Page 9 of The Layover

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I brace myself as I cut through swathes of people looking for their check-in counter, tracking down the desk we were directed to over the in-flight announcements.

There’s already quite a queue ahead of me, but I think I’ve managed to beat most of the families and couples who were waylaid juggling passports and collecting luggage. I join the line, knowing I’ll be in for a bit of a wait. I can only imagine how stressful it must be for the staff to have to coordinate re-routing all those passengers, plus whatever other flight delays and issues they might have to deal with this afternoon.

I’ll just have to be patient. Everything will work itself out.

‘Excuse me, sorry, excuse me …’ A man behind me leans over the rope barrier to the people ahead of us. ‘Sorry, do you mind if I cut in front? It’s just that I’m on a real time crunch, here. I’ve got to get to Barcelona tonight – my sister’s getting married.’

It’s window-seat guy from the plane!

He sees me looking, and when he does a double take, recognising me, too, I realise that I’m gawping at him; I’m just so surprised anyone would try to queue-jump. I try to rearrange my features into something more neutral, but I’m not entirely sure it works.

‘That’s hardly fair,’ I point out. ‘I’m on a time crunch trying to get to a wedding, too.’

‘I’m the bride’s brother,’ he points out.

‘And I’m the groom’s best friend.’Ha, take that!

He opens his mouth to retort, but there’s already a cascade of sympathetic noises going through the queue ahead of us, and then we’re both being ushered underneath the rope so we can cut in.

I don’t turn it down, even if itdoesfeel cheeky. I look down the line as I thank everyone, but window-seat guy is too busy on his phone to say more than a quick, ‘Cheers, mate.’

We’re standing a bit too close, given the space we’ve both just squashed into wasn’t really aspaceto begin with, so I can hear the dial tone on his phone as he rings somebody going to voicemail.

‘Shit,’ he mutters, then leaves a message: ‘Kay, hi, it’s me. The bloody flight’s been re-routed, I’m stuck in Orly. In France. I know your geography’s shite,’ he adds with a laugh. ‘Anyway, I’ll figure things out and get there as soon as I can. I might miss all the festivities tonight, butI’ll be there, okay? And … and let’s find some time before everything kicks off, yeah? There’s stuff I need to talk to you about. Anyway, um, I’ll let you know. See ya.’

He hangs up, a long breath rushing out of him.

I say, ‘Kay? As in Kayleigh Michaels?’

We’re standing so close that I notice how much taller he is than me. That’s not really difficult – most people are – but I have to tip my head back to make eye contact.

Window-seat guy doesn’t say anything, so I continue, ‘You’re Kayleigh Michaels’s brother? That’s the wedding you’re going to?’

‘You’re …’ It’s obviously an effort for him to remember the brief conversation we had not two minutes ago. ‘Marcus’s friend.’

‘I’m hisbestfriend.’

He laughs. ‘No, you’re not.’

I bristle, my shoulders squaring. I don’t tend to think of myself as someone who’s easily affronted, but this man seems to have a knack for getting my hackles up. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I know Marcus’s best man. And it’s not you.’

‘I didn’t say I was hisbest man.’ I roll my eyes. ‘As if he would’ve wantedmeorganising the stag weekend! But we’re very close.’

‘Right …’ he says, not sounding the least bit like he believes me – or even really cares. He eyes me up and down, but it’s more curious than anything else, like he’s trying to place me. I’m about to introduce myself properly when he says, ‘Listen, whatever boy drama you’ve got going on with one of the groomsmen, or whatever, keep a lid on it, okay? I don’t need them thinking this is some bid to get on a flight sooner, like that stewardess on the plane did.’

I flush, if only because hedoessort of have a point, but I’m loath to let him have the last word so I say, ‘What’s so important you need to talk to Kayleigh about before the wedding?’

‘What?’

‘You just said, in your voicemail. You mentioned it on the plane, too. What do you need to talk to her about? Must be somethingreallyimportant if it was getting you that worked up.’

He looks at me with a face like thunder, dark enough to match the storm outside. His eyebrows pull low, and his mouth sets into a grim line.

‘Nothing,’ he mutters. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Ooh, a top-secret important something. Colour me intrigued.’