[I was very pleasantly surprised to read – in the Galician rain – that my latest microfiction story had been longlisted for the Irish Fish Flash Fiction prize. So here it is:]
The third seat – the window seat – was empty. So was the aisle one. Violet toyed with her book in the middle. A chill was slicing in.
There were a few last-minuters loping down: a red-faced guy with a belly, and a sun-kissed young man. Violet looked straight ahead.
The red-faced guy shuffled into the row opposite with a grunt and a trace of onions.
“Ah,” said the sun-kissed young man, stopping short, and Violet’s heart took a breath. He looked round with a frown. “I thought there were three of us?”
No way, thought Violet, suppressing a grin. There’s no way he’s on this project too.
“I guess they’re running late!” she said, and offered her hand, but he was busy stowing his case.
“Well,” he said, to no-one, “I guess they’re running late!” and he folded his limbs into the aisle seat.
“Violet,” said Violet, after a second.
“Robert,” he said, with a yawn, and started rifling through the magazines. The pilot crackled an announcement. Violet looked sideways, at the shape of his nose, the sweep of his hair.
She opened her book, and closed it again.
“So,” she began, “Is this your first posting abroad?”
“What?” said Robert, and then there was a flurry and a voice, a female voice, calling, “Sorry! Typical me!”
Robert was already on his feet. The red-faced guy was gawping.
“So sorry!” said a young woman. “I’m always late!”
“We’d have held them up,” said Robert, grinning, and she smiled back: “Wouldn’t be a first!”
Violet curled up tight and let their third colleague slide past into the window seat.
“So,” called Robert, leaning over Violet’s lap, and she contorted forward, and then back. “Is this your first posting abroad?”
The chill was beginning to prickle. The flight was thirteen hours.
© Joanna Rubery 2018