This is it. This is the feeling I’ve been searching for all these years. This connection between us, it’s undeniable still. I look into his eyes, as blue as the ocean itself, and I can practically see the promise in them. There’s so much still to say, so much he’s yet to ask me about my life, but in this moment I’m content just to be here with him. A wealth of conversation opens up before us, so many possibilities as yet untapped. And I wonder how I’ll answer when Hamish asks me about what I’ve been doing since we last met. I have so many work stories to share, and I’m proud of where my life is going. I don’t have many watching-the-sunset anecdotes with which to dazzle him. But that’s okay, isn’t it? That’s probably why we worked together in the first place. Different parts of the same puzzle, fitting together.
I stare, transfixed, as his lingering look turns into a bright smile.
‘It’s been really great catching up, Nee,’ says Hamish, clapping his hands together. ‘And now I need to get some sleep.’
With that, Hamish pulls out an eye mask and some ear plugs, wraps himself in his airline blanket and proceeds to fall asleep on our love story. He hasn’t even asked me one solitary question about myself.
Also, that ‘it’s been really great catching up’ line sounded distinctly like he was ending the conversation full stop. Like he’d had his fill of our reunion, in which he literally only talked about himself for an entire hour, and had run out of things to talk to me about.
WHAT THE FUCK, HAMISH?!
Oh my God, I am raging. How dare he cut me dead like that? There’s a tiny possibility in a strange and frightening realm that I did, indeed, time-travel to get to this point in my life – inourlives – and now my future partner has fallen asleep in the middle of our romantic reunion? This will not do. My body vibrates with irritation and I have no choice but to focus on sparking up some more conversation with Hamish once he’s woken up.
Next time, my friend, I will be impressing the heck out of you.
Hamish does not wake up until we land in Singapore. By which point I have watched two films (different ones this time), eaten as many Tim Tams as I could get my hands on thanks to numerous trips to the galley, and ranked all of my favourite Hollywood actors in terms of hotness and star talent. I even made notes, because you never know when these things might come in handy.
‘Great kip,’ he yawns. ‘I always get the best sleep on these flights, don’t you?’
It’s the closest he’s come to asking me a question since we boarded this plane thirteen hours ago and I grasp it with an open heart.
‘Actually, I didn’t manage to get any—’ I begin, but Hamish does not wait for me to finish my sentence.
‘Want some?’ he asks, and to my horror I see that he is proffering an egg sandwich. Flashbacks to arriving at Heathrow and swerving sandwiches fill my mind.
‘No, thanks,’ I reply, trying not to wrinkle my nose up.
‘I can’t fly without one,’ Hamish is saying.
I blink.
‘You can’t fly without an egg sandwich?’
Hamish takes a bite.
‘Yep. It’s like a superstition thing. Funny story, I lost my egg sarnie on the way into Heathrow earlier. I’d got it packed in my rucksack, ready for the flight. Even went to M&S to get one because theirs are the best and I love going to M&S when I’m back in the UK. Anyway, I swear it was packed, but when I did a final check of all my stuff on the way to the departure lounge I realised it was missing. So I had to race back to the shops to try and find one, which was not easy, believe me.’
‘So, let me get this straight, this entire flight was delayed because you’d lost an egg sandwich?’
Hamish has the audacity to grin at me.
‘Guess so, bro,’ he chuckles, polishing off the offending item with seemingly zero clue that I’m now finding the bro-cabulary grating as hell.
The plane lands, but I don’t hear the roar of the engine this time. All I can hear are my inner screams.
It’s pitch black in Singapore and it seems so strange that we’re in this country I’ve never visited and I won’t be seeing any of it, just marching through an airport before catching another flight. There’s a hotel in this city with the world’s largest rooftop pool on top of it and I would love to see it. I turn excitedly to Hamish to tell him as much but he’s preoccupied with his phone.
‘I’ve got some calls to make, Nee,’ he says, coming to a standstill. ‘You go on!’
‘Oh, okay. See you in a bit,’ I say, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. I join the throng of passengers as we’re rushed through Changi and towards our next departure gate. Having spent the past day in a state of frustration, I find some strange comfort in seeing Callum Bang sitting alongside Clio and Brody at the gate, waving over to me.
‘Babes, you okay?’ Clio asks. ‘Cal’s just been saying that he had an empty seat next to him that entire flight. Did you know? You should have gone and sat there.’
‘Did he?’ I feign surprise.
‘Yes, I did,’ Callum says. ‘After our …conversationabout me being seated in premium economy, I thought I ought to check in with Jan from accounting. To confirm, we’d both been booked the same tickets. I think Nina had assumed that I’d somehow been given preferential treatment,’ Callum adds smoothly, dazzling smile for everybody’s benefit but me.
‘Surely not?’ gasps Clio.
