There’s no real way of getting around this, other than to make myself look like an even crazier person than I already am, but I will not have meet-cute #3 with Hamish spoiled by someone else’s body odour. It just won’t do. Besides, I am feeling increasingly cavalier about life with every new Monday. So, here goes.
Grabbing the mini deodorant from my hand luggage, I make like I’m about to give myself a quick spritz. Mid-spray, I stumbledramatically, making sure the deodorant nozzle is now spraying the bad-smelling passenger instead.
‘Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!’ I lie convincingly, certain this manoeuvre could earn me my first Oscar.
‘Bloody hell!’ Passenger Stink yelps, waving deodorant away. ‘You just covered me in spray!’
He looks very displeased.
I pull a face. ‘I just totally tripped!’
My formerly bad-smelling neighbour does not look convinced. ‘Tripped over what?’ He scowls. ‘You were standing still.’
‘Yes. It must have been my shoelaces.’
Slowly, he looks down at the neatly tied laces on my trainers.
‘Your laces aren’t loose.’
‘Maybe I tripped over yours?’ I offer.
‘I’m wearing sandals.’
I glance down again. Yes, he is wearing sandals, and no they are not chic.
‘Perhaps I simply tripped over my own foot,’ I say. ‘I’m very clumsy.’
Passenger Stink continues to frown at me and I wonder, somewhat uncharitably, why he can’t just be pleased that he no longer smells like the inside of a gym during a heatwave. Some people!
‘I hate commercial deodorant,’ he says.
No shit.
‘I prefer to make my own organic, natural one using baking powder and essential oils,’ he continues. ‘Now that stuff smells good.’
‘Does it … do the job?’ I ask, even though I already know the answer to this question.
‘One hundred per cent. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to politely ask you to stop spraying me with toxic gasses. Absolutely terrible for the atmosphere. Are you even allowed canisters on planes?’
‘I think so.’ Although now he’s making me doubt myself. ‘It’s not like it’s a pepper spray.’
A member of the cabin crew stops and gives me a reproving look, as if I have actually smuggled contraband onto the flight.
‘It’s deodorant!’ I yelp, waving it about as proof. Then I sheepishly sink into my seat, feeling like a naughty school kid and wondering quite what I’ve got myself into. I usually hate getting into trouble. Still, this plane now smells much better and a little thrill runs up my spine as I realize I’ve successfully set the scene for Hamish’s arrival. Not long now!
Third time’s a charm, they say, and my heart is definitely skipping a beat as Hamish saunters onto the plane. As per, we’ve been waiting on the tarmac for our missing passenger and a chorus of boos has begun. I swear the rest of the passengers are even more vocal in their disapproval of Hamish today. What happened to the sense of community in coach, I wonder, briefly and horrifyingly wishing Callum was here to share the in-joke with me.
That’s quite enough of that.
I shake my head to dispel those thoughts immediately and remind myself why I’m here and, more importantly, how I’m getting out.
Hamish, the answer to my problems, is being ushered towards me.
One disgruntled traveller has started a slow clap. Another shouts some choice words. Someone even throws their airline pillow at him, which is new.
‘Hey, come on, guys,’ I call out, rushing to Hamish’s defence. ‘Can we give them the benefit of the doubt, please? No one knows what’s going on in other people’s lives and I’m sure this person has an important reason for being late.’
Truth is, a missing egg sandwich doesn’t exactly fall into the important reason category. But my little outburst does seem to help calm the booing, and my heart continues to skitter as Hamish’s eyes lock onto mine.
