She huffs and puffs, before stomping off, flicking her plaits in my face.
‘Thanks,’ I say, picking plaited girls hair out of my lipstick.
‘You poor thing. Heard he’d left you as well.’ She leans her head sympathetically to the left.
Now I remember. Felicity Dunbar. She was always a smug bitch.
‘You’re trying to pick up someone’s package?’
I nod, still unable to speak.
‘Well we don't normally do that,’ she says, clicking her tongue.
‘But I rang, three times! Is there nothing you can do? For an old friend?’
‘Well, I’m not sure. It is procedure.’ She studies her nails, clearly enjoying the power trip.
‘Come on Felicity. For old times? Remember French class? Please! Or should I say s’il vous plait?’
‘I’m really not sure. I could be fired if anyone found out.’
‘Well I’m not going to tell anyone. It can be our little secret,’ I whisper, smiling as nicely as I can muster.
She still looks slightly unconvinced.
‘It's just, I’m so stressed at the moment. Being knocked up and everything.’ I quiver my chin and discreetly poke myself in the eye, trying my best to look like I’m on the verge of tears.
She looks at me, as if she’s trying to work out a calculation in her head.
‘Well...OK? Here it is. Good luck with the baby.’
I grab it greedily and run out of there.
‘Thanks!’ I shout back.
So what if I maybe confirmed I was pregnant? So what if she used to be the biggest gossip in school? That doesn’t necessarily mean that she’ll tell everyone I went to school with. Maybe a few of them will be on holiday.
* * *
I arrive at the airport at 2pm, slightly flustered. How did I know the bus would break down? I’d planned to get here earlier and be totally calm and composed. I’d be sitting in Starbucks with a tea, reading the paper when Victor would come in all panicky. I’d smile, hand over his documents and tell him I need a raise. Well, that's clearly out of the window.
I get myself a tea and struggle to get a seat, weaving through everyone’s suitcases. A man gets up, answering the phone and bumps into me, spilling my tea down my shirt. Damn it.
Where is Victor? He was supposed to meet me here. By 14.05 I’m starting to get anxious. By 14.18 I’m panicking. By 14.30 and four voicemails on Victor’s phone later, I’m having a meltdown. Where the fuck is he? He can't board the plane without me. Has he had an accident?
My phone rings and I pull it out frantically. ‘Hello?’
‘Poppy, I’m zzzzz late zzzzz flight zzzzzz do?’
‘Victor? I can't hear you. It's a really bad line.’
I get up and weave through the people, trying to get a better reception.
‘I said zzzzzzzzzz flight zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz visa.’
God, this reception is awful. I can't make out a single thing he’s saying. I leave the Starbucks area and go into the middle of the airport.
‘Victor, I really can't hear you.’
‘Can you hear me now?’ he asks.
‘Yes! I can hear you now.’
‘Thank God. My driver’s car has broken down. Tell them to hold the flight. I’ll be there soon.’
‘But – ‘
The phone’s already gone dead.
OK, don't panic. I’m sure they’ll hold a flight for a totally deranged mad man. It's only 2.30pm, there’s hours yet. My phone rings again, flashing up with ‘Jazz’.
‘Hello?’
‘Hey Pops. So your brother’s a total dick. I hate him! You’ll never guess what happened last night.’
‘Last night?’
‘Yeah, we went to Leicester, remember?’
‘No, not really? Look, Jazz this really isn’t a good time. Can I call you later?’
‘I suppose,’ she sighs. ‘OK, love you.’
‘Love you too.’
I hang up and turn round, walking towards the Starbucks area, eager to get another tea. Swarms of people are walking out of it very quickly with slightly alarmed expressions on their faces.
‘What's going on?’ I ask, grabbing a ladies arm as she walks past me.
‘There’s a bomb scare,’ she says, looking down at her arm which I’m still gripping tightly onto.
‘You’re joking?’
‘No. Apparently there’s an abandoned bag. Airport security are checking it out now.’
‘God, that's horrible.’
‘I know. They’re evacuating the airport.’ She throws off my hand and walks briskly off in the other direction.
A loud female voice comes from the tannoy.
‘Evacuation. If everyone could please evacuate the airport immediately. Please remain calm.’
