Page 27 of The Lucky Escape

He frowned at me.

‘Hop to it,’ I repeated, letting myself lead the way.

11

Patrick had been right: we were in business class. At check-in we were ushered into a designated VIP lane so we didn’t have to queue with everyone else, and then we got whisked through a different lane at security.

‘I normally hate airports,’ Patrick had said as he took his shoes off to go through the X-ray machine. ‘But this makes it all so easy.’

‘I guess money can’t buy you happiness, but it can buy you convenience,’ I quipped.

‘Heck if that isn’t right,’ he’d agreed.

As we navigated through to the lounge he gasped: ‘Aye caramba.’ A smiling woman in a uniform of sleek beige skirt and fitted white shirt explained the set-up to us.

‘Sit wherever you feel most comfortable,’ she told us, waving a manicured hand towards the views of the runway. ‘You can take a look at the spa menu and book in for up to two treatments whilst you wait – a back massage and a mini facial, say. Help yourself to the newspapers and magazines, there’s a salad bar and treat bar over there, and atthe end of the hallway you’ll find the locker rooms where you can freshen up.’ The whole place was a sumptuous palace of cream hues and suited-up businesspeople. ‘Food menus are on each table,’ she continued, ‘and in each pod. We’ll be happy to help with anything else you might need – just flag one of us down.’ Patrick and I bobbed our heads in understanding. ‘Mr and Mrs Mackenzie,’ she said, ‘Have a most comfortable morning with us, and a beautiful honeymoon.’

My eyebrows shot up so high on my head that they were practically on the ceiling.

‘Oh, we’re not—’

I was mortified she’d basically called Patrick my husband, and used Alexander’s surname to do it.

Patrick immediately put his hand out to my arm and smiled at me gently as if to sayit’s okay. No offence taken.I just didn’t want him to think Ienjoyedbeing mistaken for his wife, that’s all. I wanted absolutely no suggestion that I was pathetic and wounded enough to think of him as a surrogate spouse. This was my honeymoon, but it didn’t feel sad or loser-ish to be there. I hoped that was clear to him. I was feeling pretty strong. Pretty resilient. Barry’s Bootcamp had done what I’d needed it to: I was strong. Able. New Annie was engaging her big girl bravery, leaving Alexander’s memory behind at the airport, with nothing but new experiences awaiting her on the other side. I was determined to be a phoenix rising from the ashes, leaving thoughts of not being a Mackenzie in the departure lounge.

We settled on a corner booth with views of a fleet of Qantas aircraft sat shining and proud in the autumn sun. I snapped a photo on my phone for Freddie and she instantly replied:Whoa. Everything looks so fancy! I wish I was coming with you.

I texted back:I’ll bring you back the best presents bug xxxx

She sent a selfie of herself with the dog and underneath put:And one for me, too! Love, Carol x

‘I’ll never get over how a big metal box can take us anywhere in the world, thousands of metres above the clouds,’ Patrick admired. ‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘It is. I hadn’t ever really thought about it, but you’re right.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s incredible how we’re here – you and me, sat in the business-class lounge of an international travel company, reunited after all these years.’

‘Do your friends think you’re crazy for being here?’

‘Yes. Don’t you think it would be weird if they didn’t?’

I shrugged back. ‘I don’t know what’s real, what’s incredible, what’s crazy or what’s normal anymore, to be honest.’ I picked up a menu and ran my finger over the edge of the page. ‘My friends have asked that I text daily. Just to make sure I’m alive.’

‘Oh, that’s very thoughtful of them,’ Patrick replied, signalling to a waiter. ‘They’re happy for you to go away with a potential axe-murderer but need you to confirm if he’s finished you off or not every twenty-four hours. Got it.’

I giggled. ‘So they know the exact date and time of my demise I suppose.’

‘Would it help if I sent them a text once the job was done?’ He addressed the waiter. ‘Gin and tonic for me, please,’ he said to her. ‘Annie?’

‘Same,’ I said, before changing my mind. ‘Oh, actually. Something fizzy? Champagne?’

‘Good shout,’ Patrick declared. ‘Me too. Thanks.’

‘Back on point – about the murder and then the text. They’d appreciate that,’ I tittered. ‘Keeps everyone in the loop that way.’

He grinned, but then got sombre and said: ‘Seriously though, do you want some ground rules? Not to sound serious, but it might help for us to set out expectations, or guidelines or whatever.’

It made sense.

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