by Lynda Renham
‘Perhaps you just need a bit of convincing,’ says Alex evenly.
Oh my God, he really is going to slice up his tongue.
‘No,’ I shout
Alex gives me a don’t interfere look. This trip is turning into a nightmare, and we haven’t even got to the departure lounge yet.
‘Fucking apologise Mick, else this maniac will kill you. You don’t want to mess with him,’ shouts the friend.
‘Alex Bryant is a hero. Don’t you bloody insult him, you little whippersnapper,’ calls someone else.
Meanwhile, the security guard is attempting to escort me back into the store.
‘You sort the young sod out,’ screams an elderly woman standing beside me.
The youth is squealing to be released. Oh dear, it really is quite unpleasant. Everyone else is getting very excited and they all seem to hold their breath when the scruffy youth looks towards me.
‘Very sorry for my comment Miss,’ he says lamely, while struggling to get out of Alex’s grip. I nod my gratitude and Alex releases him. He wobbles slightly before rushing off to join his friends. Everyone cheers and begins to surround Alex, who is smiling at me. I attempt a thank you nod and then allow myself to be escorted back into the store where I come face to face with a stern looking woman.
‘Are you with Mr Alex Bryant?’ she asks.
There is obviously a right answer to this. The question is what is it?
‘Yes, we are travelling to Cambodia together to attend a book fair,’ I say truthfully.
She snatches my basket. I am about to tell her that I really need those things when she puts them into a carrier bag and hands it to me.
‘There you are madam, compliments of the store. Have a good flight.’
Blimey. It seems Alex the hero has his uses after all. I debate asking for some loo roll but change my mind. After all, I don’t want to be seen to be taking advantage. I return to Alex to find him busy signing autographs and surrounded by several paparazzi. I’m a bit taken aback. Of course, I am aware he is well known, I just hadn’t realised how well known. Groups of people are standing around, each holding a copy of his book. I approach slowly and hope no one points me out as the fat cow. After a few minutes the groups disperse and he smiles at me.
‘Thank you for…’ I stammer. ‘Although I think you were rather hard on him.’
‘Not as hard as I could have been. You, no doubt, would have preferred I threatened to step on his toes,’ he responds sharply.
‘That is far better than slicing out someone’s tongue,’ I say angrily and wonder where Miles got that from.
‘Obviously, it hadn’t occurred to me to threaten slicing up his tongue,’ he says calmly, picking up his bag. ‘Although that wouldn’t have been a bad idea.’
‘Oh, I am sure it did cross your mind.’
‘What were you going to do then, after he insulted you?’ he asks, his handsome features hardening.
‘Not threaten to slice out his tongue, obviously.’
‘No one threatened his tongue in any way shape or form, as far as I can remember.’
I can tell by his face he is offended. Honestly, men and their egos.
‘It’s just I’m not used to men standing up for me, that’s all.’
I try to imagine Toby threatening to remove someone’s tongue but it doesn’t work. No matter how hard I try. In fact, I don’t think he has ever stood up for me.
‘Perhaps you have never been with a real man before.’
What a cheek.
‘Thank you all the same,’ I add quickly.
‘Not a problem. We’ve been offered an upgrade, but I declined. Seeing as we’re going to a poverty-stricken country it really didn’t seem appropriate.’
I feel sure he must be joking with me. Is this guy a complete moron? Who turns down an upgrade? What kind of upgrade are we talking about anyway and how does declining help a poverty-stricken country. It’s not like we are declining an eight-course meal for Christ’s sake.
‘Offered an upgrade to where?’ I ask, feeling my voice falter.
‘Business Class. Of course if you want to and feel it’s appropriate, I could…’ He is studying me closely.
‘No no, it’s fine.’
What a horrid man, he did that on purpose. Now, not only do I feel fat but unreasonable too. He gives me a smug smile and suggests we should make our way to our departure gate. I feel inclined to tell him to make his way to the gate that goes to hell, but of course I decline. Cambodia here I come and very reluctantly at that.
