the back and pretended I'd read it'
' I gave him all his goldfish food, I honestly don't know what happened'
' just have to hear that Carpenters song "Close to You" and I start crying'
' really wish I had bigger boobs. I mean, not Page 3 size, not completely enormous and
stupid, but you know, bigger. Just to know what it's like'
' perfect date would start off with champagne just appearing at the table, as if by magic'
' I just cracked, I secretly bought this huge tub of Haagen-Dazs and scoffed the lot, and I
never told Lissy'
I'm unaware of anything around us. The world has narrowed to me and this stranger, and my
mouth, spewing out all my innermost thoughts and secrets.
I barely know what I'm saying any more. All I know is, it feels good.
Is this what therapy is like?
' name was Danny Nussbaum. Mum and Dad were downstairs watching Ben Hur , and I
remember thinking, if this is what the world gets so excited about, then the world's mad'
' lie on my side, because that way your cleavage looks bigger'
' works in market research. I remember thinking the very first time I saw him, wow, he's
good-looking, He's very tall and blond, because he's half-Swedish, and he has these amazing
blue eyes. So he asked me out'
' always have a glass of sweet sherry before a date, just to calm my nerves'
'He's wonderful. Connor's completely wonderful. I'm just so lucky. Everyone's always telling
me how great he is. He's sweet, and he's good, and he's successful and everyone calls us the
perfect couple'
' I'd never tell anyone this in a million years. But sometimes I think he's almost too goodlooking.
A bit like one of those dolls? Like Ken. Like a blond Ken.'
And now I'm on the subject of Connor, I'm saying things I've never said to anyone. Things I
never even realized were in my head.
' gave him this lovely leather watch for Christmas, but he wears this orange digital thing
because it can tell him the temperature in Poland or something stupid'
' took me to all these jazz concerts and I pretended to enjoy them to be polite, so now he
thinks I love jazz'
' every single Woody Allen film off by heart and says each line before it comes and it
drives me crackers'
' just looks at me as though I'm speaking some foreign language'
' determined to find my G spot, so we spent the whole weekend doing it in different
positions, and by the end I was just knackered, all I wanted was a pizza and Friends '
' he kept saying, what was it like, what was it like? So in the end I just made some stuff up,
I said it was absolutely amazing, and it felt as though my whole body was opening up like a
flower, and he said, what sort of flower, so I said a begonia'
' can't expect the initial passion to last. But how do you tell if the passion's faded in a good,
long-term-commitment way or in a crap, we-don't-fancy-each-other-any-more way'
' knight in shining armour is not a realistic option. But there's a part of me that wants a huge,
amazing romance. I want passion. I want to be swept off my feet. I want an earthquake, or a
I don't know, a huge whirlwind something exciting . Sometimes I feel as if there's this
whole new, thrilling life waiting for me out there, and if I can just-'
'Excuse me, miss?'
'What?' I look up dazedly. 'What is it?' The air hostess with the French plait is smiling down at
me.
'We've landed.' I stare at her.
'We've landed ?'
This doesn't make sense. How can we have landed? I look around and sure enough, the
plane's still. We're on the ground.
I feel like Dorothy. A second ago I was swirling around in Oz, clicking my heels together, and
now I've woken up all flat and quiet and normal again.
'We aren't bumping any more,' I say stupidly.
'We stopped bumping quite a while ago,' says the American man.
'We're we're not going to die.'
'We're not going to die,' he agrees.
I look at him as though for the first time and it hits me. I've been blabbering non-stop for an
hour to this complete stranger. God alone knows what I've been saying.
I think I want to get off this plane right now.
'I'm sorry,' I say awkwardly. 'You should have stopped me.'
'That would have been a little difficult.' There's a tiny smile at his lips. 'You were on a bit of a
roll.'
'I'm so embarrassed!' I try to smile, but I can't even look this guy in the eye. I mean, I told him
about my knickers. I told him about my G spot .
'Don't worry about it. We were all stressed out. That was some flight.' He picks up his
knapsack and gets up from his seat then looks back at me. 'Will you be OK getting back
home?'
'Yes. I'll be fine. Thanks. Enjoy your visit!' I call after him, but I don't think he hears.
Slowly I gather my things together and make my way off the plane. I feel sweaty, my hair's all
over the place, and my head is starting to throb.
The airport seems so bright and still and calm after the intense atmosphere of the plane. The
ground seems so firm. I sit quietly on a plastic chair for a while, trying to get myself together,