I turn back to Ethan.
‘Wow, kids are always listening,’ he whispers.
‘We just need to talk more… in code,’ I suggest.
‘Fireworks is code, is it?’ Ethan says with a smile. ‘Did I give you fireworks?’
Boy, did he!
‘You gave me fireworks – it’s just that you threw in the bonfire too,’ I point out.
‘There’s no pleasing some women,’ he dares to joke.
‘I just want to turn up to this wedding, and wear my unsavoury dress, and have my unsavoury date by my side – no offence – and just piss them off by living my best life…’
‘Bad word,’ Jake chimes in.
‘…and just be unapologetically myself,’ I continue. ‘Living well is the best revenge, right?’
‘I thought revenge was a dish best served cold?’ Ethan replies.
‘Who is getting revenge?’ Jake asks.
‘No one,’ Ethan reassures him. ‘We’re just doing a bit of role play.’
‘What’s role play?’ Jake asks.
Honestly, how on earth does anyone with children say anything about anything? They’re like a smart speaker, always listening – and usually responding with a random reply.
‘It’s something grown-ups do,’ I tell him. ‘And it’s really boring, so we might just pop to the toilets – but we’ll see if we can get you more snacks on the way back. Sound good?’
Jake nods before going back to whatever it is he’s watching on his tablet.
‘Aww, you’re such a great plane mum,’ Ethan jokes as he follows me down the aisle. ‘But didn’t we always say we would never appease them with sweets?’
‘Hilarious,’ I tell him as we pause in the small space where the toilets are. ‘We can probably hover here for a moment, while the loo is occupied, without looking weird.’
‘Do you ever think that maybe you worry too much about what people think?’ he asks me.
‘Do you ever think that you don’t?’ I reply.
The toilet door opens and a man steps out, pushing between the two of us before heading back to his seat.
‘Look, I get it, you want me to turn up, to be myself, to look bad on your arm but you?—’
‘Oh my God, that woman is coming, the one who thinks we’re going to explode the plane,’ I tell him in hushed tones. ‘Quick!’
I shove Ethan into the toilet before squashing in with him, closing the door behind us.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks through a laugh.
‘If she thinks this one is occupied, she might go to the other one,’ I tell him.
‘And why don’t we want her to see us talking?’ he asks, bemused.
‘Because she thinks we’re up to something,’ I reply. ‘And here we are, out of the way, talking together, looking all… conspiratorial.’
Ethan gasps theatrically.
