‘Bit late for that,’ he observes as we approach a quizzical-looking Amy. ‘Just let me handle it.’
‘You two seem to be hitting it off,’ Amy observes when we reach her, and I detect a faint note of suspicion in her voice.
‘You’ll never believe this, babe,’ Stuart says, adopting a bright tone that just makes him sound incredibly guilty. ‘Tori and I have met before. It was years ago, at university.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Amy doesn’t look impressed.
‘Nothing to worry about, babe. We were just mates for a short time, weren’t we, Tori?’
‘Absolutely,’ I agree, hating myself for participating in his duplicity.
‘I see,’ Amy says coolly. ‘Was it just a “mates” thing with my boyfriend, or was it something more?’
‘What difference does it make?’ Stuart asks. ‘I hadn’t met you then. Think of it this way, babe. Tori was just one of the stepping stones that led me to you.’
She’s not going to buy that for a minute, I think to myself. Just as I’m bracing for the inevitable onslaught, however, Amy surprises me.
‘Aww, babe, that’s so sweet,’ she says to Stuart.
‘There’s more,’ he says, reaching into his cabin bag and pulling out a box. ‘I got this for you.’
Amy’s face lights up as she takes in the Christian Dior logo. ‘Oh, Stewie,’ she breathes. ‘This must have cost a fortune. You shouldn’t have.’
‘Nothing’s too good for my Amy,’ he simpers back at her. God, he’s being nearly as nauseating as she is. As they continue their stomach-churning exchange (I swear I actually hear her call him ‘love-bunny’ at one point), I try to reconcile this Stuart with the one who seems to have no qualms about cheating on his girlfriend just over a month ago. The more I watch him acting the part of the loyal boyfriend to vomit-inducing perfection, the more disgusted I feel. The question is whether I need to do anything about it?
Maybe it’s none of my business. And anyway, I’ve got another, much more urgent, problem to deal with. What the hell am I going to do about Robert?
Robert is sitting next to me on the plane. Of course he is, because God patently hates me. Actually, on reflection, it’s not God’s fault. Robert and Fliss would have booked seats together originally, so I’m just the unhappy victim of their fallout. He obviously made good use of his time in the pub, if the smell of his breath is anything to go by. He seems lost in his own world while the rest of the passengers board, but it’s not a comfortable silence at all. If I had to pick a word to describe him, it would be ‘brooding’, but I’m very aware that I’m stuck with him for the next eight or so hours at least, so maybe I should use that time to try to draw him out of himself a bit. If nothing else, it would bea distraction from thinking about Stuart. As the cabin crew pack up after the safety announcements, foolish inspiration strikes.
‘Have you ever wondered,’ I ask him, ‘why they do all that stuff about lifejackets and life rafts in case of a landing on water, when every single aeroplane I can think of that has come into contact with the sea has immediately broken up into tiny pieces, instantly killing everyone on board?’
He turns slowly and stares at me for so long that my skin begins to prickle.
‘Are you always this fucking cheerful?’ he growls. ‘Hey, maybe we’ll get shot down, or the plane will just explode in mid-air.’ He laughs grimly. ‘Have you ever thought about getting a job helping people with a fear of flying? You’d be a real hit with an attitude like that.’
‘Sorry, I was just trying to make conversation.’
‘Yeah, well. If that’s your best shot, please don’t.’
Brilliant, Tori, I think as he retreats back into his shell. Maybe the aircraft falling into the sea would be the best outcome, given the way this holiday is going so far. As soon as we’ve taken off, I pull out my Kindle and make a start on the first of the books I downloaded. I need a distraction, and my first thought is that a romcom would be perfect to cheer me up. However, my own situation is so far away from being either romantic or comic that I decide a gritty murder mystery would be a much better fit. By the time the cabin crew come round with lunch, the bodies are already stacking up, and I’m completely engrossed in the story. It therefore takes me a moment to register that Robert is speaking to me.
‘So, Tori,’ he says. ‘What sort of name is that? Have you got sisters called LibDem and Labour?’
I stare at him for a moment, trying to work out if he’s deliberately trying to be offensive, but his face is a mask.
‘It’s short for Victoria,’ I tell him. ‘And my sister is called Georgina.’
‘Why Tori rather than Vicky then?’
I sigh. ‘If you must know, there were two Victorias in my class at primary school. To tell us apart, she became Vicky, I got Tori and it stuck.’
‘Poor you.’
‘I like the name, actually.’
‘Hm. No accounting for taste, I suppose,’ he says dismissively.
Who the hell does this guy think he is? What I choose to call myself is absolutely nothing to do with him. I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me and, before I know it, I’m opening my mouth to give him a dose of his own medicine.
