Brute Force

51

Gatwick airport

0800 hrs

I headed straight to the check-in area in the South Terminal with the two plastic carrier bags that contained my next layer of skin. If we'd been flying anywhere longer haul than Europe I would have bought myself some hand luggage so I blended in, but for short hops it didn't matter. So many people fly to places like Brussels and Milan for the day that travelling without even a newspaper doesn't raise an eyebrow. The flight seemed to be on time.

I asked at the information desk about soap and a towel and went up the escalator to Gatwick Village. I spotted Lynn in an overcoat with a velvet collar and a dark brown fedora, sitting at a table in a coffee shop, staring forlornly into a large frothy cup. Giving him a wide berth, I carried on to the showers tucked away behind Starbucks.

After we'd picked up Lynn's passport and Leena had filled us up with her ginger cake, made especially for me once she found out I was coming, we'd split up for the shopping frenzy. The very last item on my list was airline tickets for me and Mr Adrian William Letts. Since I had a card, it was easily done online. The 24-hour internet café even printed out the boarding passes there and then.

We'd arranged to meet where the minicab had dropped us off by Catford station at 5 a.m., before travelling separately again to the airport.

I finished my shower, and emerged in my new not-so-man-about-Santa-Margherita-Ligure gear: jeans, Nikes, blue polo shirt and matching ski jacket from a 24/7 supermarket with a clothes section. No red or yellow Euro coloured jeans for me.

I got rid of my old stuff in several bins, and headed for departures.

The flight was busy and there was a scrum around the gate. I never understood what the rush was about. The plane wouldn't leave until the last passenger was on board, and there were seats for everyone. And in my experience, last on got the seat next to the beautiful girl everyone else had avoided in case it looked like they were trying it on.

I just hoped the only vacant seat wasn't next to Lynn. He hadn't just gone native, he'd turned into Don Corleone.