Chapter Ten #2
There’s no real way of getting around this, other than to make myself look like an even crazier person than I already am, but I will not have meet-cute #3 with Hamish spoiled by someone else’s body odour.
It just won’t do. Besides, I am feeling increasingly cavalier about life with every new Monday. So, here goes.
Grabbing the mini deodorant from my hand luggage, I make like I’m about to give myself a quick spritz. Mid-spray, I stumble dramatically, making sure the deodorant nozzle is now spraying the bad-smelling passenger instead.
‘Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!’ I lie convincingly, certain this manoeuvre could earn me my first Oscar.
‘Bloody hell!’ Passenger Stink yelps, waving deodorant away. ‘You just covered me in spray!’
He looks very displeased.
I pull a face. ‘I just totally tripped!’
My formerly bad-smelling neighbour does not look convinced. ‘Tripped over what?’ He scowls. ‘You were standing still.’
‘Yes. It must have been my shoelaces.’
Slowly, he looks down at the neatly tied laces on my trainers.
‘Your laces aren’t loose.’
‘Maybe I tripped over yours?’ I offer.
‘I’m wearing sandals.’
I glance down again. Yes, he is wearing sandals, and no they are not chic.
‘Perhaps I simply tripped over my own foot,’ I say. ‘I’m very clumsy.’
Passenger Stink continues to frown at me and I wonder, somewhat uncharitably, why he can’t just be pleased that he no longer smells like the inside of a gym during a heatwave. Some people!
‘I hate commercial deodorant,’ he says.
No shit.
‘I prefer to make my own organic, natural one using baking powder and essential oils,’ he continues. ‘Now that stuff smells good.’
‘Does it … do the job?’ I ask, even though I already know the answer to this question.
‘One hundred per cent. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to politely ask you to stop spraying me with toxic gasses. Absolutely terrible for the atmosphere. Are you even allowed canisters on planes?’
‘I think so.’ Although now he’s making me doubt myself. ‘It’s not like it’s a pepper spray.’
A member of the cabin crew stops and gives me a reproving look, as if I have actually smuggled contraband onto the flight.
‘It’s deodorant!’ I yelp, waving it about as proof.
Then I sheepishly sink into my seat, feeling like a naughty school kid and wondering quite what I’ve got myself into.
I usually hate getting into trouble. Still, this plane now smells much better and a little thrill runs up my spine as I realize I’ve successfully set the scene for Hamish’s arrival. Not long now!
Third time’s a charm, they say, and my heart is definitely skipping a beat as Hamish saunters onto the plane.
As per, we’ve been waiting on the tarmac for our missing passenger and a chorus of boos has begun.
I swear the rest of the passengers are even more vocal in their disapproval of Hamish today.
What happened to the sense of community in coach, I wonder, briefly and horrifyingly wishing Callum was here to share the in-joke with me.
That’s quite enough of that.
I shake my head to dispel those thoughts immediately and remind myself why I’m here and, more importantly, how I’m getting out.
Hamish, the answer to my problems, is being ushered towards me.
One disgruntled traveller has started a slow clap. Another shouts some choice words. Someone even throws their airline pillow at him, which is new.
‘Hey, come on, guys,’ I call out, rushing to Hamish’s defence. ‘Can we give them the benefit of the doubt, please? No one knows what’s going on in other people’s lives and I’m sure this person has an important reason for being late.’
Truth is, a missing egg sandwich doesn’t exactly fall into the important reason category. But my little outburst does seem to help calm the booing, and my heart continues to skitter as Hamish’s eyes lock onto mine.
‘Nina Moss?’ He beams. ‘No way. It’s been years!’
Oh my gosh, this is perfect. Hamish seems genuinely pleased to see me today, probably because I’m basically his knight in shining armour at this point.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Hamish McKellan.’ I return his smile, anticipation building.
‘As I live and breathe,’ he says, settling into the seat next to mine. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘You too. It’s been a while.’
‘What are we saying, ten years?’
‘Something like that,’ I say, even though I know precisely how many years and possibly also how many days it has been. I stopped myself before I calculated the hours because that would have been a step too far.
Hamish twists in his seat to look at me as the plane begins to taxi, and I find myself diving right into those beautiful blue eyes of his.
‘You look great,’ he says.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I reply, bashfully tucking some loose red curls behind my ear. ‘So do you.’
