Mistletoe on 34th Street Page 6

  Abigail blinked.

  ‘My point,’ I continued quickly, ‘is that bad things can happen anywhere, anytime, when you least expect them. So there’s no point in worrying in advance.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Perhaps I’d overshared. Hmm. Perhaps it was time to reel it back in and try another angle. ‘The first time I went to one of these conferences on my own, I was so convinced the plane was going to crash and I would die alone that I took a Tamagotchi with me for company. And it wasn’t even the nineties; it was like, five years ago.’

  ‘What’s a Tamagotchi?’

  ‘Oh, never mind. The point of that story was not to worry about going on your own, because you’re not on your own. You’re with us. And you’re sitting with Dee. And nothing bad is going to happen, mainly because we’re talking about it, and bad things can’t happen if you’ve already spoken about them because people aren’t psychic.’

  ‘But I bet all the people—’

  ‘Let’s not worry too much about the science behind that theory. Are you just nervous about the flight, or is it anything else?’

  Abigail was silent.

  ‘Coffee for your thoughts?’

  ‘Huh?’

  I pointed towards Starbucks. ‘I’ll buy you a coffee if you tell me what’s bothering you. Maybe I’ll be able to help, rather than just tell stories that I’m not sure are quite hitting the mark.’

  Abigail followed me to the counter and selected a hot chocolate while I went for that latte, because a latte with a friend in need is still better than no latte (even if it’s not as good as a latte alone). I took a sip. Mmm, I love you a latte.

  We strolled slowly back to the window with our drinks, me waiting for Abigail to open up. A few slurps of chocolate in and she did.

  ‘It’s not so much that I’m nervous about travelling on my own. I mean, I am. I’ve never been on a flight on my own before. But it’s more about … about … ’

  ‘About your boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes.’ She blushed. ‘Am I being really obvious? It’s just that he and I haven’t spent a night apart in a really long time, and I think I’m going to miss him a lot. I’m worried I’ll be all jealous and paranoid about what he’s getting up to.’

  ‘Does he give you a reason to feel like that? Has he done anything shifty before? Do you want me to kill him? Because I’m in my thirties which means I’m very wise and I think we’re allowed to kill twenty-something punks once we women are in our thirties.’

  Abigail laughed, wetness balancing on the window ledge of her lower lid. ‘I’m not sure that’s true.’

  ‘No? How sure?’

  ‘Pretty sure. But no, he’s basically the perfect boyfriend, I don’t think he’d cheat on me in a million years, I’m just worried that I’ll turn into a crazy monster. Urgh, you must think I’m such a fifties housewife.’ She surreptitiously wiped her eyes, which I pretended not to notice.

  ‘Of course I don’t. Everyone’s entitled to their emotions and feelings. Being in love doesn’t stop you being a feminist. It’s a good thing actually – you obviously have the same respect for him as a man as he does for you as a woman. It’s all about equality.’

  I was beginning to think I should have my own talk show. One where I help and motivate people. We could have a Girls of the World TV channel. I could be Oprah! Moreover, this coffee was nice.

  ‘Also,’ she continued; so I hadn’t quite solved the issue yet, ‘also, I feel a little bit bad, because we always said we’d go to New York for our honeymoon.’

  ‘You’re engaged?’ I spat. She was only twenty-three!

  ‘No, I’m only twenty-three! But, don’t tell anyone this … ’ She leant a bit closer, as if any of the other passengers would have given two hoots. ‘If he asked me I’d say yes, and I have this teeny-tiny feeling he might ask me this Christmas.’

  ‘When do you turn twenty-four?’ I asked. ‘I mean: yay! So you really are looking forward to getting back to him.’

  ‘Yep.’ She nodded.

  ‘Then just think of this as a research expedition. Scoping out all the places you want to go with him in the future. Would you like me to make sure you have a rubbish time on this trip?’

  ‘No.’ Abigail smiled. ‘Thanks though. Are you married, Liv?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?’

  ‘Nope and nope.’

