Free The Mini Break by Jane Costello Page B

slightly. ‘Oh, come off it, Nicola Harris. Tell me you’re not thinking exactly what I’m thinking?’
    Nicola raises her eyebrows innocently, with a half-smirk. ‘What would that be?’
    ‘That we need to stop neglecting our duties and get Imogen off with a gorgeous bloke like that.’
    ‘I’m saying nothing,’ replies Nicola diplomatically, going back to her book.
    ‘That sounds like an excellent idea, Meredith,’ I hiss sarcastically, drawing a finger across my neck just as Hot Guy spins round, prompting me to slump in my seat, pretend
I’ve never met this woman before in my life and do everything in my power to concentrate instead on enjoying my first ever business-class flight.
    It’s already amazing, and we’re not even off the tarmac. Oh, the luxury, the sophistication . . . the prospect of not sitting for two and a half hours with my knees in the optimum
position for a triple pike. The air hostesses are smiling angels – attentive, but not overly so – offering to cater to our every whim, with the possible exception of supplying Ryan
Gosling and several tubs of whipped cream (this isn’t exactly on the menu, but you get the picture). Plus, the majority of passengers are seated and ready for take-off, and it’s looking
like the three seats next to me are going to be free. If I was in economy, my heart would leap at this prospect – I could stretch out! – but here, no encroaching on an area other than
mine is required; my own legroom is so vast, I could probably undertake an entire Pilates session in it.
    ‘What are you reading, Imogen?’ Nic asks, leaning across Meredith as I take my book out of my bag.
    ‘
The Book Thief
. I’ve been trying to get this started for a while, but life’s got in the way. This time it’s going to be different.’
    I used to read constantly – everything from chick lit to classics such as
Great Expectations
and, my all-time favourite,
Captain Corelli’s Mandolin
. These days, reading
represents a luxury that I don’t have enough time for. Consequently, I first opened
The Book Thief
in 2010 and got to chapter three. I tried again that September, then in January 2011,
then March this year. Those first three chapters were bloody good, so this time I am absolutely determined to get through it.
    I open the first page and re-acquaint myself with the haunting words of its opening passage. ‘
Here is a small fact: You are going to die
.’
    This might not be an optimal reminder just before take-off, but I persevere. I get to the third line before I am abruptly interrupted by a sound similar in volume to that of a Cape Canaveral
rocket launch.
    ‘
WAHHHHHHHHH!’
    The piercing screech of the small boy who has suddenly appeared in the seat next to mine is discernable only nanoseconds before his foot lands with a violent thud on my chin.
    Neither of my friends witness this; indeed, it’s only when Meredith breaks her momentary gaze at Hot Guy in front that she does a double take. ‘Have you got a nosebleed?’ she
asks me.
    ‘Oh . . . bugger!’ I grab the complimentary lemon and bergamot wipe from my cosmetics bag, rip it in half and shove it up each nostril as the captain announces we’re ready for
take-off.
    ‘Anisha. Now. NOW!’ The source of these frenzied pleas is the chubby little boy’s mother. She looks like an Arabian supermodel, with perfect eyeliner, glossy hair and a figure
so tiny it’s impossible to believe that belly ever contained not one but two children. Despite the cabin crew’s repeated requests for the little boy to fasten his seatbelt, it’s
his older sister who is being shrieked at by their mum for refusing to hand over her iPad.
    ‘
NOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!’
she adds, just to be absolutely clear.
    ‘Um . . . can I help?’ I offer, but she doesn’t even hear me and the dispute between mother and daughter escalates until it is less a familial tussle and more something
you’d expect to see on WWE’s
SmackDown
: hair is pulled,