The thought pops into my head so quietly I almost miss it.
‘Have some fun?’ I repeat to myself dully. That’s not especially easy when I’m stuck at the airport about to board a thirteen-hour flight to Singapore.
Tsk. You’re Nina Moss. You’ve turned stranger places into successful parties. Have at it!
Hmm. I guess my subconscious might be right. I once created a beautiful birthday party at an abandoned underground toilet in Shepherd’s Bush.
Hope sparks up somewhere deep in my brain for the first time since I got dressed this morning. I could just have some fun, right? Now that I live in this world where the old rules don’t work, I could just see what life would be like if I really didn’t give a damn? Didn’t care about what other people thought of me for the first time in my life. Didn’t mind if I said something silly, which to be fair I do quite a bit of anyway. Maybe that but without the recriminations. I’m a hell of a one for beating myself up after saying something stupid. Today, I could totally speak my mind. And just enjoy it. There’s no point being down in the dumps, is there?
Carpe diem!
Pumped up, I take a box of hugely expensive chocolates and potter over to the till. I smile warmly at the person behind the counter.
‘Yes, I am buying these,’ I tell her.
‘An excellent choice. Would you like them gift-wrapped?’
‘I’ll probably just smash my way through them on the flight but, why not?’
‘Why not, indeed,’ she replies, delicately encasing them in tissue paper and bows before taking my card.
‘Actually, I’ll take one of those too please,’ I add, gesturing towards a jeroboam of champagne. ‘Make that two.’
‘Certainly.’
I leave Harrods almost a thousand pounds worse off, and with nothing but a box of chocs and six litres of champagne in my hands.
Fuck it.
Usually, I’d be panicking about whether or not it was acceptable for me to smuggle six litres of champagne onto a long-haul flight. I mean, I think technically it’s allowed but is it socially acceptable? I’m voting no. Still, do I give two hoots about that today? No I do not, my friend! Today, I am flying by the seat of my heart-covered pants. I’ve tucked the booze into the laundry section of my massive weekender, which I love even more now. It means that my bag is now monstrously heavy but Nutty Nina cares not a jot.
I lug it onto my shoulder as I head towards the departure gate.
Quite frankly, I can’t be arsed to swap seats so that I can maximize my Hamish time. If he is my key out of here, then that feels bleak indeed, and I’m not that mad about putting it off for another day.
I hop on the walking pavement, anticipation building at the thought of seeing Callum again soon.
‘Hey,’ Callum says, when I find myself walking straight into him on the travelator.
‘What are you doing here?’ I squawk as he steadies me with those goddamn arms.
He gives me a curious look.
‘Coming to Australia with you. You know that, right?’
‘I do know that,’ I say. I can’t tell Callum that what I meant was, why isn’t he walking on the normal pavement, can I? But it is weird that things are changing every time I repeat this Monday. I know the stuff that’s in my control is changing because I’m the one living this relentless day. But why is other stuff changing too? What made Callum get on the travelator today?
Is the entire concept of time starting to slowly chip away? Are pieces of my day going to start disintegrating as time becomes more and more fragile, the more I loop? This feels like another question for the science boffs. With my brain truly fogged-up, I end up looking into Callum’s beautiful face and saying: ‘Am I going to become some sort of husk?’
Callum scans me for, presumably, further signs of insanity.
‘What’s wrong, Moss?’ he asks.
‘Just considering the meaning of life,’ I sigh.
‘Big topic.’ He rubs a hand across his jaw. ‘For the record, you don’t look like a husk to me. You look good. Nice outfit.’
‘Are you … joking?’
