Chapter Nine
NINE
Fresh flowers in the aeroplane bathroom is a whole new level!
Also, I have smothered myself in so much posh hand lotion that I’m struggling to open the lock and let myself out.
My mind wanders to what the hotel room in Australia might be like, to whether there’ll be tiny shampoos there for me to go nuts with, before I’m pulled up short.
It’s unlikely I’ll ever get to see the hotel, right?
The sinking realization makes my heart squeeze.
Kat’s PA had booked me into a waterfront hotel which I extensively googled while I was busy getting excited about this trip.
There was going to be a pool with views out over the Swan River.
A large gym, so I optimistically packed three workout options while simultaneously accepting that I wasn’t going to use any of them.
A breakfast buffet. And, even better than all that, a bed! Surely the ultimate luxury.
Because the weird thing is, I have no memory of being asleep in my bed. From the time I get tragically and sombrely killed by a luggage buggy to the moment I open my eyes back in my flat, there’s a distinct sense of nothingness.
Waking up isn’t normal. I don’t rise on this eternal Monday feeling rested, or remembering bits of dreams, or picking sleep out of my eyes like I would on a typical day.
There’s a gap, for sure, between airport death and Hot Chip’s ‘Over and Over’ alarm clock, but it’s an empty black hole. It doesn’t feel like sleep at all.
It’s troubling.
I bite my lip as I head back from the bathroom, wafting vetiver hand lotion scent as I weave my way past fellow passengers.
Some have already turned their lights out and are tucked up in their pods, which reminds me that I do have the chance to get some proper rest this time around, within the luxury of business class.
It helps, actually. The promise of some sleep feels like a little glimmer of hope in what is otherwise, quite frankly, the maddest situation I have ever found myself in. And I was once in the audience while they filmed Loose Women, which is another story entirely, but definitely also quite mad.
The beginnings of a migraine threaten to take over and I rub my head.
‘You okay?’ Callum is looking at me, brows knitted, headphones around his neck.
‘Bit of a headache,’ I admit as I settle back into my seat. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Here,’ he says, throwing a packet of paracetamol in my direction.
I fumble the catch.
‘Reactions like lightning,’ he quips with the beginnings of a smile.
I narrow my eyes at him as I scoop the box off the floor.
‘How can I be sure you aren’t trying to kill me?’ I ask, scouring the packet for signs of skullduggery.
Callum huffs out a laugh. ‘So suspicious.’
‘Just checking,’ I mutter, satisfied that this is a very standard selection of supermarket painkillers. ‘It’s very organized of you to have paracetamol in your hand luggage.’
‘I keep a first aid kit with me at all times,’ he says.
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
‘Seriously? Do you really?’
‘Safety first,’ he says.
‘I mean, I packed mine but I didn’t think to bring anything on the flight with me,’ I’m saying, baffled. Callum is even more organized than me? That’s … odd.
‘Generally it’s advised to actually take a paracetamol if you’re struggling with a headache, rather than just give the packet one of your hard stares,’ he points out.
‘One of my hard stares?’ I huff. ‘Generally it’s advised to stop being such a condescending prick, but we can’t get it right all the time.’
‘I don’t seem to get it right any of the time where you’re concerned.’
‘What can I say?’ I ask, opening one end of the packet.
Inevitably I’m greeted by the folded instruction leaflet inside.
Why is it impossible to open up paracetamol without the instructions getting in your way?
It’s like, whichever end of the packet you go for, science dictates that it will always, always be the end where the leaflet is obstructing the drugs.
‘Would you like a hand?’ Callum offers, jaw set as he watches me attack the packet.
‘No, thank you. I’m perfectly capable.’
I finally manage to drag out the instructions and reach the blister pack inside but in doing so, I tear the box. Damn it! I glance sheepishly over at Callum who is now doing a terrible job at hiding a smirk.
‘Perfectly capable,’ he says.
In defiance, I chuck the packet back at him and watch with increasing annoyance as he catches it with one hand, without even needing to look where it was going.
