Georgie Basset
A Sunday in April
THE PLANE DROPPED DRAMATICALLY and shuddered, making me grit my teeth as I gripped the leather arms of the seat. A baby screaming its head off a few aisles back wasn’t helping my nerves either. I hated flying, passionately. I’d always been a nervous traveller, so what had possessed me to make a trip halfway around the world, I had no idea. Well, actually I did. Abbie, my broken-hearted best friend. Attending weddings as a singleton when you were approaching thirty was hard enough for anyone, let alone seeing your recent ex there with another woman on his arm. Ok, maybe that part had been a huge misunderstanding, but it had been the last straw for her after a seriously crappy year, and she’d needed a time out to clear her head.
So here we were, flying to the Mayan Riviera for two weeks of sun and sangria, assuming they had sangria in Mexico. I really hoped they did, as tequila wasn’t one of my favourite drinks. I’d tried my hardest to convince Abbie to come to my family’s cute little cottage up on the Welsh coast in Dolphin Bay, anything to avoid flying, but she’d insisted she needed guaranteed sun, and that was one thing you certainly didn’t get in Wales. A distorted voice over the tannoy system made me tilt my head to hear the announcement.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re experiencing some turbulence. Please return to your seats, stow your tables, return your seats to the upright position, and fasten your seatbelts.’
I let out a “Humph” as I looked out of the window. Like I needed to be told we were experiencing turbulence. That last drop had been worse than a white-knuckle adventure park ride. A collective gasp and a few terrified screams rang out as the plane plummeted and rattled again. I shut my eyes and desperately tried to remember the words to The Lord’s Prayer. I quickly gave up, religion never having been one of my strong suits, and instead silently promised to attend church on a more regular basis if his Holiness got us through this in one piece. I currently only went at Easter, for Reverend Potter’s free Cadbury’s Crème Eggs, at Christmas Eve, for the candlelit midnight finger buffet, and for the odd wedding or funeral. I had a feeling that if we crashed right now, I’d be going straight to hell.
Where the hell was Abbie? A commotion from the front of the plane made me half-open one eye and squint through it to see what was happening. A flustered air stewardess quickly pulled the curtain across the aisle, which only had the effect of everyone rubber necking to try and see whatever it was they didn’t want us to see.
Shortly afterwards, another air stewardess rushed up the aisle carrying a pile of blankets and towels and disappeared behind the curtain. I opened both of my eyes fully and craned my neck like most of my fellow travellers, my heart sinking faster than my stomach had each time the plane rose then fell. Abbie still hadn’t returned to her seat and I had a sickening feeling that she was somehow involved in whatever was happening. I reached up and pressed the button to call one of the cabin crew, and while I waited for someone to arrive, I debated whether or not I should just ignore the seatbelt instruction and run up there to see if she was alright.
‘Is everything ok, Madam?’ asked a perfectly made-up blonde, sporting a name tag that told me her name was Alice.
‘No, it’s not. My friend hasn’t returned to her seat and there’s something happening up there and I’m really worried about her.’
‘Is her name Abbie?’ A trace of an amused smile flickered across her face.
‘Yes. Oh God, is she ok?’ I demanded, dread filling me.
‘She will be.’ She placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder as she read my anxiety. ‘There was an … incident in the toilets.’
‘An incident?’ I felt my eyebrows rise as my eyes went wide. Abbie attracted trouble wherever she went. If something could go wrong, it went wrong with her at the centre of it. The stewardess leaned in and lowered her voice.
‘Unfortunately, she hadn’t flushed the toilet or closed the lid when she stood up, just as the plane dropped.’ She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows as she gave me a knowing look. I gasped and recoiled from her in horror, covering my mouth with my hands. Oh no, poor Abbie was coated in the contents of the toilet? After the incident at Lord Kirkland’s manor house last month that had since been known as “hashtag turdgate,” as much as I felt terrible for her, my traitorous, childlike mind was already racing as I thought of new toilet-related puns to tease her with.
