Croissants and Jam Read Online Free PDF

bang on the door if there is any news. So here I am, back in an airport loo staring at myself in the mirror, and I swear to God I have aged in the short time it has taken me to fly here. Red raspberry jam sticks unmercifully to my blouse and my hair looks lifeless and, to my horror, I am wearing only one earring. I look around and scramble on the floor. Oh good God, what if I dropped it on the plane? It was the pair Simon had bought me to celebrate our engagement. I am getting to the stage where there is only my mind left to lose now. I pull the other earring out and throw it into my make-up bag. After soaking a whole roll of loo paper in hot water I dive into a cubicle. The sound of soft jazz and the occasional mumbled airport announcement make me anxious. I mean, seriously, how much worse can this get? All I want to do is get to my fiancé, preferably on time, and in one piece, and not looking like a cabbage patch doll. I pull off the blouse and rub frantically at the jam and succeed in making an even bigger pink stain that is covered in bits of loo roll. Sod it. Obviously, it is cheap loo roll and not that nice soft, perfumed one you buy in Waitrose. Slowly, I pick them off. Oh, this is terrible. Angrily I rub at the blouse until it is very wet. I throw it back on and come out of the cubicle and stand in front of the noisy hand-dryer in an attempt to dry the blouse. The wet patch sticks to my Victoria Secret bra and I feel myself wanting to cry. How could a journey be so stressful? After what seems an eternity, the blouse is drier, although a bit sticky, and dotted with specks of toilet roll. I pull a hairbrush from my bag and tidy my hair. Satisfied that I look reasonably presentable I walk out of the loos. You know that feeling you get when you know something is just not right, that things seem somehow different? Well, I have that feeling right now. I realise the airport lounge is practically empty. Marc Jacob jumper is nowhere to be seen, and the café bar is deserted. I spy the offending croissant sitting on the table and, as my eyes scan the airport lounge I see him. The bugger is fast asleep on a bench, and oh God, out of the window I see my plane racing along the runway. I run to the café and madly raid the cutlery tray selecting my weapon of choice.
        ‘You stupid bloody wanker, I told you to bang on the door.’ I seriously cannot believe I am holding a fork to his throat while grabbing his jumper with my other hand.
    He yawns, looks at me, then at the fork.
        ‘You plan to stab me to death with a plastic fork? Good luck,’ he says calmly.
        ‘We have missed the flight, you arrogant bastard,’ I throw the fork at him in my frustration. ‘Just be grateful it is plastic.’
    He is staring at my blouse.
        ‘What is wrong with you?’ he asks casually as he sits up and stretches.
        ‘Don’t push me, don’t you bloody push me, I am just about managing to stay calm.’ I feel my heart thumping. All I can see are flashbacks from the Psycho movie, and I so want him to be in the shower scene right now.
        ‘This is calm? Remind me to stay away from you when you are in a temper. I’m sorry, I fell asleep. Anyway, take some responsibility - you must have heard the call,’ he says nonchalantly. Jesus, this guy really is the limit.
        ‘Don’t come anywhere near me, do you understand, ever ,’ I say, breathing fire at him.
    He feigns a salute.
        ‘Yes ma’am. Believe me, after the plastic fork attack it will be my pleasure to avoid you at all times. I wouldn’t want to be around when you perform your party piece with a screwdriver.’
    I take a deep breath and calmly pick up my bags. This really is becoming unbearable. I can scarcely get my legs to move towards the check-in desk. Oh God, what if I collapse here? What if the next big event in my life is my funeral? That man will have killed me. Well, I am not going to let him have that pleasure. Looking like