‘There’s life in the old dog yet,’ he says. ‘So, Nina! What are the chances? Are you flying on to Australia or stopping at Singapore.’
‘All the way to Perth.’
‘Well, then, it looks like we’ve got plenty of time to catch up. I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to. Did you get that big shiny job in the city you always wanted?’
Be still, my beating heart. This is it! This is the Hamish I remember.
Engaged and interested and thoughtful. He’s actually asking me questions, which is already a huge improvement on meet-cute #2, and something else has shifted, too.
He seems genuinely interested, whereas last time it felt like he just wanted a chance to talk about himself before shutting down the conversation.
Could it be that the more time I spend with him, the more he’s becoming the man I fell in love with all those years ago?
A glimmer of hope ignites and I start to wonder if I’m getting it right today, making the right choices.
Today’s Hamish feels like proof that different days can affect everything – your mood, the way you interact with people …
It strikes me that so much of life hangs on those tiny, incremental decisions we make.
Of course I do know that this is, technically, the same day, but I’m struck by the distinct impression that the way I approached bumping into Hamish this time has changed everything.
At this point, thoughts of Callum claw their way into my brain.
A nagging feeling that maybe we, too, got off on the wrong foot.
Would it just take a few simple shifts to get back on track with him as well?
Well, not back on track, because I don’t think we were ever on it together.
Maybe we could find a new mutual path though?
Callum certainly seemed to soften towards me earlier after I rescued him from the enthusiastic divorce party.
Or was it the other way around? Questions bash into each other like dodgems at the fair and I simply don’t have the headspace to find the answers.
Besides, ninety-nine per cent of my interactions with Callum have been taut with friction.
Whereas ninety-nine per cent of my interactions with Hamish (as in that entire hot summer of ours) were dreamy.
As we reach altitude, I figure out what that means.
I’m happy to write off my last meeting on this plane with Hamish as a blip.
We caught each other in different frames of mind, me naturally worried about the whole time-loop fiasco, him concerned about egg sandwiches, and we just didn’t click.
Today couldn’t be more different.
Hamish is leaning towards me, legs crossed in my direction, palms open wide. Everything about his body language screams ‘I’m interested!’.
I mirror him, twisting in my own seat so that we’re almost face to face as I chat away about my job and life in London. He asks thoughtful, attentive questions and with every passing minute I feel our connection rebuild.
‘Looks like they’re bringing food round,’ Hamish points out after an hour or so. ‘Excuse me, I’m just going to the loo.’
The part of my brain that is becoming increasingly unhinged with every trip around this Monday reminds me that now would be the perfect opportunity to pop a Pro Plus into his water bottle.
Keep him caffeinated, stop him falling asleep on our love story.
Thankfully the still-hinged section of my brain pipes up louder.
It’s not necessary! Doesn’t secretly caffeinating a person without their knowledge now feel like a bit of a grey area, morally?
I would be horrified if I found out that someone had popped a caffeine tablet into my drink without asking and quite frankly, I don’t want to be that person.
Also, I’m pretty sure I don’t need to be that person.
Hamish hasn’t yawned once and we’ve built up such a rapport that if he starts to yawn I could just suggest a coffee like a normal person, right?
Look at me! Totally growing!
He sits back down just before our food is delivered.
‘So, I guess Australia stole your heart,’ I say, buttering a mini bread roll. ‘I’m assuming you still live out there,’ I add as an afterthought, in case he thinks I’ve been stalking him.
‘Yes, it did.’ Hamish sighs. ‘I’ve always felt like a bit of a lost soul but Australia feels like home.’
My heart breaks into tiny pieces at this.
‘Why d’you feel like a lost soul?’ I whisper, falling short of squeezing his hand in sympathy.
Hamish shrugs. ‘Maybe not lost but definitely wandering, you know?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve always felt like I knew where I was going.’
‘I remember.’ Hamish grins. ‘Always such purpose, even when we were basically kids. You had goals, and ambition, and you were going to fulfil your dreams.’
‘You make it sound like I was a woman on a mission,’ I laugh.
‘You were,’ he replies. ‘It was hot as hell, actually.’
‘Was it?’ I’m flustered.
‘Yeah, man. You knew what you wanted and you were going to go get it. That was damn sexy.’
I look down at my tray of food, mind whirring.
‘We haven’t talked about the elephant in the room,’ I say after a while.