Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Text from Colin: I am well. I hope you are too. I can see your flight taking off from here! I am waving at you. Hi, Olive!

I feelmyself start to gasp for air. I do it quietly because everyone else is super calm. One woman further down the aisle is putting on a face mask, a man over there is reading a magazine and eating peanuts joyfully. The queue jumper is tap tapping away on his laptop with a half-smile on his face. Meanwhile I’m completely malfunctioning over in my fancy littlepod.

Why is the champagne not working? I felt much more tranquil before.

I squeeze my eyes shut and as the plane rumbles and tilts its ways into the air I let out a tiny squeak offear.

I grip the armrests of my luxury chair tightly when someone grabs my hand. I look up sharply to see queue jumper leaning over from his pod, still buckled into his seat, his arm outstretched across the aisle to hold my hand in his. It vaguely occurs to me to snatch my hand back because this seems very intimate and weird. But… it’s helping, so I just leave it there.

‘Not long until the bad part’s over, Fanny Pack,’ he says with a small smile. ‘And then another nine hours until we land and it happens again. Just breathe.’

I seize onto his hand like it’s a life raft. The plane sways a bit more and with my free hand I clutch my champagne bottle in the hopes there are a few drops I’ve missed. Nope. Nada. I look over the aisle. Queue jumper has three drinks. A mini bottle of champagne like I had and two mini bottles of whisky.

He notices me eyeing them and passes themover.

‘Whatever you gotta do.’ He shrugs.

I grab the drinks and down one after the other.

‘People usually take Xanax when they’re this scared of flying,’ he says, one hand still holding mine, the other continuing to tap out onto his laptop keyboard.

‘It’s my first time,’ I explain in a weird high-pitched voice. ‘And last minute. I didn’t have time to prepare, mentally or physically!’

I focus on queue jumper’s hand, squeezing it extra tight when all at once, the clunking sounds settle down, a gentle ding tinkles out and a woman’s confident, soothing voice comes through the speakers of the cabin.

‘Good morning, I’m Anna Cooper and I’m your pilot today. After a smooth take-off the fasten seatbelt sign has been turned off and you are free to move around the cabin. We will arrive at JFK in approximately nine hours. The cabin crew will be with you shortly with snacks and drinks.’

I look up to find that the seatbelt light above me has gone out. I think I will keep my seatbelt on, ta.

‘That’s better, right?’ queue jumperasks.

I notice I’m still gripping onto his hand. I let go quickly. ‘Thanks for thehand.’

He shakes it with a grimace. Eek. I must really have squeezed it. ‘No problem.’ He points at his laptop. ‘I should get back to it, I guess.’

‘Oh!’ I nod. ‘Yeah, of course. Sorry. I’lljust…’

I don’t know what to say, I’m feeling a bit embarrassed about my freak out, and so I spin my pod seat round to face away fromhim.

Rummaging in my bumbag, I pull out the Rescue Remedy I carry with me everywhere and squirt a couple of drops under my tongue. When, five minutes later, the flight attendant comes to take our drink orders, I order another champagne.

‘Of course! What size would youlike?’

Um. I don’t know… I look at the cart. There are small bottles like the one I just had and full-size bottles. If I get the full-size one it could keep me slightly tipsy for the whole flight. I wouldn’t have to worry about asking for more… And I still have that money that Taller Joan gave me. I didn’t spend at the airport…

‘A… full-sized bottle, please?’ Iask.

‘A full bottle for you! Are you sure?’ the hostess responds in a perfectly clipped accent.

Hmmm. Is she judging me? Is it weird to be having a whole bottle of champagne to myself? I know it probably is but, like Dan said at the airport, when in doubt, ‘booze is the answer!’

‘I’m, er, celebrating,’ I blurt out to the air hostess before I can stop myself.

‘Fantastic!’ she says, with a wide approving smile.

There. Justified! Hah! No one can judge anyone for having champagne for celebration.

‘What are you celebrating?’ sheasks.

Oh. Uh…

What am I celebrating? Nothing. Nowt. I have nothing celebratory going on in my life rightnow.

