Page 10 of Hot to Go

Suzie

There’s a bartender in front of me looking at my chest curiously. I know why and I think I might be spending a lot of time explaining this T-shirt today.

‘It’s the band, UB40.’

He looks at me a little sadly, not quite knowing what to think. We’re allowed to like who we like musically but to him it’s clear I don’t seem to be in their usual fan demographic unless I’m being deeply ironic. ‘Are you a big reggae fan then?’

‘Oh no…I’m with that group over there,’ I say, pointing to my cousins in the corner of this airport pub, all in similar T-shirts. ‘One of them is turning forty. She be forty.’

He pauses. ‘So I guess you’ll be drinking a lot of red, red wine then,’ he replies, chuckling under his breath, and I smile back. Well, at least one person got it but, as Lucy complained before, this is the last time we put Emma in charge of T-shirts because we’re just walking around this airport like a group of adult fangirls. Looking over, it also seems that Lucy has torn her T-shirt in a bizarre Hulk style to make it as brief and revealingas possible, flashing a little too much perhaps. I’m wondering now if this might get us thrown out and denied an overpriced fried breakfast and a pint, but ‘Pete’ with his jolly paunch and greying sideburns seems good humoured about it all. He follows my gaze. ‘She with you?’

‘She is,’ I say, grimacing but with a smidgen of pride.

‘Sister?’

‘Cousin. That whole table there,’ I say, pointing to the corner. ‘The five of them are all sisters and I’m the little cousin on the end.’ I am what they’ve always called the honorary sister. I’ve tagged along to every birthday, Boxing Day buffet, wedding and christening – a frequent flyer in their family history.

He glances over smiling. ‘Who’s the birthday girl?’

‘That’s Meg, the eldest cousin. The one with the sunglasses, napping against the wall.’ Looking wildly enthusiastic about the trip. Emma is beside her with her sensible mum bob holding a folder of travel documents. Then you have Beth (teacher; paddling pool gifter; Converse wearer) and Grace (accountant; seasoned traveller; wore flip flops to get through security quicker), both of them laughing wildly at something on their phones. And then there is Lucy, in bits of a T-shirt, denim cutoffs and Crocs (with charms) – I’ve never seen anyone more ready for a holiday.

‘They look like…’

‘Trouble?’ I say, as he pours my final drink.

‘God, no. That hen do over there is trouble. The one in the leg warmers and the wig has been on tequila since four thirty. We’re taking bets on whether she’ll actually get on the flight.’ I turn to said hen do. It’s an eighties theme, the alcohol is rainbow coloured and the veils are cheap and possibly a little flammable. ‘What I meant to say is that they all look like they’re having fun. I’m guessing it’s just you girls? No families, kids?’

I’m growing particularly fond of Pete here with his barman telepathy. I nod.

‘Destination?’

‘Palma, Mallorca.’

‘Classy and very pleasant this time of year. Well, I wish you a lovely time,’ he says, handing me the card machine. I glance at the screen as I tap my phone to pay.How much?Yet there is something about an airport pub, serving us alcohol in the wee hours of the morning and a mediocre fry-up that is just part of the pre-holiday experience. You could be angry about it but instead, there is a frisson of excitement simmering away that an airplane is in the vicinity, an escape is coming. Just take my money.

‘That’s very kind, thank you, Pete…’ I say, balancing the tray of drinks and carrying it precariously over to the table where all my cousins sit. The sun hasn’t even come up and some of us are already having alcohol. Lucy claps and cheers my arrival.

‘Gin and tonic for our birthday girl,’ I say, handing out the drinks, watching as Meg rejoins us from her nap. ‘OJ for Emma, bottle of Becks for Beth, white wine for Grace and vodka Red Bull for Lucy…’

‘Absolute legend, Suze,’ Lucy tells me.

‘Well, least I could do was get the first round in – food is on order too.’

Grace puts her hands to the air silently to know bacon will soothe our tired souls too. ‘Then can I propose a toast?’ she says. ‘Here’s to Meg coming of age. Life, love and laughter.’

‘That sounded like a shit sign someone would hang in their kitchen,’ Beth jokes.

‘Oh, do piss off. It’s five thirty in the bloody morning.’

‘Here’s to Smeggy being the first of us to become officially old,’ Lucy intervenes, taking a large sip of her drink.

Grace laughs under her breath. A bit of my pint shoots up my nose.

Meg glares over at her, parentally. ‘Seriously, there are children on that table?’

Lucy looks over at said table. ‘One of them is a baby. They won’t care.’

‘Until it’s their first word…’ Emma joins in.

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