  A blush stained Abi’s cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, that was really rude, and nosy. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  I downed the rest of my coffee. ‘It wasn’t rude, unless you were implying there’s something wrong with not having a partner?’

  ‘Not at all!’

  ‘Then it’s not rude, it’s just a question. Like, “Do you watch Orange is the New Black?” or, “How many lamps do you have in your house?” I’m not keen on relationships.’

  ‘No? No. Me neither … ’ Abigail was still blushing, lost for words.

  ‘Liar.’ I smiled. ‘And by the way, I do watch Orange is the New Black, and I have five lamps in my flat, FYI, which is a bit ridiculous really because it’s only got three rooms and I try and save electricity by only using two of them.’

  ‘Two rooms or two lamps?’

  ‘Two lamps.’ Awkward silence. ‘How many lamps do you have?’

  The tannoy crackled at that moment and up leapt seventy per cent of the waiting passengers, lobbing laptops in bags and coats over shoulders. Toddlers were grabbed by the ankles and boyfriends were laden frantically with a million travel pillows. The stampede towards the gate was Anglophiled by speed-walking as opposed to running, and silent determination instead of shouting.

  Being the Most Well Behaved Girl in the Airport, I hung back, scolding (silently) these people – they all had reserved seats! There was no need for this madness!

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. We’ll shortly begin boarding British Airways flight 0173 from London Heathrow to John F. Kennedy airport in New York City, and today we’ll be calling you to the gate by your row number. Please take a seat until your row number is called. If your row number has not been called and you approach the gate I’m afraid you will have to wait. Please only come to the gate when your row number is called. Row number.’

  About three people left the hoard while the rest stood stoically, celebrating themselves for their selective hearing.

  ‘So are you feeling OK about the flight?’ I said to Abigail as we walked back to the others. ‘SIT,’ I ordered, a little gruffer than intended, to Jasmine who was leaving the group to join the crowd.

  ‘Yep, I’m OK. Thank you,’ Abigail replied.

  ‘Sorry about the swimming costume story. Not a nice mental image for you there.’

  ‘No problem. I’d all but forgotten … ’

  We edged away from each other. I think enough had been said.

  ‘What time do we get to New York?’ Dee asked, as if it wasn’t written on the boarding pass in her hand.

  ‘Twenty-five past five, New York time,’ I said.

  ‘So what’s that UK time?’ asked Ian.

  ‘That would be nearly ten thirty.’

  ‘How long is the flight?’ Jasmine said, looking towards the plane as if it was as boring as a number ninety-three bus.

  ‘Seven and a half hours.’ Un-grit, you naughty teeth …

  ‘Do you think we get a meal on the plane?’ asked one of them, as they merged into one big FAQ page on the BA website.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What meals?’

  ‘Probably lunch.’

  ‘Will there be chicken?’

  ‘There usually is.’

  ‘I don’t like chicken.’

  ‘Then have the pasta.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘We’ll now be boarding rows forty to fifty. If you’re sitting in rows forty to fifty, please approach the gate now. If not, please bugger the buggering hell out of the way.’*

  *I paraphrase.

  ‘That’s us,�
�� said Abigail to Dee.

  ‘Me too,’ added Ian. And Jasmine turned to follow them. Her version of a big smile and a ‘me too!’

  ‘Are you not sitting with us, Olivia?’ Abigail turned back.

  I put on my best pained look. ‘No, unfortunately I couldn’t get five seats near each other, so I’m right up in row twenty-one. Don’t have too much fun without me! See you on the plane! Byeeeee!’

  I sat back down and inhaled. Ahhhhhhhh. Peace at last. I tapped my carry-on bag, feeling my thick books inside. Books are the best. They have nice covers and loads of words, and they don’t ask anything from you other than your enjoyment. Soon, my pretties.

