Ten
Athens International Airport, Athens, Greece
‘What do we do? Where do we go?’ Becky was sweating. From the roots of her hair to in between her toes and she wasn’t even out in stifling European air yet. But it seemed the more eagerly she leaned forward trying to encourage her fellow travellers to speed up their ridiculously slower-than-slug-speed overhead locker evacuation, the less actual movement occurred. ‘Do we need to find someone? A stewardess? Someone at a desk when we get off the plane?’ She looked over her shoulder at Elias who had only just started to put his computer into his bag. At least his shoes were back on now!
There was no sign of perspiration on him. She guessed it was his Greek acclimatisation. He looked just as cool and unfazed as he had done when he’d boarded. Meanwhile, even without looking, Becky knew she was one hot flush away from the appearance of past-its-eat-by-date ham left out of the fridge overnight.
‘There should be an airline ambassador waiting for us on the bridge,’ Elias replied, slipping his bag over his shoulder, cool as a cucumber.
‘Bridge? What bridge?’ Becky asked him. ‘Is there more than one bridge? How will we know which bridge?’ If this woman in front didn’t get her case out of the overhead bin and get on her way Becky was going to haul it down for her. Exactly how much faffing could one person be capable of?
‘Relax,’ Elias answered. ‘The bridge is just the connecting tunnel from the plane to the end of the gate. Someone should be waiting for us there.’
‘Should be?’ Becky queried, dragging her case a few centimetres forward as the lady in front finally made a move. ‘“Should be” doesn’t sound very concrete.’
‘Most of the time there has been someone when I have made a connection here.’
‘Most of the time,’ Becky repeated. ‘Like, most of the time, Tesco Finest steak is really good… or… black fly doesn’t eat all the basil plants or…’ Sisters don’t turn into complete bitches you barely recognise. Becky closed her mouth and kept the internal monologue to herself. Besides, if she was going to keep this member of the armed forces ruse going, she needed to find better comparisons. ‘Or most of the time twelve-gauge autoloaders don’t jam up.’ She sniffed, thanking her intimate knowledge of the script of The Terminator. ‘I don’t have time to be dealing with maybes today.’
‘Then let’s keep moving,’ Elias instructed. He shifted out of their row, moving behind her, his body close as he swiftly and effortlessly retrieved his case. Still not any sign of even a sheen on his forehead. Dark hair perfect. Eyelashes obscenely long. Eyes an interesting whirl of blue-green… She hit her arm on a headrest and refocused. She needed to catch this flight. If she didn’t, who knew, she might be in danger of losing this housesitting placement before she’d even set foot on the island. Could Ms O’Neill do that? Could she take the offer back if Becky didn’t turn up on time?
Throwing a hurried ‘thank you’ at the crew standing at the doors of the aircraft – although she wasn’t quite sure what she was thanking them for given the flight was late and the wine had been warm – Becky powered up the tunnel/bridge seeking someone who might resemble an ambassador. Ferrero Rocher anyone?
Despite her powerwalking that was almost akin to jogging, Elias was at her elbow, gliding along the incline with panache. Maybe the non-sweating, non-flustered appearance came with practice and years of varied travel arrangements. All it might take to derive pleasure from flight and everything it entailed was repetition. Although right now, with her next plane on the verge of departing without her on it, doing this all over again was about as appealing as resetting all her internet passwords. And if she was army-trained she really shouldn’t be flagging at the first whiff of exertion. She stepped up the pace, almost expertly balancing Hazel’s giant bag on her arm and giving guidance to her wheeled case now. But at the top of the slope she could already see a gathering and it was a gathering that seemed rather like a commotion. There were people in tabards – ambassadors? – and other passengers like her with bags and cases and seemingly no clue what was meant to happen next.
‘Corfu! Do we have any other passengers for the Olympic Air flight to Corfu!’
‘Yes!’ Becky exclaimed, punching her arm up into the air. ‘Yes, us! We are!’
‘Come this way please and wait to the left-hand side.’
‘What way?’ Becky asked, looking to Elias.
Her companion spoke in Greek then, addressing one of the airline representatives. Becky looked from Elias to a woman with flowing curly Grecian-goddess hair and back again, trying to interpret what they were saying to one another. She didn’t know any Greek.
And then suddenly Elias was taking hold of her hand and striding off with her.
‘What’s going on?’ Becky asked. Was this the moment? Was it now when the mild-mannered estate agent turned abductor and all her fake background story and loose travelogue talk didn’t matter a bit? She would never get to perfect effortless air travel. She would never get to ride Shelley’s triplets’ zip wire. She would never find out if she could perfect the catering pitch for the care home. She would never make up with Megan…
‘We need to get to the gate,’ Elias told her. ‘I don’t have a good feeling about this.’ He still had her hand and was trying to guide them through the waiting splinter groups of people, to space, and hopefully the next part of the airport they needed to get to.
‘Wait. Stop. What do you mean you don’t have a good feeling about this?’ Becky asked, grinding her espadrilles to the floor and trying to gain traction. He was still holding her hand and she remembered the last man who had held her hand. For eighteen months he had held her hand and then… he was holding someone else’s instead. The less thinking about him the better. She let Elias go. ‘You definitely said on the plane that everything would be fine.’
‘I know,’ he answered. ‘But I think—’
‘You think what?’
‘I don’t know,’ Elias said with a sigh. ‘Perhaps I am wrong. But I think they are going to make us wait until everyone meant to be connecting with the Corfu flight has departed the aircraft. And if they do that… if they make us all wait… I don’t think they will hold the plane long enough for us all to make it to the gate.’
‘Oh God,’ Becky said, putting a hand to her perspiring forehead. ‘Well, what do we do?’
‘We could run for it,’ Elias suggested. ‘But we will have to go now. Right now.’
Petra. Where was Petra? She was meant to be getting this flight too. OK, so theoretically, Becky had no reason to feel any responsibility for a traveller she had shared one pre-toilet conversation with, but she hadn’t seen her disembark yet, nor was she part of any of these slightly agitated groups.
‘I don’t know,’ Becky said.
‘You do not want to catch the flight?’ Elias asked, brow furrowing. ‘Before, you were behaving that your life might end if you do not make the flight.’
‘Well,’ Becky said, ‘I don’t think I was quite that dramatic. Besides, I am on very important… and secret… government business. It can be… stressful.’ Who had she turned into? So many lies falling from her lips like she was an accomplished drug mule attached to a leading cartel… instead of someone who just made sandwiches. And she had actually told him she was on holiday from all the made-up 007 stuff.