I stood up. ‘What photo of the two of us kissing?’
‘The one they posted on the WhatsApp group, along with all the other pictures, and I see your fake boyfriend, or something, seems to feature in quite a few of them.’
‘I’m phoning you back!’ I shouted.
‘I have to go anyway. But don’t worry, I’ll phone you back. I must hear more. Bye!’
Jennifer hung up, and I clicked on the school group as quickly as I could. Over a hundred photos came up. I began scrolling through them frantically, until I found what I was looking for. I’d completely forgotten about this picture. It was very poorly taken, if I do say so myself. But ithadbeen taken, and now it was up on a group chat, probably for ever! I zoomed in.
‘Mmm!’ I was impressed. We did look like a real couple. And the kiss was exceedingly hot. I zoomed in and examined it closely. We fitted together so well – the shape of our faces, the angle of our jaws and the size of our noses. It was as if we were designed to kiss each other. I swapped across to my chat with Jennifer.
Pippa:It is a hot kiss!
Jennifer:That’s what I’m worried about.
Pippa:What are you worried about?
Jennifer:I’m rushing around now, but let’s chat later. I just don’t want you getting hurt.
Pippa:Why would I get hurt? This is a purely fake and mutually beneficial arrangement-slash-relationship.
Jennifer:Famous last words.
Pippa:What do you mean?
Jennifer:I’ll chat later.
Jennifer disappeared, and I sat there in the dark, wondering what she’d meant by all that. Why on earth would she be worried that I could get hurt? And what about ‘famous last words’. What words?
I lay back down in bed and opened the reunion group again. I started flipping through the photos that various people had taken over the two days: the group photos, the individual photos, the couple photos; and wine glass and food photos; and the many, many –wait, many– photos of Andrew. I sat up again. He could be seen in almost all the bloody photos. The back of him, half his face in the corner, his arm in the shot, his profile and shoulder poking in on the left, his laughing face in the corner of another photo, and I’m sure that someone had gone to great lengths to include a photo of him bending over, his ass in the air, in the background of a rather irrelevant photo of a table setting. I zoomed in on that photo too. He did have a remarkably good ass. I felt a strange little surge of pride, even though that was irrational. My fake fiancé with a fantastic backside! I put my phone down on my bedside table and smiled to myself as I drifted back off to sleep.
CHAPTER17
‘Good afternoon, City Tower, this is Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’
‘Flightbird Six Zero Zero, this is City Tower. Hi! Go ahead.’
‘We are inbound to Johannesburg Airport, flying over the pylons, requesting vectors for ILS, please. Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’
I flushed at the sound of the voice I could actually put a face to now, not to mention an arse to. It had been the last thing I’d thought about before falling asleep last night, and now I was thinking about it again! I quickly pushed it out of my mind. I could not let things like that distract me at work.
‘Flightbird Six Zero Zero, turn right heading two zero niner.’
‘Copy that, City Tower, turn right heading two zero niner.’
I waited. My enthusiasm to speak to him had increased ever since our weekend away. I’d seldom been described as an enthusiastic individual and, in most of my school reports, teachers suggested that I should try display more enthusiasm for group activities, but these days I felt rather enthusiastic indeed. I seemed to have a little ‘pep in my step’, as my mother would say. And this morning when I’d come to work, I’d even smiled and said good morning to my co-workers. Something I never do. Not because I’m trying to be rude, but because I’m terrified I’ll be dragged into small talk with one of them and have no idea what to say. I dealt with some other landings while waiting to hear back from Andrew.
‘City Tower, this is Flightbird Six Zero Zero. Established ILS, runway zero three left. Not lucky number seven today, unfortunately. How’s the runway looking? Wind seems gusty from up here and visibility is low.’
‘Wind is three forty degrees at eighteen knots. Safe for landing, but it will be a little bumpy.’
‘Copy that, City Tower, wind is three forty degrees at eighteen knots. The passengers won’t enjoy this. Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’
‘Flightbird Six Zero Zero. Cleared to land on runway zero three left. Good luck.’
‘Ha! Ha! I don’t need luck, City Tower, cleared to land on runway zero three left.’
He stopped talking and, as soon as he did, that sense of anticipation flooded me again. The more time I spent talking to him, the more I wanted to talk to him, and over the last few weeks I had found that anticipation growing tenfold. Synonyms foranticipationincludedexpectance, expectancyandexpectation. Andrew had become an expectation, one that I waited for. I stood up and watched his plane land, something else I enjoyed doing more than I understood why. From here, it looked like the plane was being bounced around in the air on invisible springs. The passengers were probably all on the edge of their seats, gripping chairs with white knuckles. If only they knew what capable hands they were in, they wouldn’t worry at all. He landed the plane relatively gently, despite the unrelenting winds pushing it out at an angle.
