Page 82 of The Layover
I’ve never relied on anybody else, had to be independent, had to build myself up when nobody else would. Why am I constantly waiting for them to tell me I’m enough? My boss, a partner, even –especially– Kayleigh?
I can be all I need. It’s up to me to decide that I’m enough, and that I’m worth more.
I am. I am, I am, I am.
Fran squeezes my arm. ‘Come on, they’re starting boarding.’
Leon gives me a hand up, and I take it.
Time until ‘I Do’
2 ½ hours
Chapter Thirty-eight
Leon
I get the aisle seat this time, able to stretch out a little more. Gemma spends most of the flight with her nose pressed to the window watching the sunrise and looking deep in thought, and Francesca is tucked into the middle seat between us, reading on her Kindle. Every so often she throws a hand over her mouth or gives a quiet squeal of delight over something the characters do, which is more endearing than I’d like to admit.
Given that she’s on her way to tell another man she’s in love with him, and all.
The unhappy redheaded honeymooners are in the row in front, and by unspoken agreement, we take turns sneaking a glance between the seats at them to try and settle our debate. I’msureI see her kiss him on the cheek at one point.
This time on the flight to Barcelona, I pull down my tray table and open my notebook, pressing the pages flat. I flip past all my irate scribbles from earlier about what a prat Marcus is and start writing. I’m sure when she wakes up, Myleene is going to be frantic with the realisation that I never sent her my speech in case I don’t make it in time, but she’ll get over it.
I’ll be there.
And, if I need it, if the wedding goes ahead … I’ll have a speech.
The first time we met Marcus, we weren’t sure he’d stick around. After all – meeting the family on Christmas Day? That could be make-or-break for most relationships. A far cry from a cup of tea and some polite small talk, everything hinged on whether he liked sprouts or if he complained about the turkey being too dry, and if he was willing to endure theDoctor Whospecial. Just imagine, if he beat Nana at charades – that would’ve been the end of it …
I write my speech, still not sure if I’ll need it, and by the time the plane is coming into land around eight a.m., the whole thing feels totally surreal. Almost like I never actuallyexpectedto get here at all.
And, despite all the time I had to think about it in Orly Airport Terminal 3, after everything Gemma said about Kay, the stomach-churning WhatsApp group chat reveal, the damning video from the hen do … Even after all that, I still don’t feel like I know what to do any better now than I did on the flight out yesterday.
Is it worth telling Kay we don’t think Marcus is good for her? Is it going to make any difference? Should I tell her that she’ll lose us all if she carries on like this, and is thatreallywhat she wants? Will I live in regret if I keep my mouth shut – like Francesca was scared of doing? It’s driven her to pretty drastic measures. Maybe I should do the same?
It’s easy for Francesca to say I’m not responsible for how Kay treats our family, and it’s easy for me to acknowledge that she’s right – butacceptingit, feeling like I don’t have that duty to our family … That’s a different thing altogether.
Come on, Nana, send me a sign.
The moment the plane lands and the seatbelt signs are off, it’s like someone flips a switch in all three of us – because we snatch up our things, leap to our feet, scramble to be the first ones off the plane.
‘T-minus two hours, thirty minutes till the ceremony,’ I tell the girls, but they’re both so distracted I’m not sure they hear.
Gemma’s turning her phone on and whispering curses, tugging at her hair and chewing her lip, frantically sending messages about the flowers and the caterers and the photographers to the ‘new’ group chat, trying to corral some sense of order to problems they’re already haranguing her about.
Francesca, meanwhile, turns into a bundle of nervous energy – or maybe it’s excitable, I can’t quite tell. She bounces on the balls of her feet, her whole body practically vibrating as she clutches her passport and Kindle to her chest and fidgets with one of the pins on her jacket. She stares ahead, hardly seeing, and I wonder if she’s daydreaming about the movie-perfect scene in which she declares her love to Marcus and he scoops her up in his arms and …
It’s like an episode ofLove Island. How long will they actually last, out there in the real world?
I glance over at Gemma, who’s sending a too-chipper voice note saying, ‘Joss, babe, the seafood paella isfor this evening, can you just ask the hotel to make sure it’s signposted? They did confirm with me three days ago the calligrapher sent all the labels over, I did tell you guys this, haha! There’s a vegan risotto alternative and they’re serving family-style anyway, so it’s totally no big, we thought this might happen. But like, hilarious, who needs to flag their dietary restrictions on the RSVP like they’re supposed to?Sooootypical. Also, Andi, hon, the hairdresserdoesspeak English, she’s an ex-pat, so you do not need to find a translator for Kayleigh to make sure it’s all “bueno” …’
When she finishes, Francesca says to her, ‘You evensoundlike a different person when you talk to them, Gemma.’
Gemma flinches, but she and Francesca share a weighted look, and her smile is small and sorry for herself when she shrugs it off.
There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach, the ghost of a thought circling the edges of my sleep-deprived and hungover brain, a conversation I should’ve had with Gemma that’s only just occurring to me and that we never got around to having.
