Alan stands up and twirls around as if to demonstrate his confirmed status as a prize catch. To me, the man looks uncannily like a potato but I do admire his self-esteem.
I spot Mel bustling over to the check-in counter a few desks along and I swear she gives Alan a longing look as she settles into her seat. Surely she can’t have a crush on the man who steals her yoghurts?
In return, Alan shoots her a furtive glance.
‘Will you tell Great Aunt Gertrude that I’m sorry, Nina Moss?’ he’s saying, as he processes my passport and prints off my boarding pass. ‘She’d be so cross with the yoghurt-stealing thing. I’m just really struggling. Usually I find it so easy, but with Mel …’ He sighs. ‘It’s like she doesn’t even see me. I’m just invisible.’
‘So you’re eating her food to get attention?’ I baulk. ‘Oh Alan. There are definitely better ways to go about this, I’m telling you now.’
Alan is looking at me like I am a wise sage.
‘Yes,’ he says, processing my heavy bag without complaint. ‘You are right. Maybe I could put some yoghurts in the fridge for her, instead?’
‘Alan, I’m going to be bold and suggest that your plans for wooing Mel have absolutely nothing to do with yoghurts, going forward.’
‘Cheese, maybe? She does love a good brie.’
‘No food, full stop. Just talk to her! Be honest. You never know, she might feel the same.’ I mean, who knows why, I don’t add.
Alan nods along. ‘Actually, while you’re here and I obviously have a hotline through to the afterlife, could you do me a favour?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I admit.
‘Could you ask Great Aunt Gertrude for her bitcoin password, please? We bought some together and she wrote down the password and I cannot find it. I believe I’m worth billions, Nina Moss. Billions.’
He looks at me expectantly, as if I should be communicating with the afterlife immediately.
I scrunch my eyes shut and pretend to summon spirits. Shame on me.
‘Nope,’ I say after a full one second. ‘Not getting anything now. Sorry, the lines are a bit busy. Must be something to do with all the people here. Now look, find some emotional maturity and go talk to Mel, please.’
We both look over and she immediately looks away.
‘Okay, well, here’s my card just in case it comes to you,’ he says, handing over a business card. ‘Next!’
Well, that was odd, I think as I shuffle off.
Once through security I migrate towards the shops, trying hard not to smile at familiar faces when I remember that they are only familiarto me. A sense of malaise is truly kicking in, and I’m ashamed to admit that I am slightly miffed not to have been upgraded for this flight. After all, as far as Alan’s concerned, I am a clairvoyant in communication with his dead great aunt and he still didn’t upgrade me!
However, I must remember what happened yesterday, when confusion reigned. I’m not here to fart about in fancy seats. I’m here to break free, and that means that I have got to refocus my efforts on winning Hamish back today. I need to perfect the seat swap again and this time, I can use my insider knowledge from the last time I sat next to Hamish to my advantage.
I set to work. First stop, Boots for some spray deodorant and Pro Plus, then it’s on to the departure gate way ahead of time to bag myself a seat swap.
So far, so successful.
I stare out of the windows at the vast plane that will be my home for the next thirteen hours, all smooth white curves and neat oval windows. Little vans scurry to and fro dropping off luggage. Further afield, other planes make their way towards the runway. It’s daylight out there now, albeit only just, and clear blue skies stretch across the horizon.
I pace up and down, with time to kill before the rest of the passengers arrive at the gate. Experience dictates that I will be feeling extremely squashed after the next however many hours in the air, so sitting is no longer my friend.
While I walk, I think, and alarmingly, my mind turns to Callum.
The things he told me about his upbringing yesterday, on Monday Three, have been begging for a mull-over since he shot down my theory that he was the princessy one.
Hmm.
I have an uncomfortable feeling that he was right. Thing is, I had no clue that Callum didn’t have it easy growing up. It’s safe to say that when we first met, I jumped to some pretty big conclusions. There he was, all suave and engaging with his shiny new job thanks to Auntie Kat and, well, I did not love it. Maybe this says more about me than it does about him. It’s possible that I’ve got the tiniest chip on my shoulder, isn’t it? I’ve worked so hard to get where I am today, and I’ve had no leg-up from well-connected relatives, and honestly, I am proud of myself for that. But in hindsight, it may have made me ever so slightly judgy about those who I deem not to have needed to work so hard. Especially now I see that I got Callum all wrong.
Well, not all wrong. Obviously there are approximately ten thousand character flaws on that dude. But the bit about him having a privileged upbringing when he really didn’t? And the bit where it became clear that we in fact had a very similar start in life, with single mums working non-stop to keep us fed and warm? I need to take some accountability and admit that I was wrong.
