Eye Contact by Fergus McNeill Page A

was suddenly very bright and very loud, and he became aware of a low rumble all around him. He blinked a couple of times and found himself looking up at a pretty blonde flight attendant in a smart red uniform.
    ‘We’ll be landing at Southampton in just a few minutes. I need you to put your seat back up for me, please.’
    She had nice eyes.
    ‘Thanks for waking me,’ he smiled as he pressed the button to raise his seat. ‘I hate it when I sleep through my stop.’
    She laughed and turned to walk back up the aisle. Naysmith watched her go, then rubbed his eyes and yawned. He checked his watch – 7.20 p.m. – before turning his attention to the window. A green patchwork of fields drifted up into view as the aircraft banked, occasional wisps of cloud whipping past the wing. Everything looked different from up here, bathed in the golden light of early evening. He leaned over, trying to identify the landscape that slid below them, searching for the coastline, motorways, rivers – anything he might recognise – straining at his seat belt to see better. It felt tight, pinning him down into his seat . . .
    . . . and suddenly he remembered the dream, that familiar dream he’d not had for years. Was it all beginning again, those memories of another life encroaching on his sleep? He stared out at the tilting horizon and wondered what it meant.
    A chime came over the public address system, followed by the captain’s voice saying, ‘Cabin crew, seats for landing please.’
    Naysmith stretched and let himself sink back into the headrest. An omen, or simply a dream? Either way, there was nothing to do now but enjoy the ride.
    He liked small airports. Everything was close together and the queues were short. Ten minutes after stepping off the plane and onto the tarmac, he was walking through the double doors into the main terminal concourse. Kim was waiting by the coffee bar, wearing a long charcoal jacket and jeans, her hair up. Her face broke into an excited smile when she spotted him and she ran over, greeting him with a long kiss.
    ‘Hey,’ he grinned after she let him go, ‘I’ve only been away three days.’
    ‘Well . . . I missed you.’ She gave a bashful smile, then brightened. ‘How was Amsterdam? How was your presentation?’
    ‘Bloody tiresome.’ He yawned. ‘The conference went well – picked up several new clients – but I had to sit through so many boring meetings. The Belgians were the worst – I took a couple of them out to dinner and it was the longest evening of my life. I almost pushed one of them into a canal, they were so dull.’
    ‘You poor thing.’ She slipped her tiny hand into his as they walked out of the building. ‘Sounds like you had no fun at all.’
    ‘I wish.’
    ‘Well, I’m glad to hear you behaved yourself.’
    Two ambiguous statements.
He slowed, searching her face and reading the glimmer of guilt that betrayed her meaning.
    Other women.
    ‘Don’t start that again, Kim.’
    She faltered, then looked down, long lashes hiding her eyes.
    ‘Sorry,’ she said quietly.
    They crossed the road. Kim paid for the ticket and led him into the car park.
    ‘You’ve had a long day,’ she said as she opened the boot for his bag. ‘Can I drive us back?’
    ‘Only if you drive fast,’ he smiled, lifting his bag into the car. ‘I just want to get home, open a bottle of wine and curl up with you.’
    ‘I’ll drive fast,’ she promised.
    He opened the passenger door and slid into the seat, yawning as he did so. Pulling the door closed, he reached up for the seat belt . . .
    . . . and paused as his fingers touched it. His thoughts returned to the dream, to what it meant, to the game. Ideas began to form, a blur of exciting possibilities and challenges . . .
    . . . but not tonight. For now it was still just a whisper, and he could push it away, force it to the back of his mind. Tonight he simply wanted to enjoy Kim.
    He reached across and caressed her thigh as they pulled out of the