He’s up ahead, striding towards the carousel. I can already see my massive bag on there, which is a relief. I skip over, slightly out of breath by the time I reach him.
‘Hey,’ I say, grabbing at my bag and almost being dragged along with it as I try to heave it off the conveyer belt.
Wordlessly, Callum reaches for my suitcase and picks it up with ease, plonking it down at my feet and pulling out the handle for me.
‘Thanks,’ I say as he does the same with his.
‘No problem,’ he says, a dark cloud descending.
Crap. I’ve upset him with the man bun glee, haven’t I? Come to think of it, that was maybe a bit rude? Did I overstep? I glance back up to see that he’s still looking displeased.
‘So, I thought it might be prudent to apologize,’ I say, trying not to grimace. Apologizing to Callum Bang, indeed. Maybe Australia has made me go mad, too?
‘Oh?’ He’s off again, taking such long strides in the direction of arrivals that I find myself once again cantering along to keep up.
‘I shouldn’t have poked fun at your man bun,’ I gabble. ‘It was a surprise, that’s all. Very different to your usual look. I’ve never seen you so … unpolished before. That’s not to say you didn’t look good because, let’s be honest, you always do.’
URGH! What am I saying?! Callum stops walking briefly to look at me in surprise. I plough on.
‘Looking good is, like, your thing. But it was not appropriate of me to comment and, now that I think about it, HR would probably have a field day with that so … shit. That was a bad move. Can you forgive me? Can you also not report me to HR? I love my job and I actually don’t know what I’d do if I got fired and oh, fuck, they’re going to fire me aren’t they?’
I do not realize that hot tears are rolling down my cheeks until Callum hands me a neatly folded tissue.
‘Christ, this is embarrassing. It’s probably the lack of sleep,’ I sniff, blowing my nose and locking eyes with my colleague which, now that I think about it, is a weird time to make eye contact with him.
Callum, thankfully, is looking less like a man who is about to get me fired and more like a man who is thoroughly bemused by my existence.
‘Nina,’ he says, stopping dead in his tracks as he turns to me.
I stop too, wondering what he’s about to say and why my heart is suddenly in my throat.
But I don’t get to find out. The next thing I know, the sound of screeching tyres fills the air. I turn to see an electric luggage buggy hurtling our way. It slams directly into Callum’s body and he topples forward, towards me. I am briefly cast in his shadow as he falls like a domino right into me, taking me down with him.
There’s the sound of bones crunching. A sickening thump as my head hits the cold hard floor. There’s a searing white light. A ringing sound getting louder and louder behind my eardrums. Muffled voices talking about ambulances and checkingpulses.Mypulse? I wonder vaguely. But I’m distracted, removed somehow.
Everything narrows and shrinks. My world becomes an old-style television set being turned off. The light fades to one solitary pixel in the middle of an otherwise black screen. The last thing I remember is the ringing sound coming to an abrupt stop.
And then, nothing.
SIX
I wake up with a jolt, my phone glowing like a lighthouse in the dark as my alarm goes off. Bleary-eyed, I throw my legs off the side of my bed and get up to turn it off. The screen confirms that it’s 4 a.m. on Monday 1 September and I stare at it for a moment as my eyes adjust to the dark. Wow, that wasquitea dream I had last night. So vivid that I was convinced it was actually happening. And it was so extremely thorough, too! I cast my mind back to Hamish’s reappearance, and how my subconscious had created a super realistic version of the man I once loved and how he might look now. My brow furrows as I remember the part where Callum Bang turned up like a bad smell, and I roll my shoulders back as I try to shake off the fact that it feels like I’ve already lived through an entire long haul-flight to Australia with no one but my arch nemesis, some frisky divorcees and an out-of-reach ex for company.
Weird.
I brush it off as I creep out of bed, moving as quietly as I can so as not to wake Penny. At least I can get myself up and off to the airport knowing that the nightmare scenario of Callum coming too has been subliminally assuaged. Well done, brain!
Showered, final bits packed, suitcase dragged to the Tube, wethair drying in the underground breeze. I plug into a podcast en route to Heathrow, and tut to myself as the American host tells me not to let time boss me around. Annoying that I’ve downloaded a podcast I’ve clearly already listened to. Pulling my earbuds out, I run through the schedule for Australia instead, buzzing that this trip is finally here!
After a final breath of fresh air, I stride back into Heathrow to catch that flight.
The automated doors glide open as I trot back into the terminal, sidestepping some rubbish on the floor as I go.
My eyes cast down as I swerve my suitcase to avoid … an egg sandwich.
That’s odd.
In the world’s longest dream last night, I definitely remember a near-miss with a sandwich on the way into the airport then, too. It stood out because I’d wondered who eats egg sandwiches for breakfast? I feel briefly unsettled, concern prickling under my skin, but I shake my head, dismissing it as a weird coincidence while I find the check-in counter for my flight.
