Nicolas Cage

‘Kids on the Fly’ was a soft-play area. A man who looked like he’d be more at home in a wrestling ring rose from a stool. He held up a hand and told me that I was too old by about ten years and he sat back down.

Behind him happy toddlers rolled around in a paddling pool filled with plastic balls.

‘Hi. Yes. But I was told there was something to do with superheroes here, please?’

My voice had never sounded so small. The man stared at me. Maybe staring was more of a thing in the US. There is a lot of staring in American films and TV shows. Think about it.

Slowly he rotated his body, his bum squeaking against the plastic stool, a noise that in any other situation would have me sniggering into my hand. He pointed at the wall.

For a second I thought he wanted me to read the fire evacuation procedures. Then I realised he was indicating the signed picture of Nicolas Cage that hung next to them.

‘Signed,’ he said.

‘That’s fantastic,’ I replied. ‘So sick.’

It wasn’t fantastic or sick. It was a signed picture of Nicolas Cage. He’d played Ghost Rider in two movies. He wasn’t even dressed as the character in this picture. It was his face.

‘I mean …’ said the man.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Really. Thank you.’

The stool man squinted at me like he suspected I was being sarcastic, which is more Amy’s deal.

Back the way I’d come, a black screen of doom was flashing the warning ‘final call’ against the LA flight all of a sudden. Nooooooo. Pulling the Princess behind me, I sprinted for it.

It was at this moment that I first thought I might miss my connection. It didn’t feel great, to be honest. Dad’s last words haunted me. He’d been fairly clear about his preference concerning me catching the plane.

A glance at another passing screen now told me that the gate was closing. They must have been rushing the boarding process because of the snow.

I was so near. I was past all the shops and restaurants. I was in departures proper. People gripping boarding cards queued hopefully in roped-off areas. Huge windows showed tiny vehicles down below scraping the ever-falling snow off everything. There were planes outside. Big ones. Lined up, waiting for something, waiting for me.

My muscles stung, my breathing choked, but the finishing line was in sight – I experienced that final burst of adrenalin you get when the end of double PE is close.

I was the Flash, travelling so fast that I was invisible.

What gate’s that? A square sign stuck out from the wall saying TWO. Push on. I’m already passing THREE. Round the corner will be FOUR. I can do this! Jacob FTW!

A crackling Tannoy announced the cancellation of a flight to Boston. Another message came immediately after – a flight to Seattle was off too. Had I missed an announcement? Had they called my name? I thought they were meant to call your name?

I needed to get to Gate Fifteen. I was at Five. The angles of the pentagonal corridor meant I couldn’t see round the corner, obviously, but I knew my numbers. I’ve always been good at maths. I was headed in the right direction, whether I made it or not was a question of time. So I upped the pace.

And I reckon I was operating at full running capacity.

I turned in the direction of Gate Fifteen. My throat was hot and sore. My heart beat in my ears. The corridor had emptied a little. Maybe everyone who’d needed to get on a plane had got on a plane.

Apart from me.

At Gate Fifteen there was nobody and nothing. I could see this all the way from Gate Eleven. But even if there had been a scrum of travellers, I kind of knew I’d be disappointed. Spidey-senses. The whole experience had been leading up to it. A huge American prank at my expense.

It was Dad’s fault. This was always going to happen from the moment he’d warned me not to miss the flight. Some things are fated.

Gate Fifteen: plastic seats screwed to the ground. And a desk. And behind the desk a pair of grey doors. Closed. The only sign of human activity was an abandoned empty water bottle lying on its side.

A whispered ‘no’ escaped my mouth.

There were windows too. And through the windows there was a huge plane. And snow fell over the huge plane and I felt like I might throw up. Because this was my huge plane. And my huge plane was taxiing through drifting snowflakes and away from the terminal and away from me. Inside, there would be a single empty seat. My empty seat.

I’d missed the connecting flight.

I was stuck in Chicago.

And it was because of Nicolas Cage.

Dad was going to go crazy.