The Accidental Honeymoon. Portia MacIntosh
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As soon as we take off, I’ve got a little over fourteen hours to figure out what I’m going to tell people.
My head is banging. I need some caffeine or some painkillers or… hair of the dog, maybe?
The late passenger must finally be onboard, because there’s a huge roar of applause from the other passengers. My poor, poor head cannot take this right now. Leaning forwards, I rest my head on the seat in front of me and massage my temples.
Just as I dare to wonder whether or not I’ll be able to sleep for part of the flight (probably impossible with my mind racing like this), I feel someone plonk down in the seat next to me. This isn’t fair. The seat next to me is supposed to be empty – I booked it for John, unless…
‘Jack?’ I ask pointlessly, as though I need confirmation it’s really him. I’m just so surprised to see him here.
‘Quick, we need to get off the plane,’ he insists, just as the ‘fasten your seatbelt’ sign comes on and the captain begins his announcement.
‘We can’t, it’s about to take off,’ I tell him.
‘Well, they can just open the doors quickly and let us off – I can’t believe you were just going to leave like this.’
The cool, calm, charming Jack from last night is nowhere to be seen. This Jack is panicked and intense.
‘Look, erm,’ I wrack my brains for the right words – I’m not exactly rejecting guys on a daily basis. ‘I’m flattered and everything. You’re an attractive guy, but I’ve just come out of a relationship and, let’s be honest, you’re way hotter than I am, you can do way better than me.’
Oh God, I’m babbling. And Jack is just looking increasingly confused.
‘What? Wait, you’re dumping me? I’m here to dump you,’ he corrects me.
‘You stalked me onto a plane just to dump me? Wow, what a gentleman,’ I say sarcastically.
‘Look, can we just get off the plane and sort this out?’
‘Jack, you can’t just get off a plane – look, we’re moving. Sit down, fasten your seatbelt and quiet down before an air marshal fastens your wrists with a zip-tie for the next fourteen hours,’ I snap. ‘Wait, now that I think about it, you can’t just get on a plane either.’
Jack pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and places it in my hand.
‘You can when someone gives you a ticket,’ he tells me.
I unfold the piece of paper and read the crudely scribbled note aloud. It’s my handwriting, but it’s my drunk handwriting.
‘“Here’s your ticket. Flight is at 9 p.m. Can’t wait for my family to meet you, Hasband…” Hasband?’ I ask, puzzled.
‘That isn’t an A, it’s a U,’ he corrects me.
I run my hands through my hair and exhale deeply.
‘Look, I have no idea what’s going on,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t remember giving you that ticket.’
As the plane picks up speed on the runway, Jack’s expression changes again. He looks petrified.
‘You OK?’ I ask him.
‘Just a bit nervous. Probably because I’ve never flo… oh my God,’ he says as we take off. As we climb, Jack grabs my hand and squeezes it, so hard his fingers turn white, but once we’re up in the air and going steady, he releases me and relaxes. ‘Holy shit, this is awesome.’
‘I’m so glad you’re having such a wonderful time,’ I say sarcastically. ‘Now we’re up in the air, please tell me what’s going on. I’m so confused.’
‘How much do you remember from last night?’ he asks.
‘Not much,’ I confess. ‘I’m not usually a big drinker.’
‘I don’t remember it either, but the blanks were filled in for me when I woke up,’ he tells me. ‘Turns out we got married last night.’
Jack takes something else from his pocket. A photo of us, kissing at the altar in a very Vegas-looking chapel.
‘We… we can’t have,’ I reply.
‘Georgie, do you see the photo in your hand and the ring on your finger?’
I glance at my left hand and sure enough there’s a cheap gold ring with a big, fake, red ruby sitting on my ring finger. I’ve been in such a rush, I didn’t really stop to look at my hand, and I don’t usually take my engagement ring off, so I’m used to always having a ring there. I forgot I took my engagement ring off before I went out last night.
‘And then there’s the marriage certificate I woke up with in my pocket,’ he adds.
I immediately go to pull the ring off but it won’t budge.
‘Oh God,’ I blurt, unable to hide the panic in my voice.
‘Why do you think I wanted you to get off the plane? We need to get a divorce, ASAP. Shit, if you hadn’t left me a ticket, I never would’ve found you.’
‘Oh God,’ I say again, yanking hard on the ring that still won’t come off.
‘OK, calm down,’ he says pointlessly. ‘Your finger is probably just a bit swollen. The ring will come off. We can sort this out, we just need to get the next plane back to Vegas and figure out how to get a divorce.’
I ignore Jack’s reassurance and jump from my seat, clambering over him before dashing to the plane bathroom. I run my hand under the cold tap to try and reduce the swelling in my finger so the ring will come off, but it’s not working. Minutes later, Jack joins me. That will teach me not to lock the door behind me.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea you didn’t know, this must be a horrible shock,’ he starts, suddenly much calmer. ‘I thought you were just bailing on me.’
Jack squeezes an overly generous amount of soap from the dispenser before massaging it into my finger around my cheap, poorly fitting wedding ring. Sure enough, the ring pops straight off.
‘Done this before?’ I ask with a half laugh.
‘Removed my wife’s wedding ring in an airplane bathroom?’ he laughs. ‘I’ve never even flown before – never even left Nevada.’
‘And yet they just let you on a plane to England?’ I ask curiously.
‘I have two passports,’ he tells me. ‘One of them a UK one – I’m English on my mom’s side. Still got a great aunt in the UK I’ve never met. I’d visit her, but I doubt I’ll have time,’ he laughs.
I examine the ring in my hand, and little bits of the night start coming back to me.
‘Tell me more, please,’ I say softly, hoping I’ll remember.
‘So, after dinner we drank in the hotel bar for a while. We chatted. You told me all about your cousin who is getting married, and the bastard who cheated on you. Then we went to the casino.’
‘Oh God, I didn’t try my hand at gambling again, did I?’ I laugh – until I remember my bank account is empty. ‘Oh my God, I did, didn’t I?’ Shit! That’s why my bank account is empty. Why did you let me do that?’ I ask him angrily, as though it had been his job to look after me last night.
Now Jack has mentioned it, I do kind of remember going back to the casino. Oh shit, yeah, I remember now, I went to the ATM and emptied my account, like an idiot. And then… Jack! It was Jack! He gambled my money.
‘I didn’t gamble my money, you did,’ I say, raising my voice slightly.
‘Georgie, quiet down before an air marshal fastens your wrists with a zip-tie for the next fourteen hours,’ he insists, mocking my accent.
‘How