Page 50 of The Layover
What, like I’m going to be in Paris andnothave a Marie-Antoinette tea biscuit? Sacrilege.Let them eat macarons!
But I got chatting to the guy serving me in Ladurée and I asked about any end-of-day stock and if they could hold some for me if I gave him cash now, so I could go back and pay for my stuff in duty free, and … here we are. Besties with Charles in his bow tie and apron.
Which I explain to the others, shrugging because it was no big deal.
Fran, bless her heart, stares at me like I am the mostmagnifiquecreature she’s ever seen, and Leon just shakes his head, smiling, not in the least bit surprised I managed this.
I add, ‘Listen, Kayleigh didn’t wangle a ten-thirty ceremony when “señora, it is not the done thing, we have a system” and get those last-minute alterations on the dress by sheer dumb luck. I’mverygood at making things happen. Just apparently not an earlier flight. That is the one thing slightly beyond my abilities, it seems.’
‘Well,’ Fran says brightly, ‘at least there’s pizza.’
I grin at her. ‘Truly, a girl after my own heart. Now come on, you two, let’s set up camp and dig in!’
We end up finding a spot halfway down the long corridor towards the toilets. It’s a wide space with bright lights, and there’s a glass-panelled wall that we can see the passport control stands through, and – weirdly enough – little office spaces. Two people leave one, wearing full suits, and one has a little Greek flag pin on their lapel.
Leon’s eyes follow them curiously. ‘I can’t decide if I’d be offended or not, if I had to take business meetings next to the toilets.’
‘There’s probably some secret corridor to bypass the usual security with us peasants for foreign dignitaries,’ I say, only half joking.
We claim a corner space, tucked out of the noise of the concourse but still a good distance from the loos. I throw my jacket down to sit on, and start upturning bags to see our spoils. Leon, bless him, has even remembered to pick up a few empty cups from upstairs for us to use, and some disposable cutlery.
‘A star,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you!’
I separate everything into piles, squealing when I realise Fran’s got us basically an entire charcuterie board. A couple of ripped-open carrier bags serve as our makeshift picnic blanket, and with everything on display ready to eat, I break into the booze.
‘Um,’ Fran whispers, her eyes blown wide and darting around, ‘are you allowed to drink that here? I thought there were rules against it …’
‘None anybody told me about. Besides, wouldn’t they have sealed the bag up if they didn’t want me to drink? And it’s not like it’s illegal to drink in an airport; I think they just stop you flying if you’re so sloshed you can hardly stand,’ I add, whenshe worries her lower lip between her teeth, starting to look supremely uncomfortable. ‘We’ve literally got seven hours and sixteen minutes until our flight leaves. That’sagesto sober up.’
She looks unconvinced, but when I throw some Malibu and Coke into a cup and offer it out, she’s quick enough to gulp it down.
I laugh. Poor Fran, she really is in a way.
‘Talk about a hot mess,’ I joke. ‘Right, Leon?’
He flushes a bit, uncomfortable, and I add that to my growing tally of ‘Leon being weird around Francesca’. I’ve yet to determine if he’d rather be far, far away from her because she’s a homewrecker setting out to steal his sister’s man or if the ‘hot’ part of my comment hit a little too close to home for him.
Or, the most likely: Leon is a dork who keeps to himself and isn’t good around new people, much less women. He’s been single forages, and never has had much luck on the dating scene.
‘What’re you drinking?’ I ask him, to spare his awkwardness, and showcase my little bar. ‘We’ve also got some Smirnoff, a bit of Johnnie Walker, some of whatever this is …’ I squint at the label. ‘Blackcurrant and apple gin. And then the limoncello. But that’s more of a dessert drink, really.’
‘So much for only spending fifty euros apiece.’ He rolls his eyes, but points at the gin. I pour him a double measure (triple, maybe? Who’s counting?) and hand over the cup. He dilutes it with some Sprite.
‘They’re onlylittlebottles,’ I say. Some of them are, anyway. Well, the gin is, and the limoncello’s nothuge. Whatever we don’t drink, I’ll throw in a bag to take to the wedding, add them to the tab behind the bar.
That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. And not that I’ll keep them all to myself and be delightfully buzzed and thereforenumb to all of Kayleigh’s emotional vampire-ness through the weekend, whether the wedding goes ahead or not.
I pour myself some vodka, and only water it down a little with the Coke.
Leon notices, because he raises an eyebrow at me.
‘What? I’ve earned this. It’s been a long day.’
Fran gives a sympathetic hum, and Leon tilts his head to concede the point, but for me, this has been way more than just the upheaval of a delayed flight and the turmoil of Fran wanting to break up the wedding and Leon and his family hating the groom. Sure,they’vehad a rough day too, but they don’t know the half of it. It’s not a patch on the bullshit I’ve been dealing with.
So it all comes spilling out. I tear open a packet of crackers and some brie, shovelling olives into my mouth as I talk, telling them everything.How’s that for a rough day?I want to bite.
I’m doing it to one-up them, obviously, to make myself feel better. Like I’d do with Kayleigh, or Joss and Andi and Laura.You think you’ve got it bad? Just wait, just see.
