Free The Love Detective by Alexandra Potter Page A

Amy .
    Still, just to be on the safe side, I send her a text telling her. Followed up by another, reminding her which airline we’re flying with, the flight time and number. Another saying I’ll meet her at their check-in desk. And another asking her to confirm she’s received all my texts.
    She doesn’t reply to any of them.
    An hour later and I’m still waiting in departures. Checking my mobile phone for the umpteenth time, I let out a gasp of frustration. Where the hell is she? Glancing up from the blank screen, I scan my eyes across the crowds of people at the airport. Any minute now she’s going to come dashing towards me, an apologetic smile on her face, one of her excuses spilling out of her mouth.
    OK, I’m going to count to ten.
    No, twenty. Make it twenty.
    I start counting. One, two, three . . . maybe I’m going too fast, I’ll slow down . . . ten elephant , eleven elephant . . . No need to panic. Amy’s always late. She’ll turn up. Just stay calm. Be patient. Keep counting. Niiiinnnneeettteeenn . . . I’m like a record on the wrong speed . . . Eleeeepppphhhaaannnttt . . . I take a deep breath . . . Tweeeennnntttttyyyyy . . .
    I stare at the concourse. No Amy.
    Shit.
    Hot with annoyance, I scroll down my list of contacts to call her. Honestly, she is so irresponsible! She is always late! In fact, I feel like I’ve spent my whole life waiting for her. She was even late being born, too – three weeks overdue, apparently. Poor Mum was the size of a barrel.
    The number connects and starts ringing. Irritation stabs. This call is probably going to cost me a fortune. God knows how much I’ll be charged, but I don’t have any choice, do I? If she doesn’t turn up soon we’re going to miss the plane.
    Argh! No answer! I listen impatiently to the ringing tone. Why doesn’t she ever answer her bloody phone, for Chrissakes? Just for once. Pick up your bloody phone . . .
    ‘ Hi, this is Amy, I’m away travelling so can’t get to the phone right now . . . ’
    As her voicemail message clicks on, I hang up and stuff my phone in my pocket. Impatience gives way to unease. I’m actually getting worried now. I hope nothing’s happened to her. The journey to the airport was pretty nerve-wracking, even in a cab. What if there was some kind of accident? What if—
    Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have let her go off on her own. I should have insisted she came with me.
    ‘ This is a last call for the flight to London Heathrow. Any remaining passengers need to make their way to check-in immediately. ’
    As an announcement sounds over the loudspeaker, I zone back in and turn around to look over at the check-in desk.
    I do a double take. Hang on, where is everyone?
    Before there was a long queue of people waiting to check in, a whole crowd milling around with suitcases and passports, but now they’ve all disappeared. There’s just an empty space where they once were.
    Surely everyone can’t have gone through security, can they?
    Can they?
    I check my watch and my panic level moves from amber to code red.
    It’s that time already ?
    ‘Excuse me.’ Grabbing hold of my suitcase, I quickly wheel it over to the check-in attendant sitting behind the desk.
    She looks up from her paperwork, as if surprised to still see a passenger. This is not good. Inside I can feel code red starting to flash. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’ she enquires politely.
    ‘I hope so,’ I reply, giving her a big smile. I once read an article about how the power of a smile can break down religious boundaries, open doors of opportunity, and change people’s lives. Personally, I’m just hoping it can hold up a plane for a few minutes. ‘I’m flying to London but I’m waiting for my sister—’
    I mean, compared to religious boundaries, what’s a little delay?
    ‘The check-in is closing,’ she exclaims sharply.
    OK, maybe a smile isn’t that powerful.
    ‘I need your passport,’ she continues, her hand shooting out towards me.
    ‘But I’m