‘And literally no one says pot-ah-to,’ I butt in. ‘Besides, Humphrey and Hamish are very different names. More to the point, it’s not my fault he was late and the captain literally told us that we hadn’t missed our flight slot.’
‘Sort of is. You know him, after all.’
‘I haven’t seen him for years and you’re being ridiculous,’ I say, snapping my own seatbelt into place.
‘All I’m saying is—’
‘Stop talking, please,’ I beg.
Callum turns slowly to stare at me.
‘Make me,’ he says.
The sheer preposterousness of that statement makes me choke out an unexpected laugh. The element of challenge feels so ridiculous! Couple that with approximately thirteen hours spent flying through the skies with absolutely zero sleep and I am clearly delirious, a woman worn down by the close proximity of her arch nemesis. A woman no longer in possession of any marbles. I laugh so hard that the giggles just roll straight out of me. Callum and I lock eyes, me gurgling, which makes him crease up too. This low, amused rumble is coming from somewhere deep inside him.
‘Oh my word.’ I wipe my eyes, because I’m also basically crying by now. ‘I’ve got cramp.’
And then I quote the words ‘make me’ back at him and we start up all over again.
‘I said you two were cute,’ Jennifer-the-divorcee announces as we come in to land. She stands up and rests a hand on a franklyterrified-looking Callum’s shoulder. ‘Just promise you won’t get into golf, honey, and you two will be grand.’
Callum is chatting affably about not being a big fan of golf while I, a startled person, can’t get the idea that other people think we’d make a ‘you two’ out of my head. I make a show of darting about, clearing up all the crap I’ve stuffed into my seat, or stashed in the magazine tray directly opposite me over the last thirteen hours. Then Callum hands me my bag from the overhead locker, and it is with considerable relief that we disembark the plane.
I’m craning my neck, trying to spot Hamish as we march along the jet bridge and into the terminal at Changi Airport. So many shops! Designer clothes, fancy tea, souvenirs. Ooh, a Pret. Call me basic but I would commit crimes for an overpriced airport cappuccino and an almond croissant right now. At least we’re moving our bodies, I think as Callum and I stride towards yet another departure gate. Well, he strides, I trot along beside him like a show pony trying to keep up.
Brody and Clio are already at the scanners and I assume that disembarking first is one of the perks of paying untold pounds for a business class flight to Australia. Clio’s attempting to go incognito in a baseball cap but they still exude star quality and quite a few people have spotted them, asking for selfies.
As we’re funnelled through the chaotic security check, I try to get to grips with what time it is. It’s dark outside the airport, and my world clock tells me it’s nearly 6 a.m. Tuesday Singapore time, which equals nearly 11 p.m. Monday UK time. No wonder I couldn’t sleep on the first plane, it’s barely bedtime yet! But now we somehow find ourselves already in the next day, and I read that you should try to switch your body clock to work with your new time zone. So should I just forget about sleep and plough on? I just do not have the answers for these questions.
Through security and into the departure area, I ditch Callum and do a few laps of the lounge on my way to the loo. It feels goodto open up my body like this, after hours spent sitting. In the bathroom I decide to treat myself to an outfit change, pulling on the leggings and fresh T-shirt I packed in my carry-on. Mostly just so I can use the little zip section at the bottom for laundry to be quite honest with you. Why yes, I did buy this bag specially for the trip and I love it! I stuff my old joggers into the bag and emerge a new woman.
Glancing around the lounge, I finally spot Hamish making his way through the security check on his way in here, and my heart leaps. Now’s my chance! What do you call a meet-cute if you’ve already had one? We-meet-again-cute? Meet-cute-the-second? Either way, it’s happening. I prowl towards the security check so that I can accidentally-on-purpose bump into Hamish when he gets through.
‘Nina. Nina! Over here!’ calls Clio.
Damn it. She’s sitting with Callum and Brody, and even if they weren’t clients I couldn’t ignore them, because half of the departure lounge has turned to see who she’s talking to. I can’t stand here lurking around after ex-boyfriends when my clients are watching, can I? It doesn’t scream professional event planner, the gal you trust to pull off your dream engagement party. I plaster on a professional smile as I reluctantly head over to their cluster of seats.
‘Hey! How are you two?’ I ask.
‘Brody is hammered,’ Clio says fondly. ‘He must be ninety-nine per cent pure champagne by now.’
Brody is definitely more slumped than seated on a row of airport chairs.
‘Trying to persuade Clio to join the mile high club with me, baby!’ he whoops.
‘Brody, shh!’ she giggles. ‘You’ll get us on TikTok again.’
Clio pulls a pair of sunglasses out of her designer bag and shoves them on her partner’s face. Then she hands him a protein ball, not unlike a mum might give her small child a snack to keepthem quiet. Brody is so drunk that he spends the next ten minutes fully absorbed in trying to figure out how to open the packet.
‘It’s a little trick I learned,’ she winks at me. ‘Urgh, I just want to get to Australia now. What’s the plan when we land?’
I take a fleeting glance around but Hamish has disappeared again.
‘Okay,’ I say briskly, activating work mode. ‘I’ve got cars booked. One to take you both straight to Brody’s family home and one for me – and now, apparently, Callum – to get us to our Perth hotel. Then, let’s see, you’ve got dinner booked in central Perth with Brody’s family, erm, tonight? Tuesday evening, whenever that is.’
‘You’re going to love the famalam, babe,’ Brody says, still preoccupied with his as-yet-unopened protein ball.
Clio claps. ‘Are you guys coming to dinner too?’