People start running and screaming, dragging their children along with them. This is awful. I wonder if I’ll be on the news. I take a deep breath, ignoring my sudden need to have a wee, and make my way towards my nearest exit, elbowing people out of the way. As I pass the Starbucks area I take a deep breath. It's probably nothing. Just get out of here as quickly as possible. I can't help myself sneaking a glance towards the drama.
Policemen in black uniforms are stood back, speaking into their radios. A man in a big kind of space suit is walking slowly towards a handbag on the table. That's funny, because it kind of looks like...
Oh my God. My body goes numb, but I try and regain feeling of my shoulders. Is there a handbag on them? I lift my hand up to my shoulders and as suspected there’s no handbag hanging on them. That's my handbag. I’ve caused a terror alert.
Shit shit shit.
I walk over to the nearest policeman, wondering what on earth I’m going to say.
‘You can't go in there miss. If you could please evacuate.’
‘No, but I just need to get - ‘
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to get your coffee from somewhere else, now if you could please just leave the building.’
Maybe I should just go and leave it here. It’d be a hell of a lot easier. But what about Victor? He’ll be here any moment and his passport is in that bag. And so is my purse with my driving licence.
Just take a deep breath.
‘It's my bag,’ I say quietly, not even wanting to admit it aloud.
‘Sorry?’ he asks seriously. ‘I didn’t hear you miss. Do you have some information on this terrorist attack?’
I wish he’d stop calling it a terrorist attack. It clearly isn’t.
‘Yes, it's my handbag, OK! I left it there by accident.’
‘What?’ He looks at me completely perplexed. ‘That is your handbag?’
‘Yes!’ I shout, tears threatening to break behind my eyes.
‘Boys!’ the policemen yells. ‘We’ve got another one. Dozy mare left her handbag. There’s nothing in it.’
They all release their tense stances and the guy in the space suit grabs my bag, emptying the contents on the table.
‘Yep,’ he shouts over, removing his helmet. ‘Just a loud of make-up and shit. And apparently she’s got thrush.’
What a bastard! I should really remove that cream from my bag.
‘You know I could arrest you for wasting police time,’ the policeman says to me.
‘What? I only left it for a second. Please, be reasonable!’ I plead, sweat trickling down my forehead.
‘I dunno. What you think boys?’ he asks, smiling wickedly at them.
‘If anything at least now you know how you’d handle something like this. And I must say, you guys have done a great job.’ I smile sweetly.
‘Well, thanks,’ he gushes. ‘I suppose, we can let you off.’
Thank God.
* * *
When I get home I’m so hot and flustered I don't know what to do first; have a drink, strip off or just pass out. I can't believe the unpredictable weather. It's sooo hot this afternoon. Sweat drips from my upper lip, my cleavage and the hair at the back of my neck. Gross. My hands are swollen, the veins in them raised to resemble a tube map.
I run to my bedroom and peel off my shoes and then my clothes, stuck to me as the strangers on the tube had been. I throw myself on the bed in just my bra and knickers, too tired to think clearly. Water. That's what I need – lots and lots of water.
‘Pops?’ Izzy calls, sounding like her usual ball of energy.
I take a deep breath and drag myself up, stumbling into the kitchen, not bothering to put anything over my bra and knickers. I’m frankly too hot to care. Jazz, Izzy and Grace are buzzing around in nothing but their bikinis. Jazz has on a yellow string bikini with pink polka dots and wears a matching giant yellow flower in her hair. Izzy has a pink stripy sporty one with matching flip flops. Grace has a red and gold bikini which squeezes her breasts tightly together and it matches her lipstick.
‘Hey Pops,’ Jazz says, ‘strawberry margarita?’
She shoves a load of ingredients in the blender with a bagful of ice and starts blending. I steal a cube from the bag and put it against my wrists, then the back of my hair. Oh yeah, that's good.
‘What you doing here?’ I ask, too hot to be diplomatic.
‘Nice to see you too!’ she scoffs.
‘Well?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ She looks at me as if I’m mad. She looks to Izzy and they both smile knowingly.
‘Margarita party!’ they both chime.
Are they serious? Margarita party? Do they think this is a sorority house like in one of those American universities? They have clearly been watching too much TV.