Chapter Eleven
A twelve-hour flight in economy with Alex Bryant is my personal hell. To make matters worse, many on the plane recognised him or had overheard the altercation (his word, not mine), between him and the youth. It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t keep mistaking me for his girlfriend. One man approached us to see if I really was fat.
‘She’s got a bit of meat on her bones.’ I, and rows sixteen to twenty-six, could hear him tell his wife later.
‘She’s a bit on the plump side, but I wouldn’t call her fat.’
Oh well, that’s a comfort.
I can’t help thinking about the Business Class seat I could be reclining in. Instead, I am sandwiched between Alex and a tattooed bald man, who, on sitting down, tells me,
‘I fucking hate flying, and it’s a long fucking flight ahead so I’m going to fucking kip the whole fucking way. I’ll probably take a fucking pill and fucking die.’
I fight an overwhelming desire to respond with.
‘Can you fucking take the fucking pill now and die fucking soon please?’ But of course, I don’t. Instead, I say.
‘That’s nice.’
He mumbles something which sounds very much like ‘fucking posh bitch.’ Mother would be pleased.
I’m hoping he will fall into a coma very soon. Who seriously declines an upgrade on a principle? Only Alex-I-am-so-altruistic-Bryant. Really, as if whether I fly in comfort or misery is actually going to have any effect on the poverty in Cambodia.
So, here we are, or at least here I am, stuck in the middle of Alex-it’s-a-matter-of-principle-Bryant and Mr-I-hate-fucking-flying-tattoo-man. It doesn’t get worse than this. I debate whether to ask if Alex would swap his window seat but decide against it. I really would prefer he didn’t do me any favours. Knowing him, he would throw it in my face at a later date. He has headphones on and is acting like I don’t exist. I pull my Blackberry from my bag and see I have a text from Toby. My heart skips a beat. I turn the screen away from Alex and read it. I then read it again and again.
‘Hope you have a good flight Libs. Christmas won’t be the same without you. I’ll give you your present when you get back. Take care of yourself and stay in touch.’
He misses me and he has bought me a present. It is all I can do not to whoop aloud. It’s obvious he still loves me or he wouldn’t miss me at all. I shudder with excitement. I reply and say how Christmas will not be the same without him also, and that I will give him his present when I return. Not that I have him a present but I can buy him something special in Cambodia, maybe a nice silk shirt. He will like that. I try not to think of him with Serena. I turn my phone off and feel happier than I have for a long time. Even Mr-I-hate-fucking-flying can’t alter my mood. Perhaps it will be good for us to have some time away from each other. In fact, the longer I am away the more he is likely to miss me. Maybe coming to Cambodia wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Alex glances over at me and then pulls out his own phone with such flourish that for a terrifying moment I think he is going for a gun. Talk about a vivid imagination. He’s an ex-SAS officer I remind myself, not an ex-Mafia gangster. I glance at his screen saver and see a photo of him with Blancmange. I really cannot imagine what he sees in her. I give him a weak smile.
‘How long have you and Blanc… Penelope, been together?’ I say, attempting to make conversation.
He gives me a warm smile and removes the headphones. He has taken off the thick woollen jumper h
e was wearing and his face looks softer in the pastel blue short-sleeved shirt he is wearing. His hair is tousled and he looks younger. God, he is as hairy as an ape. I don’t recall ever seeing that much hair on Toby. In fact, I don’t recall seeing that much hair on anyone apart from a gorilla in the zoo. Okay, a slight exaggeration.
‘Sorry, did you say something?’
He looks right at me and I drown in his warm blue eyes. He has a way of looking at you that makes you feel he only has eyes for you. He is a born flirt I tell myself. Already the air hostess has glanced at him more times than necessary.
‘I just wondered how long you and Penelope have been together.’
I find my eyes going to his crotch. What is wrong with me? And why am I blushing? I asked how long they had been together not how often they have sex. He raises his eyebrows and wrinkles his nose slightly.
‘Too long,’ he replies and I can’t tell if he is serious or not.
