Croissants and Jam (3 page)

    ‘For pity’s sake,’ he mumbles.

I turn to see him looking at his watch.

    ‘Are you all right?’ I ask politely.

    ‘I would be if the plane took off. It is fifteen minutes late now. I have a business meeting in Rome. For God’s sake, why can’t they get these things off on time?’

I feel my heart lurch. I can’t be late. As it is I have just an hour to freshen up before dinner. I cannot spare any more time. I was even hoping to quickly retrieve my Donna Karan dress from the suitcase.

    ‘Ladies and gentlemen thank you for flying with Easyair. I am afraid we have a bit of a delay…’

The man beside me sighs heavily and I see perspiration running down his temples.

    ‘We are still awaiting one remaining passenger who is joining us from a connecting flight.’

I tap my fingers on the armrest.

    ‘Lady, are you trying to turn me into a nervous wreck? What is it with the tapping? I am trying to chill here,’ quips Mr Academic.

Bloody hell, do I need Mr
socially inept and badly in need of a haircut
and Mr
stressed out
get me to Rome yesterday
, sitting in the same row as me.

    ‘And I am trying to get to Rome to get married, and I am supposed to be having dinner with my future in-laws, so I am a little nervous.’

    ‘Do I need to know this?’

    ‘Can someone please tell me who the fuck is holding up the plane?’ shouts Mr Businessman who is now on his feet and, oh Jesus, his face is very red. I can see the perspiration on the back of his pale blue shirt. He rubs his hands together nervously.

    ‘Please stay calm sir, we understand the passenger is on his way and will be boarding soon.’

Oh thank God.

    ‘It’s not right to delay a flight for one passenger,’ he asserts.

I nod emphatically.

    ‘Chill man,’ advises Mr Academic. ‘Statistically it is very improbable that we will arrive later than ten minutes after our scheduled landing time, in fact, statistics show that 90%...’

    ‘Oh shut up geek. What do you know? I don’t imagine you have ever had to be anywhere in a hurry. Whichever way it goes we are going to be late – so who gives a 90% shit,’ snaps Mr Businessman.

Oh dear, this is not the best place to be. The stewardess seems to be greeting someone.

    ‘I think he is here. We will be going soon,’ I say, relief flooding through my body like a drug.

    ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will be departing in a few minutes,’ announces the captain, sounding as relieved as I feel.

Some passengers applaud while others sigh. As the stewardess is showing the late passenger to his seat I spot the Marc Jacob jumper. It’s the guy from the Sushi bar. What a sodding cheek, making us all wait while he has his bloody lunch. Well, I shall give him a piece of my mind. He casually walks past our row smiling, seemingly oblivious to the bad karma emanating from Mr Businessman, and then backtracks. My God, he is sitting in front of me. I watch as he squeezes into his seat. Connecting flight my arse, stuffing his bloody face with food more like. I attempt to push him from my mind and try again to relax.

    ‘I won’t make it, I know I won’t. Christ, this is an important contract too.’ I turn slowly to Mr Businessman and pretend I haven’t seen his now even redder face. He is fumbling with his seatbelt and his hands are shaking with anger. Oh dear, this is so not good.

    ‘We’ll be up soon,’ I say cheerfully, helping him

    ‘Not before bloody time, bloody connecting flights.’

Together we clip the seatbelt on and I debate whether to mention the Sushi bar but decide on reflection it might be a bad idea. A terrible fight may ensue and someone might get knifed or shot or at the very least, punched and then I may never get to Rome, let alone to the sodding dinner. No, at times like this when violence is a probability, it is best to keep one’s mouth shut. The plane starts taxiing and I decide to push the Sushi guy from my mind and relax with my book. I will still make it, maybe a bit harassed but I am sure Simon’s parents will understand. I flex my feet and start reading. I feel a sinking in my stomach when the pilot announces we have missed our scheduled slot for departure thanks to the
stuff as much as I can into my mouth
late passenger. Obviously he doesn’t call him that but we all know he is the cause of the delay. I almost hope a lynch mob may descend on him but of course being British we just mumble swear words instead. The lady opposite me even offers her Revels around. I am sorely tempted but point to my waistline and roll my eyes and she seems to understand. Ah, the language of women. Mr Businessman fidgets in his seat and repeats the ‘F’ word several times.

