Sideburns waves his arm across their table, indicating the graveyard of empty pint glasses. ‘We drink.’
‘It helps,’ Dan says with a burp.
I pull a face and look at my watch: 4.45 a.m. ‘I’m more of a Weetabix for breakfast kind of girl, to be honest.’
Sideburns laughs. ‘Dan, get this lady a pint. I’m Colin, by the way. This is Bob, Matty, Paulo and, of course, Dan.’
Colin holds his hand out, brown eyes sparkling with friendliness and alcohol.
I tense up as I hear the roar of another plane taking off behind me.
‘Olive,’ I say, shaking Colin’s big hand and then waving at the other guys, all dressed in matching blue rugby shirts. ‘And I’ll have a small glass of red wine, thanks. Make sure it’s small, though! I don’t drink dead often.’
But before I’ve finished speaking, Dan’s already on his way to the bar.
I don’t think he heard me…
Chapter Seven
Text from Olive to Birdie: I love you sooooo much!!! Am at airport. It’s okay here, have met nice peeps and one not so nice peep who jumped Q and made fun of my bumbag!!! I will do this for you. I promise I will find your BIG SEXY LOVE and everything will be okay, I promise! I PROMISE YOU THIS. Also, do you think libraries are sexy? Why are they sexy?
From Birdie: It’s so early, Brewster! You sound drunk? Are you drunk? You’re never drunk. Oh god, please be drunk. Shit! I’m laughing at the very thought of it. P.S. Yes, libraries are sexy, IF YOU’RE A GIANT NERD. P.P.S. A bumbag?? Wtf?!
Wow. I am feeling sooo much better about everything. It’s crazy! I’m feeling better about flying through the air on a tin can, about going to a new country on my own. I still feel awful about Birdie, of course, but the ache in my heart has been diluted by a warm, fuzzy feeling in my cheeks.
I feel like I’ve drunk quite a lot of beer, but I’m looking at the pint glass (Dan ignored my request for a small glass of wine and got me a pint of beer like everyone else) and it’s still almost full. Weird.
Either way, I’ve been having a nice time chatting to Colin and his sideburns. As it happens, he lives not too far away from me in Greater Manchester. He’s been telling me all about his love of mending old cars, how passionate he is about playing rugby every Sunday morning and how he loves nothing more than hunkering down on a Saturday night, all cosy with a blanket, cup of cocoa and a good movie.
‘Yes!’ I shouted when he told me about his fondness for the indoors. ‘Me too! Everything you need is at home. Why would you want to go out to a busy club full of people who you don’t even know!’
‘Exactly.’ He nodded fervently. ‘The beauty of a cosy night in is vastly underrated.’
To which we clinked pints and beamed at each other.
He’s great. Unexpectedly lovely. And since I’ve been sitting here I’ve barely thought about the planes at all.
The screens on the wall of the bar area update and I realise that my flight is boarding.
‘Time to go!’ I stand up from my chair. ‘Woah!’ I wobble. ‘I feel pretty blummin tipsy.’ I peer at my pint. ‘I’ve not drunk much though,’ I say, pointing at it.
‘Um, love, you’ve had two of those!’ Dan says with a chuckle.
‘What?’
Matty points to a big jug of beer on the table. ‘We’ve been topping up. Didn’t you know?’
I gasp. ‘No!’
The entire table bursts into laughter.
Shit. No wonder I feel so drunk.
‘Oh no!’ I half grumble, half laugh.
‘Are you okay?’ Colin asks me gently. ‘Do you want me to walk you to the gate?’
‘I’m all right, thanks.’
‘I’d like to,’ he says, smiling sweetly.
‘Oh. Okay then. Bye lads!’ I wave goodbye at the other lads on the table who wish me luck in New York.
‘If you get scared again,’ Dan yells as Colin and I start to walk away, ‘just remember, booze is the answer!’ To which all of the others roar their agreement and down their pints.
When we reach the gate, Colin turns to me and gives me a big grin, displaying a row of small, but very clean teeth.
‘I have really enjoyed meeting you, Olive,’ he says, his long-lashed eyes sparkling. ‘I’d love to get your number. Take you out sometime? Or in, if you prefer? Ha ha.’
‘Oh!’ I say, surprised. Wow. People don’t ask for my number very often. And when they do, they’re usually fish-market customers and over sixty. But Colin seems nice. Reliable. Steady. Sweet Exactly like I told Birdie my idea of Big Sexy Love would be.
I think about how impressed she would be if I’d managed to bag a date at the airport. That would definitely cheer her up!
I don’t know if it’s because of the alcohol making me feel loosey-goosey or maybe it’s because Colin seems very safe and kind and is as fond as staying in as I am. Or maybe it’s the flash of a thought in my head that if I want to have a family of my own one day I’m going to have to start dipping my toe in somewhere. Why not here? I can get to know him a little by text, risk-free. Whatever the reason, I find myself saying yes and tap my number into Colin’s phone.
