Isn’t this just setting the tone? He looks so good, and so happy and chill, and I’m a mess and I’m stressing and… and… and it’s going to be such a long few weeks together.
And now we’re boarding, so I have no choice but to stand next to him. Lucky really, that I can’t do anything that will put me on a no-fly list, or he might be in trouble.
‘Hi, Cleo,’ he says casually. ‘Ready to rock?’
‘I guess so,’ I say with a heavy sigh.
Boarding is chaos, as always. The narrow aisle is clogged with impatient people, everyone fighting for overhead bin space. Toddlers are crying – and there’s already a businessman ranting under his breath about it. The air smells lovely, but just a little too much, like everyone hit up the duty-free samples, and it’s overpowering the space. Just what you need, when you’re trapped in a box.
I’m clutching the book I’ve been reading like it’s a parachute. Reading romance novels feels almost sarcastic at the moment, but it feels like an exercise for my brain, a way to keep working out my love muscle for when I need it. Once again, none of those words seemed like they were going to sound so dodgy until my brain put them in that unfortunate order. At least we know my dirty mind is still working.
And here he is, Lockie, ready to invade my personal space. He’s in the seat next to mine, because of course he is. We booked these seats before, when we were working well together, thinking we could do some planning on the plane. We may be in the premium economy seats, or whatever they call the ones that are not the cheap seats, but they are still just seats, side by side, with no escape.
The seats are decent – plush leather, decent legroom, and champagne is already being handed out. Lockie is what’s making it feel claustrophobic.
‘Don’t look so disappointed,’ Lockie says as he slides into the window seat, making himself at home. ‘I promise not to hog the armrest.’
The last thing I’m worried about is elbow room.
He knows something is up, he must, because I’ve gone ice-cold with him. The thing is, I don’t think he thinks he deserves it, I don’t think he believes he did anything wrong, so he’s just going with it. Letting me be frosty, being insufferable back. Either starving me of attention or annoying me with it. I don’t know which I want. He can’t win, of course he can’t, because I’m just so mad that I almost let myself trust him, and so relieved nothing went further than it did.
We don’t really speak at all while we take off. It seems like it takes ages to get to altitude, to get to a point where we can relax (sort of) and get this show on the road.
A flight attendant appears almost right away. She’s tall, blonde, looking fantastic in her perfectly pressed uniform. I have a lot of time for the fashion. Her smile is professional, but when it lands on Lockie, it lingers. Just a fraction too long.
‘Hello,’ she greets him – or maybe it’s both of us, I’m not sure. Her voice is velvet. ‘You’re with the TV show, aren’t you? They said we were transporting a large TV crew today.’
The crew all fly together, on public flights (we’re on a budget these days), but the contestants travel there individually, to avoid them seeing each other. No one taking part gets to meet anyone else who is going to be on the island until they’re actually there and the cameras are rolling.
Lockie’s grin switches on instantly, like the light above our heads when anyone calls for assistance.
‘That’s us,’ he replies. ‘I’m the brains behind the casting team.’
Ha!
‘Could I have a bottle of water, please?’ I ask her.
She nods subtly as she leans over to take out empty champagne glasses.
‘That’s impressive,’ she tells Lockie. ‘I’ll bet it takes a lot of skill.’
He shrugs modestly.
‘It pays the bills,’ he says with a smile.
As soon as she’s gone I scoff.
‘What?’ Lockie asks.
‘I was just wondering when the dictionary changed the definition of brains,’ I point out.
Before Lockie can reply, the flight attendant returns with a bottle of water. She hands it to Lockie, not to me. Then she leaves.
‘Wait, I?—’
‘You can have mine if you want,’ Lockie offers, holding out the bottle just enough to make me have to reach for it.
‘Thanks,’ I say, reaching out to take it.