    ‘Got any great numbers you want to offer, like whether he may kill someone before we even take off is like 95% probable?’ I ask Mr Academic.

    ‘Well, statistically speaking…’ he begins.

    ‘Yes, well, don’t worry about it,’ I interrupt as a load of paperwork spills into my lap. I hand the papers back to Mr Businessman, who I see from the headed paper is in fact a Mr Kevin Manning.

    ‘I need to get on another plane. Someone get me on another flight. My whole bloody business depends on this meeting. I shall never fly with this airline again.’

Yes, well I think we all agree on that. I hand him the papers, along with a glass of water that the stewardess had given me. He snatches it, gulps it back in one hit, and fumbles with the papers.

I am beginning to feel very tense and reach into my handbag for my Rescue Remedy. I throw my head back and let three drops fall onto my tongue and immediately feel better. I hear a throaty chuckle, jerk myself up and feel the remedy catch in my throat, making me choke. My eyes stream and I sneeze uncontrollably. God, I feel sure I am going to die. Jesus,
Remedy Rescue
, is that a joke? Mr Academic bangs me on the back just a bit harder than is needed. I struggle to get my breath.

    ‘That stuff will be the death of you.’ I barely hear the crystal clear voice over my choking. Looking up through watery eyes I spy the head above the Marc Jacob jumper. He is mocking me while handing a large white handkerchief over the back of his seat. I respond with an enormous sneeze and notice his bright blue smiling eyes and ruffled brown hair. God, he is handsome, rather like a Greek God where everything is perfection. He laughs again revealing white even teeth.

    ‘You surely don’t believe in that crap? I suppose you swallow Evening Primrose capsules too, and burn incense,’ he mocks me.

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. How dare he? Posh bugger. I am just recovering when the seat belt sign
bings
and the stewardess asks him to take his seat. Damn it, not even time for a sharp retort. I close my eyes as the plane shoots down the runway and force myself to think of the fashion show that I will be attending in Rome. We are up and I am finally on my way. I feel my shoulders relax and lean down into my handbag to retrieve my iPod. I am just about to sit back when
he
reclines his seat, knocking the iPod out of my hand. What an inconsiderate git. I shove it forward, harder than necessary, in a vain attempt to break his neck.

    ‘Do you mind?’ I say angrily.

No response, typical. I fumble around Mr Academic’s leg trying to find the music player.

    ‘Hey. Easy tiger,’ he coos and winks at me.

    ‘Don’t worry, I can resist you, trust me. It is just by your
I Love Clapham
bag, can you reach it?’

    ‘
Clapham Market Rules,
actually. Here.’

He kicks the iPod towards me. I settle again in my seat, open my book, and prepare for the third time to chill. I turn to Kevin and gasp at his pale face. My God, he looks awful.

    ‘Are you all right? Do you want some more water?’ I offer.

Kevin shakes his head, the effort to speak seeming too much for him. I hold out my Rescue Remedy but he waves it away.

    ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ I offer as I push my earphones back in.

Closing my eyes I drift with the music. I picture Simon and feel a warm sensation. Mum is quite right of course, this is the one. It is perfectly normal to have pre-wedding nerves. After all, it is going to be a big affair, although that had been Simon’s parents’ choice. The chapel I had chosen in London was considered too small by his mother and suddenly we are being married in a small church on the outskirts of their village and having our reception in the grounds of their villa. I still find it a bit disconcerting that just a few days before my own wedding I still have not seen where the ceremony is to be held. I push silly negative thoughts from my mind and attempt to read my book. The movement of the plane lulls me to sleep. The next thing I feel is Mr Academic waking me up, pulling me from a nice cosy dream. The stewardess is offering coffee and packets of nuts. I prick my ears up as the stewardess offers drinks to the row in front. I hear that clear voice again and feel instantly angry with myself when I feel my heart beating a bit faster. For God’s sake Bels, you are on your way to be married, what is wrong with you?

    ‘Do you have anything else apart from nuts? It is just I have an allergy you see,’ he asks politely.

The stewardess looks thoughtful.

    ‘We have Toblerone, sir,’ she offers.

    ‘Yes, well that has nuts too doesn’t it?’

