by Mandy Baggot
‘And you didn’t even think about joining the Mile-High Club?!’
Becky looked at Petra’s T-shirt. It was now tied in a knot at her navel, the fabric tighter across her boobs and the weave of the material flush against her perfect figure.
‘Well,’ Petra said pulling a ChapStick out of the pocket of her skinny jeans, ‘if you’re not interested and he’s on our next flight, I wouldn’t mind a few minutes in the toilet with him.’ She sighed, applying ChapStick to her eyebrows as well as her lips. ‘I’ve nearly mastered wedging my arse between the tap and the hand towel dispenser. Although I’m sure the cubicles on Jetstar Asia are a few inches smaller than any other plane manufactured.’
Becky had no words. And then Elias returned, the expression on his face telling her all she needed to know.
‘He is insisting we travel through the airport as a group,’ Elias said with a sigh of frustration.
‘Then we’re fucked,’ Petra announced. She stuck her hand out. ‘Hi. I’m Petra. Are you single?’
And, just like that, Becky realised she had much more to learn about world exploration than what was written in any Marco Polo guide.
Eleven
‘Does it say anything on your app?’
Becky was out of breath, but not too out of breath to ask Elias the same question she had been asking him intermittently since they had finally managed to get through passport control – snail-pace slow. Whenever a flight of stairs was encountered, the couple with walking sticks and the family with buggies all had to use lifts. This meant those not incapacitated rushed down the steps only to wait for the lift to deliver the remainder of their party an age afterwards. And no amount of trying to break ahead of the group seemed to be acceptable to their airline ambassador.
‘Nothing,’ Elias responded.
‘He didn’t look,’ Petra announced. ‘You didn’t look.’
‘There is no point in looking,’ Elias insisted. ‘We have to get through security first and then get to the gate.’
‘There is a point. It might say they are holding the plane until a certain time and then we will have something to work to.’ Petra readjusted her backpack. ‘This one time, in Bangladesh, the pilot was actually sat on the tarmac eating panta bhat when we rocked up. We got on the plane and he finished his lunch before he got back on and flew us.’
‘Could that happen here?’ Becky asked, looking to Elias who still hadn’t broken into any kind of a sweat. ‘I mean… don’t the Greeks like a siesta about now?’
‘Siesta is in the early afternoon,’ he answered. ‘It is almost six now.’
‘Is it? Bugger. They’re not going to wait much longer. If it hasn’t taken off already,’ Petra continued. ‘Maybe they’re just pretending there’s a chance we’re going to get on it.’
‘Why would they do that?’ Becky asked. If she was soaking in her own bodily excretions for no reason she was not going to be amused.
Petra shrugged. ‘Airlines do all sorts of shit. Like tell you they’ve run out of cheese and ham sandwiches because one of the cabin crew has earmarked the last one.’
‘Your boarding pass is ready?’ Elias asked.
‘Yes, it’s in my hand,’ Becky replied. And that was sweaty too. She had been holding it carefully between thumb and forefinger for the last ten minutes in case the sweat started to make the ink on her name and seat number rub off. They were about to scan into a deserted security area. This had to be promising. If they zipped through here, they could be at the gate in mere minutes and on board and she wouldn’t have to get in touch with Ms O’Neill at all. She might be slipping into her swimming costume and diving into that inviting pool in an hour or so… and right now, the thought of cool, refreshing water running over her shoulders and down her back was the best kind of daydream.
Elias scanned and was through the gate. Becky was next. Was this really happening? Was all her concern for nothing? Bleep! She was through. She turned back to watch Petra scan her pass and then, no matter what the airline representative said, she was going to run for her life to the gate.
Just as Petra barrelled through the gate, rucksack almost getting caught up in the automation, a walkie-talkie crackled into life and their ambassador started talking into it.
‘Let’s go!’ Petra exclaimed. ‘While he’s distracted!’
‘Wait,’ Elias said, holding his hand out as if he intended to stop anyone who tried to move. He seemed to be looking curiously at the airline man.
‘We don’t want to wait. We want to make this connection if there’s a chance,’ Petra said.
