“Anna!” There is no mistaking the joy in the word. A sandy-haired young man stands from a group of lads, all wearing a uniform of blue jeans and black T-shirt, each with a slogan or witticism. The uniform of the tech bro.
Anna turns. He looks familiar, but she cannot immediately place him. She can easily read the happiness in his face at seeing her, his eagerness to close the distance between them. Her mind is sorting and cataloguing. She doesn’t think he is one of her friends, but it’s difficult to be sure. Since kindergarten, she has always been surrounded by her coterie – all the other children keen to be her friend, from infants to seniors through sixth form and eventually, university. She is not yet thirty, but alreadydozens of friends have been relegated to no more contact than an occasional ‘like’ on a social media post. It is simply not possible to keep up with everyone.
But if he’s not one of her friends, maybe he belongs to one of her sisters? Or a fellow med student from years back? A patient? She scratches the last. A patient would address her as “Doctor”.
By the time he reaches her side, she is still clueless, but until she knows who he is, she cannot decide how to react. Men remember beautiful women far more often than women remember unremarkable men. If he is a fellow student, she can mostly ignore him. She has kept in touch with all those she wants to know, whether for pleasure or business. But a friend of the family needs more careful handling.
Her lack of recognition must show on her face. She is normally quicker than this, but in her defence, she is hungry and so very close to food.
“We met at Charlie’s?” he says.
This doesn’t uniquely identify him. She knows at least a dozen Charlies/Charles/Chazzes. The English middle-class are remarkably unimaginative in naming their children and royal names like William, Henry, Charles, and George abound.
“At the festival?” he adds.
Ah! Charlie Fairfax and the Fairfaxes’ annual festival on their estate is generally a certainty for fun, but it is a few years since Anna has attended. Before the pandemic, definitely. Which probably explains her lack of recognition. Her eyes flick over him once more.
“Ah! Yes,” she lies, no closer to his identity. Internally, she prays they are not on the same flight.
“Are you going to Seattle?” he asks.
“No, LA.” She kicks herself as the words leave her mouth. Never give out more information than you have to, especially to men who show every sign of excessive attention.
“Do you want to join us?” Hope drips from his lips as he gestures towards his group. His kudos would increase from knowing her. One of them leans back, speculation in his eyes. He’s clearly the boss, the little group centred around him. And he knows his worth. He is much more her type – strong, confident, his heart not easily broken. He catches her eye, the smallest, briefest nod of his head towards the restrooms and the slightest curl of his lips in invitation. A brief fantasy flicks through her mind: sex in the restroom before they each board their flight, her back against the tiles, legs wrapped around him. A tongue of lust licks through her.
But she is wiser than that. This is a power play and a cruel one at that. The boss seducing her would leave his underling humiliated. Anna has no interest in being a pawn in a sadistic game.
“Sorry,” she says. “I’ve got a ton of work to do.” She shrugs to emphasise her helplessness.
“Oh! Well, if you change your mind …” He leaves the invitation open but hovers beside her. Anna grabs a plate, piles it with food from the nearest buffet tray, reaches for a fork and heads to a seat far away from others. “Maybe next time,” she tosses over her shoulder with the barest of smiles – enough to placate, not enough to encourage.
Her instinct is always to sit with her back to a wall facing the room. She settles in her chair, opens her laptop and, unbeknownst to her admirer, opens her Kindle app. She would generally read on her phone, but that wouldn’t look like she is working. She browses through the options she pre-loaded for her trip. Books have always been an important part of her de-stress routine. She chooses a twisty-turny crime novel instead,the first in a series she has been meaning to read for a while.The Corfe Castle Murders. She likes the idea they are set in Dorset. She had a boyfriend once, years ago before she left school, who lived in Dorset. She spent most of one summer there with him, and her memories are soaked in sunshine and sea and sex. The book will be a perfect trundle through her memory bank of sights visited in his soft-top classic MG. She may even look him up to find out where he is now, when she has finished the book. She takes a forkful of pasta and begins to read.
Her flight is called before the one to Seattle. As she packs her laptop away, she glances up and finds her devotee and his boss still watching. She gives a little finger wave in their direction, stands and exits, the incident immediately forgotten. If she remembers when she returns, she’ll run it past her elder sister. Eleanor is closest to Charlie Fairfax. She may know the identity of her fan.
Anna speeds through the airport gate and boards quickly, hardly sparing a glance at the hordes queueing in the economy line. The chill of the airport tunnel is replaced with the warmth and busy-ness of the airplane as passengers stow belongings or extract books and electronics.
The flight attendant, looking fresh and immaculate, stands by the entry to the flight deck. Anna walks past, nodding a greeting.
Her path through is blocked by a burka-clad woman, one arm around the toddler on her hip who looks nervous and scared. The woman is trying to reach up to push something in the overhead storage, but she is short and clearly struggling. Anna looks around for the child’s father, but there are only two older, portly men in the section, and they are both deeply engrossed in their own conversation. With a mental condemnation of absent fathers throughout the world, Anna steps up. She has over six inches on the poor woman.
“Here, let me.”
Anna is not sure if the woman speaks English, but she appears to understand. Shoving her boarding pass between her teeth, Anna stretches out both hands and gives one hard push. The baby reaches out, snatches the boarding pass and flings it away.
The woman looks embarrassed, but Anna shakes her head and smiles to show no offence. It’s a baby, after all. Instead, she turns around to pick up the ticket, only to find the flight attendant holding it out towards her.
“Here you go, Dr Mortimer.” The stewardess has obviously read the name on the pass. Anna would not usually use her title when travelling, but the original ticket was booked by work. With another exchange of smiles, Anna takes the pass. She glances past the flight attendant into the first-class cabin. Excited children dressed in jeans and sweatshirts chatter as more black-clad mothers chivvy them into their seats and hand out electronics from designer tote bags. Anna wonders if they are all one family group.
She turns back to Business Class. It is quieter. There is nothing more than the occasional muted grunt as people heave bags into overhead lockers. Everything feels muffled, as if this were an excitement-free zone. Anna supposes it is. Most of these people will have jobs where the description readstravelrequired, rather than the less onerous and far more joyousopportunity for travel. For them, a twelve-hour night flight is something to be endured, not enjoyed.
Anna finds her seat. One of a pair nestled top to toe on the side of the cabin, just before the toilets. It is one of the worst seats in the section, but Anna appreciates the prospect of being able to lie flat and sighs in gratitude. She stashes her coat overhead, then moves the bedding before dropping into her seat. One of the cabin crew stops by with a glass of champagnebut Anna declines it. She wants to sleep on the flight and would prefer to avoid the extra strain on her heart from the alcohol.
She studies the menu instead, but is quick to select her choices. As the Economy passengers begin to file in, she keeps an eye out in case some of her colleagues from other hospitals are on the same flight headed to the same conference. But she doesn’t recognise anyone.
The stream of travellers slows to a trickle, then stops. Almost everyone is seated and belted in. The flight attendants are moving about the cabin, making preparations and closing the overhead lockers. As the pilot begins his announcement and Anna is dutifully switching her phone to flight mode, someone opens the locker above her. She turns her head to see a perfect package nicely sculpted in black denim. She raises her eyes as the figure steps back. And it is in that moment that Anna Mortimer, ice queen extraordinaire, breaker of countless hearts, finds she has the itsy-bitsiest, teeny-tiniest, eensy-weensiest crush on a man.
Mamma Mia!
