Elle shifted in her seat, again, trying to find a comfortable spot and giving up, again. The couple beside her, lovely as they were, had got up every hour, on the hour, to go to the toilet since the moment the first seatbelt sign had gone off after leaving Sydney. Elle had tried hard to remind herself that long-distance travel was difficult for everyone, but it was getting past a joke. She had thought she would be able to sleep for most of the trip, but that had proven impossible when she was constantly being woken up to allow her travel companions to get out of their seats.

When the third and final leg arrived, she breathed a sigh of relief and smiled farewell to her companions, who went in the opposite direction once they landed at Dubai. In just another seven hours this would all be over, she reminded herself, determined to hold onto what little remaining excitement for the trip she had. The next flight was on a smaller aircraft but it was still full, and Elle’s dreams of ending up with a spare seat beside her ended abruptly when a large man stuffed his carry-on suitcase in the locker above and wedged himself into the seat beside her, promptly taking both armrests, leaving Elle to scrunch up against the window.

Fantastic, she muttered silently.

Come on, darling, only a few hours to go. You can do this.

Oh, now you show up, Elle replied, gritting her teeth as her neighbour squirmed beside her, his elbow making contact with her arm, without apology. You better not have been floating up around first class.

It’s very nice up there, Gran said, a smile in her voice. I should have suggested you spend a little more on an upgrade.

A little more? Try the cost of a small car, and then some. It’s criminal the amount they charge for a few more inches of leg room.

Oh, they have lots of leg room. And champagne … and seats that convert to beds.

That’s not helpful right now, Gran.

Sorry. Never mind, not long now until we get there. Close your eyes and get some rest.

Within minutes of taking off, that’s exactly what the man beside her did, and Elle spent the remainder of the trip pushing his head off her shoulder and turning the volume up on the TV show she was trying to watch to drown out the accompanying snores.

This was surely what hell was like.

EIGHT

Eight

‘Bit of a dreich day.’

The heavy Scottish accent threw her as she took a moment to decipher the taxi driver’s words.

‘I’m sorry?’ she asked, finally giving up.

He ducked his head and pointed up at the sky out the front windscreen. ‘Dreich. Y’know—wet, windy, horrible weather.’