Croissants and Jam Read Free Page A

‘Oh no, you can’t take those, you could make a bomb, Jade is right, you’re right Jade,’ she echoes.
        ‘You don’t say. Do I look like a terrorist to you?’ I ask, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
    They both give me a look which indicates they clearly think I do.
        ‘They don’t all carry holdalls and have beards you know,’ chips in the man behind me who is now pointing earnestly at the solitary tampon. ‘Your handbag is seriously worrying, and that is highly suspicious. You should get security to check that out.’ He wags his finger at the inoffensive tampon.
        ‘What are they saying?’ calls a woman from the back of the queue.
        ‘She is trying to blow the plane up,’ another replies loudly.
        ‘She tried to hide a bomb in a tampon.’
        ‘I thought she looked suspicious wandering around the perfumes.’
    Oh for God’s sake. Why don’t they body-search me and be done with it? Jade lifts the tampon and everyone gasps. I watch wide-eyed as she tosses it into a bin.
        ‘For goodness sake, my fiancé is a top solicitor,’ I say proudly.
        ‘They all say that,’ says the man nodding at me.
        ‘Can you please just take my credit card,’ I urge, throwing my things back into the bag.
        ‘I still need your boarding pass,’ she replies stubbornly, ‘preferably without the mints.’
    Perspiration is now trickling down my back. Great, I will arrive with a blackhead on my chin and smelling like a tramp. I remove the mints and hand the sticky boarding pass to her and take a deep breath. Okay, calm down. Plenty of time still.
        ‘Oh you’re flying to Rome, how lovely.’ She smiles, handing me the bag with my goods. ‘Didn’t they just call a flight to Rome?’
    She can’t be serious. I race outside and check the board. Shit, it is my flight. I look anxiously for a Boots chemist and feel myself perspire even more. The chemist is just ahead and I start to run, but stop with a skid when I see the queue at the till. I close my eyes, think of the plane and picture myself relaxing with my book. With a new surge of energy I dive in and grab a small can of dry-shampoo, some pimple ointment, face-cleansing tissues, deodorant and a small tin of Vaseline, and squeeze into the queue. Thankfully it moves quickly and I fly out of the store and aim for gate fifty-seven, with my heart beating like a drum. I crash into a buggy and drop my purchases. Horror-stricken, I watch my can of dry-shampoo roll into a Sushi bar. Bother. I follow it with my eye. The Sushi bar is heaving with people. I freeze. Good Lord, is that Simon? What is Simon doing here, and in a Sushi bar? He hates Sushi. Then, of course, I realise it isn’t him, it’s just some guy wearing the same Marc Jacob cashmere jumper that Simon’s mother had bought him for Christmas. I take a deep breath. I must be stressed because this guy doesn’t look in the least like Simon, now I come to think about it and absolutely nowhere near as good looking in the jumper. I watch fascinated as he fills his plate until it is brimming over. My God, the way he is piling it on you would think they were giving it away. I reach the can and quickly throw it into my bag.
        ‘Calling all passengers on flight 735 to Rome. You are advised that this flight is nowboarding and the gate will close in fifteen minutes.’
    Damn, damn. I turn and knock over a chair where the Simon lookalike is casually eating from his overflowing plate. Shaking my head in disbelief I stride towards gate fifty-seven, loaded down with duty-free, a laptop, and an oversized handbag inwhich I fumble for my passport. I remember the Clarins which is still sitting with Tracey at duty-free, oh bloody hell. I dither, and decide it is not worth the hassle and possible arrest as a terrorist. Finally, I am at gate fifty-seven and boarding the plane. Once inside I squeeze along the gangway towards the loo, where I lock myself in