The Holiday Swap. Zara Stoneley

She wanted a hug. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and opened them. Blurted it out before she changed her mind. ‘It’s all a farce.’

      ‘Sorry?’ Anna leaned in closer to the camera, her frown was clearly visible even over the dodgy internet connection.

      ‘My life. Oli. Everything.’

      ‘But you’re getting engaged, you’re going to … Hang on, you’re actually in Paris,’ she paused, ‘aren’t you?’

      ‘I am, I’m at the airport.’ Don’t cry.

      ‘Oh, and Oli…’

      ‘Is still in the hotel room, with another woman.’ She spat that bit out. Anger was better; anger she could cope with. ‘Oh God, I’ve been a complete idiot, Anna.’ Getting pathetic again, but she couldn’t help it. Anna’s look of sympathy made it worse. ‘I’ve been so caught up in the idea of this perfect relationship and my wonderful life.’ A sob caught at the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. ‘He even got a new scooter.’

      ‘Sorry?’ Anna looked confused.

      ‘A more powerful one so he could get around quicker, go further. I couldn’t see the point, and he said we didn’t have much money, but he said we had to project the right image.’ It was all about image with Oli. They were both kidding themselves big time. ‘He got it so he could whizz up the coast and shag her, then be back before his beer went flat and I’ve only just realised.’

      ‘Ah.’

      ‘I’ve wasted five years of my life on that inconsiderate, pompous, self-centred idiot. He wouldn’t even let me have a dog, and I listened to him.’

      ‘Sorry, there’s a lot of interference, he wouldn’t let you have what?’

      ‘A dog.’

      ‘Oh, you did say dog.’

      The dog had been a sticking point, and was now symbolic of all the other things she realised he hadn’t wanted her to have. ‘And it is just so boring working on the stuff he wants me to do for the magazine.’

      ‘I thought you loved the magazine? Writing was always your dream job.’

      She studied her fingernails. How could you have your dream job and mess it up? ‘I do, it was, but he just leaves the really tedious stuff for me. He does the interviews, and travels around to get the gossip and I end up sorting the adverts out and doing ‘how to pack your suitcase’ features. Have you any idea how hard it is to come up with a new angle for packing a suitcase?’

      ‘Er, no. I just tend to throw stuff in.’

      ‘Exactly, and if I have to write one more recipe for tasty tapas for tourists I’m going to scream.’

      Anna giggled and Flo looked up. ‘You’re right, it’s a joke. I’m a joke, my whole life…’

      ‘Oh don’t be daft, Flo. Me and Daisy love reading your updates, your life is much more exciting than ours. You’re just in shock.’

      ‘I miss Tippermere, and you guys.’

      ‘Believe me, you don’t miss Tippermere. But I can go with the second part.’ Her face suddenly went serious. ‘I am sorry, Flo, he’s a shit. I can’t believe he could do that.’

      ‘I think I can believe it.’ Flo couldn’t look her friend straight in the eye, instead she concentrated on the keyboard of her mobile phone. ‘The warning signs have been there.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve just been ignoring them. Keeping up appearances.’

      ‘You couldn’t know he was going to do that.’

      If she’d stopped her determined efforts to live the perfect live, to convince herself and everybody else that things were great, then maybe she could have. ‘Sorry to dump on you.’

      ‘That’s what friends are for.’

      ‘I’ll be fine when I get home.’ And throw the rest of his belongings off the rooftop terrace. ‘You said you were going to ring me?’

      ‘It’ll wait until you get home. What time’s your flight?’

      ‘Hang on, the woman on the airline desk is waving, maybe that means they’ve got a spare seat.’

      ‘Oh Flo, you are okay?’

      ‘Fine.’

      ‘Call me when you get back to Barcelona. I’ve got an idea.’

      Flo pocketed her phone and made her way back to the airline desk, where a smiling girl was already holding a hand out for her passport.

      So, that was it. So much for her smug outward journey with alcohol-laden hamper and gorgeous fiancé-to-be. Now she was make-up free, splodgy-pink faced, wild-haired, on the verge of tears and singledom was yelling her name.

      She’d been stupidly happy for two days, she thought, as she trudged down the aisle and took her seat next to a dreadlocked teenager who had earphones in and acknowledged her arrival with a twitch of her pierced nose. Two bloody delusional days. Plus five years.

      The whole row shook, as with a cheery grin a large lady heaved her over-sized bulk into the seat next to her, jostling her elbows and wriggling her hips until she’d squeezed her ample frame into the restricted space.

      Flo made a grab for the plastic safety card and hoped neither of her travel companions would try and talk to her.

      She stared at the laminated card telling her how to evacuate in case of emergency and the pictures blurred. How could her life have gone so wrong so quickly? Even her pep talk with Anna hadn’t made it more bearable; in fact it was just making her feel more homesick – and more of a fool. A tear escaped and plopped onto the card, and she angrily squashed the rest with the back of her hand before they could join it. She was not going to cry. If she did she might never stop and would arrive back in Barcelona a soggy, pitiful mess.

      ‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen. Ooh it’s a bit parky with this air-conditioning isn’t it?’ A podgy elbow narrowly missed her good eye – the one that didn’t have the overflow problem. ‘Good job I kept my cardi on. Here, have one of these.’ A tin of boiled sweets was inserted between the evacuation instructions and Flo’s nose.

      Flo shook her head, not daring to speak, and bit down on her lip.

      ‘Go on, there’s plenty,’ the tin was shaken violently, ‘a good suck stops your ears popping.’ She leaned across Flo, nearly squashing her with her generous cardigan-encased bosom, and waved the tin in Miss Dreadlocks’ direction. The girl, her eyes shut, continued to nod her head to the beat of the music being blasted into her ears, oblivious to her surroundings and Flo wished she’d thought of that.

      ‘Ahh, you don’t like flying. That’s what it is, isn’t it, duck?’ She prised the card from Flo’s fingers and pushed it back into the pocket. ‘I know these planes aren’t everybody’s cup of tea, though I must admit I love them, means you’re on your way somewhere exciting doesn’t it when you get frisked at security.’ She grinned, completely unaware that she’d just removed Flo’s first line of defence. What was she going to do now? Go into the full-on brace position so that nobody could see her face? ‘You don’t want to be looking at that thing, dear, it’ll make you feel worse. If we go down, then who’s going to remember that kind of stuff? They’ll all be diving for the doors and to hell with taking your shoes off and not pulling the toggle things. And chances are it’ll be boom.’ She waved her arms extravagantly and Flo dodged to avoid an elbow.

      Flo bit down harder on her lip. How come when you really wanted to chat you ended up sitting next to Mr Monosyllabic, and when human interaction was so far down on your wish list it had fallen off the bottom, you found yourself next to the airborne equivalent of the chatty taxi driver?

      ‘Now, now love, there’s nothing to be scared of. I know rattling down the runway can be a bit bouncy at times but once we’re in the air