On the TV in front of me Larry David is in a jewellery shop buying a ring for hiswife.

‘I, er, just got engaged?’ I blurt, my unexpected words tilt up at the end as if I’m asking a question.

What thehell?

‘Wow, amazing!’ the air hostess says, a little more loudly than necessary. Her eyes sparkle. She actually seems genuinely chuffed for me. ‘Well in that case the champagne is onus!’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Oh, of course! Our first-class passengers are very important to us and you’ve just made one of the biggest, most exciting decisions of yourlife!’

‘Yes. I… suppose I have! Brilliant.’ I smile, feeling a flicker of guilt at my lie that disappears quite quickly at the thought of more angst-reducing champagne and the fact that it’s going to be for free. This is totally the kind of thing Birdie woulddo!

I laugh at the thought of tellingher.

‘Ah, are you thinking of him right now?’ the air hostess says, digging into her trolley, taking out a small silver bucket, filling it with ice and popping open a massive bottle of champagne.

‘Yes,’ I say with the kind of dreamy/smug combo smile I imagine an engaged person wouldpull.

‘What’s his name?’ she asks, putting a crystal flute onto my table and pouring a stream of the sparkling amber liquid intoit.

‘Colin. His name is … Colin,’ is what pops out. I go with it. ‘Yeah, um Colin… Collins.’

Oops.

‘You don’t sound so sure!’ she giggles. ‘Colin Collins? What an unusualname!’

I giggle too. I’m not a natural giggler. I sound weird. Like an engaged person. ‘I’m still in shock,’ I say. ‘He did it this morning at the airport. Spur of the moment. Didn’t even have chance to get a ring!’ I wave my naked left hand in her direction as if I’m proving something.

Why am I lying, still? I have my champagne. I got what I wanted. I am behaving like a psycho.

The woman congratulates me again before making her way off down the rest of the aisle where absolutely nobody else is obnoxious enough to order a whole bottle of champagne all to themselves.

I tuck into my bubbles with a sigh of delight. Okay. I just have to drink this and watch the whole series of Curb Your Enthusiasm and soon I will be in New York, I’ll find Chuck Allen, deliver the letter, come home and get back to normal life, safe and sound.

I’m about to put my headphones back in when the ding sounds out of the cabin speaker again.

‘Hello this is your captain speaking,’ comes the voice.

My stomach dips and my head quickly runs through all the scenarios she could be about to announce. We’ve run out of fuel, we have to do an emergency landing, someone is holding her hostage in the cockpit, the blow up slide has got a puncture, the cast of Friends have definitively announced that they will never ever ever do a Friendsmovie.

But no. It’s an altogether different kind of disaster.

‘We here at BA would just like to wish some hearty congratulations to one of our first-class passengers Olive Maudine Brewster of seat 34b on her recent engagement to Colin Collins.’

Oh goodlord.

I turn very red indeed as I hear scattered applause break out around me. Why did they have to announce my fake engagement? And tell people my middle name? I never share that with anyone – it’s an amalgamation of Maude and Nadine that my mum thought was so cool and unique and actually just sounds like it’s not even a real name. But, of course it’s on my ticket.

Gah.

‘Is that you?’ queue jumper says, spinning around in his chair to face me. ‘Olive Maudine Brewster?’

‘Oh. Um, yeah.’

‘Congrats. Does Colin wear a little fanny pack too?’ he asks, his face very serious. His face is so serious I don’t believe for a moment he is really a comedy writer.

I frown. ‘Actually no,’ I say, thinking of Colin in the airport and his nice brown eyes and healthy head of hair. ‘And my “fanny pack” isn’t little. It’s big and roomy. You can fit in more than you think at first glance,’ I remark imperiously. Then my words echo back at me. The person sitting in front of me – an elderly gentleman – cranes his head round, looking at me in horror.

Queue guy snickers. I ignorehim.

Rolling my eyes, I turn the volume up on my headphones and neck some more champagne, enjoying the warmed feeling it gives my cheeks.

The plane jerks form side to side for a second. I clutch the glass with both hands to stop them shaking.

Then I put my champagne down and look at my watch.

Only eight hours of peril togo…