'Oh. Great.'
I slump deeper in my chair. That's all I need. My cousin Kerry triumphantly clutching some silver Best-travel-agent-in-the-world-no-make-that-universe trophy.
'And Connor rang, too, to see how you got on,' adds Lissy quickly. 'He was really sweet, he said he didn't want to ring your mobile during your meeting in case it disturbed you.'
'Really?'
For the first time today, I feel a lift in spirits.
Connor. My boyfriend. My lovely, thoughtful boyfriend.
'He's such a sweetheart!' Lissy is saying. 'He said he's tied up in a big meeting all afternoon but he's cancelled his squash game especially, so do you want to go out to supper tonight?'
'Oh,' I say, with a flicker of pleasure. 'Oh well, that'll be nice. Thanks, Lissy.'
I click off and take another sip of vodka, feeling much more cheerful.
My boyfriend.
It's just like Julie Andrews said. When the dog bites, when the bee stings … I simply remember I have a boyfriend — and suddenly things don't seem quite so completely shit.
Or however she put it.
And not just any boyfriend. A tall, handsome, clever boyfriend, whom Marketing Week called 'one of the brightest sparks in marketing research today.'
I sit nursing my vodka, allowing thoughts of Connor to roll round my brain and comfort me. The way his blond hair shines in the sunshine, and the way he's always smiling. And the way he upgraded all the software on my computer the other day without me even asking, and the way he … he …
My mind's gone blank. This is ridiculous. I mean, there's so much that is wonderful about Connor. From his … his long legs. Yes. And his broad shoulders. To the time he looked after me when I had the flu. I mean, how many boyfriends do that? Exactly.
I'm so lucky, I really am.
I put the phone away, run my fingers through my hair, and glance at the clock behind the bar. Forty minutes to go before the flight. Not long now. Nerves are starting to creep over me like little insects, and I take a deep gulp of vodka, draining my glass.
It'll be fine, I tell myself for the zillionth time. It'll be absolutely fine.
I'm not frightened. I'm just … I'm just …
OK. I am frightened.
16. I'm scared of flying.
I've never told anyone I'm scared of flying. It just sounds so lame. And I mean, it's not like I'm phobic or anything. It's not like I can't get on a plane. It's just … all things being equal, I would prefer to be on the ground.
I never used to be scared. But over the last few years, I've gradually got more and more nervous. I know it's completely irrational. I know thousands of people fly every day and it's practically safer than lying in bed. You have less chance of being in a plane crash than … than finding a man in London, or something.
But still. I just don't like it.
Maybe I'll have another quick vodka.
By the time my flight is called, I've drunk two more vodkas and am feeling a lot more positive. I mean, Lissy's right. At least I made an impression, didn't I? At least they'll remember who I am. As I stride towards the gate, clutching my briefcase, I almost start to feel like a confident businesswoman again. A couple of people smile at me as they pass, and I smile broadly back, feeling a warm glow of friendliness. You see. The world's not so bad after all. It's all just a question of being positive. Anything can happen in life, can't it? You never know what's round the next corner.
I reach the entrance to the plane, and there at the door, taking boarding passes, is the air hostess with the French plait who was sitting at the bar earlier.
'Hi again,' I say smiling. 'This is a coincidence!'
The air hostess stares at me.
'Hi. Erm …'
'What?'
Why does she look embarrassed?
'Sorry. It's just … did you know that …' She gestures awkwardly to my front.
'What is it?' I say, pleasantly. I look down, and freeze, aghast.
Somehow my silky shirt has been unbuttoning itself while I've been walking along. Three buttons have come undone and it's gaping at the front.
My bra shows. My pink lacy bra. The one that went a bit blobby in the wash.
That's why those people were smiling at me. Not because the world is a nice place, but because I'm Pink-Blobby-Bra-Woman.
'Thanks,' I mutter, and do up the buttons with rumbling fingers, my face hot with humiliation.
'It hasn't been your day, has it?' says the air hostess sympathetically, holding out a hand for my boarding pass. 'Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing, earlier.'
'That's all right.' I raise a half-smile. 'No, it hasn't been the best day of my life.' There's a short silence as she studies my boarding pass.
'Tell you what,' she says in a low voice. 'Would you like an on-board upgrade?'
'A what?' I stare at her blankly.
'Come on. You deserve a break.'
'Really? But … can you just upgrade people like that?'
'If there are spare seats, we can. We use our discretion. And this flight is so short.' She gives me a conspiratorial smile. 'Just don't tell everyone, OK?'
She leads me into the front section of the plane and gestures to a big, wide, comfortable seat. I've never been upgraded before in my life! I can't quite believe she's really letting me do this.
'Is this first class?' I whisper, taking in the hushed, luxury atmosphere. A man in a smart suit is tapping at a laptop to my right, and two elderly women in the corner are plugging themselves into headsets.
'Business class. There's no first class on this flight.' She lifts her voice to a normal volume. 'Is everything OK for you?'
'It's perfect! Thanks very much.'
'No problem.' She smiles again and walks away, and I push my briefcase under the seat in front.
Wow. This really is lovely. Big wide seats, and footrests, and everything. This is going to be a completely pleasurable experience from start to finish, I tell myself firmly. I reach for my seatbelt and buckle it up nonchalantly, trying to ignore the flutters of apprehension in my stomach.