The plane races down the runway and I feel my shoulders tense. I am pressed back into my economy seat and feel my stomach turn upside down like being on a ride at Alton Towers. I force myself to think of Toby and in moments we are in the air. I’m on my way to sodding Cambodia. The man on my right has fallen asleep and Alex has retrieved a Kindle from his hand luggage. Why am I not surprised? He certainly meant it when he said he travelled light. I lean back and think about my future with Toby. In a few weeks all the Serena business will be forgotten and we can get back to normal. Of course, part of me knows I am being a bit naïve. How can I really forgive him for seeing her behind my back? It really is my own fault though. If I wasn’t so fat Toby would love me. It really is rubbish that a man will love you just the way you are. Only in silly romantic comedies like Bridget Jones do you get that and although I may have the figure of Bridget Jones, Toby is not a Darcy. Trust me, when emerging from water, he looks more like a drowned rat than heart- throb. Alex Bryant, on the other hand, probably looks… What am I thinking? Alex Bryant is a pain in the arse and I would be wise to remember that. Besides, he obviously thinks I am a fool. What am I doing travelling with this man? In fact, what am I doing with my life period? Is Jamie right? Should I be focusing more on my own writing rather than defending Toby’s all the time? The bald tattoo man is snoring for England and I glance at Alex, who seemingly cannot hear a thing through his headphones. Any attempt I make at sleep is thwarted by the snoring. I so hate Bryant for declining an upgrade. What sensible person does that? To make matters worse we hit turbulence and the ‘fasten seat belts’ sign bongs and I can’t get up and go for a wander. Imprisoned in seat 22B, I wonder what on earth mother was thinking of when she spoke so excitedly of shagging on the plane. It’s clear she always flies Business Class isn’t it? There is something quite decadent about flying Business Class and I am sure the loos are much better equipped for shagging. I feel somewhat inadequate in economy. Come to think of it, I always feel inadequate, period. Just going to the loo in economy is like running the gauntlet. Let’s face it, getting out of an economy aeroplane seat should be essential national curriculum training or part of the Duke of Edinburgh Award scheme. Seeing as I have no other choice but to stay strapped in I might as well look at the films and get my mind off the loo. Sleep is obviously out of the question unless I can steal one of bald tattoo’s pills and ‘fucking die’. It’s just my luck that all the films are sodding disaster movies. What airline shows Final Destination as the in-flight video? And as if I am going to happily watch United 93 after being accused of being a terrorist. This is just plain awful. I shove my headphones on and plug into the music channel. I can still hear tattoo’s snoring. I am seriously beginning to wish he would bloody die. Flying brings out the worst in people don’t you think? When else would you seriously wish someone dead? In fact, if I don’t get some sleep soon, I imagine I will be very close to killing him myself. It’s well known that long flights are detrimental to your health. I will probably get deep vein thrombosis. Come to think of it my left calf is a bit tingly. That will teach Alex-tight-fisted-Bryant to decline an upgrade. To think there are two empty seats in Business Class. I wonder if I can just stroll down there and plonk myself in one. I guess not. Sod Alex Bryant. What an idiot. I probably won’t get any decent medical help for my blood clot while in Cambodia either and will most certainly die. In an effort to relax I tune into the meditation channel and before I know where I am I have dozed off. Not for long, however, for the desire to go to the loo is overpowering. I wake with a start to see Mr Tattoo is sprawled partway over my seat. I untangle my foot from his and shake my leg. Now I have a dilemma... Do I wake tattoo and get him to move so I can go to the loo? Or climb over him as he sleeps? If I wake him it means I may well have him talking instead of snoring. Is having him snoring preferable to having him ‘fucking’ for the next eight hours? Not literally fucking, obviously. Mother would be appalled at his language. I imagine she would be appalled at Alex’s refusal of Business Class seats too. The space for me to manoeuvre is about one inch. It’s in moments like these that I very much wish I were slim. In fact, it is moments like these when I make firm decisions to diet. Meanwhile, however, I am still fat and have to somehow squeeze past Mr Tattoo without waking him, having decided that snoring is better than fucking. First I have got to untangle myself from all the paraphernalia surrounding me. Why do airlines bombard you with so much stuff while you are sitting in such a confined area? I don’t have this much stuff in my living room. I shove my blanket, headphones, goody bag and pillow as far under my seat as I can. I also push my sodding shoes under there with them. Oh well, nothing for it but to head to the loo barefoot then. I throw my handbag into the aisle and then contemplate how I can climb over Mr Tattoo and avoid contact with his body. Alex is seemingly deep into whatever he is reading and does not seem to notice me fidgeting. After a great deal of calculation I conclude it would be safer to climb over Mr Tattoo while facing him. Would you aim your bum at a stranger? Exactly. I rest my case. After much panting and heaving I manage to get one leg over him. It is as I am attempting to retrieve my other leg that Alex asks,
‘What are you doing?’
