I go to Boots and buy the most expensive bottle of factor30 I’ve ever seen. Back at our seats, I find Em standing and ready to go.
‘They’ve called us.’
Half an hour later, we’re through the gate and on the plane. We have our own row; the third seat is empty for the time being.
‘Window or aisle?’ Em asks.
‘I’ll take the window.’
There’s a lot of rubbish in my seat – a blanket, a set of headphones someone must have left from the previous flight – so I chuck all that into the third seat and take off my mask. Then I slide in and look out onto the tarmac. A big crawling machine is loading the cases. I’m trying to modulate my breathing, but it’s hard to do when you don’t want the person you’re with to know you’re doing it, so I’m conscious of every breath I take, never mind every move I make. Then I look ahead, and see something that makes me gasp.
Two rows in front of us, sitting on top of a torso six inches taller than mine, is a shiny bald head.
Breathe, Al. Lots of people have shiny bald heads. Lots of people are tall and built like weightlifters. It’s probably just an innocuous crypto bro, maybe the boss of a chain of gyms. There are plenty of reasons for someone to be that jacked and enormous and on the same plane as us. I didn’t see him at the gate, though. Oh, God. I nudge Em. She looks, pales, and slides down in her seat.
‘What do we do?’ I ask.
‘We don’t know it’s him.’
‘Bloody looks like him.’
We mask back up.
‘So what do we do?’
‘I just askedyouthat.’
‘Well, I don’t know.’
‘I don’t know either.’
And then the head swivels, and we realise it’s a completely different man. Wrong nose, wrong eyes, wrong everything.
‘Jesus, Al.’
‘You thought it was him too.’
We take our masks back off.
‘Why are the seat belts so old-fashioned?’
‘They’re just plane seat belts.’ Em gives me a quizzical look. ‘Al, when did you last fly?’
‘A few years ago now. It’s very bad for the environment.’
‘Ah. And they had the newer kind of seat belts on your last flight?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Where were you flying?’
I was hoping she’d ask me that, because (Rule 9Never fewer than two backstories) I have prepped this one. I answer confidently: ‘Algeria.’
‘Where’d you fly into?’
‘Algiers International.’
She narrows her eyes. ‘Al, I’m going to ask you a question now, and I really don’t intend any insult. Have you been on a plane before?’