The talking into the two-way radio ceased and the man raised his arms in the air like he was about to conduct a philharmonic orchestra.
‘Stop! Everybody stop!’
‘Everybody stop?’ Petra queried. ‘What’s he talking about? If those two with the walking sticks stop, they’ll probably seize up and never be able to get going again.’
Elias said something in what Becky presumed was Greek. It sounded blunt and direct and was aimed at the guy in the tabard.
‘What’s happening?’ Becky asked, shifting her espadrilles a little closer to Elias.
‘Why do we have to go back to the desks?’ It was Elias speaking English now. His question prompted others in the group to begin their own questioning of the man allegedly in charge. Why weren’t they scanning their boarding passes to head through security? Where had any sense of urgency gone? Why was no one moving at all? Becky could feel this wasn’t a good situation to be in. Something was afoot – more than her sweaty toes in the pleather shoes.
‘The plane has gone, hasn’t it?’ This was Elias too and as soon as the sentence was out into the airport air there was a collective gasp of despair from everyone in their group.
‘We all need to keep calm and go back to the desks,’ the man reiterated. He was whirling his arms now, like he was one of those crazy policemen directing traffic as if the road was on fire.
‘Just tell us,’ Elias ordered. ‘Has the plane gone?!’
A general hubbub ensued, the largely previously mute party now all wanting answers and seemingly the representative was reluctant to give those answers. Until finally…
‘I am afraid the plane has gone.’
Becky’s heart sank. This was not a scenario she had envisaged when Hazel and Shelley were taking her through difficult eventualities that could occur while travelling. Drink-spiking. Shark attack. Bumping into Lulu. Apparently, Hazel had embarrassed herself at karaoke when Lulu was actually in the room. Becky had no real idea who Lulu was but the mortified look on Hazel’s face even when she was retelling the story had been enough… But no one had seen a missed connection coming. What happened now?
Suddenly, amid a flurry of mobile phone gazing and backpack swinging, the two men in shorts and trainers were off, scanning back out of security and sprinting off to who knew where.
‘Where are they going?’ Petra asked out loud. Then her eyes seemed to come alive and she stepped backwards towards the scanners again. ‘Is there another flight we can get on?’
‘Please,’ the man in airline livery began again. ‘We all need to return to the desks where we can help you further.’
‘Is there another flight?’ This time Petra was asking Elias.
Elias looked at his watch then nodded. ‘Yes, but with Sky Express…’
‘Well, what are we waiting for?!’ Petra exclaimed, scanning her pass and looking to Becky as the gate slid away and allowed their exit back out of security. ‘We can get on it.’
‘And it is leaving in fifteen minutes,’ Elias answered, still as cool as a cucumber. ‘By the time you have made it to the desk and bought a ticket, you will not make it to the gate and onto the plane.’
‘But those guys thought they could—’
‘They won’t,’ Elias said with authority. ‘And I suggest that we head back to the airline desk and hope they can book us onto the flight early tomorrow morning before the guys realise they are out of luck
. Two less passengers to worry about.’
‘Shit! You’re right!’ Petra exclaimed. ‘Come on, Becks, get a shift on and scan out!’
‘What happens when we get to the desk?’ Becky asked Elias as they took it in turns to scan their boarding passes. ‘We try to book on to another flight and then…’
‘And then,’ Elias began, ‘you should call your superiors. Tell them that whatever mission you were supposed to arrive to settle in Corfu, that it will mostly likely have to wait twenty-four hours.’
Twelve
Sofitel Athens Airport, Athens
It was simply an inconvenience. That was all Elias should see it as. As annoying as it was not to arrive in Corfu tonight, it was the fault of the airline and not the universe trying to tell him something.