He hitches an eyebrow just the tiniest amount.
He’s so pleased with himself. I would love to wipe that smile off his face, I think as he continues to eyeball me.
‘Stop looking at me like that,’ I say.
‘Like what?’
‘Like that,’ I snap. ‘With your goddamn eyeballs.’
‘Stop looking at you with my eyeballs,’ he echoes, as if he’s mulling this prospect over. ‘You want me to stop looking at you with my eyeballs. How on earth do you expect me to see you then, Moss?’
‘I don’t. I expect you to not look at me at all. It’s very annoying and you always look so pleased with yourself.’
Callum shakes his head.
‘Just trying to figure you out.’ His muscular shoulders inch up towards his neck.
‘Well, stop it.’
‘Okay,’ he rumbles. ‘Don’t look at you, understood. Are there any other things I’m not allowed to do? Breathe in your vicinity, maybe? Speak before spoken to? Address you in any other way than “ma’am”?’
‘Now you’re making me out to be a princess, which could not be further from the truth.’
‘You literally just asked me to stop making eye contact with you, Moss. If the cap fits …’
I am so incredibly annoyed by this, mostly because he’s right, I did ask him not to look at me and in hindsight, that was quite princessy. But it’s all Callum’s fault! His very existence makes me act like this!
When Callum’s around, every atom in my body starts vibrating.
I can’t think straight. My brain becomes this very noisy place to be and I end up saying stupid shit, or losing my cool.
What’s worse is, I feel like I can’t help.
He’s just so under-my-skin irritating. Every time those stupidly mesmerising green eyes lock on mine I feel like he’s staring directly at my soul, which is wildly frustrating because I never gave him permission.
‘I am outraged,’ I announce once I’ve composed myself. ‘Out of the two of us, you are by far the more princessy.’
Callum chuckles in surprise at this. ‘How so? I can’t wait to hear this.’
‘All this … privilege.’ I wave my hand towards him in demonstration.
He leans back in his seat and folds his arms. ‘Please, do elaborate.’
‘Just look at you, in your expensive travel outfit, right at home in business class. I bet you fly like this all the time, right? With your smart trainers and upbringing that opened doors.’
‘How have we gone from my trainers to my upbringing in such a short space of time?’
I shrug. We’ve been over this before, not that Callum knows it, and I should be careful. He was genuinely upset last time I basically accused him of being a nepo baby. I should learn my lessons, right?
‘Have you ever considered that you don’t actually know me that well?’ he adds.
‘I know enough,’ I reply.
Callum nods, as if he understands where this is going.
‘You reckon I strolled into this job because Kat’s my aunt, don’t you? You think I’ve lived some ultra-privileged life and you just love to judge me on it.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ I press my lips together. I mean, he’s right, but I didn’t actually say it today because I am growing as a person.
‘You didn’t have to. Honestly, Moss, I’m getting a little tired of this now.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, please don’t let me keep you from your slumber.’
‘Wow.’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re actually really hurtful sometimes, do you know that?’
‘I’m hurtful?’ I gasp. ‘You’re the one who is always picking holes in literally everything I say and do.’
He stares at me for the longest time after that, jaw clenched, eyes dark.
Then he bobs his head.
‘You’re right,’ says Callum, holding my gaze.
The eye contact alone makes my heart smash against my chest. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but I do sometimes end up saying things that I wish I hadn’t said to you.
There’s something about the way I react to you.
’ He pauses, sighs. ‘I am sorry about that.’
An apology? From Lord Voldemort? Well, blow me down!
I’m so confused that my mouth is dangling open as I glare over at Callum Bang.
I was fully expecting some kind of retort.
I’d even been considering the world’s tiniest apology myself, because he’s right about the whole hurtful thing.
I too cannot help it. But now I find myself speechless, utterly gobsmacked.
‘I … er, thank you,’ I manage, graciously accepting the apology.
The corners of his mouth have pulled up ever so slightly, like he’s suppressing a smile.