“Who is François Loubet?” says Steve. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“You worked out that Max Highfield is Joe Blow,” says Rosie. “You worked out that Rob Kenna is working for Loubet. And now one of them will lead us to François Loubet.”
Steve nods. Rosie’s right. Just keep following the clues. “By the way, did you notice the loo roll in the toilet isn’t double-ply?”
“I never go to the toilet, Stevie,” says Rosie, looking up from her phone. “You know that.”
As he sprays a lavender, chamomile, and musk mist onto his goose-down pillow, Steve realizes he’s going to miss all this too.
82
The journey to Heathrow Airport hadn’t taken as long as you’d think, and Bonnie is relieved that she’s arrived in plenty of time for her plane. Her next-door neighbor’s husband was kind enough to carry her leather holdall (“What you got in here? Gold bars?”) all the way to the check-in queue, Bonnie struggling behind with her big case on its wonky wheels.
The line is long—lucky Bonnie got here early, you just never knew. She’ll be happy to get the case and the bag off her hands. And then there’s security to get through too—who knows how long that might take? She looks at the clock on the wall: plenty of time, Bonnie, plenty of time.
As the queue inches forward in front of her, Bonnie uses her foot to push the leather holdall forward. It doesn’t feel like tins of paint. Perhaps that’s the point? No more tins? Paint in a bag? Could be, couldn’t it?
Maxie and Mimi were excited to see her off this morning. They waved from the front door, and she promised to bring them presents. Her mum was crying, so Bonnie promised to bring her back a big bar of Toblerone, but her mum said, “Just bring yourself back safely.”
Bonnie nudges the bag forward once again. Heavy, but with a bit of give. Why in the world is she doing this? Is she an idiot for taking a bag on a plane when she has no idea what’s in it? Could be a bomb, couldn’t it?
That’s like something her mum would have said, but her mum doesn’t understand Instagram.
There are only two check-in desks open. Perhaps she should email Felicity while she waits? Just to put her mind at rest? She composes an email on her phone.
Felicity, hi!
On my way to sunny São Paulo. At the airport in plenty of time.
Super quick one. They’ve given me a bag with a lock on it, and I don’t know what’s in it.
It’s for a surprise unboxing video (bit 2022 right???). Just checking this is normal?
Sorry to be a pain, first time and everything!
Thanks again, I owe you so much.
Bonnie
Her finger hovers above the “send” button as she rereads it. Imagines Felicity, in her office, reading it. She moves her finger away. No. Felicity will think she’s a drama queen. Come on, Bonnie, you’re a grown-up. She imagines Felicity forwarding the email on to her colleagues with a few cry-laugh emojis. What if Forest Paints get to hear about it? The influencer who thought their paint samples were a bomb?
“Next, please,” says a smiling woman at one of the check-in desks. Bonnie sends the email to “Drafts” and gives her leather holdall a series of shuffling kicks toward the desk.
She hands over her passport.
“Where are you flying to today, m’love?” asks the check-in clerk.
“São Paulo,” says Bonnie.
“Ooh, lovely,” says the clerk, checking her passport. “Little holiday?”
“Business, actually,” says Bonnie, feeling ten feet tall.
The clerk looks at Bonnie’s case and holdall. “And just the two bags to check in?”
Bonnie nods.
“Stick them on the scales for me, my darling,” says the clerk. “What’s your booking number?”
Bonnie lugs the holdall onto the rubber conveyor belt next to the check-in desk and hands over her booking confirmation.
“And you packed the bags yourself, Bonnie?”
The moment she hears the question, Bonnie knows she should have sent the email. Just to be certain. She’ll be worried there’s a bomb in the hold for the whole flight. Good luck enjoying a Jennifer Aniston film now. But if it was a bomb, she’d have been able to feel it, surely? It felt softer than that? What if it’s drugs? But why would it be? She had sat face-to-face with Felicity. They even went to Pizza Express, for goodness’ sake.
“Yes,” says Bonnie. Felicity is not going to send Bonnie to São Paulo with a holdall full of drugs. You’re an influencer now, Bonnie, so act like an influencer, not a child.
As Bonnie is about to put the case with the wonky wheels onto the belt, the clerk scans her confirmation QR code.
“Ah, m’darling,” she says. “You’re on the four p.m. flight?”
Bonnie nods.
The clerk looks at her watch. “Only it’s nine thirty in the morning.”
“I didn’t want to miss the flight,” says Bonnie. In the end they had left at 8:30, because she was packed and ready, and what harm could it do to get there a bit early?
“Your check-in doesn’t open till one,” says the clerk. “There’s a Costa and a Boots if you get bored. Do you want to pop your bag back down for me?”
