Love is in the Air

by Joanna Knowles

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

Maya is DONE with men.

Christmas Day was meant to be the happiest day of her life: a picture perfect New York wedding in Central Park.

Instead, air hostess Maya is working the Christmas Day flight from London to New York a week after Michael dumped her and got engaged to someone else in THE most public way possible.

It's already the worst day ever. So when the grumpy passenger in seat 28c, pushes all her buttons and then complains about her service, it's the final straw. Maya makes a pact: swear off men for one year and focus on herself, writing about one (fun and sometimes terrifying!) challenge a month in her new blog Flying Solo.

But that no-longer grumpy and actually quite charming passenger keeps appearing, both on and off her flights... Now life is about to take off in ways Maya could never have imagined.

The utterly heartwarming and uplifting romance debut from Joanna Knowles, this is perfect for fans of Sarah Morgan and Josie Silver.

Release date: November 23, 2023

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 320

Sample

‘Sir? I won’t ask again. If you could please take your seat with immediate effect.’

Cabin crew, please take your seats for take-off …

Maya’s smile was so frozen in place that it felt like tiny shards of ice were splintering inside her cheeks. She slammed the overhead compartment slightly harder than she’d meant to and the child in 27C jumped in his seat, his bottom lip wobbling precariously. That was all she needed. Her left shoe was already rubbing on the back of her heel and the collar of her blouse felt tighter than usual. Looking down the aisle, she watched as Chloe replaced the plane phone into its cradle, straightened her skirt and took her seat. Maya closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath, hoping to calm her already frayed emotions.

‘Sir?’ Maya was starting to lose her cool. This passenger had had the audacity to arrive late onto the plane, sauntering on with the speed of a sloth and an attitude that, quite frankly, stank. He hadn’t removed his ridiculously large coat, or his black baseball cap and she knew that she had about ninety seconds before they became airborne. He was faffing around with his backpack that was sitting in the plane seat instead of being pushed under it and he had his back to her. She leant forward to take hold of one of the straps of his bag in assistance.

‘Let me help you.’

‘Please don’t touch my bag,’ he hissed, his voice deep. His fists tightened on the bag, his knuckles whitening. She moved her hand away and resisted the urge to throw the damn bag off the plane.

‘Then please could you place the bag under your seat and sit down with immediate effect. The plane is now taxiing,’ she responded tersely. Still facing away from her, he threw the bag unceremoniously under his seat and slumped down, pushing his bulky frame into the narrow plane seat, and fumbled with his seat belt. He was muttering under his breath, and she swore she could hear the words, ‘bloody woman’. His head was facing downwards, but she noted week-old, dark stubble and thick-rimmed, black glasses.

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen and welcome on board Oasis Airlines, Flight 340, direct from London, Heathrow to JFK International, New York. The flight time today will be seven hours, forty-five minutes and the weather in New York is currently a festive minus seven. This is Captain Anderson speaking, and on behalf of the Oasis crew, may we take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy Christmas and thank you for choosing Oasis Airlines as your travel choice for today, the 25th of December! With clear skies ahead of us, our arrival time in New York should be one fifteen in the afternoon – just in time for a traditional Christmas lunch! Please take a moment to read the safety leaflet in the front pocket of the seat …

With a quick, frustrated glance at bulky coat man, she made her way back to the front of the plane and pushed down her folding seat next to Chloe as the pilot completed his spiel.

‘What an arsehole,’ she muttered as she pulled her seat belt across her chest, careful not to relax her fixed smile. She tugged down her dark green pencil skirt so that it was within protocol, its hem sitting just on the knee. One hundred and eighty-seven beady eyes were watching them both intently. She felt the familiar judder of the plane being pushed back from the gate.

‘Who?’ Chloe said, giving a reassuring thumbs up to a clearly anxious passenger in the second row.

‘28C. Strolls in late, ignores me completely. I hate men like him. All arrogance and misogyny dressed in an oversized coat.’

‘Ah babe. Want to swap sections then? I know this is a difficult day for you.’ She moved her hand across and closed it over Maya’s, giving it a squeeze. Maya noticed the anxious woman’s eyes in the second row widen at the mistaken gesture of concern. She mirrored Chloe’s thumbs up with her free hand to show her all was well.