‘I’m in Australia for three weeks, so I’ll call you when I’m back.’ He takes his phone back from me and puts it into his front jeans pocket. ‘But… we could text in the meantime, right?’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Definitely!’
He really does have a pleasant face. And nice big arms. And sideburns. I’ve always had positive feelings towards sideburns.
‘Okay then!’ he says.
‘Okay then!’ I say.
‘Safe flight!’
‘I hope so!’
‘Bye Olive!’
‘Bye Colin!’
I watch him walk away and feel a little swoosh of excitement in my tummy.
At the gate entrance I hand my passport and boarding pass to the assistant, wobbling tipsily to the left as I do. I walk down a little tunnel and all of a sudden I see a very beautiful woman in a peacock-coloured suit and matching hat.
‘Good morning, may I have your ticket and boarding pass, please?’
Taking them out of my bumbag, I hand them over, wondering if the beautiful flight attendant can tell that I’ve been drinking. I’m sure I read somewhere that you’re not allowed to be intoxicated on an aircraft. But then… why do they have bars at the airport?
When I’m handed back my passport and boarding pass, I turn to the right and am about to head down the aisle to find my seat when the flight attendant grabs my arm.
Shit. I’m caught. Can she smell booze on my breath? Are they going to throw me off the flight?
‘Miss, you’re actually on that side,’ the woman tells me with a friendly smile, thumbing to the left where there’s a heavy blue curtain draped across the aisle. ‘Your ticket is first class!’
‘Oh. Oh!’ I say, relief sweeping over me. ‘So I am!’
I flick my curls back as if this is all totally normal for me, slide open the soft curtain and walk into a part of the plane that looks nothing like the cramped, bus-like version I just saw on the right-hand side.
Woah. It’s like Air Force One in here! Okay… this isn’t so bad…
I search my ticket for my seat number. 34b. That’s my bra size! That’s got to be a sign that everything will be okay, surely?
I wander down the aisle until I reach my seat. It’s so roomy on this plane. I look down at the floor – it’s carpeted! I notice that all the seats are almost like little private pods, one pod on each side of the aisle. Wow! I wiggle my eyebrows, impressed.
34b! Here I am! I settle myself into my little pod and gasp as I realise that there’s a massive flat-screen TV all to myself, and that the seat reclines so that I can put my feet up!
I have two big windows to the left of me, which is not ideal considering that I need to pretend that I’m not in the sky. And so I pull down on the blinds. Now I can pretend I’m just in a really small hotel. Or on a really fancy bus or
something. Beyoncé’s tour bus!
As the other passengers file onto the plane, I mess around with the TV, pressing my fingers against it. It’s touchscreen! My TV at home is massive, yes, but it’s from 2004 so it still has a whole box at the back.
Man. If only I could just hang out here without actually having to go somewhere. It’s so cool!
I reach into my bumbag and grab my phone, texting Birdie.
This airplane is so cool! I cannot believe you got me first class. The comfort level is definitely helping my fear of flying. P.S. I am a bit drunk. It was an accident. P.P.S. I am not a giant nerd. You are.
My phone pings back immediately, but it’s not from Birdie, it’s from Colin!
I’m watching your plane from the lounge and wishing I was coming with you x.
My eyebrows shoot up. Well that’s very forward. And nice… right? It’s nice that he’s thinking of me even though we only just said goodbye less than five minutes ago. I smile to myself and text back.
Thank you! Hope you’re well.
Even as I’m pressing send I realise that my reply might be the stiffest flirt text anyone has ever sent. But that’s because I’ve never sent one before! Frowning, I quickly send a kissy face emoji to soften my formality and shove my phone back into my bumbag.
Plugging my headphones into the TV, I switch the channels until I find an old episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm – my favourite TV show.
‘Jackpot!’ I mutter with a grin.
I see a flash of green out of the corner of my eye. Looking up, I notice it’s that guy from the check-in queue. The queue pusher. The one who made fun of my bumbag in front of my queue buddies. Ugh. His pod is the one directly opposite mine on the other side of the aisle. Damn. He looks so smug sitting in his seat, his white button-down shirt all crumpled, like he’s too busy and clever to iron it, those big pretentious hipster glasses on his face. He thinks he’s so high and mighty in his fancy TV job.
I realise I’m staring at him and quickly turn my head away before he spots me. In fact, I don’t want to have to engage at all. I do what I always do when I want to signal to other people that I am not available for interaction – I pull the hood up on my hoodie and tug the string at the bottom so that only a tiny portion of my eyes nose and mouth are poking through the gap.
Okay, so I’ve never done it in public before – it’s a pretty intimidating look – but it works when I’m trying to get Donna to leave me alone, and that’s not generally an easy task.
‘Oh it’s you. Fanny pack!’
Shit. He’s seen me. And he’s calling me Fanny pack! Ugh.
‘In England we call it a bumbag,’ I say, giving him a firm but polite smile.
‘Why are you so obsessed with England?’ he asks, turning his pod seat so it’s sort of facing mine. Jeez. What part of ‘I have my hoodie hood up so bugger off!’ doesn’t he understand?
