What I’m doing is sweeping everything under the carpet. I’m pretty sure that’s the best way to deal with life’s major problems, isn’t it? Concerned that you’ve defied reason and are now time-travelling? Sweep away! Said some hurtful and potentially uncalled-for things to your colleague? Brush, brush, brush!
This carpet of mine is, by now, very lumpy and covering a multitude of sins, but it’s all going to be okay. Because now I am sitting next to an empty seat, in the middle row of the aeroplane, waiting impatiently for Hamish to show up while the rest of the passengers are getting antsy about leaving on time. There’s a man sitting next to me tutting loudly about inconsiderate flyers, which is ironic given that he is emitting a noxious body odour.
Can’t say I’m thrilled to be sitting next to a person who smells of sweat before we’ve even taken off.
At least I’m doing this in the quest for true love. One day, Hamish and I will look back on this we-meet-again-cute and I won’t even remember that our reunion was played out to the smell of somebody else’s perspiration.
And, to look on the bright side, I can at least have my bag in front of me on this flight. Back in the lap of premium economy luxury, when I had extra legroom and only the presence of Callum Bang to deal with, I had to stow my bag in the overhead bin for take-off and landing. Which meant I had to rely on pleasantries with my arch enemy whenever I needed him to grab it for me. Today, I can reach into it whenever the heck I like! I do so now, definitely not thinking about glimpses of Callum’s toned torso when he accessed the lockers as I grab a pulse point roll-on from my bag. I dab some on my wrists and inhale the calming aromatherapy smells.
Much better!
Here comes the announcement about a late-boarding passenger. I run my fingers through my hair, giving it a little extra fluff. What a time to be having a great hair day! I smooth on some lip balm in anticipation.
And then there he is.
Hamish.
Finally. Walking towards me after all these years (or yesterday, or in my dreams, depending on how you look at it). I notice his sandy-blond hair, his laughter lines, that apologetic smile as he moves quickly to take his seat.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he’s saying cheerfully to a plane full of angry flyers.
I find my breath has caught in my throat. Suddenly, I don’t know what to say.
For heaven’s sake! It’s not like I haven’t had the time to get this right, I think to myself crossly as my ex-boyfriend stows his backpack and settles down next to me. He hasn’t noticed me yet.
‘Hamish,’ I manage eventually.
Those piercing blue eyes turn to meet mine.
‘Bloody hell.Nina?’ he says, and I take a moment to let his lilting Scottish accent wash over me for the first time in years. To bask under his gaze like a sunflower in the sunshine. ‘What are the chances!’ he says, delighted.
Well, Hamish, the chances were greatly improved after I time-travelled and switched seats so that we could be seated together, I donotreply. Don’t want the guy to get the wrong impression and think I’ve become slightly mad since we last met.
Which maybe I have?
Another thought to brush right under the bulging carpet.
I beam across at him as the plane starts to taxi. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘Mate!’ he says, and I falter.Mate?I’d forgotten that he used to call me this, along with ‘dude’. At the time I thought it was just, you know, Hamish being Hamish. Now I’m struck by that immediate prickling-skin sensation you sometimes get when you’re annoyed. We aren’t still teenagers, Hamish!
Wow, I need to get a hold of my emotions, I decide as we take off. Today has been a lot already.Don’t be dismissive,I tell myself, preparing to meet-cute the shit out of him.Say something alluring, Nina. Think!
While I’m thinking, Hamish gets in there first.
‘Bro, is that you?’ he asks, sniffing the air.
Okay, ‘mate’ I can just about deal with. But bringing back ‘bro’ ten years on? It’s a no from me.
‘Sorry?’ I ask, perplexed.
Hamish wrinkles his nose. ‘That smell,’ he says, giving me the once-over. ‘Major body odour.’
‘Of course it’s not me, Hamish,’ I say crossly, before remembering myself. I’m not here to admonish my erstwhile love, am I?! I’m here to win him back. Hamish is looking mildly chastised, unsurprisingly. I need to backtrack and I need to do it quickly. I need to be the easy-breezy love of his life.
I briefly ball my fingers into fists and take a deep inhale. (A grave mistake given the aromas emitting from Passenger Stink next to me.)
‘Sorry,’ I say, attempting to reset. ‘Didn’t meant to snap. It’s not me, it’s him,’ I add, motioning to my next-door neighbour, who has pulled some massive headphones on and hopefully can’t hear me.