She looks embarrassed.

    ‘I think we have a few snicker bars,’ she says helpfully.

I stifle my laughter.

    ‘Yes, but that also has nuts doesn’t it?’ There is a hint of humour in his voice.

    ‘Oh yes, silly me,’ blushes the stewardess.

Oh really this is just too silly to be real. He surely can’t be hungry after stuffing himself with so much Sushi.

    ‘We have some cakes,’ offers another stewardess, smiling sweetly at him. Oh for God’s sake, throw yourselves at him why don’t you? She hands him a small wrapped cake and I attempt to stifle my giggle but fail miserably.

    ‘Ah, excellent, except Bakewell tart has nuts in it too doesn’t it?’ he says patiently, seemingly not hearing my laughter or deliberately ignoring it.

    ‘Jesus,’ exclaims Mr Academic and I follow his eyes to where Kevin is slumped in his seat.

Oh Christ, why did I have to be in this row? Kevin is clutching his chest and moaning quietly. For a second, only a second mind you, I wonder if I ignore the whole pain in the chest scenario, maybe it will all go away. Mr Academic leans over me and prods Kevin.

    ‘Is he breathing?’

Oh God, I hope so. I touch Kevin’s clammy skin and gulp.

    ‘Kevin, what’s wrong?’ I ask softly.

He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Oh shit.

    ‘Do you have any sandwiches?’ I hear Marc Jacob jumper say and I see red.

    ‘Oh please, give him something to shut him up, preferably a peanut butter sandwich, and then put out a plea for a doctor, I think this guy is having a heart attack,’ I say angrily.

Suddenly he is leaning over his seat.

    ‘Is there a doctor on board, can we have some oxygen here?’ he calls out.

Mr Academic jumps from his seat as a man whom I presume is a doctor, sprints down the aisle towards us, while I gently wipe the perspiration from Kevin’s face.

    ‘This is your fault,’ I say to the guy in front of me.

    ‘My fault, why what did I do?’

    ‘If you had not been stuffing your face in that Sushi bar, you would not have held the plane up and Kevin would not have got worked up and now be having…’

I am thrown from my seat by the doctor.

    ‘Out, and can we please get this seat back,’ he orders.

I am standing in the aisle now, face to face with the enemy, well you get my drift.

    ‘Look, I am sorry about your boyfriend…’ he begins.

    ‘He is not my boyfriend. I have only just met him,’ I interrupt, feeling furious. Good God, does he think I can’t do better than Kevin? Not that there is anything wrong with Kevin, of course. He is probably very nice but it is obvious he is much older than me and not at all my type. He just shrugs however.

    ‘Whatever. Your private life is none of my business, but his heart attack is nothing to do with me.’

The captain’s announcement quietens everyone.

    ‘Ladies and Gentlemen this is your captain speaking. Unfortunately one of our passengers has been taken ill and it is necessary for us to make an unscheduled landing at Chatillon-Sur-Seine. We would ask that you disembark in accordance with health and safety regulations, and request you take any hand luggage with you should we need to change planes. Once the passenger has been collected by the emergency services we will recall you onto the flight. We apologise for any inconvenience. Please be assured, Easyair always maintains customer well-being as our top priority.’

What the hell does he mean by
customer well-being
? I am getting so stressed trying to get to sodding Rome that I may also have a heart attack. Some customer well-being.

    ‘Classic,’ I mumble.

Chapter Three

    So here we are, or at least here I am, at another bloody airport. The place is packed and there is not a solitary seat to be found. I fish my mobile from my bag to text Simon but find I have no signal. To top it all I am now somewhere in bloody France. I check the time on my phone. Bugger, if I am lucky I will make it with about fifteen minutes to spare. What a bloody first impression this is going to make. God, I am so thirsty but I cannot face the queues.

    ‘Hey,
Rescue Remedy
,’

Oh no. Please God, not him. I pretend to ignore him and trundle towards the flight board.

    ‘Buy you a coffee?’ he persists.

I turn and see him. My God, the guy is the ultimate human dustbin. He has a large plate of croissants and jam.

    ‘Join me. I can’t eat all this myself.’ He points to a chair.

    ‘I am sure you will manage to force it down,’ I retort scornfully, while staring enviously at his coffee.