The shit only hits the fan when you’ve devoted a sizeable chunk of your life to planning for it to not hit the fan. Take today, for example. If everything had gone according to plan, I would now be sitting in the departures lounge, reading a book and probably knocking back a Jack and Coke. Or two. Maybe I’d even be enjoying a giant Toblerone from Duty Free. But no. The crap started when I ran out of the house in a hurry, leaving my passport behind. On top of that, I got stuck in a traffic jam on the way to the airport after going home to get it. I could have handled that. Really, I could, but my plan didn’t stretch far enough to include Pangaean Airlines collapsing and stranding its passengers all over the world.

This particular airport is on the verge of meltdown. I stop and look across the concourse to the crowded waiting area. It’s crammed with harassed parents, bored children, and angry travellers. I’ve never seen the collapse of an airline before, and it’s certainly not pretty. Every other word I hear is ‘lawsuit’ or ‘unfair’. These people don’t even think to question the logic of suing a bankrupt airline.

Off to my right, a woman stands at the check-in desk, verbally wrangling with a tired-looking blonde woman. I assume she’s a representative of the company that handles whatever it is that needs to be handled when an airline goes bust. The argument revolves around the location of a bag. The would-be passenger is going to a wedding, if the conversation is anything to go by and it seems her dress has been impounded by the airline, along with the bag. Judging by the sobbing and shouting around me, hers isn’t the only important bag swallowed up by the airline’s collapse. I’m actually glad I forgot my passport, and I mentally thank the traffic jam that stopped me getting here on time. Half an hour earlier, and my bag would also be stuck in the now-defunct airline’s inner sanctum beyond the desk.

As it is, my scruffy Union Jack holdall is at my feet. That bag has been everywhere with me. It’s seen the aurora borealis, been soaked in the spray of Niagara Falls, and it even survived a riot in South America. Friends laugh at me, and tell me I should replace it, but why? It does the job. That bag is the most reliable thing in my life right now.

Scanning the departures board, it’s clear that anything flying out today will be packed. Robert won’t mind if I’m late. I’m not sure he’d notice if I never arrived at all. I grimace at the thought of Robert. The blonde woman beside me mistakes the expression for annoyance at the pandemonium around me and nods in agreement.

I move off the concourse and fish my phone out of my pocket. Robert might not care, but I’m pretty sure my publisher will. I’m supposed to be meeting her this evening. Well, her evening. I dial the number, cursing the time difference.

“PIPPA!” Melanie squawks down the phone at me.

“You’re awake!”

“Ohmigod, I can’t sleep, darling! Gerry woke me up when he saw the news about Pangaean on TV! And I thought to myself, just how is my favourite writer going to get here now? Are you okay, darling? Have you got enough money? Are the police there? Is anyone rioting yet? Can you see any blood?” I hold the phone away from my ear slightly; I don’t want her to deafen me.

“I’m fine, Melanie. I’m just calling to say I might not be able to get a flight until tomorrow, or maybe later. Everyone’s trying to switch to other airlines so it’s a bit mental.”

“Sweetheart, you just get here when you can, don’t worry about the details. Pay whatever you have to. Oh, shoot, I’m getting another call—keep me posted, okay? Ciao!”

Melanie hangs up. I feel lighter knowing I’m in no rush. I decide to let the queues die down before I try to find another flight.