On the Shuttle

Ronnie Smith c 2011

While we generally like to complain there really is no point in denying that Terminal 5 at Heathrow is indeed a new cathedral where the diaspora of all races can worship together, a fabulous hub of globalisation, a Sagrada Aviata if you will Well anyway, most people are just grateful to travel to and from the place with their luggage intact.

British Airways have kindly sectioned-off all their shuttle flights to Scotland and so there is a corner of the new terminal that echoes to the comforting rrrs and ayes of the mother tongue. Here one can quickly distinguish the differences between Aberdonian, Glaswegian and Edinburgh speech and of course, temperament. However well leave that for another time but it is important to say that those for whom Scotland is a beautiful mystery should spend a day in this steel and glass annexe of Caledonia, even if they are not actually taking a flight. Much will be revealed.

On this occasion I managed to arrive at the gate just as boarding for the early evening Glasgow flight was being announced and so I was able to join the queue of be-suited men and women returning home after a day or two in London or the identical deserts of commerce and service that surround it. We are good at queuing, orderly and good-humoured yet simultaneously able to transmit a certain impatient menace. Our frustrations are transmitted en passant, without drama.

I didnt notice the couple until they took their seats across the aisle and so I had to make more of an effort to see them properly. It takes longer to look people up and down when they are sitting and you cant move around them to get a better view.

They were immediately noisy, thats why they attracted my attention, and while obviously respectable they were irritating other people without realising they were doing so. I guessed that they had spent some time filling their glasses in the business class lounge and could now be described as merry as a result. They were business casual which in his case seemed to include his checked shirt-tail hanging out under his brown sweater, giving him a juvenile dynamic even although he was tall and had decided to shave his receding hair. I estimated him to be no more than thirty.

She was older, perhaps forty, thin and worried with long black but dull hair, wearing a too-short skirt and black boots. She had deep blue, lively eyes but a strangely drawn face and her sniggering, while he put both their lap-top bags (hers a Mac) into the luggage bin, seemed forced and unnatural. I decided that she was his boss and they had been to London for a meeting in sales or IT, accountants wouldnt behave so badly. She was single, perhaps divorced while he may or may not have been in a relationship which had wandered further from his mind the longer he sat in the business class lounge.

I had been going to read on the flight but if you keep up with the headlines all week you know what the weeklies are going to say and sometimes you just dont look forward to it as you should. Anyway, Id set the scene across the aisle for myself and I was very interested to find out how things would develop, we were at a critical stage as the plane was pushed away from the terminal.

Sometimes I ask myself why we do this, stick our noses, ears and eyes into the obviously private business of complete strangers but its an easy question to answer, isnt it? Its fun, it passes the time and it gives us something to tell our friends, as Im doing now.

Ive always thought that the seriousness of couples, at the beginning, can be gauged by the extent to which they can quickly create a world of their own. A world that stands apart from everyone and everything around them, with sovereignty established over emotional territory that is unseen but very clearly defined and fiercely defended. That being so, the intentions of my two friends across the aisle were very serious indeed.

They sat not looking ahead but facing each other. This meant that his bulk continually pressed against the seat in front, tipping the old lady who occupied it up and down and back and forth. She was alone and had no champion to speak up for her. My besotted friend didnt realise that he was causing such discomfort so engrossed was he in the developing relationship with his boss. Their giggling 4

rose to gale force half-way through their miniature whisky and continued unabated until landing and her hand stayed on his arm for progressively longer periods of time as they discussed their colleagues with a loud and disturbing indiscretion.

Something else I know is that when a woman places her face closer to yours, you are being asked a direct question and if you keep your head where it was, and do not move back one millimetre, you have provided the sought-after answer without saying a word. It may be the most thrilling moment in a flirt that is turning into something more, but then perhaps there are others. Anyway, she made the move and he did not flinch and the three of us knew that the next time she did it, their lips would touch.

I fell asleep as usual as the captain was telling us that the lights of Newcastle would be normally be seen over on the right if the cloud cover wasnt so thick and I didnt wake until my ears hurt quite badly on the descent. We landed without fuss, in another shower of heavy Scottish rain and our new couple clapped together like conspiratorial five-year-olds (so did the old lady in front, quietly, to herself). I lost interest in them as I concentrated hard on not leaving anything behind on the plane, an expensive habit that I seem to have recently cultivated but I did overhear them establishing that there was no need for him to take a separate taxi home as it made more sense to share and, in any case, maybe they could have another drink somewhere. 5

I smiled at the Captain as I left the plane and then felt them brush quickly past me in the midst of their rush to get out of the building, she hurrying beside him as closely as possible without, yet, linking her arm through his.

He had luggage to collect and I caught up with them as they waited impatiently, perhaps even a little nervously, at the carousel. I stood nearby, watching, and she charged in my direction as she spotted her bag coming eventually on the conveyor belt. There was no joy on her face, no apparent sign of anticipated pleasure. Instead she seemed tense and preoccupied, worried that a victory that seemed so close might yet be snatched from her grasp.

Even now I never forget my grandfather telling me, In the end you have to understand that we chase them until they catch us