Chapter 1

 

“He’s getting married!!” She blurted out across the table.

I’m only half listening, because why hasn’t he text me or called? 

“They came over and asked him if he was single, and told him he’s my type. He smiled but said he’s actually engaged”. She holds her hand to her head feigning embarrassment. “So I’m apologising for them saying this, especially the part about being my type, and he looks me dead in the face and goes… ‘but you are’… She’s all animated, fake dropping her jaw to the floor, eyes wide, with the can-you-fucking-believe-this-guy expression, waiting for me to match her energy. 

Of course I can fucking believe the guy, he’s a guy, they’re all very clearly just eurghhhhhh…; Jesus, why hasn’t he text or called??

I’m tapping my phone screen, for the 180th time this morning, as though my phone maybe forgot to notify me that he’s text. As though my watch forgot to do its little vibrating dance thingy it does on my wrist, when he’s text.. 

When he’s text.. God it feels like so long ago since he’s text. I know deep down that he won’t. But it wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t my fault. 

The seats next to me are quickly vacant. The terminal filled with promising faces, but one tiny, anxious, strawberry blonde one. I give her my brightest smile. She smiles back nervously, teary eyed. I slip her a red Starburst with a wink. She smiles, for real this time, and takes the sweet. Don’t worry little one, it’s not so scary, we’ll be there in no time. Her mum is stroking her head, soothing her, trying to calm her down, but I can feel the panic rising in her as she glances furiously at the boarding gate. She - like me - does not want to get on this plane. I’m still smiling though, more to myself. With the knowledge that in just a few hours she’ll land in sunny Portugal and the fear and anxiety of that plane journey, that’s now behind her will quickly slip away, as she heads off towards her family holiday full of excitement and memories soon to be made. 

“LOOK AT HIS PAGE, LIKE IS HE FOR REAL. SHE’S ALL OVER IT. WITH THE RING”. She’s still going on, shoving the phone under my nose so I can be an accomplice to this absolute shit show of a story. 

I’ve stretched out my refusal to stand in a boarding queue of a plane that we’re literally all getting on, for as long as humanly possible. It’s time to board. I tap my Lock screen again. Still nothing. But fuck him anyway. Why do I even care. It wasn’t my fault. 

Seated, I look around for my strawberry blonde friend, wonder if she’s near, if she’s calmed down or if (like me), she’s still absolutely dreading what lies ahead. I can’t find her, she must be seated at the other side of the plane. She’ll be fine, I tell myself. You’ll be fine. I tell myself. But I know it’s not true. It’s day six of this deathly silence, and I’m far from fine. 

I buckle up, because fine or not - this trip is happening. It’s too late to turn back now. My neck gets hot as I turn to look out of the window, imagining myself running down the runway, sun beating down on my already tanned skin, feet pushing up off the ground one step at a time, running, far away from the plane, this trip, him. And back towards my safe space. 

I snap out of my daydream and turn my attention back to reality. She is now scrolling intently across the Instagram page of the soon to be groom, zooming in on the ring, on the finance. Intruding in their joy, an evil eye, a demon sent to destroy them. Disgusting. “So, what happened next” I ask? Leaning in to avoid listening ears. “Well we got wasted, went to a hotel, and fucked like rabbits” she grins. 

You didn’t?? I grab my face, absolutely horrified. “Oh I did” she laughs, her cheeks flaming red from the excitement of it all. 

I lean back in my chair, showing the air hostess my strapped seatbelt. I tap my phone one last time before it goes on aeroplane mode. Nothing. 

It’s gonna be a long. fucking. trip.