“Are we there yet?”
I wince from the constant barrage of children’s screams and cries. I do understand that families have to go on holiday, but why do they insist on taking the red-eye plane? I’d even asked the woman next to me.
“Why the red-eye with kids?”
She had glared at me. “It’s cheaper.”
I had mumbled something and turned away. Since then she hadn’t even acknowledged my existence, despite the fact she sat next to me. No, actually that was wrong, a couple of elbows timed to stutter across my ribs suggested that she knew I was there, and she was choosing to remind me that in a few words I had been able to make her hate me. It’s a gift that I have and that I use without realising it. Honestly, I am an easy going woman who likes to get on with people. It’s just that at seven o’clock in the morning and looking at another hour in flight, I was not at my best. I’d already been on the road since nine o’clock yesterday evening and I hadn’t been able to sleep. The stopover had been fraught with delays and the prospect of a nap was being squashed.
Sitting back I lean my head against the head rest, wishing for sleep. A man walks out of the toilet area and gave me a pitying smile as his eyes run over the seats next to me. As he passes his hand brushes against my arm; solidarity of the business customers. I just wish I could afford business class.
Finally, the kids seem to settle and I allow my mind to drift.