Page 6 of The Christmas Catch
She hoped the mystery woman hadn’t noticed any of that. If she had, Morgan would never know, as the pavement only held her case, and nothing else.
The other woman had paid and left.
Disappointment scratched in Morgan’s chest.
* * *
Morgan wasone of the first on the plane, having bought speedy boarding with her ticket. She hated queueing, and anything that nixed it got her vote. The flight wasn’t long, but she was all for making travelling as comfortable as possible. It came from a childhood spent camping in the rain in Devon and Cornwall. Travel and holidays to Morgan meant getting as far away from that image as she could. She edged her way along the narrow aisle, smiling at an older gentleman just taking off his flat cap two rows ahead. He was the type of man who’d play the granddad in an ITV Sunday night drama.
“Going home for Christmas?” he asked as he unwound his grey scarf.
“I am. You?” She bet this entire plane would say the same, so it was a pretty safe guess.
“Going to see my daughter and her family,” the man replied in a broad Glaswegian accent. “They’ve moved to Devon. Couldn’t get farther away from me if they tried. I’m trying not to take it personally.”
Morgan smiled. Her mum and sister said the same when she told them she was staying put after university.
She settled into her seat, flicking through the inflight magazine and food options. She’d already had breakfast at home, but something about planes always made her want to order more. At least a coffee and something to go with it. A bacon roll with ketchup? Four-finger KitKat? They both sounded good.
“We meet again,” a low voice said nearby.
Morgan looked up from her magazine, then blinked. The mystery woman was back, standing over her. Her face was like an art exhibit, all sharp angles and shadows, with devastating brown eyes. They crinkled as she smiled in Morgan’s direction.
A frisson of intrigue ran through Morgan. Who was this woman? Her face rang so many bells.
Maybe shehadslept with her.
“What are the chances of your taxi nearly crashing into mine, and then us getting on the same flight to Exeter?” If she was a betting woman, probably less than one per cent.
Which is why she wasn’t a betting woman.
“Slim to none.” The woman gave her a warm smile, then slid into the seat across the aisle. She unwound her mustard scarf. It looked homemade. Had her gran knitted it for her? Her mum? Her girlfriend?
Morgan tried not to stare. She was just about to ask if they knew each other, when a family with toddlers walked through the aisle between them. When they’d gone, Morgan turned her attention back to the food menu. They didn’t know each other. She was being stupid. The woman just had one of those faces.
“You don’t recognise me, do you?”
Okay, so it wasn’t just her. Morgan turned and put down her menu, then stared across the aisle. Salon-ready hair, questioning smile, smooth skin and vibe. The woman looked like a TV presenter. Maybe for E4 or women’s football.
“You look very familiar, but I can’t quite place you.” Morgan winced. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to put me out of my misery, sorry.”
The woman smiled, then put a hand to her chest. “Ali Bradford. Nicole’s sister. We went to school together at Hawthornes Academy?” She treated Morgan to her dazzling smile. “And I’m guessing you’re going home for Christmas?”
Ali Bradford? The last time she’d seen Ali Bradford, she hadn’t looked like this. Not even a teeny, tiny bit. She’d had longer hair, she’d been in braces, and she certainly hadn’t exuded such queer energy. Now though, Ali’s queer energy might turn the whole plane gay.
“I am. You are, too?” It was the best sentence Morgan could string together in the circumstances.
Ali Bradford. Her sister, Nicole, had been Morgan’s best mate throughout their school years. Ali had been the little sister, always trailing in their wake. But now, Ali Bradford was all grown up.
“I am. Back to the homestead and all that entails.” Ali gave her a forced smile.
Morgan had been home almost every year, but hadn’t called in at Ali’s family pub, The Rising Sun, nearly as often. She’d caught up with Nicole, but she hadn’t seen Ali in maybe a decade. Morgan had always known Ali was gay, but she’d never looked likethis. Like she could fill you in on the stats for the England women’s football team, then take you out to the best sushi place and give you a night you’d never forget.
“How long’s it been since we saw each other? Ten years? Maybe more? You look so different.”
“Was I that bad before?”
Had Morgan offended her?Shit. She shook her head. “Course not, just…” She couldn’t quite find the words.
