The Meeting

The Journey

As I boarded the train to the airport, the air conditioning felt like it had been sent from heaven. I picked a seat under one of the fans and let out a sigh as my feet finally had no work to do for a few hours. This trip had been a bit of a waste of time if I was being honest; my manager had made me believe I had a large following in the south of Spain, but it was nothing more than a social media tactic. I travelled for 13 hours to get there, played to a crowd of no more than 50 people, and now I am returning home to consider my future in music.
The train's automated voice system spoke in Spanish as I allowed myself to drift off into a well-earned nap, placing an earphone in my right ear. It was hard to get much sleep on the train; the journey was bumpy, and I certainly didn't have the money for first class. I shuffled in my seat for the entire two hours until the train stopped at the end of the track.
Making my way into the airport, I located an English-speaking airport attendant who smiled politely at my face, stern from the annoyance of the train's bumpiness.

"Hello, how can I help you?"
"My bags were lost here on Thursday; I was told you would call me when they were found, but I didn't get a call back. I needed my stuff for a music performance—a bit of a shitshow if I'm honest."

I didn't mean to sound so ignorant, but my Irish accent always made things seem a little harsher than they were meant to be. The friendly attendant went to check with her manager and returned some time later with my bags. I smiled as she handed them to me and thanked her, hoping I wouldn't be one of those rude customers she would tell her family about later.

I browsed around the airport shops, bought myself some sweets for the plane, and went to the toilet. I was too warm to eat anything substantial, but I had a connecting flight in London, so I knew I would be able to eat during my stopover. The weather should be a lot colder in London during September.

By the time I entered the aeroplane, I was absolutely exhausted. This had been the trip from hell, and I was certain that nothing could make it better. As I approached my seat, I couldn't help but mutter beneath my breath as people unzipped their carry-on bags in the middle of the aisle to take out their laptops, journey snacks, and jumpers. Why didn't they do this before they boarded the plane? I finally got to my seat, placed my suitcase above my head, and slipped my bag under the seat in front of mine. I checked to make sure my comforter was in the bag and connected my earphones to my phone again, choosing my playlist carefully.

A few minutes later, I felt a presence beside me. I lifted out one earphone and looked up to see a familiar face smiling down at me. This wasn't the face of a family member or a friend, but a face that had been all over the news all summer. I tried to act normal, play it cool, and keep my jaw off the floor, but I could feel my cheeks flush at the idea that Leah Williamson had just boarded my plane, was getting ready to sit in the seat next to me, and was currently smiling at me as I struggled to produce any noise from my mouth.

"Hi." She said softly.
"Hi. You okay?"
"All good; glad to be heading home." She nodded as she took her seat beside me.
"Me too, terrible trip." I mumbled.

She nodded back to me, and I took this as a sign to be quiet. I'm sure she gets this all the time. People made small talk with her before they asked for pictures and autographs. I was lucky; I was only really known in the hospitality industry in Ireland. Outside of bars and pubs, I wasn't 'recognised'. I certainly wasn't recognised in Spain either, with 50 fans showing up to watch me play, 25 of whom were my friends.

As we began to take off, I noticed her take out the most tatty-looking teddy bear and stroke the corner of its ear. I let out a slight giggle, mostly because I had one too, but I'd kept mine hidden in fear of people laughing exactly like I just did. She let out a slight laugh in my direction before relaxing into her chair for the journey ahead.

Around 2 hours into our flight, I awoke to the sound of the captain telling us we were half way through our journey, 'cruising at 30,000ft'. Leah was reading a magazine from the seat pocket, browsing the items for sale on the plane that day. She looked up and noticed I was no longer asleep. I smiled at her, and she quickly returned the smile.

"I wouldn't buy anything on here; they charge a bomb for it."
"I'm thinking of buying you a teddy bear since you found mine so amusing." She smirked, her eyes not moving from the page.
"I'm sorry; I just didn't expect it. I thought you were pulling out sweets."
Well, that would be the normal thing to do, I suppose." 

She breathed quickly through her nose in a laugh before turning to look at me, her eyes blazing into me, obviously waiting to ask me something.

"So, why was your trip so bad?"

I knew this was coming; should I tell her, or do I make something up that sounds less embarrassing?

"I came to play a gig, and the manager told me I had a big following over here. 50 people turned up; at least half of them were my friends, and the other half knew the words to one song that I covered by someone else."

I decided to go with the truth.

"Everyone's got to start somewhere, though, don't they?" She said this so supportively that I genuinely reevaluated my trip. I had done my first international gig; was I being a little bit overdramatic?
"I suppose when you put it that way, I sound a bit ungrateful. I just built it up in my head, you know?"
"I get you. When you love what you do, you always think it could've gone better. What matters is that you got the opportunity to do something you loved in a different country." This girl spoke more sense than some of the 40-year-olds I knew.

We carried on talking about music, football, and the best flavour of crisps for what felt like no time at all, but the captain interrupted our conversation with an announcement. He informed us that there was an unexpected storm spreading across most of England, and therefore, we would be landing at a small airport in Scotland. Leah's face immediately dropped; that once carefree and calming demeanour was gone, and instead I could see a worried young woman, just like anyone else.

"It'll be okay," I said, trying to sound as reassuring as I could, "They have training for this type of thing; we'll be on the ground in no time."

I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to me, knowing that was what she needed in that moment—reassurance. I could feel her body shaking as she tried to compose herself. It must be awful being such a public figure, knowing that while people are panicking, a lot of people are watching for her reaction.

As we neared the lights of Scotland, our plane dramatically bounced around. The captain had turned the lights down and told everyone to remain calm and await instruction. Leah was clutching at my sweatshirt, her knuckles white with her grip. I traced circles on her shoulder, trying to hide the fact that my own hands were also now beginning to shake.

The bumpiness went on forever, but eventually we felt the wheels touch the runway, and the plane erupted with clapping and cheering. Leah lifted her head off my chest and composed herself, embarrassment written all over her face. I gave her a smile and told her that I wouldn't tell anyone, gaining a small giggle from her.

As we exited the plane, everyone thanked the cabin crew and pilots, thankful that they had managed to safely get us to the ground, even if we were miles from our destination. I wheeled my carry-on suitcase towards the terminal, texting my Dad to let him know I'd landed safely but would be missing my connecting flight to Belfast.

The airline had organised an overnight stay for us in Scotland; we were split up into groups to go to the designated hotels, with taxis organised to get us there. I was placed in a taxi alongside a family of three. We made small talk on the way to the hotel, but all I could think about was crawling into bed and getting some sleep. It made little sense for me to travel to London the next day, so I booked a flight directly from Scotland to Belfast, leaving at 6 a.m. for the airport.