and there she was exuding brightness and cheer, like a blackbird fresh from the dawn chorus. I knew Sophie through Connie and as we’d met a few times it was rather nice to see a friendly face.
I introduced her to the rest of the group, letting them chat among themselves. There was plenty of time before the flight but I was conscious that everyone would probably expect a coffee. I for one could murder one.
‘Everything alright, Kate?’ Sophie’s low voice interrupted my thoughts.
‘Yes, fine. One more to come.’ I looked around the airport hoping that Benedict Johnson might materialise at any second. Surely he wouldn’t stand me up. That would just be rude, although I wouldn’t put it past him to deliberately miss the flight. Rude was his default.
‘Well he’d better get a move on, I’m dying for a coffee,’ muttered Avril.
‘Another five minutes. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.’
‘I want to go to duty free. So we have to have coffee after security.’
Five minutes ticked by slowly and I forced myself to make light chit-chat and look completely unconcerned. Should I let them go through passport control and get settled or should I wait here for Benedict? The queue for check-in was starting to build up.
‘Kate, look I desperately need to get some essentials in duty free. I can’t hang around here any longer. It really isn’t on.’
‘And I’m in dire need of coffee, darling. Actually, breakfast wouldn’t come amiss.’
See – exactly as I predicted, Avril and Conrad had teamed up already, the high maintenance twins. They looked at me expectantly.
From behind them, Sophie flashed a sympathetic smile.
I was reluctant to let everyone out of my sight. This was worse than being a teacher on a school trip. Connie had told me enough horror stories. If I let them all disperse I might not round them up again.
Avril sighed heavily and pouted. Even behind the celebrity hat and sunglasses combo, I could tell she was sliding into petulance.
‘Tell you what,’ I said making a quick decision. ‘Let’s get our bags checked in and join the queue. Hopefully by the time we get to the front, he’ll have arrived.’
Everyone grabbed their bags and as we moved to join the queue, a helpful young man opened up a new check-in desk and summoned us over.
One by one everyone checked in their bags, as I scanned the area. Where the hell was he?
Now all the bags had gone and everyone looked at me waiting for me to decide what to do next. With a sigh, I knew I had to make a decision. Letting them go through passport control without me felt like an irresponsible mother hen waving goodbye to her babies, but there’d be severe dissension in the ranks if I didn’t.
‘You all go through passport control. And I’ll meet you …’ at the gate felt too late.
‘There’s a Café Nero there,’ offered Sophie.
‘I’ll meet you at Café Nero.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Avril. ‘And you’d better give us our boarding passes. We’ll need them for duty free and if you don’t turn up.’
‘I’m sure Benedict will be here very soon,’ I said, wishing I could be sure of that.
I sifted through the printed boarding passes and handed them out to everyone.
Avril grabbed the handles of her bags and wheeled around like a racehorse under starters orders. ‘If I don’t get my Clarins stuff, this trip will have been a complete waste of time.’
Conrad looked at me and made no move. I suddenly realised that I was expected to pay for breakfast. Of course, I was. I looked around at the party realising that was what everyone was waiting for and Sophie caught my eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. The perfect ally. I pulled out my purse which bulged with English cash and Danish Kroner.
‘Sophie, would you mind doing the honours for me?’ I pushed a couple of notes into her hands. ‘Can you pay for the coffees and give me the receipt?’
‘No problem.’ She winked and took the money. ‘Come on then troops.’ She turned and led the way falling into step with Fiona and David while Conrad and Avril followed up the rear. As they walked away down the airport concourse, I felt a sense of premonition; I had a horrible feeling that was how the group split was going to be for the whole trip.
I looked at my watch again. At least my case had gone on the plane, they wouldn’t leave without me. Not to start with anyway. There was another fifteen minutes before the check-in desk closed. Should I call Benedict?
As part of my preparation, I’d asked for everyone’s mobile number and being super-efficient, I’d pre-programmed everyone’s numbers into my contacts the other evening.
I paced up and down in a small circle around the check-in desk. When I called Benedict’s number, my heart sank as I listened to, ‘This mobile is currently switched off.’ Did that mean he was on the tube, on his way? Still asleep with his phone switched off for the night?
Impatiently I called again in case he’d been in a bad signal area, or he’d just got off the tube and was on his way up, as I kept an eye out for a vaguely quiff haired bandit, which was all I could glean from Benedict’s fuzzy photocopy of his passport picture. Every time I looked up at the overhead digital clock another two minutes had elapsed. It was like some horrible magical trick where time sped up in direct proportion to my increasing stress level.
I looked at the check-in desk. Still seven minutes to go. Only three people left in the queue. One desk had already closed up. I looked at my mobile. No messages. Fifty-three minutes until the flight left. I looked down the concourse. Was he coming? The familiar burning sensation low in my stomach made me stop pacing. I took a deep breath. I needed a coffee and something to eat.
At what point did I give up? Once the check-in desks closed? What would I do if he turned up after then? Book another flight? My stomach knotted itself tighter.
Two minutes and counting. I looked at my phone. Still no word. This was ridiculous. I should be with the rest of the group; they were my responsibility. Benedict Johnson was now over three quarters of an hour late. I’d more than given him the benefit of the doubt.
With one last look at the check-in desk, catching the eye of the supervisor there, who looked suitably pitying at my dejected appearance, I turned to walk down towards passport control.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something like a tornado in the distance, a man running pell mell down the concourse, dragging a case.
The man behind the desk had stood up.
‘Wait,’ I called rushing over to him. ‘I think my colleague’s here.’
The man pursed his lips.
‘Here you can start with this, can’t you?’ I pushed over the paperwork and the copy of Benedict’s passport.
The man in a leather jacket and jeans came flying to the front of the queue and slammed up against the desk, passport
