Plane Sailing

Okay, so I didn't know whether to tell you all this; I just wasn't sure whether I could trust you or not. But, of course I can... can't I? You've just got to promise not to spread this around. People talk and walls have ears and if this gets out, if they find out that it was me that let the cat out of the bag... let's just say I'll have to start a new blog called 'miss swales six foot under dot com'. 

It started on the plane, on the steps going up. I was stuck behind this older lady who was struggling with her bag, trying to stuff in her woolly red cardigan and negotiate her ticket into her pocket. I decided that, instead of patiently waiting, I would offer to carry her bag up for her. That way, not only do I get up the steps more quickly but I would look good doing so. The lady said yes. I carried up the bag and then had to heave it into to overhead carriers. The bag was heavy, I was slightly unbalanced from carrying my own giant pink and green bag, so I had to swing her bag up fairly dramatically. I think I only hit one person in the process; I didn't stick around to find out.

After scurrying guiltily to the back of the plane, I found a window seat and settled in:

Ipod. Check. 

Book. Check. 

Sweets. Check. 

Seatbelt. Check.

Lifejacket. Check.

Empty seats next to me so that I could spread out. Check.

Uncheck. Two people sat down next to me. I avoided eye contact so that I wouldn't have to make idle chit-chat with them. I know this sounds terrible. My friend Miss Prada would have found out their life story before the plane had even taken off, but I don't possess her people skills. So I fiddled with my Ipod and tried to ignore all the other passengers.

This turned out to be harder than I thought. The people next to me, a man and a woman, were hard to ignore. They were dressed smartly in black, and wore sunglasses. They were very quiet, but when they spoke it was hard not to listen in:

"Have you got them?" said the woman.

"Of course, the papers are in the briefcase, safe and sound." said the man.

"Good. The Black Cat will be pleased." said the woman.

The Black Cat? I knew, from their accents, that these weren't Sunderland supporters, so who could they be referring to? I switched off my Ipod, closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, whilst listening even more closely to the couple's whispering:

"How much do you think we'll get?" said the man.

"We were promised ten million." said the woman.

"Ten million? That's only 5 million each!" said the man.

Only 5 million?! Only 5 million?! I began to make a mental list of what I would do with 5 million quid. Maybe buy a houseboat or get a dog, take ukulele lessons, travel the world... a panicked voice interrupted my daydreaming:

"Where are we to meet him? Is it a safe place?!" said the man,

"Yes." said the woman.

"Where?" said the man.

"Primark." said the woman.

Primark!? These two spies (for of course, that's what they were) had arranged to meet their boss in Primark to exchange their top secret papers for 5 million pounds? Were they stupid!? They were bound to get interrupted by some crazy bargain hunters fighting over a bright orange t-shirt with glitter on the shoulders and decorative zips on the side (a fight I won, by the way, but that's another story...). The couple seemed to read my mind, for they began talking again:

"Everyone will be too busy fighting over clothes to notice us." said the woman.

"Crazy Geordies!" said the man.

"Oi, be careful what you're saying!" said I.

Wait! What? Was that me? Did I say that out loud? Apparently I did, for the woman turned and glared at me while the man pushed back his jacket to reveal a shining weapon. It wasn't a gun, but it certainly looked like something that could cause a lot of pain. Gulp.

"I hope that's all you heard." snarled the woman.

"Oh yes...I didn't hear anything else, honest!" I stuttered, "I didn't hear anything about secret papers or The Black Cat or 5 million pounds or Primark or anything..." I stopped talking. I realised what I was saying. The man's fingers seemed to tighten around the strange electronic weapon under his jacket.

I tried a different tactic. 

"Look, it's okay, I won't tell anyone, I won't! And I can help you, I know Primark like the back of my hand, it's like a second home to me... honestly, I can help..."

The man and woman looked at each other, then they looked at me. The woman's lips curled dangerously into a cruel grin.

"Okay." she said, "We've got the perfect job for you..."

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I can't tell you anymore, but if you happen to see me in Primark this week, disguised as a window cleaner and carrying an unusual amount of climbing equipment, please don't say hello. Just walk on by as quickly as you can. You don't know me. You've never seen me before and the last time you heard, that nice teacher Miss Swales was off to Outer Mongolia to research the Gobi bear and the long-horned antelope...