long-haul was so not a good look for me. Across the aisle and past several people’s heads, I could see land below us. I scarfed the World’s Heaviest Danish Pastry as quickly as humanly possible, then slathered on a gob of Beauty Flash Balm and sat back, suddenly desperate to be on the ground.
‘Oh, you’re awake then, sleepyhead!’
Brilliant.
‘I thought we were going to have to leave you on the plane,’ Missus Dave said, giving me a jovial and yet oddly strong punch in the shoulder. ‘So, are you meeting this boyfriend of yours in Paris?’
‘Oh, um, yes,’ I said, trying to apply mascara without poking myself in the eye. Give me some slack, I’d only just learned how to do this on the ground let alone in midair descent.
‘Ahh, that’s nice,’ she said, fastening her seatbelt and settling back with Dave’s arm safely around her. ‘Who knows, maybe he’ll propose.’
It really was an instinctive reaction. I really didn’t mean to shoot my mascara-wand-wielding arm into the face of my Bible-toting seat buddy. And I really didn’t mean to make him throw a scorching cup of coffee down his trousers.
‘Holy Mary Mother of God!’
Oops. And I’d done so well not to offend or maim anyone for so long. I’d seen enough episodes of Friends to know that pawing at his crotch with napkins wouldn’t help, so instead I muttered my apologies, leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes. If that was the worst thing that happened and I’d got all the way to Paris, I would be very happy.
‘What do you mean my bag had to be “destroyed”?’
I stood in the baggage reclaim section of Charles de Gaulle airport, listening to an incredibly boredlooking official type person repeat himself for the fourth time.
‘ Madame Clark, as I explained,’ he sighed, ‘your suitcase failed our safety screening and was destroyed. This should have been told to you at JFK. In fact, you should not have been able to travel.’
‘When you say destroyed,’ I rubbed my temples and blinked a few times waiting to wake up, ‘and you know, it’s Mademoiselle .’
‘ Pardon, Mademoiselle. Destroyed. It is gone.’
I rifled around in my battered handbag, checking just what I had with me. Sunglasses, lip balm, two lipsticks, phone, camera, wallet, passport, laptop, US Weekly . Well, at least I wouldn’t be stuck for some educational reading material. Thank God.
‘But why?’ I heard my voice start to crack. Apparently, I was starting to grasp the reality of what had happened. ‘Why would it be, oh God, why would it be destroyed?’
‘There are many reasons, Madame , security is very high right now. Possibly you have something forbidden in your suitcase? Something dangerous?’
‘The most dangerous thing in there was a pair of shoes once involved in a case of GBH.’ I pursed my lips together, determined not to cry. There had to be a mistake. ‘Who can I talk to about this?’
‘I am afraid it is me.’ The officer sighed. Again. ‘Perhaps there was something, ah, battery operated?’
‘Battery operated?’
‘Possibly vibrating?’ he expanded discreetly.
‘Vibrating? A vibrator?’ I screeched. Wow, I could really be shrill when I wanted to. And given all the looks I was getting from every other passenger in the airport, vibrator was a word that translated globally. Brilliant.
‘But when you say destroyed?’
‘It has been securely detonated.’
‘Securely…’
‘Yes.’
‘Blown up?’
‘ Oui .’
‘I…what?’ I suddenly felt very, very unsteady on my feet.
‘I am sorry Ms Clark. I am able to let you pass through the airport as there is no security alert on you, but your baggage has been destroyed. That is all I can tell you. Would you like me to escort you to a taxi?’
‘But really, how can it—’ I tried once more as the officer took my arm and lead me out of the airport and towards the large double doors.
By the time I got in to the city I’d just about made it through to the third
‘Oh, you’re awake then, sleepyhead!’
Brilliant.
‘I thought we were going to have to leave you on the plane,’ Missus Dave said, giving me a jovial and yet oddly strong punch in the shoulder. ‘So, are you meeting this boyfriend of yours in Paris?’
‘Oh, um, yes,’ I said, trying to apply mascara without poking myself in the eye. Give me some slack, I’d only just learned how to do this on the ground let alone in midair descent.
‘Ahh, that’s nice,’ she said, fastening her seatbelt and settling back with Dave’s arm safely around her. ‘Who knows, maybe he’ll propose.’
It really was an instinctive reaction. I really didn’t mean to shoot my mascara-wand-wielding arm into the face of my Bible-toting seat buddy. And I really didn’t mean to make him throw a scorching cup of coffee down his trousers.
‘Holy Mary Mother of God!’
Oops. And I’d done so well not to offend or maim anyone for so long. I’d seen enough episodes of Friends to know that pawing at his crotch with napkins wouldn’t help, so instead I muttered my apologies, leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes. If that was the worst thing that happened and I’d got all the way to Paris, I would be very happy.
‘What do you mean my bag had to be “destroyed”?’
I stood in the baggage reclaim section of Charles de Gaulle airport, listening to an incredibly boredlooking official type person repeat himself for the fourth time.
‘ Madame Clark, as I explained,’ he sighed, ‘your suitcase failed our safety screening and was destroyed. This should have been told to you at JFK. In fact, you should not have been able to travel.’
‘When you say destroyed,’ I rubbed my temples and blinked a few times waiting to wake up, ‘and you know, it’s Mademoiselle .’
‘ Pardon, Mademoiselle. Destroyed. It is gone.’
I rifled around in my battered handbag, checking just what I had with me. Sunglasses, lip balm, two lipsticks, phone, camera, wallet, passport, laptop, US Weekly . Well, at least I wouldn’t be stuck for some educational reading material. Thank God.
‘But why?’ I heard my voice start to crack. Apparently, I was starting to grasp the reality of what had happened. ‘Why would it be, oh God, why would it be destroyed?’
‘There are many reasons, Madame , security is very high right now. Possibly you have something forbidden in your suitcase? Something dangerous?’
‘The most dangerous thing in there was a pair of shoes once involved in a case of GBH.’ I pursed my lips together, determined not to cry. There had to be a mistake. ‘Who can I talk to about this?’
‘I am afraid it is me.’ The officer sighed. Again. ‘Perhaps there was something, ah, battery operated?’
‘Battery operated?’
‘Possibly vibrating?’ he expanded discreetly.
‘Vibrating? A vibrator?’ I screeched. Wow, I could really be shrill when I wanted to. And given all the looks I was getting from every other passenger in the airport, vibrator was a word that translated globally. Brilliant.
‘But when you say destroyed?’
‘It has been securely detonated.’
‘Securely…’
‘Yes.’
‘Blown up?’
‘ Oui .’
‘I…what?’ I suddenly felt very, very unsteady on my feet.
‘I am sorry Ms Clark. I am able to let you pass through the airport as there is no security alert on you, but your baggage has been destroyed. That is all I can tell you. Would you like me to escort you to a taxi?’
‘But really, how can it—’ I tried once more as the officer took my arm and lead me out of the airport and towards the large double doors.
By the time I got in to the city I’d just about made it through to the third
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