I shush with my finger on my lips but all is lost. I lose my balance and have to grasp Mr Tattoo by the shoulders to steady myself. He wakes with a start and looks straight into my eyes and his arms wrap around my waist.
‘What the fuck?’ he mumbles.
Yes, what the fuck indeed. Remove your hands sir.
‘Just popping to the loo,’ I say quickly and pull my other leg free.
God, is the whole journey going to be like this? Thankfully, I do manage to doze off, as does Alex and am gratefully relieved when we finally reach Bangkok. Just another hour and we will be in Cambodia. Me in Asia, can you believe it? I know I can’t.
Chapter Twelve
Alex Bryant is a control freak. He has taken total command of my luggage, my passport and my visa. In fact, I am beginning to think he has taken control of my life.
‘Right, we are all sorted. You need to go through passport control yourself,’ he says in an authoritative voice handing me my passport.
‘I think I can manage that.’
‘Smile, the Cambodians are very pleasant people and use the proper greeting. You’ll offend them if you don’t smile back. And as a sign of respect to someone bow your head slightly with your hands together.’
God, he’s so bossy. A woman behind us visibly swoons and pushing me to one side thrusts her face towards his.
‘It’s a thrill to meet you,’ she says breathlessly, edging even closer so her breasts touch his chest. ‘I’ve admired you forever.’
Her push unbalances me and I wobble for a few seconds before regaining my balance. God forbid I should stand in the way of sexual magnetism which I really can’t deny he has, after all, I felt it in the pub didn’t I? Fortunately I am a professional and don’t let personal feelings interfere with my work. Even if Alex Bryant were interested in me I would not allow myself to respond. All right, we all know
that someone like Alex Bryant would never look twice at someone like me, hence why he is with model lookalike Penelope who has neat breasts, a flat stomach, not to mention permanently tanned legs that go on forever and teeth like a horse, while I have… Well, best not to go there.
I am still wearing my thick jumper, not to mention tights underneath my leggings. I am dressed for cold wintry England and it must be 30 degrees in here. Stepping off the plane is like walking into an oven. My head aches from tiredness. I cannot help wondering what Toby is doing, or rather where Toby is. With my hand luggage bulging with boxes of tissues and my hair a straggly mess, I trudge towards passport control. The officer is not smiling. I scrape my hair back and tie it into a scrunch and attempt to give him my most winning smile. He does not respond. He is most certainly not one happy Cambodian is he? He barks at me and I look at Alex who is pointing at the floor. I move slightly so my feet are on the sign that reads ‘STAND HERE.’ I sigh and the officer gives me a dirty look. I continue smiling until my face aches. For goodness sake, I’m doing my very best not to offend him but he doesn’t seem to give a fig if he offends me.
‘Hond, hond,’ he shouts.
What does hond mean?
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say in my friendliest voice.
He points to my hands and gives me a cross look. Of course, I’d forgotten the ‘respect’ thing. I clasp my hands together and bow gratefully.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say warmly.
‘Hond,’ he shouts again.
Jesus, he is a bit intense. What more does he want? I turn to Alex but there is no sign of him. My God, they haven’t arrested him already have they? Perhaps they realised who he was. I hold my hands up in surrender. I’m so hot. I feel sure I will pass out in a minute. He attempts to grab my hand and I step back.