Alice and I both whipped our heads to the front of the plane as the curtain was flung open and another member of the cabin crew streaked out at speed, followed by what looked like a Muslim lady, covered from head to toe in a makeshift blanket burka. It wasn’t until I spotted the familiar green eyes searching mine out that I even realised it was Abbie. Her hand appeared, palm facing me in a “don’t even go there” gesture, as I opened my mouth to say something. Instead I burst into a fit of giggles as I noticed her hand was stained blue, just like the disinfected toilet water. If the rest of her was that colour, no wonder she was covered up. She probably looked like a movie extra from Avatar.
‘Not. A. Single. Word,’ she warned forcefully, no hint of amusement in her tone as she zipped past. I looked back over my shoulder to watch her bouncing off the seats as she headed down the aisle, trying to find her balance as the plane continued to judder.
‘Oh dear, I do hope she didn’t have an upset tummy,’ I murmured as I tried to stifle my laughter, all of my turbulence nerves forgotten. ‘No one wants to be painted with diarrhoea.’ I shook my head as I saw her scurry up the stairs that led to the first-class deck.
‘Luckily for all of us, apparently it was just a tinkle,’ advised Alice with a gentle chuckle. ‘I’ll go and see what’s happening for you.’
‘Thank you. It could only happen to her, poor thing. She’s had such a rough year, this was supposed to be the holiday to cheer her up. Not a great start, is it, even if it wasn’t poop that landed on her.’
I received a sympathetic smile before Alice scurried away, and I leaned back in my chair and sighed on Abbie’s behalf. She really didn’t deserve this. I closed my eyes and breathed a little more easily as I noticed that the plane was flying more smoothly. Hopefully we were over the worst of it. We were only two hours into a fourteen-hour flight, in cramped and pretty uncomfortable seats, without continued turbulence compounding my misery.
‘Miss Basset.’ Alice’s voice roused me from my daydreams that all of this would be worth it when we were in our bikinis, lying on the beach with a cocktail in our hands, looking out over the clear blue ocean. ‘If you’d like to gather your things and point me in the direction of Miss Carter’s hand-luggage? We’re moving you to first-class by way of an apology for the troubles.’
‘Are you serious?’ I squealed, then clamped my hand over my mouth to rein in my excitement as a few people who were finally dozing turned to glare at me. Alice laughed and nodded.
‘Your friend said she has no spare clothes in her hand-luggage, so once she’s had a shower, she’s going to have to stay wrapped in a sheet until we land and you retrieve your cases. We thought it best to give her a little privacy away from the main cabin.’
We packed up and I followed her, resisting the urge to shout “See you suckers later” as I passed all of the irritable-looking fellow economy passengers. I bit my lip in awe as I was shown to the spacious first-class deck and into my own sleeping pod. Cream leather and highly polished light oak screamed luxury. I had my own minibar, a flat-screen wall-mounted TV above a vanity unit in front of me, and if I wanted to, I could close the pod doors for privacy or ask for the seat to be fully reclined and dressed as a bed. Now this I could get used to. With twelve hours left in the flight, having a sleep was going to be so much easier in this comfort. After settling me in and stowing our hand-luggage for us, I was left alone as Alice headed back downstairs.
I played with all of the buttons on my seat, getting it into all sorts of positions, then doing a few lazy sit-ups by reclining it then returning it to fully upright and giggling to myself. I grinned when I heard Abbie’s hushed voice calling for me. I stuck my head out of my pod to see her swanning towards me, looking like she was going to a toga fancy-dress party in her new snow white sheet attire. Her long brown hair, which had hung loose when we’d boarded, was now pulled back into a neat plait and draped over one shoulder. She was makeup free and fresh faced from her shower.
‘Abbie Carter, if we get first-class seats out of it on the way back, I’ll happily dump the contents of each of the toilets on your head,’ I teased, as she stopped opposite me with a large grin on her face. She chuckled and rolled her eyes.
