Brendan looks up with a start.

'It's like wearing an airbag,' Zo continues. 'n.o.body can get by me if I'm in a normal row. I mean, these seats have 32-inch leg room but I've got 36D b.o.o.bs. You try getting your tray table down-'

'Yes, yes, madam,' Brendan scrabbles to regain his composure. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'We don't mind where we sit, as long as we're together,' Elise morphs into her girlie-whirlie alter ego, snaking her arm around Elliot's.

Urgh, get a toilet cubicle, I cringe, silently praying I'm not seated next to the Es. I don't think I could take eleven hours of pa.s.sive nuzzling.

Brendan looks up from his clicking. 'We have a band of four with the extra leg room and I can seat one of you in the row directly behind.'

'You don't mind, do you, Lara?' Elise gives me a look, equal parts patronizing and dismissive.

'Oh, can't she sit with us?' Zo wheedles, craning to peer at Brendan's screen.

'It's a very busy flight!' he snaps, shooing her away.

'It's fine,' I mumble, nudging Zo. 'If you recline your seat back you'll practically be in my lap anyway.'

'Are you sure?' Sasha checks.

'Honestly. I'll be watching the movies most of the time.' As I squeeze a smile I get a horrible sinking feeling that it's going to be me that's the odd-one-out.

Ding-ding! Round One to Elise.

Brendan hands us our boarding pa.s.ses.

'Okay, all set and that's two vegetarians: Sasha Williams and Zo Harriott.'

'I didn't realize you'd gone veggie, Zo,' Elliot queries.

'I haven't. I'm not lacto-intolerant, kosher or vegan either, but those people always get their food served first so I thought, for a change ...' Zo shrugs.

'Did you know there are more vegetarians in Brighton than any other place in Europe?' I announce.

'Really?' Sasha coos. We love a fascinating fact.

But Elise has no interest in our smalltalk. 'Shall we meet up again at the gate in an hour?' she cries.

Unbelievable she's trying to get rid of us already!

'What's everyone doing?' Elliot takes the more sociable approach.

'Well, you'll make a beeline for Dixons,' Zo makes the obvious prediction for The Gadget King. 'Sasha will be in W.H. Smith, looking for a book for the flight.'

I know, a model who reads: shocking isn't it?

'And Lara and I will be in Duty Free!' she cheers, then remembers she's got a letter to send before we get airside.

'It's actually a job application,' Zo confides as we two go off in search of a mailbox. 'The closing date is while we're away.'

'I didn't realize you wanted to leave the Dyspraxia Foundation.' I frown.

'I don't, but with this new job there's a chance I could go on to become a celebrity PA!'

It's ironic really, Zo has by far the most worthy job of all of us and yet she's the one who deep down always yearned to be a finger-clicking, hair-swishing diva. Lately she's modified this wish to fit the current celebrity-ravaging climate, deciding that working alongside a star would mean a good deal of the perks without any of the wild accusations in gossip magazines that she's losing her hair/man/mind etc. Not a bad plan in theory, but I've a feeling the reality would be a nasty wake up call, and then what dreams would she be left with?

'Do you know where you'd be based, if you got the new job?' I ask, hoping there's a chance she could move back to Brighton.

'West London, so at least I'd be more in the swing of things,' she notes. 'Of course it's irrelevant, really ...'

'Why's that?'

'Well, seeing as I'm about to get discovered by Hollywood!' She does a little twirl and I giggle back at her.

Zo stops short of the line at Pa.s.sport Control and turns to face me.

'It could happen, couldn't it?' There's genuine hankering in her voice.

I look into her maxi-lashed eyes and smile. 'Why not?'

Why is it so hot in airports? I can't believe Elise stayed wrapped up the whole time we were in line I guess it's not just her eyes that are made of flint. I juggle my bags and coat and bottle of water as we approach the security check.

'You go first, Zo,' I nod ahead, still in a tangle.

Zo steps forward through the archway, instantly setting off the bleeper.

'b.u.g.g.e.r!'

Retreating, she clunks her charm bracelet and fake Gucci watch into the plastic tray then tries again.

It bleeps again.

'Do you think it's my belt buckle?' She rattles her midriff.

'Worth a try,' I shrug.

She tugs her belt through the loops of her Earl jeans and coils it into the tray.

Still she bleeps.

The security man beckons her over and, starting at her heels, strokes her aura with his bleeper-wand, mentally eliminating possible causes as he goes no steel toecaps, ankle chains, pins holding her knees in place following a serious netball injury, no bellyb.u.t.ton ornamentation and definitely no nipple rings he lingers a while to make absolutely sure and moves on with visible disappointment. As soon as the wand reaches ear level it bleats frantically.