  Ten minutes later I was on board, shoehorning my bottom into my window seat on row twenty-one, far far away from my colleagues. Now I don’t know if you’re aware of the science behind aircraft, but I believe I’m correct in saying that when airborne you are ‘without time zone’, and it is officially legal to eat, drink and sleep at whatever time of day it happened to be. Ten a.m. flight? Have a wine, whydontcha. Just eaten din-dins at the airport and boarded an eleven p.m. aeroplane? Sure, why wouldn’t I have dinner number two and start a movie now? And just because you just left the UK at lunchtime doesn’t mean it isn’t the perfect time to get out your blanket and pillow and have a snooze.

  Midday-shmidday. I ripped into my plastic-coated pillow and blanket, and plopped my ginormous Jed Rubenfeld book on my lap before the plane had even left the ground, because I am in fact ninety-two years old, in spirit.

  I opened my tome and curled myself into the uncomfortable pillow-against-window set-up. But then I felt a tap on my shoulder. A shoulder tap this early on was unlikely to be a complimentary glass of merlot, but I lifted my head anyway, only to see Jasmine looking down at me, eyes of ice.

  ‘Nobody told me I’d be sitting in the middle seat.’

  I bristled. Perhaps it’s a skill, something that would be useful if she ever took a career as a barrister or something, how everything Jasmine said sounded ever so accusatory – something to make the listener feel stupid, or like they’d missed doing something important. She was a toughie, because she was a frosty, stroppy cow who went against everything Girls of the World stood for.

  ‘If you’d checked in online yesterday you may have been able to pick your own seat. I did say that in the email.’

  ‘I didn’t see the email.’ She sighed. ‘It’s fine, it just would have been nice if someone had mentioned it, that’s all.’ She stared sulkily at my window seat. ‘I get quite vommy in the middle seat.’

  ‘Me too. Here, have my sick bag.’ Oh hell to the NO, lady, there was no way I was about to give up my seat for her.

  ‘I might need more than one,’ she fumed, so I punched her in the face.

  OK, I didn’t, instead I said as pleasantly as I could manage, ‘That’s all I have, I’m afraid.’

  Without another word she stropped off and I was just about to open my book’s cover again when Dee slid into the seat next to me.

  ‘Oh, Dee, I think someone’s sitting there, he’s just finding somewhere for his bag … ’ I pointed at a middle-aged man who seemed to be getting further and further away as he searched for some space in the overhead lockers.

  ‘I just wanted to check something with you about the schedule,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘Did you say we were going to be busy every evening?’

  ‘We don’t have any plans for tonight, but we arrive around five thirty New York time, which will feel like ten thirty p.m. to us. So by the time we’re out of the airport and at the hotel, I think most people will just want to hit the sack. Tomorrow there are day-one drinks and the cultural performance at the end of the conference and I thought we could all go out to dinner after. The second day we have the networking and the movie screening, and then the last day we have the gala dinner. Then we fly home the day after. So we do have plans every evening, but there’ll be a bit of free time here and there, and I don’t think the gala dinner on the last night will go on too late because some people will be heading home that evening.’

  Dee was nodding, her mind whirring. ‘OK, OK, I hear you,’ she chirped. ‘So we’ll make the most of things – you know, of New York, while we can. Gotcha, thanks, Olivia, forget I was even here.’ And with that, off she flew.

  It was also Dee’s birthday the day after tomorrow. I hadn’t forgotten.

  By now, my seat-mate was back and after a few polite exchanges about the weather and the in-flight movie choice, we settled back ready to ignore each other for the next seven and a half hours.

  The take-off was surprisingly smooth and before long we’d ascended up and through the thick, watery clouds. Above us the sun shone in all its glory amid a bright blue sky, and the clouds became a blanket of fluffy snow beneath. My mind turned to imagining spending a ‘traditional’ Christmas, snowbound in a log cabin, stockings hung above a fireplace, Wham! wandering about throwing snowballs at each other and then shaking it out of their mullets …

  I tapped my fingers on my book. I bet Jon’s Christmas would be just like that. He was a Christmas jumper-and-carols type of man. Staring out of the window I wondered how ahead of us his plane was. What was he doing right now? Was Carl bothering him? Was he watching a Christmas movie on his seat-back entertainment? Would he be my New York bestie without Kim here? Because as much as I wanted to be on my own, I did feel a tiny bit lonely.

