.)
‘Sorry,’ I say, attempting to reset. ‘Didn’t meant to snap. It’s not me, it’s him,’ I add, motioning to my next-door neighbour, who has pulled some massive headphones on and hopefully can’t hear me.
‘Dude,’ exhales Hamish.
So far today he’s unleashed his entire collection of male terms of endearment – that I’d conveniently forgotten he used to love – on me, and suggested that I have issues with personal hygiene, which really is not how I was hoping this reunion would turn out.
I need to steer us onto more solid ground.
I need to dazzle him with my brilliance.
‘So,’ I rally with my most winning smile. ‘Hamish. How have you been?’