‘Seriously, Georgie, I’m amazed you didn’t hear me shriek. The air was blue, and not just from the coloured toilet fluid that I didn’t have a chance to flush.’
‘Ha-ha, was it that bad?’ I laughed.
‘Everything went in slow motion,’ she moaned, throwing her hands up in the air indignantly. ‘One second I’m doing up my jeans, the next I’m dropping as the contents of the toilet are rising before descending on my head. I swear I still smell of disinfectant and urine,’ she groaned with a shudder, then picked up her ponytail to give it a quick sniff.
‘Let’s just hope it was only your urine,’ I winked.
‘Urgh, don’t.’ She screwed up her face as she shuddered again. ‘Anyway, what do you think of my new ensemble?’ She did a twirl for me, then struck her best supermodel pose, pouting with one hand on a jutted-out hip.
‘Very chic. Everyone will be sporting bed sheets next season,’ I nodded with a grin, before standing up and wrapping her in a tight hug. ‘You’re amazing, Abbie. Anyone else would be in tears, especially after what you’ve been through already. I’m so sorry this happened to you.’
‘Yeah well, I have a feeling life hasn’t finished kicking my arse quite yet, so the only thing to do is laugh.’ She returned my hug before we let each other go. ‘Besides, when are we ever going to be able to afford to fly first-class again? Let’s make the most of it. There’s mini champagne bottles in our own bars, or we could head to the first-class bar upstairs and sip on martini cocktails, pinkies in the air like you posh people do, while we sit on stools eating olives off a stick.’
‘I don’t think my mother would call me posh anymore, not with all the bad manners I’ve picked up from hanging around with you,’ I teased. Mum had made her feelings on my friendship with Abbie more than clear, a number of times. ‘Oh, just think, we could meet someone famous in the bar, like Daniel Craig, and you could have this amazing animal attraction and end up swapping numbers!’ I exclaimed, clapping my hands. ‘That would take your mind off Miller.’
‘I think Bond’s wife might have something to say about that. Besides, my “eau de toilet” isn’t exactly going to make me alluring to the opposite sex.’
‘You smell fine, really nice even. Did they give you some toiletries?’
‘Give me some toiletries?’ she scoffed. ‘They gave me my own satin bag, full of luxury goodies,’ she confirmed, lifting it up to waggle it at me.
‘Seriously?’
‘Mmmm-hmmm. You have your own in your vanity table drawer. Then they took me to a private spa-shower room on board, with all sorts of extra luxury paraphernalia. I had a tropical rainforest shower with soothing music and everything. I used every bottle going, just so I wouldn’t miss out on anything, gorged on some complimentary truffles while I dried my hair, then was given a massage. Seriously, you need to go and check it out.’
‘Maybe later. Right now I’m wondering what happened to the cheeseburger I paid for before all the drama happened.’
‘Cheeseburger, pah! Who needs a rubbery microwaved cheeseburger when you have your own private gourmet menu and can order any time you’re hungry?’ She waggled her eyebrows at me as she opened the pod opposite with a flourish and took a seat, then whipped the menu out. I laughed and did the same. All of a sudden, instead of twelve hours of torture ahead of me, it looked like twelve hours of fun. And they literally flew by.
‘I’m almost dreading seeing the five-star hotel now,’ I said to Abbie as we headed down to baggage reclaim in the cramped lift, full of people desperate to get their bags and start their holiday for real. ‘I’m not sure anything could be quite as luxurious as flying first-class.’
‘I’m dreading this toga coming undone,’ she huffed, as she yanked it up her chest again. ‘It’s one thing going commando with the intention of seducing your partner in private, quite another when you’re in an airport surrounded by strangers.’ She put her passport between her teeth as she used her hands to check the knot on her shoulder. I giggled and grabbed the handles of both of our wheeled hand-luggage cases as the lift doors opened to the baggage reclaim concourse. I stepped out with the cases, a few impatient people jostling me in their haste to get to the carousel first. ‘Wait for me,’ Abbie mumbled, then let out an exasperated huff. I turned around and saw her bending over to pick up her passport.
