Chapter 3
THREE
Standing in Gatwick airport, about to get on the plane, there are approximately sixty things I could be worrying about.
It’s not just the thought of succumbing to Anne-Hathaway-in-Les-Misérables-level poverty when I return.
As I wait to board, I realise that there may be a reason I haven’t spoken to any of my university friends in a decade.
There were seven of us thrown together in our little apartment in the first year.
It was me, Ade, Sasha, Tom, Jake, Clara and Dawn, and we went on to live together in a house after that.
Of course, by the end of our second year, Dawn wouldn’t speak to Ade, Jake and I had fallen in love and broken up, and Tom and Sasha spent their lives arguing.
Am I a complete idiot to think it will be any different all this time later?
I wander down the gangway towards the plane, trying not to think about the last time that Ade and I spoke.
I gleefully picture what it will be like to see my other friends again, forgetting that I have no wonderful stories that might amaze them or any interesting life achievements to share.
I even consider the look of admiration on my ex-boyfriend’s face as we reconnect for the first time since a long, messy break-up.
I try really hard not to think of the arguments that tore our group apart, and I just know that everything will work out fine.
Even as I’m trying to convince myself that this is true, I catch sight of Sasha and Tom at the front of the plane.
Trust those two to go first class. They are inevitably already tanned before the holiday has even begun.
I stand watching them from that poky little spot where the cabin crew point the sheep left to green pastures and right to the butcher’s shop.
“Welcome aboard,” a slightly snooty voice declares before looking at me as though I’m the type to cause problems.
“Sorry,” I mumble, then bustle towards economy as fast as I can without looking like a child running in the school corridor.
“Madam,” the flight attendant complains, and I realise that I have no concept whatsoever of how to behave on a plane.
I slowly turn around, uncertain how I could have offended her so badly so quickly. Is there an etiquette guide you’re supposed to study before flying these days?
Like she’s channelling the Grim Reaper, she points a bony finger at me, and I instinctively look down, afraid that I’ve stained my clothes with the toasted cheese sandwich I had for breakfast.
“Madam, you have a first-class ticket. Your seat is this way.”
Part of me assumes that she’s made a mistake.
A cleverer part of me remembers that the richest person I’ve ever met bought me my flight.
Of course Ade paid for first-class tickets.
He wouldn’t know any other kind – just as I never questioned that I would be sitting between a twenty-stone rugby player and an old lady with a plentiful supply of fish-paste sandwiches.
There are tuts and eyerolls as I squeeze past my fellow passengers to get to the part of the plane where undeserving people take up all the space. I utter a few “Sorry… sorry! Sorrrreeee…”s but keep my eyes down.
The atmosphere here feels different. It’s not just the pleasant music playing or the hushed way people talk.
I swear the very oxygen around me is sweeter.
The seats are in the form of white cocoons separated by retractable partitions, which admittedly do remind me of my office.
I find my seat by the left-hand window, just behind my two former friends.
I’m about to clear my throat and say hi to them when I realise that they’re arguing, and I shouldn’t interrupt.
“Do not start drinking immediately. It is so tacky.” Sasha is beautiful in that far too toned and skinny way she always had about her.
“Ha! You’re too late,” her husband replies. “I had a cheeky G and T in the lounge when you went to the toilet. And let me tell you; it was delicious.”
I watch his celebratory grin as I slide down into my seat. I can’t see them anymore, but I can still hear them, and I can imagine the salty look that Sasha gives him.
I feel a bit sorry that she ended up with Tom, even though it was her choice. She set her sights on the poshest boy in our flat that first week we were living together. And besides, they didn’t invite me to their wedding, so I won’t feel too bad about it.
“This is a terrible idea,” Sasha whispers to her husband. “We should never have agreed to come.”
Tom is tall, and his head pokes above his seat as he gets comfortable. “Are you afraid I’ll show you up? Afraid I’ll make a fool of myself, and they’ll all know what an idiot you were to marry me?”
“Yes.” There is a pregnant pause. “That’s exactly what frightens me.”