‘Excuse me?’
‘In England we queue. In England we call it a bumbag,’ he mimics in a terribly whiny Liam Gallagher type accent.
‘I’m not obsessed with England,’ I respond, my nostrils flaring a little. ‘I’m leaving it, aren’t I?’
The guy just laughs and pulls out his precious laptop that he was so desperate to get charged up earlier. It’s got stickers all over the back of it. UCB, SECOND CITY, MAD TV, I HEART IMPROV and one that says ‘There are no mistakes, only opportunities.’ Which is blatantly wrong. What a weirdo. Who covers a nice fresh MacBook with stickers? What is he? Fourteen years old?
I snort to myself.
‘What’s that, Fanny pack?’ he says. ‘Did you say something?’
I look at him wide-eyed and point to my headphones to indicate that I am engaged in another activity.
He laughs again and with a nod spins the pod chair back to facing his window.
At that moment an air hostess arrives and offers me a selection of beverages for take-off.
‘I thought there was no drinking on flights?’ I ask.
The woman laughs. ‘Of course there is. As long as no one is intoxicated then it’s fine by us. Champagne?’
‘Why not?’ I say, feeling fairly relaxed by my earlier beers. The woman hands me a little bottle of champagne. In the top of it is a copper spout. You drink it straight from the bottle. This is so cool! I take a picture to send to Birdie and settle in to watch my show. And just as I’ve forgotten where I am, the plane engine whirs up noisily and we start to move.
Instantly I sober up.
Shit.
I lift up my window blind a tiny bit and peek through. We’re nowhere near the runway, yet, but we are definitely moving. The plane is definitely moving. I look around to see if anyone else is panicking. Nope. Everyone else on the place gives zero fucks that we are now moving.
An air hostess stands in the aisle and on my TV, Curb Your Enthusiasm disappears and a new video flashes up. It’s showing scenarios in which we might have to exit the plane in an emergency. Oh god!
The air hostess mimics the character on the screen. Most people aren’t even watching her, but I am glued. It’s horrible. She is calmly telling us everything that could possibly go wrong on the plane, while we are on the plane!
And then something truly awful happens, the video on the TV shows a hypothetical plane emergency. And if I was feeling more relaxed about all this before, I am definitely not now. No siree. On screen a woman in her plane seat looks super chill as oxygen masks fall down from overhead. This is not realistic at all. Why is she so chill about the fact that she now needs emergency oxygen? Surely she should be screaming and yelling, ‘Oh no! The oxygen masks! This is bad, guys!’
‘Secure your own oxygen mask before helping others to secure theirs,’ the narrator says in a soothing tone.
I peek over to queue jumper. He’s clicking on his phone not even paying attention. I bet he would secure his own mask right away and not even help anyone else to secure theirs. I bet, if his mask was even slightly faulty he’d steal someone else’s. Probably mine. I tut at him in disgust.
As the real life plane starts to speed up, the video shows a queue of plane passengers making their way to the airplane door in an orderly fashion.
What the fuck? Now the airplane door is opening and all the passengers start sliding down a slide. Not even a real slide. It’s inflatable. It’s… a bouncy castle slide! Are they still in the air? Are they dropping down into the sea? Why do they look so calm? How are they so coolly accepting their impending deaths? They look like they were expecting their plane to crash the whole time. ‘Oh well, time to die, let me just get on this death slide! Byeeee!’
Jeeeeeeeeez.
Now the air hostess is holding up a whistle. What is that for? Why is she trying to make music in an emergency scenario? I’m so confused. And then, all at once, the video ends. Just like that! What happened to the people who went down the slide? Where did they end up? ARE THEY ALIVE?
Oh god.
The air hostess calmly takes a seat and buckles her seatbelt, totally at ease with this whole shitshow. I look down to triple-check I’ve done mine. I pull the tag a little tighter. The seatbelt is now so snug that it’s digging painfully into my pelvis. I’m totally fine with that. This belt buckle might be the only thing between me and that fucking balloon slide.
The noise around us increases as the plane speeds up even more.
I try to swallow but my throat feels dry. Holy crap. It’s really loud. Is it supposed to be this loud? Why does it sound so clunky? Like bits of machinery are rattling around, unsecured.
I grab my little bottle of champagne with trembling hands and gulp it back, not caring as the bubbles fizz up a little, dripping down my neck and all over my hoodie.
I take a deep breath. I knew this would be scary but this is really fucking scary. I was completely right to not want to do this.
My heart starts to pound. I hear the Jaws theme tune in my head. I feel the blood drain out of my face as my entire body is tilted backward and the nose of the plane
points skywards.
This is it. We’re leaving the ground.
We are leaving the earth, kind of.
I am mid-air.
Argh. I am mid-air. I’m stuck here, mid-air!
I do not like it!
Shiiiiiiiiiiit.
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 feel myself 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 little pod.
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 of fear.
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 them over.
‘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.
Big Sexy Love: The laugh out loud romantic comedy that everyone's raving about! Page 5