‘Abbie,’ I warned, as I saw the lift doors starting to close, her bottom right in their line of fire.
‘Owww, bugger,’ she exclaimed as she was trapped between them, then quickly stepped forward out of their reach, letting them snap shut with the force of a crocodile’s jaws. ‘Damn it, I’ll have bruises on my hips from that.’
‘You’re a walking disaster. I’m not sure it’s safe to come on holiday with you.’
‘At least you’re not with Charlie, she’s an absolute trouble magn–’ She interrupted herself with a scream as her hands whipped to her chest to fist the sheet tightly. My mouth dropped as I met her horrified wide-eyed gaze, then saw her rising up onto her tiptoes as she seemed to be dragged backwards towards the lift. ‘The sheet, the sheet!’ she shrieked, the panic radiating off her palpable.
In the seconds that it took me to realise the back of her sheet wrap was stuck between the lift doors, she’d been spun like a pirouetting ballerina and the sheet had been unravelled from her body. It zipped up and out of sight, leaving her completely naked and desperately trying to cover her chest and privates with her hands. I roared with laughter, not even her fiercest of scowls dampening my amusement.
‘Why me? Why, why, why?’ she cried, a pink hue settling on her cheeks as her eyes darted around, looking for cover.
‘Disaster Carter,’ I reminded her as I bent forward, clutching my sides and gasping for air between snorts of laughter.
‘It’s not funny,’ she wailed as she scurried sideways, trying to take some kind of shelter behind a tall green leafy plant that stood against the granite wall. She angled some of its larger leaves to protect her modesty as more laughter broke out behind me when people obviously spotted her predicament. ‘Could this day get any worse?’
‘We could have just landed in Dubai, and you’d be imprisoned for breaking their indecency laws,’ I chortled, trying to pull myself together.
‘I’m pretty sure being naked in an airport is indecent in any country, Georgie. For God’s sake, stop laughing and go and find my suitcase before I’m arrested or give someone a heart attack. And hurry, it’s damn cold with all this air conditioning blowing on me. And I don’t fancy getting greenfly bites or having them decamp to nest in my private bush!’
‘I don’t think greenfly live in Mexico, let alone bite humans,’ I replied as I stripped off my long cream waterfall cardigan and hurried over to where she was hiding. ‘Here, put this on and watch the hand-luggage. I’ll go and retrieve our cases, then you can find some toilets to go and get changed for real.’
‘I’ve had enough, Georgie. Seriously, I’ve just had enough of my life sucking,’ she replied, her eyes filling with tears. I shielded her while she quickly slipped her arms into my cover up and wrapped it tightly around her, making it look like a wrap dress that just about protected her modesty.
‘Oh, sweetie, don’t cry,’ I coaxed, pulling her from behind the plant and giving her a much needed hug. ‘I’m sorry for laughing, but I promise after a few cocktails, you’ll be laughing about it, too. It’s how we deal with the crap life throws at us, you know it is.’
‘I know,’ she sniffled as I rubbed her back. ‘But I think we’ve had enough crap thrown at us now. It’s someone else’s turn.’
‘It sure is,’ I replied as I deposited a kiss on top of her head, then scurried off to find our cases. Never had truer words been spoken.
I’d felt sorry for myself for a long time after I broke off my engagement, when I’d found out my fiancé Greg was a lying, cheating piece of scum who’d been having an affair with slutty Rowena the barmaid from our local pub, The Cock & Bull in Dilbury. It had been the lowest point of my life, but I’d had Abbie to help me get through it. I’d also had my parents, not to mention our lovely neighbour and good friend Daphne, the young-at-heart octogenarian who lived in Honeysuckle Cottage, right between Abbie’s and mine. But I’d had nowhere near the traumas poor Abbie had experienced in her life, and she didn’t even have any parents to lean on either. She thought she was weak when she occasionally gave in to a rare pity party, but she was one of the strongest women I knew. I was so proud to have her as a best friend, regardless of my parents’ feelings about her not moving in the right circles.
