‘Sorry?’ I asked, not quite understanding.
The man lowered his voice and looked at me conspiratorially. ‘We’ve upgraded you,’ he said, looking exceptionally pleased with himself.
I instinctively glanced down at my outfit – perhaps it was the Sézane skinny jeans and black polo-neck combo that had done it. Clearly, this screamed ‘money’. Either that or they were oversubscribed in economy, and I was the best of a bad bunch.
I motored through security, boycotting my planned trip to Boots and heading straight for the Galleries First Lounge because I doubted I’d be doing the whole business-class thing ever again and did not want to miss asecondof the luxury I hoped was about to ensue. I paused and took a moment just inside the doorway; it was everything I’d imagined and more, from the delicious-looking food being whisked past on silver trays to the horseshoe-shaped bar that wouldn’t look out of place in a five-star hotel. It was adefinitestep up from the plastic seating area by Starbucks I usually frequented at Heathrow Terminal 5. I casually checked to see if there were any celebrities around – discovering what famous people got up to when they were off-duty was my number one guilty pleasure, although the fact that they mostly managed to look stunning even when emerging from the gym with zero make-up on and sweat-soaked hair had been getting to me of late. It seemed to be mostlymen in suits in here, anyway. The type of guys who made unnecessarily loud phone calls while pacing up and down the middle of the room to make sure that everyone knew exactly how important they were. I made a beeline for the bar. If the alcohol was free, I was going in, early hours of the morning or not. I neededsomethingto calm my nerves, because this job felt huge and I had a sneaking suspicion that Marcus Taylor was going to make it very difficult for me. I ordered myself a glass of champagne and, as I watched it being poured, I considered whether karma might have been at play here; whether somebody somewhere had known I could do with a bit of a boost and had answered my prayers in the form of an upgrade, just when I needed it most.
I stayed seated on a stool at the bar because it gave me an excellent vantage point over the entire lounge and it was easy to order more drinks if I wanted them. The first person I wanted to tell about this stroke of luck was Charlie, a thought I’d had often since he’d left. When stuff happened – when I read something funny, or learned something interesting, or I had good news, or bad news, Charlie was the first person I wanted to call, even if towards the end even he had been a bit funny whenever I had something positive to report. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, except that I knew he was having a hard time at work – his school had had a bad Ofsted report and all the parents were up in arms. Maybe it was stress that had killed our relationship in the end, then, which felt easier to accept than it having anything to do with me as a person. Like, maybe I wasn’t enough for him, or something. Or that in the end he’d got sick of my struggling writer routine and my volatile family dynamics. It was sad, really, that after so long together we hadn’t even had a proper conversation about why things had ended.
I fired off a quick message to Mum – I supposed I ought to let her know I was going to be out of the country for a few days.
Instead of texting back, she rang me immediately.Why, why, why?If I’d wanted to talk to her, I would have called, wouldn’t I?!
‘What do you mean, you’re going away with work. What work?’ she said, sounding offish.
‘A writing assignment, Mum,’ I said. ‘ForLuxemagazine. You know, where Zoe works?’
She made a strange gurgling sound. ‘Explain!’
I sighed. I purposely hadn’t told her about the job in case something went wrong, like I found I couldn’t write anymore and was unceremoniously fired by a vengeful Amanda Eddington.
‘I’m writing a profile piece on a tennis player,’ I reluctantly imparted. ‘He’s playing a tournament in Monte Carlo, so I’m going to shadow him for a few days, do an interview, meet his team, that sort of thing.’
She made the same gurgling sound again.
‘Mum, are you all right?’ I asked, suddenly concerned that there was actually something wrong with her and I was missing all the cues.
‘Course I’m all right! I’m just a bit taken aback, that’s all. I don’t think I’ll mention this to Cassie – she’s a bit fragile at the moment, what with the girls in her office being all cliquey. She thinks they all hate her, and I don’t think it would help to hear that you’re full of the joys of spring and gallivanting around the south of France. Actually, where even is Monte Carlo?’
Gallivanting? There was no acknowledgement of the fact that a) I’d be working and b) I’d just broken up with my long-term boyfriend and therefore maybe some joy in my life would be a welcome addition. I bit my tongue – I didn’t want to get into any sort of conflict when I was about to embark on what might just be the most luxurious few hours of my life.
‘It’s practically the south of France – between there and Italy. I’m flying to Nice,’ I explained.
I didn’t think I’d risk telling her I’d been upgraded to business.
‘But what doyouknow about tennis?’ asked Mum, clearly as perplexed as I was about this fortuitous turn of events.
I heard a scuffle in the background; the low rumble of Dad’s voice. There was some sort of tussle on the other end of the line, involving Mum saying something likeNo, Winston, she doesn’t want to speak to you, she’s working,and Dad sayingPass me the phone now, please, I want to speak to my daughter.
‘Anyway, lovely as this is, I’ve got a few things to do before my flight,’ I said pointlessly, because they were both too busy bickering to hear me. ‘Hello? Mum?’
There was a rustle on the end of the line.
‘Ava? It’s Dad.’
I signalled to the barman for another champagne. May as well.
‘Hi, Dad.’
I could hear Mum grumbling in the background – clearly, Dad had had to force the handset out of her grasp.
‘Mum said something about tennis. What’s going on, then?’ he asked.
‘I’m flying to Monte Carlo for some tournament,’ I said, checking the departures screen to see how long I’d have left in the lounge to enjoy myself once I’d got off the phone to these two. ‘In one hour and twenty minutes.’
‘You’re going to the Rolex Monte-Carlo Masters?!’ he said, sounding uncharacteristically impressed.
‘Oh right, you’ve heard of it, have you? I’m interviewing a player called Marcus Taylor,’ I said, perking up. This was the most interested my dad had been in my job ever.
