Chapter One #3
And not just any boyfriend. A tall, handsome, clever boyfriend whom Marketing Week called “one of the brightest sparks in marketing research today.”
I sit nursing my vodka, allowing thoughts of Connor to comfort me. The way his blond hair shines in the sunshine, and the way he’s always smiling. And the way he upgraded all the software on my computer the other day without my even asking, and the way he…he…
My mind’s gone blank. This is ridiculous. I mean, there’s so much that is wonderful about Connor. From his…his long legs. Yes. And his broad shoulders. To the time he looked after me when I had the flu. I mean, how many boyfriends do that? Exactly.
I’m so lucky. I really am.
I put my phone away, run my fingers through my hair, and glance at the clock behind the bar. Forty minutes before the flight. Not long to go now. Nerves are starting to creep over me like little insects, and I take a deep gulp of vodka, draining my glass.
It’ll be fine, I tell myself for the zillionth time. It’ll be absolutely fine.
I’m not frightened. I’m just…I’m just…
OK. I’m frightened.
16. I’m scared of flying.
I’ve never told anyone I’m scared of flying. It just sounds so lame. And I mean, it’s not like I’m phobic or anything. It’s not like I can’t get on a plane. It’s just…all things being equal, I would prefer to be on the ground.
On the way up here this morning, I was so excited about the meeting, it was almost a distraction from my fear.
But even so, I kept feeling bursts of panic.
I kept having to close my eyes and take deep breaths.
And ever since I landed, it’s been ticking away at the back of my mind: I have to fly back again. I have to get on a plane again.
I never used to be scared. But over the last few years, I’ve gradually got more and more nervous.
I know it’s completely irrational. I know thousands of people fly every day and it’s practically safer than lying in bed.
You have less chance of being in a plane crash than…
than finding a man in London, or something.
But still. I just don’t like it.
Maybe I’ll have another quick vodka.
By the time my flight is called, I’ve drunk two more vodkas and am feeling a lot more positive. I mean, Lissy’s right. At least I made an impression, didn’t I? At least they’ll remember who I am.
As I stride toward the gate, clutching my briefcase, I almost start to feel like a confident businesswoman again.
A couple of people smile at me as they pass, and I smile broadly back, feeling a warm glow of friendliness.
You see. The world’s not so bad after all.
It’s all just a question of being positive.
Anything can happen in life, can’t it? You never know what’s around the next corner.
I reach the entrance to the plane, and there at the door, taking boarding passes, is the air hostess with the French plait who was sitting at the bar earlier.
“Hi again!” I say, smiling. “This is a coincidence!”
The air hostess stares at me. “Hi. Erm…”
“What?” Why does she look embarrassed?
“Sorry. It’s just…Did you know that…” She gestures awkwardly to my front.
“What is it?” I say pleasantly. I look down, and freeze, aghast.
Somehow my silky shirt has been unbuttoning itself while I’ve been walking along. Three buttons have come undone and it’s gaping at the front.
My bra shows. My pink lacy bra. The one that went a bit blobby in the wash.
That’s why those people were smiling at me. Not because the world is a nice place but because I’m Pink-Blobby-Bra Woman.
“Thanks,” I mutter, and do up the buttons with fumbling fingers, my face hot with humiliation.
“It hasn’t been your day, has it?” says the air hostess sympathetically, holding out a hand for my boarding pass. “Sorry. I couldn’t help overhearing earlier.”
“That’s all right.” I raise a half smile. “No, it hasn’t been the best day of my life.” There’s a short silence as she studies my boarding pass.
“Tell you what,” she says in a low voice. “Would you like an onboard upgrade?”
“A what?”
“Come on. You deserve a break.”
“Really? But…can you just upgrade people like that?”
“If there are spare seats, we can. We use our discretion. And this flight is so short.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Just don’t tell anyone, OK?”
She leads me into the front section of the plane and gestures to a big, wide seat. I’ve never been upgraded before in my life! I can’t quite believe she’s really letting me do this.
“Is this first class?” I whisper, taking in the hushed luxury atmosphere. A man in a smart suit is tapping at a laptop to my right, and two elderly women in the corner are plugging themselves into headsets.
“Business class. There’s no first class on this flight.” She lifts her voice to a normal volume. “Is everything OK for you?”
“It’s perfect! Thanks very much.”
“No problem.” She smiles again and walks away, and I push my briefcase under the seat in front.
Wow. This really is lovely. Comfortable seats, and footrests, and everything. This is going to be a completely pleasurable experience from start to finish. I reach for my seat belt and buckle it up nonchalantly, trying to ignore the flutters of apprehension in my stomach.
“Would you like some champagne?” It’s my friend the air hostess, beaming down at me.
“That would be great,” I say. “Thanks!”
Champagne!
“And for you, sir? Some champagne?”
There’s a man in the seat next to mine who hasn’t even looked up yet. He’s wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt and is staring out of the window. As he turns to answer, I catch a glimpse of dark eyes, stubble, a deep frown etched on his forehead.
“Just a brandy. Thanks.”
His voice is dry and has an American accent. I’m about to ask him politely where he’s from, but he immediately turns back and stares out the window again.
Which is fine, because to be honest I’m not much in the mood for talking either.