Lucy in the Sky

past. You don’t very often see guys do breaststroke, do you? I kind of wish I had my swimming costume with me now, but then I wouldn’t be here, swinging my wedge-clad feet on this lovely high bar stool.
    ‘Would you like another, madam?’
    Is he flirting with me? That was definitely a twinkly grin. Can you have twinkly grins or is it just twinkly eyes and cheesy grins? I mean cheeky grins. God, I’m pissed.
    This is definitely, definitely my last one. Whoa! Almost slipped off my stool. What time is my flight again? There’s a TV screen with the flight times behind the bar and I struggle to make out the numbers. No, I’m not looking at you, pal. Where’s my flight? Sydney, Sydney, Sydney–ah, there it is. Last Call.
    Shit, does that say Last Call?
    Bollocks! I slide, almost fall, from the stool and, practically tripping over my wedge sandals, make for the exit. Then I realise I haven’t paid. I rush back, see the relief on Twinkly Grin’s faceafter he must’ve figured I was doing a runner, throw down my credit card, will him to get a wriggle on and then turn and run. Where the hell is Gate C22?
    Singapore to Sydney
    Saturday: Depart Singapore at 2000
    Sunday: Arrive Sydney at 0650
    Duration: 7 hrs 50 mins
    Oh dear, those air hostesses do not look happy. They’ve called for Lucy McCarthy twice over the tannoy in the last ten minutes as I’ve zigzagged my way here. I try to apologise for being late but ‘sorry’ comes out like ‘shorry’ and it doesn’t help that I’m unable to walk down the plank in a straight line.
    Did I just say plank? I meant aisle, of course.
    The other passengers are looking at me. Yes, yes, I’ve had a couple of drinks, but what am I, a total freak? Ah, here’s my seat. Window again, fab. Yep, you’ll have to move. And I’m not so drunk that I can’t see you raising your eyebrows at each other, either. Bet you thought you had a nice empty seat next to you–too bad! I think I’ll take my carry-on bag with me to my seat this time.
    I plonk myself down and try to locate the seat belt from under my bum. Blanket…No. Pillow…No. Where is the bloomin’ thing? Ah, seat belt. I tug, tug, tug at it. Why won’t it budge? Oh, okay, that seat belt belongs to the man next to me. Sorry, mate. I’ve found mine. Click. I do feel woozy.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen, would you please fasten your seat belts, stow away your tray tables and put your seats in the upright position … ’
    Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. Blahdeblahdeblah.
    ‘ … mobile phones must be switched off until you’re safely inside Sydney International Airport…’
    Yep, I know that bit too. Been there, done that. Oops, I haven’t switched it off yet actually.
    Can’t…quite…reach…bag…
    Seat belt…too…tight…
    I eventually unclick myself and grab my bag, finding my phone. No messages, thank goodness. I switch it off and chuck it back into my bag. Then I buckle myself up again and breathe a nice big Singapore Sling sigh of relief.
    My tanned legs are peeking out from underneath my sundress and I admire them happily. I do like this fake tan–it’s a nice, natural-looking one. But it is such a pain in the arse having to use old sheets on the first night that you apply it. And then you have to wash them and put your good ones back on again…So it’s two loads of laundry in two days. Well, I had to leave James to deal with the washing this time as he hurried me out of the flat.
    NICE SHEETS!
    The memory barely registers before my stomach freefalls and I ask myself: how the hell did James’s blokey friends know about my shitty fake-tan sheets?
    Oh, no…They didn’t know. Because they didn’t send that text.
    I hurriedly unbuckle my seat belt and reach for my bag, giving the seat back and the person in front of me a big, solid head-butt. I fumble around for my phone and switch it on.
    HI LUCY! JUST SHAGGED JAMES IN UR BED. THOUGHT U SHOULD KNOW. 4 TIMES THIS MONTH. NICE SHEETS! XXX
    ‘Miss–you need to turn that off.’
    What, do they have eyes in the back of their bloody heads?
    ‘I can’t! I have to make a phone call!’
    ‘Miss, the other passengers on this flight have already been held up enough, don’t you think?’ She looks at me meaningfully. ‘So you’d better turn that off, right now.’
    ‘Is there a problem?’ Another bitchy air hostess arrives to join the party.
    ‘No, Franny, we’re alright here. This young lady was just about to turn off her phone.’
    With a deep