‘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 jumper asks.
I notice I’m still gripping onto his hand. I let go quickly. ‘Thanks for the hand.’
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’ll just…’
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 from him.
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 you like?’
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?’ I ask.
‘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?’ she asks.
Oh. Uh…
What am I celebrating? Nothing. Nowt. I have nothing celebratory going on in my life right now.
On the TV in front of me Larry David is in a jewellery shop buying a ring for his wife.
‘I, er, just got engaged?’ I blurt, my unexpected words tilt up at the end as if I’m asking a question.
What the hell?
‘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 on us!’
‘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 your life!’
‘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 would do!
I laugh at the thought of telling her.
‘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 would pull.
‘What’s his name?’ she asks, putting a crystal flute onto my table and pouring a stream of the sparkling amber liquid into it.
‘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 unusual name!’
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 Friends movie.
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 good lord.
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 ignore him.
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 to go…
Chapter Nine
Text from Birdie: Eek, Brewster, you’re on a plane right now! Go you! I’ve sent you an email with details on places you might want to visit when you’re in New York. No pressure! I know you’re not there for a touristy trip, but you’ll defo have time to have a little look around. And I’d love it if you took some pictures of stuff for me! I love being a British Citizen now, but it will be nice to see my bonkers home city through your fresh eyes! Hope flight going well and you are not freaking out too much. I bet you’re totally fine and are wondering why you have never flown before, right? Am v proud of you!!
I have managed to hold my bladder for three hours, which has got to be some kind of record! But it’s now so full from all of th
e champagne that I’m feeling all fidgety and uncomfortable.
I should probably go and deal with it. But the thought of actually unbuckling my safety belt, leaving behind my life-saving oxygen mask, standing up on this wobbly plane and walking to the loo feels like a thing I really do not want to do. Also I am pretty tipsy again now. Fine, that’s an understatement. I am discreetly wasted. I say discreetly because nobody knows. I’ve just been quietly watching Curb Your Enthusiasm, drinking my champagne every time the plane shakes, which is a lot. Still, I am nowhere near inebriated enough to brave the toilet. I mean, what if something happens while I’m in there? There’s turbulence or a plane emergency and there’s no one there to help me? And the plane goes down, and I die mid-pee. I don’t want to die mid-pee.
My bladder gives out another squeeze of desperation.
Argh! What other choice do I have? I can’t piss myself right here in the plane seat. I mean, it’s first class.
I look around desperately.
There’s only one thing for it. I need a flight attendant to come with me. They can hold me steady while I walk down the aisle of the plane, stand outside and then if anything bad happens in the cubicle they can help me escape. Yes, that’s it. That’s what I’ll do.
I press my cabin crew dinger.
I wait for a few minutes, but no one comes.
I press it again.
Nothing!
Where are they? Is there some sort of emergency? Something bigger than the emergency in my bladder?
Biting my lip, I peer around to see where the loo is. It’s only a few seats away. Maybe I can make it…
And then the plane swings violently, quickly to the left. NO one else seems to notice but I do.
I press my dinger thing again.
Nada.
Shit. I can’t wait any longer. Literally cannot wait.
There’s only one thing for it…
I spin my pod seat around and knock on the back of queue guy’s seat.
He spins around and takes his headphones off his head. ‘What’s up, Fanny Pack?’
Ugh. I cannot believe I am about to do this.
‘I need you to come to the loo with me. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask if I…’
Queue jumper’s eyes widen, a flash of amusement in them. He pokes his head out of the pod and looks up and down the aisle.
‘There are no flight attendants about,’ I explain. ‘I checked and double-checked, trust me.’
‘Um, yeah, okay then.’ He pushes his specs up his nose. ‘Let’s go then!’
I smile. That was easy! He’s being really nice about it! Okay, this will be all right. A little embarrassing but better than the alternative.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and, as I stand, I grab onto Queue jumper’s arm. He looks down in surprise.
‘Wow, you’re eager,’ he says with a grin.
‘I really need it. I need it bad,’ I explain.
He nods with an expression of surprise and approval.
He’s being so cool about escorting me to the loo. Maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe he’s not what the Americans would call ‘a jerk’.
In only a few shaky steps we have reached the toilet.
‘Are you sure? The whole engaged thing,’ he says weirdly.
I point at the toilet sign. ‘It’s not engaged. It’s vacant.’
‘Huh?’ He looks confused. ‘Uh, my name’s Seth, by the way.’ He takes off his glasses and slips them into the breast pocket of his button-down.
‘Hiya Seth. And thanks for this. You’re a lifesaver.’
‘I do what I can,’ he responds with an odd cocky look on his face.
I open the door to the loo and shuffle in. And just as I’m about to close the door, Seth also comes into the loo, kicks the door shut behind him, pushes me against the sink, grabs my face with both hands and kisses me.
Whaaaaat?
Aaaaaaargh!
I push away. ‘What the hell? What are you doing? Get off!’ I yell at him, using my hoodie sleeve to wipe my mouth of his surprise advance. ‘Perv alert! Get out!’
He jumps away, holding his hands up as if I’m pointing a gun at him and he’s showing his willingness to co-operate.