Zo raises her hand to her scalp in confusion, then blanches and looks back to me with an, 'Oh G.o.d!' expression.

I frown back a 'What?'

She's already removed her earrings and unless she's had a ton of rapper-style gold caps since I saw her last I can't imagine what it could be.

She leans forward and whispers to the security man. Behind me the line gets impatient. The security man shakes his head and sends her back through to my side of the arch.

'I can't believe it!' Zo hisses. 'Is he looking?'

'Who?'

'The stud.'

I turn back to check on the one good-looking guy in the line. Everyone's looking.

'No,' I lie. 'What's wrong?'

'I got these new hair extensions, you just clip them in place at your roots ...' Discreetly she lifts a flap of hair and reveals one of the troublesome metal grips.

'He's not making you take them out?' I gasp.

She nods again.

'No!' I cry, giving the security man a stern look but he remains resolute.

As the next person in line is summoned, I help Zo molt.

'Just bend the clips back on themselves and they'll pop open,' she instructs me.

Poor Zo. She's no stranger to striptease but this is humiliating in the extreme.

I sneak a peek at the stud. He's making no attempt to disguise his disgust. I give him a withering look and wish him halitosis and a lifetime of uncomfortable shoes. As he reaches for a dish to offload his pocketful of coins, one of the grips catches on his sleeve. I go to grab it back but he's too quick for me and strides on through the arch.

Beep-beep-beep!

The security man points to the cause and the stud freaks, batting it off like a hairy caterpillar and stamping it into the carpet. Then, instead of doing the decent thing and picking it up and returning it to Zo, he simply grabs his rucksack off the conveyor belt and heads straight for Costa Coffee.

Zo looks crushed.

'I thought you were saving yourself for Will Smith,' I remind her.

Zo brightens. 'He'd laugh at this, wouldn't he?'

I nod. 'He'd just give you a big grin and say, "You'd make bald look good!", 'Yeah!' she high-fives me.

'That's the last one.' I hand Zo a scarlet streak last seen on the Little Mermaid.

She fluffs her remaining hair, now shrunk up to her jaw, and sighs. 'I feel like one of those dolls with hair that grows, only in reverse.'

I take her arm and whisper, 'You still look discoverable!'

'Thanks!' she smiles, bravely.

For someone who dresses so audaciously, Zo can be surprisingly insecure about her looks. A couple of times we've tried to convince her to tone down the pantomime make-up and poke-your-eye-out outfits and let her natural beauty shine through but she's still convinced that her s.e.x appeal needs to be flagged up with bright colors. One day she'll realize that she could be wearing a muumuu and still get an X-rating.

'Bureau de Change,' Zo alerts me.

We're just pooling our money so as not to incur a double exchange fee when Zo flinches. 'It's that guy again!'

The stud is just one person ahead of us, taking his turn at the counter.

'Let's go to Thomas Cook,' Zo pleads, turning to leave.

'No, wait have you got a spare extension?'

'Why?'

I make a just-hand-it-over motion.

'This one is too blonde for me really ...' She pulls a flaxen wisp from her bag.

I take it, pretend to be leaning forward to check the exchange rates 'Would you look at that 14 South African Rand to the pound!' and gently clip it to the end of his jumper.

Zo's eyes widen.

'Pin the tale on the donkey!' I snicker.

Zo m.u.f.fles a guffaw. 'Pin the tale on the honky, more like!'

We grip each other, convulsed with mirth as he walks off counting his Euros, oblivious to the peroxide tail swishing from his b.u.m.

'What an a.s.s!' I shake my head as we head for Duty Free.

While Zo stocks up on kiwi-flavored vodka, I give myself a surrept.i.tious squirt with Elliot's aftershave: Happy for Men by Clinique.

The smell alone makes my heart and stomach entwine.

'We have the female version ...' The a.s.sistant swoops.

'I'm fine!' I blush, backing off.

'Would you like to try it?' She follows me with a sample that she must have been hiding under her cuff.

'Oh, I wear that!' Elise announces as I collide with her. 'In fact I've just run out.'

'Well, there you go.' I try and palm her off on the a.s.sistant.

'I wish I could, but it's too much of an extravagance.'

'It's $30,' I frown.

Not that Elise should ever wear a perfume called Happy, she could get done under the Trades Descriptions Act. Poison would be far more appropriate.

'Perfume should be a gift,' Elise simpers. 'It feels kind of unfeminine buying it for myself. Am I being silly?'