Page 17 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

‘You have got to be kidding,’ I hear him say.

6

I risk opening the one good eye I have left and stare at the face looming over mine. It’s blurry – probably because my good eye is full of Fanta – but I could swear moody Mr Window Seat from the plane is hovering over me. I must have sustained one of those severe head injuries where my most recent embarrassing accomplishment seems like reality. I feel my cheeks being squeezed like a lemon and a pair of warm lips covers mine. Just as everything goes black, I feel a sharp slap to my face.

‘Stay with me, Connie! Stay with me!’

Apart from anything, at best it’s an appallingly amateurish attempt at first aid; at worst, it’s bordering on assault. I gingerly rub the Fanta from my good eye so I can see who this Good Samaritan really is. My vision clears slightly as I squint in the sunlight.

Christ Almighty, itishim.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I croak.

‘I’m checking you’re alive!’ he yells at me in a panic, his nostrils flaring like a spooked horse.

‘By kissing me, then slapping me?’ I say as sarcastically as I can manage, which isn’t much as I’m very injured and can barelyspeak, but at least my short-term memory has not been affected. ‘I’d hate to know’ – I pause as a wave of exhaustion and dizziness hits me – ‘which medical school you…’ I’m losing momentum as the world begins to spin slowly around me.What was I saying? Oh yeah. ‘…graduated from.’

He politely waits for me to finish the world’s slowest sentence before we continue to stare at each other. I fear the sarcasm has petered out to nothing.

It’s as though time is standing still around us. I open my mouth to give him a thorough lecture on the grave repercussions of flouting the three P safety rules of first aid: preserve, prevent, promote. He hasn’t even checked to see if a bus or a lorry full of bananas is hurtling down the road towards us, but it’s simply too tiring. I ask to see his driver’s licence instead because he obviously has no idea how to drive properly but instead of producing the required paperwork, he suddenly bursts out laughing and his whole face softens.

‘You’re funny.’

I take a moment to continue scowling.

The cheeky, cheeky bastard.

He’s so close I can feel his minty breath tickle my cheek. I’m incensed at his cavalier attitude towards my life, but because his laughter is surprisingly infectious, and even though I’m quite appalled at myself, I giggle along. Soon it builds into a gut-wrenching belly laugh. The more I think of how ridiculous this day has been, how much pain I’m in, how battered I am and how most of it is this handsome fucker’s fault, I start crying with laughter.

‘How are you even here?’ I ask.

Maybe fate is throwing us together.

‘You have my phone. I’ve been following the tracker on my iPad.’ He points his thumb to his backpack.

‘Your phone? I haven’t got your phone,’ I say.

‘You must have picked it up on the plane by mistake.’

After a few bizarre moments, he helps me to sit up while I rummage in my little fanny pack. I take out his phone. ‘Shit. I have no idea how it got there.’

‘That flight was… well, it was… things were thrown all over. Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad it’s not broken. I run most of my business from it so I kind of really need it back.’

We glance over at his once pristine moped lying on its side, dripping in non-fat Greek yoghurt. It has half a watermelon sticking out of the front wheel and a baguette firmly wedged under the mudguard. There’s a can spraying Fanta over the seat and handles.

‘Shame. It looks brand new.’

‘It is.’

We are completely drenched in Fanta, which seems unbelievably funny in my woozy state. I think we might both be in a bit of shock. I try to lift a hand to my head. It feels broken inside.

‘Any minute now I’ll probably start speaking fluent Chinese. You hear about that kind of thing happening with head injuries, don’t you?’

His eyebrows shoot up.

He is very, very attractive.

We are distracted by the wheel of Brie that is rolling casually down the hill being chased by a herd of zigzagging lemons. He gets up to salvage what is left of the groceries. The crisps, the melon and the bread are completely flat and covered in dirt and the rest is covered in mayonnaise. He picks up my arnica gel and ibuprofen and brings them to me with an expression that is almost an apology. His face is sticky. Fanta is drying his hair into weird horns. I smile at him, and he smiles reluctantly back.

---