He hung his jacket up in the wardrobe and selected a pale pink short-sleeved shirt from his case. It was hot outside and currently he was cooling off thanks to the hotel air-conditioning. It was a standard room, but it was spacious enough and it was with the compliments of the airline. They were putting up the thirteen travellers (including the two who had tried to get a flight off the mainland with Sky Express) at the five-star hotel right opposite the airport. Tomorrow morning at 8.30 a.m. they would be on the next flight to Corfu. He slipped on the shirt and looked at his watch. Six-thirty and downstairs there was a complimentary meal waiting for him. Except he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay in the hotel all evening. It had been a while since he had visited Athens for anything but business. It had been even longer since he had walked through the Plaka district and taken in the Acropolis. The very last time had been with Hestia. Suddenly it was all he wanted to do. See the beauty of his nation’s capital through fresh eyes. He began to fasten the buttons of his shirt with renewed vigour.
*
‘What d’you mean you’re not in fucking Corfu?’
‘Shelley! Language!’
‘Have I got to speak Greek because Becky’s in Greece? I don’t know any Greek!’
‘I meant your swearing. Sorry, dear, say what you said again and I’ll turn the radio down.’
Becky sighed. She had phoned the landline for It’s A Wrap in the hope that Megan might answer. It was four-thirty in the UK, Hazel would be on the cusp of going home, Shelley shouldn’t even be there. Now she was worried that something was wrong…
‘Where’s Megan?’ She internally cursed herself for asking. One day away from the business and she was still unable to be the young, brave independent traveller she longed to be. She was still fretting about a sister who was perfectly able to do life without her and was forever saying as much…
‘Oh, she headed off early, dear. Some double-glazing networking evening with Dean.’
Dean loved a good networking event. Becky had been to several with him and it always involved Dean telling his favourite jokes – ones everyone had heard before but were too polite to say.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Shelley blasted. It did sound as if they were on speakerphone. Either that or Shelley was snatching the receiver from Hazel and vice versa. Those two taking turns never worked very well, particularly with the sharper knives…
‘Oh… well… I missed my connection so—’
‘You missed your connection?!’
‘Fuck!’
‘It’s OK,’ Becky said before any more swears could leave Shelley’s lips. ‘Well, it was a bit daunting at first, but I’m not the only one. We all missed our connection because the plane was delayed. So, we’re here in Athens… at a rather nice hotel.’ She fanned her hand out over the crisp white linen on the queen-sized bed, enjoying the feel of the luxury thread count. ‘And I’m booked onto the next flight to Corfu in the morning.’
‘They gave you a hotel for free?’ Shelley asked.
‘Yes,’ Becky replied. ‘And it’s actually five stars. There’s a free dinner tonight and breakfast in the morning and there’s a swimming pool with a view of the runway.’
‘Five stars,’ Hazel breathed. ‘My favourite kind of constellation.’
‘I’ve never seen a hotel with more than three and the last time I saw one of them was that weekend in Sussex. Frank’s convinced those three stars was why we had triplets. Can you imagine if he’d paid for a Hilton?!’
‘So, I’m OK,’ Becky carried on, taking a breath of the cooling air. ‘Just not in Corfu yet.’
‘And have you called the owner of the villa to let her know you’re delayed?’ Hazel inquired.
‘I don’t have her number,’ Becky admitted. ‘Which I realise now is really, really stupid. But I didn’t expect I’d need anything other than an email contact. And I’ve emailed her, of course, and I’ve given her my number, but I haven’t heard anything yet.’ She did feel a little uneasy about that, but she was trying to put it to the back of her mind. Ms O’Neill sounded like a very busy woman from her tone in their brief exchanges. It was likely she hadn’t had a minute to check her email. And how much difference would twelve hours make to their arrangement? It wasn’t as if housesitting was like babysitting. She wasn’t leaving a small child unattended overnight… just a few pots of bougainvillea that might need watering.
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Shelley said loudly. ‘I’d be making the most of that swimming pool and spa. Is it all inclusive? Because I’d be also making the most of the bar right now instead of talking to us.’
‘Is everything OK there?’ Becky winced at her own question. Of course everything was OK. She had only been gone a day.
‘Well, Mrs Mount—’ Shelley’s sentence was cut short and there was a loud noise that sounded very much like someone had dropped a rolling pin against stainless steel. Either that or there was a problem with the phone line.
