Page 17 of Big Sexy Love
Shit. I’m caught. Can she smell booze on my breath? Are they going to throw me off theflight?
‘Miss, you’re actually on that side,’ the woman tells me with a friendly smile, thumbing to the left where there’s a heavy blue curtain draped across the aisle. ‘Your ticket is firstclass!’
‘Oh. Oh!’ I say, relief sweeping over me. ‘SoIam!’
I flick my curls back as if this is all totally normal for me, slide open the soft curtain and walk into a part of the plane that looks nothing like the cramped, bus-like version I just saw on the right-handside.
Woah. It’s like Air Force One in here! Okay… this isn’tsobad…
I search my ticket for my seat number. 34b. That’s my bra size! That’s got to be a sign that everything will be okay,surely?
I wander down the aisle until I reach my seat. It’s so roomy on this plane. I look down at the floor – it’s carpeted! I notice that all the seats are almost like little private pods, one pod on each side of the aisle. Wow! I wiggle my eyebrows,impressed.
34b! Here I am! I settle myself into my little pod and gasp as I realise that there’s a massive flat-screen TV all to myself, and that the seat reclines so that I can put myfeetup!
I have two big windows to the left of me, which is not ideal considering that I need to pretend that I’mnotin the sky. And so I pull down on the blinds. Now I can pretend I’m just in a really small hotel. Or on a really fancy bus or something. Beyoncé’stourbus!
As the other passengers file onto the plane, I mess around with the TV, pressing my fingers against it. It’s touchscreen! My TV at home is massive, yes, but it’s from 2004 so it still has a whole box attheback.
Man. If only I could just hang out here without actually having to go somewhere. It’ssocool!
I reach into my bumbag and grab my phone, textingBirdie.
This airplane is so cool!I cannot believe you got me first class. The comfort level is definitely helping my fear of flying. P.S. I am a bit drunk. It was an accident. P.P.S. I am not a giant nerd.Youare.
My phone pings back immediately,but it’s not from Birdie, it’s fromColin!
I’m watchingyour plane from the lounge and wishing I was coming withyoux.
My eyebrows shoot up.Well that’s very forward. And nice… right? It’s nice that he’s thinking of me even though we only just said goodbye less than five minutes ago. I smile to myself andtextback.
Thank you!Hopeyou’rewell.
Even as I’mpressing send I realise that my reply might be the stiffest flirt text anyone has ever sent. But that’s because I’ve never sent one before! Frowning, I quickly send a kissy face emoji to soften my formality and shove my phone back into mybumbag.
Plugging my headphones into the TV, I switch the channels until I find an old episode ofCurb Your Enthusiasm– my favouriteTVshow.
‘Jackpot!’ I mutter withagrin.
I see a flash of green out of the corner of my eye. Looking up, I notice it’s that guy from the check-in queue. The queue pusher. The one who made fun of my bumbag in front of my queue buddies. Ugh. His pod is the one directly opposite mine on the other side of the aisle. Damn. He looks so smug sitting in his seat, his white button-down shirt all crumpled, like he’s too busy and clever to iron it, those big pretentious hipster glasses on his face. He thinks he’s so high and mighty in his fancyTVjob.
I realise I’m staring at him and quickly turn my head away before he spots me. In fact, I don’t want to have to engage at all. I do what I always do when I want to signal to other people that I am not available for interaction – I pull the hood up on my hoodie and tug the string at the bottom so that only a tiny portion of my eyes nose and mouth are poking throughthegap.
Okay, so I’ve never done it in public before – it’s a pretty intimidating look – but it works when I’m trying to get Donna to leave me alone, and that’s not generally aneasytask.
‘Oh it’s you.Fannypack!’
Shit. He’s seen me. And he’s calling me Fannypack!Ugh.
‘In England we call it a bumbag,’ I say, giving him a firm but politesmile.
‘Why are you so obsessed with England?’ he asks, turning his pod seat so it’s sort of facing mine. Jeez. What part of ‘I have my hoodie hood up so bugger off!’ doesn’t heunderstand?
‘Excuseme?’
‘In Englandwe queue.In Englandwe call it a bumbag,’ he mimics in a terribly whiny Liam Gallagher typeaccent.
‘I’m not obsessed with England,’ I respond, my nostrils flaring a little. ‘I’mleavingit,aren’tI?’