“Poor, downtrodden little Sasha. Having to put up with such an obnoxious husband. You didn’t seem to mind so much when my salary meant you could retire at twenty-eight.”
It suddenly occurs to me that this argument is for the benefit of anyone within earshot rather than them. They know that they will be overheard and are trying to win over the silent jury. For the moment, I’m still with Sasha.
“You didn’t seem to mind when I paid for you to—”
“That’s enough, Tom.”
She reaches forward to get something, and the argument is over. She was never meek or contrite when I knew her, and I struggle to believe that she could have folded so easily.
“Hostess!” Tom clicks his fingers in the direction of the nearest crew member.
“You can’t call her that.” Sasha sighs, and I can tell this is one fight she has no hope of winning.
“At least I didn’t say trolly dolly,” he purrs in reply, just as a flight attendant arrives to see to his needs. “Hello, my darling, everything’s included in the ticket, right?”
“Yes, sir,” she replies most patiently, though I bet she’s thinking, Do I really have to put up with this goon for twelve hours?
“Wonderful. Then I’d like two glasses of champagne.
” He turns to his wife to make the joke that everyone has already predicted.
“Anything for you, Sash?” His laughter cuts through the quiet cabin, and the poor woman attending him has to pretend she hasn’t heard this same line a thousand times before.
When she leaves, I catch a sliver of a glimpse of Sasha between the seats as she leans closer to him.
“Listen to me, funny man. The first time you pass out drunk on that boat, if you’ve done the slightest thing to upset me, I will take your razor and do a very bad job of shaving your head.
” Her voice falls to a crisp whisper. If anything, this makes it easier for me to hear her.
“If you do it a second time, that won’t be the only thing I remove. ”
Tom is still gingerly touching his wavy hair when the young woman arrives with the two sparkling flutes. He clears his throat, hands one to his wife, and I feel the thrill of her victory.
Whatever else I might have thought about Sasha when we were at uni, she was always good at standing up for herself.
In our first term at Goldsmiths, you could see that some girls weren’t ready for the real world.
At the freshers’ fair in the first week, poor little creatures like our friend Clara were the field mice staring down a thresher.
The hawks from sports societies and drinking groups circled in search of easy prey, and she would have been eaten whole if we hadn’t been there.
Sasha was never a victim. She was bold and ballsy and always in control.
I admired her, but she terrified me. When we met, I didn’t ask what course she was studying because it was obvious she was an actress from the very first moment.
She lived in the room opposite mine, and she walked straight over, her hand extended as though it were a business meeting.
“Sasha Bellwether,” she said in a manner which suggested that this name should mean something to me.
I pulled her in for a hug for some reason.
I’m not normally a hugger but must have felt somehow that she needed it – that her confidence was only skin deep – but I was wrong.
Sasha was as strong as anyone back then, so it’s good to see that being married to an odious bore like Thomas Ledger hasn’t changed that.
The spiky back and forth between them has fizzled out, but Tom could never let things go and tries another avenue of attack.
“You can say what you like about my drinking, Sash. But I know that as soon as we get on board that boat, you’ll have eyes for Ade alone. How do you think that will make me feel?”
I try to imagine the disdainful look she gives him in return. “It’s not just a boat, it’s a yacht, and I didn’t hear you complaining when the tickets arrived. If anything, you were more excited to get the chance to see Ade than I was.”
Tom shuffles again. “I have my reasons, and they don’t concern you.” His previous indignant tone has been replaced with a cagey murmur. “In fact, if you could stay out of my business altogether, that would be fantastic.”
I settle into my reclining seat to continue eavesdropping, but then my neighbour arrives, and I find myself engaged in conversation with a gleeful divorcee from Milton Keynes.
I never imagined I’d get to fly in so much as economy plus, so lounging in this refined environment is fine by me – even if Mary alongside me has some lewd stories to tell about her ex-husband, Nigel.
Better still is the feeling as the plane accelerates off the tarmac, and the force pushes me back against my seat. We take to the air, and I watch Britain slowly shrinking in the evening light before it disappears altogether.