By the time I got to the gate it was almost deserted, the tunnel empty apart from a flash of a little pink wheelie-case whisking round the corner to the plane. I had to wait while the greasy girl at the barrier laboriously checked my boarding-card, and by the time I turned left on the plane, I felt hot and self-conscious; like the whole crew were waiting for me.

But once I was ensconced in the enormous seat, I started to relax, though I did look rather nervously for the kissing couple from check-in – I wasn’t sure I could endure twenty-four hours of snogging. Thankfully they were out of sight.

A sudden squall of rain hit the window. It was dark now, the lights of the airport orange and glaring as we began to taxi for take-off. The runway gleamed slick and wet as I looked down from my lofty height, and then the rather gorgeous air-steward called Dylan arrived back with a glass of champagne.

‘The only way to take off, my lovely.’ He smiled and plonked it into my hand. ‘See you in the air!’

I didn’t have time to say I didn’t drink. I clutched the glass as we got up speed, feeling a rush of adrenaline as the great plane thundered down the runway. The bubbles in the champagne shot up to the surface and I thought about the past six months, about Seb, and Alex, who hadn’t been in touch since Christmas. I stretched my bad ankle out and contemplated the fact that however well I healed, I’d always be scarred, inside and out. I’d never be quite the same again.

With a rattle and a sigh we were airborne. I watched England fall away behind us, butterflies in my tummy as the lights faded to blackness. Soon I’d sleep – but right now, I needed the loo.

Walking back down the aisle, I got confused and went the wrong way into Economy. And then –

My heart banged.

She was leaning down in her seat changing her shoes, a small pink suitcase on wheels on the chair beside her. I couldn’t believe it; she couldn’t be here. I took a small step towards her; and then I stopped. My heart was hammering like it hadn’t in months, the adrenaline rising until I had a sour taste in my mouth.

‘Fay?’ I said tremulously.

She looked up, holding one baby-blue cashmere sock.

It wasn’t Fay. The woman was older, more haggard, smaller even than Fay. Half-Chinese, perhaps. They just had the same hair.

I smiled a shaky smile. ‘Sorry. I was – I thought you were someone else.’

The woman smiled back. I turned and hurried down the aisle in the right direction. My palms had gone clammy the minute I’d spotted her; I wiped them on my jeans. Over the seat-backs I realised someone was now reaching down into my place.