‘Sorry, dear, the line went a bit funny then,’ Hazel’s voice took over.
‘Is something wrong with Mrs Mount?’ Becky asked. Mrs Mount was one of It’s A Wrap’s best customers. Not only did she order lunch for herself and all her employees at her Make Do and Mend sewing and alteration business every day, but she always made sure It’s A Wrap catered for her personal parties and the functions undertaken by the local council, of which Mrs Mount was a huge part.
‘No, no. Everything is tickety-boo,’ Hazel insisted.
‘We have to tell her.’ It was Shelley again – in a rather audible attempt at a stage-whisper.
‘Tell me what?’ Becky exclaimed. ‘Please! If something’s wrong you need to let me know!’
‘It’s nothing, dear.’
‘Hazel, Mrs Mount is a very important client. If she’s unhappy then…’ Becky began.
‘Megan took the sesame, sunflower and poppy seed bread off the bakery order. She said not enough customers were ordering it so, it was coming off our range.’
This was insane. Mrs Mount had that particular bread every day. Mrs Mount brought in so much business. Megan must know that. OK, so it wasn’t one of their biggest repeat orders, but it went wonderfully with thick slabs of strong, creamy cheddar with fresh chives and a generous smear of garlic and black pepper aioli.
‘She phoned up to complain,’ Hazel admitted. ‘But I’m going to sort everything out, dear.’
‘What did you give her instead?’ Becky inquired. She was trying not to let the ball of stress lodged in her chest rattle around her ribcage. She was on holiday. This was not her drama to find a conclusion for.
‘Rye,’ Shelley admitted. ‘That was my idea, but Mrs Mount said it was too thick and too dark and she—’
‘Couldn’t taste the chives,’ Becky guessed.
‘Yes,’ Shelley said. ‘That’s exactly what she said.’
What should she do? The easiest thing would be to tell the women to get the sesame, sunflower and poppy seed back on the bakery’s order so they had some fresh in the morning. But that would mean for them to override Megan’s instructions and she didn’t want to get either of them into trouble.
‘Use wholemeal for her sandwich tomorrow,’ Becky said immediately. ‘Exactly the same reci
pe she always has, but add just a little bit of fresh mint, the tiniest bit. Then, if Megan really won’t get the bread back on the order, you need to get hold of some chia seeds. Try the wholefood shop first, but if you can’t get them there, order them from Amazon.’
‘Will that work?’ Shelley asked.
‘You need to be honest with Mrs Mount,’ Becky said firmly. ‘Tell her that the new bread you’re using is the freshest yet, and say that chia seeds are full of protein and nutrients and they can help with tiredness. Say this new sandwich is going to make her able to stay awake during those long council meetings and increase her focus when she’s working at the sewing machine.’
‘But you just said be honest with her,’ Shelley commented.
‘I am being honest,’ Becky said. ‘That’s what chia seeds can do.’
‘Jesus! I might start eating them!’
‘Just keep her happy,’ Becky begged. ‘She has a lot of influential friends. Sometimes putting yourself out a little to personalise the sandwich experience is worth it.’ If only Megan knew that this personalisation was what was keeping the food empire going…
‘Are you writing this down, Hazel?’ Shelley asked. ‘Mint and chia seeds.’
‘Yes, dear,’ Hazel said.
‘Tell me, while I’m on the phone,’ Becky said as she lay back on the comfy, cool covers. ‘Did you see Milo at the hospital today?’
‘Yes I did,’ Shelley answered straightaway. ‘He looked dreadful. Pale. No energy. I wanted to give him a spare muffin I had.’
‘Tomorrow, try making his beef tongue focaccia with the lentil puree instead of butter and add some finely chopped red peppers and spinach. Tell him I’ve created it just for him.’ Becky sighed. ‘And don’t tell Megan, obviously.’
‘Obviously, boss,’ Shelley replied.
Boss. She really wasn’t. Becky sat back up and caught sight of herself in the mirror above the dressing table. There was no doubt she looked a little travel-weary but there was something else reflecting back at her now. Inner strength? Bravery? Perhaps a missed connection had awoken something inside her.