Читать книгу It's Not You It's Me - Allison Rushby, Allison Rushby - Страница 13

We talk and talk and talk. Through lunch, through dinner, through supper. The food, of course, is très magnifique—see, I’m even talking like a first classer now! We talk non-stop through the hour wait in Singapore, which we spend at a café. We even talk through ‘lights out’, when we’re back on the plane again. Eventually everyone gets sick of us and Jessica has to give us the official Quieten down, please. Her lipstick, I note, is still in place. Tattooed?

We talk—well, whisper, all the way to London.

And by the time we get off the plane and are waiting for our bags at Carousel 9, our voices are starting to go. I can’t help but notice that, even with the luxuries of first class—the little hot towels, the comfy cotton in-flight socks, the slices of lemon in our tea—we still look pretty much like everyone else jostling around for the best place to wait for their bags. Like the living dead. But at least after an icepack or two, fetched grudgingly by Jessica, the lump on my head’s almost gone. That’s something.

Jas’s luggage comes out quickly, and as he picks it up I see it’s got an orange ‘priority’ tag on it. The beat-up black bag isn’t what I’m expecting him to have.

‘No Louis Vuitton travelling case?’ I say as he wheels his bag over. ‘Or is that still coming?’

He drops it down beside me. ‘You have some very warped ideas of what my life is like.’

I glance at him, still keeping one eye on the carousel. ‘I’m not the one who gets around in limos wearing six-inch thick make-up and thigh-high leather boots, remember?’

‘Make-up? That’s different. Louis Vuitton beauty case should be coming out any minute.’

‘Ha-ha.’

‘What’s your bag like?’ Jas asks.

‘It’s a blue wheelie one. The same as every second person will have because they just bought it on sale at the same place I did.’