I realised that I didn’t have an adorable snap of Ben and me that I could whip out to show him, and my phone was out of reach at the bottom of my bag.
‘You look happy.’ I smiled, pleased that this distraction seemed to be working and that he hadn’t appeared to have noticed the ashen look on the air hostesses’ faces further up the aisle.
‘We are.’ He paused, staring at the photo. ‘God, we really are. When we get out of here I’m going to call her and tell her.’ He firmly bobbed his head, as if making a silent vow to the woman in his trembling hands. ‘This is me.’ He handed me his business card from one of the leather pockets. He seemed to relax a little and ran his thumb across the photo of his wife. ‘So, you and your chap been together long?’
‘Yeah, actually.’ I sighed happily. ‘Live together, work together, travel together when we can.’
‘Not married though?’
I shook my head.
‘You not been giving him the signals?’ Terry pressed.
I laughed. ‘I’m sure he knows, one day it might happen …’
It was Terry’s turn to let out a sharp bark of a laugh. ‘I know what you women are like, expecting men to pick up on these “subconscious” signals that you send out.’ He raised his fingers in air quotes. I noticed that he had a large sweat patch under each armpit, but at least his hands were trembling slightly less. ‘Trust me, no man ever reads into them. You have to literally spell it out to him, to us.’
The seat-belt sign pinged off, making us both jump. I hadn’t even realised that the plane had stopped jerking violently and, by the look of relief and surprise on Terry’s face, neither had he.
‘Thank God.’ He nodded and relaxed his hands. ‘That was a bit hairy, wasn’t it?’
I nodded distractedly, thinking about what he’d just said.
‘Thanks for, erm, taking my mind off it,’ he mumbled sheepishly.
‘No problem.’
Without the fear of death hanging over us, he seemed to clam up once more.
‘They still can’t shut up that screaming child though,’ he grumbled and put his headphones back on.
Tepid (adj.) – Showing little enthusiasm
I woke up feeling like someone had performed a lobotomy on me as I slept. My mouth was dry and gummy, my brain felt like it had been replaced with scratchy wire wool, and my neck was too weak to hold up my head. My stomach rumbled even though I’d probably overdone it on the in-flight meals – I always got carried away with the excitement of what was hiding under each shiny foil lid. I also loved how transatlantic airlines seemed to be competing to have a mile-high Michelin star. Some of the fanciest meals I’ve ever eaten were on long-haul flights. Now I just felt bloated and gross.
I rubbed my tight, gritty eyes, ignored the noisy dance-off my stomach was having, and prepared to force myself to jump into the shower in the small budget hotel I’d checked into after I’d arrived. My body screeched in resistance to any movements. I felt like I had that fuzzy stage of the flu, as if my joints had been replaced with metal poles, and every single muscle ached. I hurriedly turned off the television that I’d only flicked on to check the time. I couldn’t take in one thing the beaming morning television presenters were saying. Their bright and cheery smiles, along with their drawling Aussie accents, were not helping this pounding in my skull. This was not the time to get sick. I hobbled to the bathroom and hoped that a hot shower would wake me up and sort me out, except that it took all the effort in the world to stand up properly or raise my arms above my head to wash the suds from my hair. What was going on with me? I had to snap out of it as I needed to go and meet Shelley and her cousin pronto.
Trailing past the hotel’s dining room full of tourists and business people filling up their breakfast plates made my stomach contract painfully in protest. Maybe that was what this feeling was? Maybe I’d got food poisoning from the in-flight meals? It probably was too fancy for my own good. I mean, how fresh can glazed avocado, a bed of kale, pork loins with a red wine jus, and chocolate mousse served with pomegranate and raspberry foam be at thirty-five thousand feet? Whatever it was that was causing this out-of-body experience, I had no time to analyse it as I hurriedly checked out so I wouldn’t be late.
Lugging my bag through the streets of Melbourne, I felt a pang of sadness that I wouldn’t have time to properly discover this city. It was going to take superwoman strength to get through the day. I had to keep stopping every couple of feet to catch my breath, blink back the autumnal, crisp air blowing at my cheeks, and crane my neck at the signs on the tall buildings around me for a hint of a street name leading me in the right direction. This arduous trip was full of hazards from trying to avoid cute, old-style trams chugging across the lines criss-crossing the busy streets, and scurrying past hip coffee shops where bearded men gripping takeaway cups spilled out onto the pavement. I narrowly avoided receiving a flat white down my front as I pushed past and weaved my way around queues of trendy people hanging around graffiti-scrawled art galleries.
‘Well, look who’s made it down under!’ The shrill shrieks of my best friend Shelley rang across the busy bus station concourse, making me jump.
I flicked my head up from the tourist map that I’d picked up earlier and grinned at her. I couldn’t shake the heavy cloud of tiredness that had settled into my bones, but I felt my spirits lift seeing her infectious smile, bright blonde pixie-cropped hair, and creased-up, freckled, button nose as she manically waved at me.
‘Hello!’ I sang.
‘It’s so good to see you, chick.’ She pulled me into a warm embrace, filling my nose with her floral scent and making tears prick at my tired eyes. I’d forgotten just how much I’d missed her. We’d made sure we had regular FaceTime chats since she’d returned to live in her home country, but there was nothing that compared to being able to hold her and feel that familiar warmth.
‘How was your journey? How did you sleep? What do you think of ’Straya so far?’ She pulled back and held me at arm’s length as questions rolled off her tongue.
‘I got here fine, but, honestly, I feel like death warmed up.’
‘Ah, jet lag. You’ll get used to it and I promise it will only last a few days,’ she said with a flick of her hand. Conrad’s I told you so face suddenly loomed into my mind.
‘Hmm, I hope you’re right. It’s like a lingering hangover but without the fun memories of a night out.’
‘Yeah, it sucks. But we’ve got so much to see and do that you’ll kick its ass in no time. I promise you.’
I stepped back to say hello to the girl standing on her right. She had the same blonde-coloured hair as Shelley, but hers was pulled into an uber-high and uber-tight bun. The severe look continued to the rest of her angular body. Her black, skinny, ripped jeans looked expensive, her long fingers were iced with rose-gold rings and her mint-green jumper skimmed her toned frame. I couldn’t take my eyes off her shoes as she towered over both of us. She was tall enough even without the extra few inches that the pair of heeled black boots gave her. I felt instantly dowdy and unfashionable in my baggy travelling outfit and scuffed trainers.
‘Gawd, sorry, where are my manners? I’m just so excited to see you!’ Shelley said. ‘Georgia, this is Cara, my cousin, and second in charge of the wedding!’
‘Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you.’ I smiled at the girl with impeccable pores and protruding collarbone.
Cara was a model-slash-fashion