I smiled as I waited at the carousel, everyone watching the black rubber slowly moving around, waiting for the first cases to come tumbling down the chute. I could remember meeting Abbie like it was yesterday, not five years before. I’d lived near my parents in Cheshire and was getting fed up of trekking to Shropshire every time I wanted to see Greg, who’d lived in Shrewsbury at the time. When my grandmother passed away and left me a sizeable inheritance, I’d decided to put it to good use. I’d been a dog lover for as long as I could remember, so training as a dog groomer and occasional dog walker and pet sitter had been the natural choice for me, despite my parents’ disappointment. But with the money from Grams, instead of working for someone else, I decided to use it to set up on my own, and to find a house with enough land to allow me to have a salon in my back garden.
Dilbury couldn’t have been a more perfect location and was only a fifteen-minute drive from Greg’s house. Dilbury is the quaint old English village you see in the movies, having just as much charm as the far more expensive and highly sought after area of the Cheshire footballer belt, where I’d never have been able to afford to buy a house. I had the advantage of still living in beautiful countryside, and there were no dog grooming businesses anywhere near my location, which meant I got all of the countryside dog lovers’ business, as well as people from the nearest towns coming to me via word of mouth. I worked from home to suit me and got to make friends with a vast array of doggy characters, from Portia the poodle, a pedigree show dog, to Mr. Sumo, Abbie’s flatulent and grumpy old bulldog. And he was how we’d met.
When I’d moved in and walked around the village dropping off flyers, she’d been my first customer. She’d warned me that he was a cantankerous old bugger, and had been astounded when he’d rolled over for a tummy rub from me. She’d insisted on staying, in case he got grizzly with me as I washed and bathed him, then I’d given him a massage, something he’d always loved when her father had been the masseuse. Since he’d died, Sumo hadn’t let anyone touch him, so I’d been her last resort to try and cheer him up, and she’d been stunned at how well he took to me and to me touching him.
We’d started chatting and had continued talking all afternoon and into the evening, when we’d shared a bottle of wine or two and had a pizza delivered. Our friendship had blossomed from there and she’d been my rock when I fell apart after Greg and I broke up. She’d slowly built my confidence back up, and her crazy antics had kept the balance of tears firmly weighted on the laughter side, rather than the misery. I was determined I was going to be as good a friend to her now that she needed me to cheer her up.
I threw a look over my shoulder to where she was leaning against the wall, my cardigan wrapped around her tightly, and grinned as the cheerful piped Mariachi music came through the loudspeakers. She giggled and straightened up, then started doing a sort of Irish jig on the spot as she pulled a funny face, making me laugh. It was supposed to be me making her laugh, not the other way around. But that was pretty much the way we were. She always teased me that I was too uptight and needed to “chillax” a bit more and not worry about what people thought of me. Easy to say when you didn’t have the weight of your well-to-do parents’ expectations weighing down on you, or had a year at the finest Swiss finishing school, where “how to be a lady” had been drummed down your throat at every opportunity, but Abbie’s carefree nature was rubbing off on me. I was definitely more fun, and had more fun, since she’d wormed her way into my life.
Yes, Mum and Dad might not totally approve of my choices in life, including my “common” best friend, and profession, but I wasn’t getting rid of either just to please them. Sometimes a girl had to have her priorities right and stand up for the things that made her happy, and that didn’t always involve marrying a man for his money or sticking with a bunch of hoity-toity prim and boring friends. No, dog grooming and Abbie were the perfect fit for me. I was so much happier with both of them in my life.