Chapter Thirty-Seven
Allie
‘Please tell me it hasn’t gone!’ the words burst out of me like little gusts of wind as I get to the check-in desk. It’s narrow and cream-coloured, an airline flag jutting from the surface. A box. What’s essentially a box stands between Milo and me.
The woman behind it looks up and meets my eye. She’s wearing all navy blue – skirt suit, hat, even navy-blue painted nails – and has the most uniform eyeliner I’ve ever seen, in long turquoise flicks. Her name tag reads, ‘Kelli’.
‘Excuse me, ma’am?’
‘The plane to Norway. H-has it . . . gone? Oh my God, I can’t breathe.
I. ran. from the . . . thing.’ In the taxi, I googled flights.
Again. There are two going to Norway. One, any minute now, another, in seven hours.
I bought a ticket online: a final seat, which felt like fate.
Which I, of course, don’t really believe in, like Milo does, but today, I’ll take anything I can get.
‘Ah. No, it’s not left just yet, it’s due to take off in eight minutes.’
‘Can I get on?’
‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible, ma’am, I’m sorry. I can call through? Give it a shot? But . . .’
‘Yes. Yes, please.’
It’s so frustrating knowing Milo is mere yards away, somewhere on the runway, on his way to find me. Me. When I’m right here.
She smiles, holds out a hand for my passport and my boarding pass, and wordlessly brings a receiver to her ear. I thrust my phone at her.
She starts talking – she calls me ‘this very sweet passenger’ more than once, and I find I’m staring at her, wide-eyed, like this woman holds the keys to the rest of my entire life.
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘No, I understand.’ She hangs up, tips her head to one side. ‘I’m so sorry, it’s too late to board you at this time’
‘Oh, no. No, no, no.’ This can’t happen like this now.
We’re so close. Or – maybe Jameson finally got through to him?
He said he’d been trying. Maybe he got through and Milo never even got on?
Maybe he’s in the airport, waiting for me?
But I left Jameson my number. Surely by now he’d have passed it on to Milo, at the very least. And if he has, why hasn’t he called? Messaged?
The agent behind the counter nods understandingly, but she eyes me like she’s hoping I don’t cry – that this shift is already a thousand hours long and she really could do without being handed a weepy customer at this time of the day.
She likely wants a foot spa and a takeaway.
Not my tears. ‘We can get your ticket transferred,’ she tells me kindly. ‘Maybe get you on the next flight.’
I nod. ‘Could you at least check if someone’s on the plane? I’d be very grateful if you could.’
Another woman approaches the counter. She’s dressed in the same uniform; she eyes us both, smiling politely. She’s familiar to me. Why is she familiar?
‘I’m not really allowed to give that information over,’ carries on Kelli. ‘Is there someone on the plane that’s expecting you?’
Argh, this is Glenn at the Four Seasons again. She doesn’t have his jaw, but I would be unsurprised if they turned out to be do-gooding siblings who pride themselves on following every customer privacy rule by the book.
The minute changes on the digital clock behind her, and it pulses another surge of adrenaline through me. Don’t leave. Don’t leave without me.
The woman joins Kelli behind the counter. Her face. It really is familiar . . .
‘He isn’t expecting me on the plane,’ I say. ‘But he’s expecting me to be in Norway. Well, in Svalbard. And he doesn’t know that I’m not there. Milo thinks I’m there, but I’m here—’
‘Oh my goodness.’ The other woman lights up. ‘Milo and Allie, right? Sorry, I didn’t recognise you, you . . . well, you look totally amazing. But I think last time we met, you were dressed a little differently.’
‘Y-yes?’ I say slowly, and she laughs.
‘Milo was here earlier,’ she says. ‘I helped him out.’
I stare at her blankly, first thinking is this some sort of celebrity thing. Do celebrities just call random airline workers and get on flights? Then she puts a hand to her chest.
‘Heidi,’ she says. ‘Flight attendant. I . . .’
‘You swapped us!’ I exclaim, instantly remembering. ‘Back then, you swapped our seats. Of course!’
That’s why she seemed so familiar. She switched us, back then.
I remember now, her petite, smiling face, the large hoop earrings.
She’d asked if I’d mind swapping seats with someone for legroom.
Milo told me, eventually, it was because someone in the row was taking covert pictures of him, so he subtly asked the flight attendant to move him and to blame legroom, so as not to shame anyone.
That’s why we swapped mid-flight. That’s why our phones got swapped. This woman was the catalyst.
‘I was contacted about the film,’ she says, excitedly.
‘Got the email last week. From Jameson? To see if I could add anything. Talk about what I remembered about the whole thing, about you guys on the plane . . .’ She’s picking up the phone now, dialling, as Kelli watches us, glittery-eyed.
‘And I thought it was a scam at first.’ She laughs.
‘But then I showed a couple of my girlfriends and they were like, nooo, Heidi, that’s the real deal.
So I emailed back. And I don’t know anything, other than having to swap you both.
But when the leak was exposed, I was so excited to be part of it.
It felt like a claim to fame. It makes such a good dinner party story, you know.
Hey, who remembers when Milo Ford switched phones with that girl?
Google it! That was me! I switched them on the plane!
It always goes down a treat— Oh. Nobody’s answering. ’
She dials again, leans to her computer.
Kelli is watching in awe. ‘Shall I try someone else?’
Heidi nods, types, a phone to her ear.
‘He told us all about you,’ she says.
‘So he’s definitely on the plane?’ I ask. ‘Milo is on the plane.’
‘We’re not supposed to say . . .’ starts Kelli, but Heidi jumps in, ‘Absolutely. Got him on there myself.’
I laugh. ‘I need to get on it. Or stop it. Or something. I need to tell him. I need to tell him I think I’m falling in love with him.’
Both women freeze and explode into high-pitched sounds.
‘Oh, it’s so romantic,’ says Heidi. ‘Isn’t it? Ugh, this is just making my whole week right now.’
Laughter takes over me. Sweet-tasting, hopeful giggles.
Because it is romantic, isn’t it? It is beautiful, falling in love.
And I’m falling in love with a man called Milo Ford, and he cares enough about me that he is on a plane going to find me in Svalbard.
On one of the most important nights of his career.
And then Heidi is chattering quickly on the phone, ushering me off, the wire of the phone stretching across the desk.
‘Go straight through,’ she says. ‘Go. They’re going to open the door.’
As I run down the galley towards the plane, I hear her say to someone on the phone, ‘Thank you. And would you swap their seats so they’re together?’