‘What? You said wanted us to…?’
‘Us to what?’ I ask, wiggling desperately.
‘Join the mile-high club. You said you needed it real bad? I thought you wanted to…’
‘No!’ I hiss, shaking my head in horror. ‘I don’t want to have sex with you on this death machine. I need a piddle. God, I really need to go right now!’
‘SORRY, WHAT? A PIDDLE?’
He reaches his arm out to open the door.
‘Don’t open the door!’ I say furiously. I can’t wait a second longer. I yank down my jeans. ‘Turn around!!’ I yell, mortified. ‘And… cover your ears. Oh no. It’s happening!’
Seth gives me a horrified look before turning away and clamping his hands down over his ears.
Oh god. How embarrassing. It’s one of those really long wees too.
When I’m all finished, I step over to the sink with a wobble and wash my hands.
‘Sorry,’ I say to Seth as he uncovers his eyes and just stares at me, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. ‘I’m really sorry! I think… we got our wires crossed…’
Seth looks terrified, to be fair he has every right. He thought I wanted to engage in a sensual sky-high rendezvous and instead I have forced him to witness me going to the loo against his will. I probably should not have any more champagne…
Wide-eyed, Seth take his specs back out of his shirt pocket and slides them back on his face.
‘I’ll um… I’ll just um… wow.’
He tries to leave and I grab onto his arm with both hands.
‘Just lead me back to my seat,’ I say, feeling like the biggest dick in the entire world. ‘And I’ll leave you alone forever, I swear. I don’t have a child or a pet to swear on. I mean, I used to have a cat called Mr Muscle, but in 1999 I swore on his life that I wasn’t lying about something when I was lying and the next day he died in mysterious circumstances so—’
‘Come on. Let’s get you back to your seat,’ he interrupts. He’s speaking slowly, kindly. Like I’m a very young person or a very old person.
We open the door and as I walk out of the loo, clinging onto Seth’s arm in case the plane gets shaky again, the air hostess from before catches sight of us. She looks at me with great distaste.
As Seth takes back his arm, sits in his pod, jams his headphones over his ears and starts furiously tapping away on his laptop keyboard, I sit down shakily and buckle myself up. As I do, the air hostess strides over and crouches down beside me, her lovely small nostrils flaring.
‘On behalf of us here at BA, we rescind our congratulations,’ she hisses, looking me up and down. ‘Colin deserves better.’
Chapter Ten
Email to Olive from Still Minds App :
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Those with overactive minds tend to feel the need for control. It’s hard for these people to relax because they feel that by controlling their circumstances, they can control themselves and everything in their lives. But this is simply not possible! What will happen will happen, and by trying to control it you will only succeed in worrying needlessly and feeding your overactive mind. What you can do is live the current moment as best you can. Meditation practice can help with this.
I manage to fall asleep (pass out) for the next few hours on the plane and soon enough we have touched down safely. I made it! I drank too much champagne, screamed twice, made up a fake fiancé, got glared at by the cabin crew and forced a man to accompany me for a wee. But I made it!
At the baggage stand, I wait with my fellow passengers for my suitcases to appear. As I’m doing so, I spot Seth out of the corner of my eye, heading towards the exit. He scurried off as soon as the plane
landed, giving me a quick awkward wave as he did so. No wonder. He must think I am bonkers. He’s right. I clearly am.
I contemplate running after him before he disappears from sight, apologising for my behaviour. Especially after he was so kind about my terror during take-off. But just as I’m about to race in his direction, I see Donna’s red suede suitcase chugging along the luggage carousel. And there’s my suitcase behind it.
Shit. If I don’t grab it now, I will have to wait for it to go all the way around again. The carousel is massive – it’ll take ages. And what if someone steals the cases on the other side where I can’t see them? I once read a news story about people who come to airports and hang around just so they can stand at baggage claim and nick people’s bags. Then what would I do? All that careful packing for nothing. No scarves, no shoes for every eventuality, nothing!
I give one last regretful look at Seth striding out of the airport before grabbing my suitcases from the carousel. I reach both hands out and grab the handles, yanking with all my might. But the cases are so heavy and won’t come all the way off the conveyor belt.
Shit.
Before I know what’s happening I find myself being dragged along with my bags.
‘Sorry!’ I say, as I bash into the person next to me, trying my very best to retrieve my cases.
But I’m not strong enough. I keep heaving and pulling as I’m moving along with the carousel but I simply can’t get them off. As I knock a few more people out of the way, I hear cries of ‘Just take one and wait for the other!’ and ‘Let go!’ and ‘Bitch, you crazy!’
‘Aaaaaargh,’ I hear someone saying quietly. Then I realise it’s me. I’m basically just bent over, walking my cases around the baggage carousel like dogs on leads, making weird noises every time I try to lift them off.
‘Heeeeelp!’ I yell. ‘Help me lift them!’
A few seconds later a beefy guy grabs one of the cases, leaving me with the strength to grab the other with a loud cry and a stumble backwards into more plane passengers.
Big Sexy Love: The laugh out loud romantic comedy that everyone's raving about! Page 6
