Page 24 of Not Just for Christmas

Dylan retracted the privacy screen to find a small blonde woman crouching by his seat, beaming at him.

‘Hey, Joleen,’ he said, switching to his ‘genial greet the public face’.

Joleen made a squeaking sound. ‘She’s not going to believe this. Thanks so much for doing it.’

‘No problem.’

Joleen squeezed herself beside him, pressed her perfumed cheek against his and held her phone out to take a picture of them both. Not just once, but three times before she was happy with her shot.

‘You’re my hero,’ she said, twinkling her fingers as she left to go back to her own seat. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘You too.’ Dylan pulled up his privacy screen and typed his message to Lucy.

I hear you and I’m going to do better. Promise. Jack would have loved to see Sam as Joseph in his Nativity, I know what a privilege this is. I won’t let him down. Or you.

Before he’d pressed send, Lucy replied again.

You didn’t reply to my last message, so maybe you’ve taken off already, but are there any dietary requirements I should know about? I can’t remember.

He smiled wryly. He might not remember times and dates, but there were some things that would stick in his memory forever, like the way she took her coffee extra strong in the morning and weaker as the day went on, the smell of her coconut shampoo which she swore was the only one to cope with her thick curly hair, the way she jammed her hand on one hip when she was cross.

No dairy anymore, but don’t worry, no special alternative, I can drink black tea and coffee

She reacted to that with a laughing emoji.

No dairy, on a dairy farm … only you! See you later. Sam can’t wait!

He sent one last message to say that he couldn’t wait either and then switched his phone to airplane mode and closed his eyes for a moment.

Losing a friend so young was the wake-up call Dylan hadn’t known he needed. He was still full of energy and ambition, an unshakeable belief that he had decades of life ahead of him. Time to do whatever he wanted. But Jack’s death had changed all that. What if he died tomorrow, next month, next year? What if today was all he had? For all the trappings that a successful music career had given him, he’d never felt emptier, more without purpose, lonelier. He had made a success of Dylan Wilde the musician, but Dylan Wilde the person? He had no idea who that was anymore.

Lucy’s invitation to join them for Christmas felt like the gift he needed more than anything.

It was time for Dylan to work out what he wanted from life and do his best to go after it. For too long, he’d gone with the flow. Contrary to what Lucy thought, he had Wi-Fi connection throughout the flight if he wanted it. But he didn’t want to stay connected to the outside world. The ten-hour digital detox was a blessing he intended to take advantage of.

Rayner interrupted his thoughts by popping a menu onto his table. ‘We’ll be serving dinner soon. I recommend the Thai crab cakes followed by the chicken parmigiana.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He handed Dylan a small card. ‘While I’ve got you, it’s a colleague’s birthday today, and we wondered if you’d sign her card. It’s from all of us. She’s called Ellen.’

‘Sure.’ Dylan signed it.

‘She will be so happy with this. You are such a nice guy,’ said Rayner, a fluttery hand going to his chest. ‘You have no idea how unfriendly some celebrities are when they come on board.’

‘And I guess you have no idea what else is going on in their lives,’ said Dylan smoothly. ‘Even celebrities deserve a bit of privacy now and again.’

‘Oh. Certainly, sir.’ Rayner bristled. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order, if it’s OK to bother you?’

Rayner didn’t mean any harm, but it annoyed Dylan that celebrities had to always be gracious regardless of how tired they might be. There was rarely any thought to how they might be feeling. Dylan shook off the barb and closed his eyes. Maybe he could have a little nap before the food service arrived.

He woke up to the sound of a baby crying somewhere behind him.

The guy in front of him yanked down the privacy screen and poked his head out, his face screwed up angrily. ‘For Christ’s sake, can’t someone shut that kid up?’

The corner of a baby blanket brushed Dylan’s arm as a slight woman walked by, carrying the writhing, wailing baby. She dipped her head, allowing a silky curtain of black hair to cover her face as she passed Mr Angry in front.

‘Sh-sh-sh-sh,’ she murmured into the little one’s ear.