  Elf. I bet Jon was watching Elf, which was one of the on-demand options. Taking a deep breath I put down my book, signalled for a beer, and decided to give Christmas spirit a try …

  Two hours into the flight I woke up with a snort, just as the end credits were rolling. Dammit. My mouth was dry and the man next to me raised his eyebrows just a fraction which suggested I was the worst person to sit next to in the world. I both wanted a drink, and wanted to pee, which was very conflicting.

  Standing up and apologising profusely for my basic human functions, I edged out of my seat and wandered towards the loos between business and premium economy, past rows of travellers, headphones in, staring at the backs of the seats in front. One lady was watching Magic Mike XXL and fanning herself. I came to a stop behind the drinks trolley where I hovered nonchalantly for a while as if this was just where I wanted to hang out, thank you very much, before the air steward gave me an apologetic smile and edged the trolley closer towards me.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ I flustered. ‘I thought you were going the other way.’ I tried to flatten myself against the nearby seats, very aware that my bottom was blocking half of Channing Tatum’s bottom on fanning lady’s screen.

  ‘Would you mind just … ’ the flight attendant said.

  ‘How about I just … ’

  ‘Perhaps I could go back a bit.’

  ‘No, no.’ I backed away, embarrassed. ‘I’ll use the loo at the other end.’ And with that I ran away to the toilets in the middle of the plane. Where the queue was incredibly long.

  Edging through the aisle to the back of the queue, my bladder ached. Now I was upright all that coffee and beer was ready to come out of me, and I danced and jiggled about in the aisle, waiting. Who the hell was in there?

  The people in the queue in front of me were tutting and stretching, and they kept filtering off to the cubicle on the other side at the first chance they got. Eventually I was at the front, thank God, because I was this close to having to whack on some Tena Lady.

  Come onnnnnnnnnn, I willed the person in the cubicle. Had they taken a magazine in there with them or something? I was about to knock on the door when I heard the faintest of giggles inside. You had to be kidding me. So I leant in closer, obviously.

  ‘I’ll give you a merry little Christmas,’ a man’s voice purred quietly behind the door and I snapped my head back in shock. Oh God! Urgh, I actually really hoped he wasn’t in there on his own.

  ‘Mmm, show me your Christmas baubles,’ murmured a woman, and I nearly passed out, but my bladder, curiosity and human instinct for wanting to perv meant not
hing was dragging me away, so as nonchalantly as I could manage I leant in closer and listened.

  ‘I am going to do this to you every day on this trip,’ he growled and I looked around to see if anyone else was aware. You guys, I wanted to scream, mile-high club going on right here, now! Like in the movies!!

  Wait. Where was Dee? She wasn’t next to Abigail (who was downing a mini bottle of wine and clutching at her necklace). Where was Ian? He wasn’t in the seat behind.

  No. They couldn’t be. They were always so discreet at work – it was the worst-kept secret in London that they were together but they’d never be this careless, surely? Dee in particular would be mortified if their workmates caught them so much as holding hands.

  Beside me the toilet door thumped and shuddered and a quiet guttural moan that could have belonged to either of them could be heard, though apparently only by me. In the same way dogs are the only ones that can hear certain high-pitched noises, it would seem I was the only one who could hear two wiry office workers climaxing.

  I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to leave and go back to my seat, but I didn’t want them to risk running into anyone else when they came out. What if Jasmine or Abigail saw them? What if this was illegal and the cabin crew called for an emergency landing in Greenland to get them off the plane? I really needed them at the conference … And should I say anything? Was this against office ethics, something I should discipline them about? But nobody needed a telling-off right after sex. What if it Pavlov’s-dogged them and conditioned them to never want to shake their tail feathers again for fear of being reprimanded? I hated myself, I was such a matron. Also, I really had to pee.

  I was still thinking about this when I looked up and saw the she-devil climbing huffily out of her seat and over her neighbour.

  ‘Hi!’ I yelled out when Jasmine began heading this way, still a good ten rows from me.