‘No, I’ll be fine. I just want this shift to pass quickly and for me to pass out drunkenly in my hotel room later.’ She tried to make light of the situation, but the annoying lump in her throat was back with a vengeance. She pulled at the collar of her blouse again and gave Chloe a reassuring wink. There was a young boy in the first row who was wearing a bright red reindeer jumper and had a green paper hat sitting at an angle on his head that looked like it was straight out of a cracker. He was staring out of the window at the slowly moving tarmac and singing gently to himself. The sweet lyrics of ‘Jingle Bells’ drifted towards her, and she felt her eyes glisten. Keep it together, she chided herself.

For the first time since her shift started, Maya allowed her eyes to glance over at seat 1E. It stared vacantly back, its unoccupied seat taunting her. He should have been sitting there. He should be smiling at her, lovingly. She would have slipped him free champagne throughout the flight, and they would have shared excited whispers and eager glances.

‘Some Christmas this is turning out to be,’ she muttered as the engines roared into life and the plane began to accelerate. She leant her head back onto the wall behind her and tried to leave all the thoughts of what this day should have been on the retreating damp, grey tarmac. Christmas Day three thousand miles away from home, working and alone. As the plane rose into the air, she wondered if this day could get any worse. It turns out it could.

Within moments, the plane was airborne, and the familiar ‘ding’ brought Maya back into the moment. Chloe had already unclipped her seat belt and was on the phone to their colleagues at the back of the plane. It was business as usual. The next few hours crawled by as they served the passengers a lukewarm, mediocre plastic excuse of a Christmas dinner and smiled through every concerned question, demand, and crisis. Even before she’d had a chance for her break, Maya had already dealt with two sick bags, one hypochondriac with an aversion to air conditioning, one marriage breakdown and two inebriated grannies who’d spent the best part of their airport hours clearly propping up the bar. She’d stealthily transformed into nurse, psychiatrist, serving officer and guidance counsellor faster than an unblinking chameleon, and they weren’t even halfway.

She had just disposed of the second sick bag and grabbed her bag from the locker to take her cherished break when the call-bell rang. She ignored it, unzipping her bag to check for her phone. It rang again. Repeatedly. She peeped through the curtain from the galley, careful not to make eye contact with any of the passengers for fear of getting beckoned. She could see Chloe was busy setting up a cot for a frazzled mother and crying baby. She looked at the other cabin crew, but they were all either busy with passengers or hiding behind their curtain, like actors unwilling to perform for their audience. Sighing, she popped her bag back into the locker, pulled at her seemingly ever-tightening collar and answered the call.

It was 28C.

‘Yes, sir?’ Maya leant over the seat to press the button and cancel the call. She inhaled a strong waft of sandalwood. The familiar scent reminded her so strongly of Michael that her legs almost buckled with grief. She closed her eyes for a moment, but her smile never faltered. The man adjusted his baseball cap and she could finally see his face clearly.

‘I need to move seats,’ he demanded rudely. ‘I have zero leg room here and my legs are cramping up.’ He had a cool, husky voice that dripped with irritation. When he looked up at her, she noticed a strong chin, chiselled cheekbones and, behind his glasses, dark eyes that were unfairly swimming in long, dark lashes. Annoyingly he was actually very handsome, in a rough-cut way, possibly mid-thirties. He gestured to his legs which, Maya noted, were long, muscular, and hidden in dark denim. In between those legs was his backpack.

‘I’m afraid that is not an option. You see, the flight today is full.’ Maya motioned to the rest of the plane, unwilling to mention one particular seat that remained empty at the front of the aircraft. It was too painful.

‘What about in first class?’

‘You purchased a ticket for our standard economy class, sir, and this seat has been allocated for you—’

‘This is total elitist nonsense,’ he said, interrupting her. ‘I am uncomfortable and cramped and demand that you move me.’ He jostled the bag between his legs to prove his point.

‘Sir, it is just not possible to move you right now, we are at capacity on this flight, with no available seats for you to move to. However, your bag can be placed in the overhead compartment which will free up some room for you.’ She pointed at the offending bag and opened the overhead compartment to check for available space. There was lots.

‘My bag stays with me,’ he said abruptly, his legs clamping shut.

‘Your belongings will be perfectly safe in here and right above your seat, sir. I am happy to place it in there for you.’ Maya pointed to the bag, but he took hold of one strap in his hand as if to stop her grabbing it. She felt accused, as if he thought her a thief.

‘My bag stays with me,’ he repeated, and he adjusted his cap again, this time pushing it lower onto his head.

Maya sighed. What an infuriating man. She found that her smile was beginning to straighten into more of a grimace.

‘Then may I suggest that you stretch your legs by taking a walk to the bathroom? At this point in time, there is nothing more we can do to help you. We are airborne, if it hadn’t escaped your notice.’ As she spoke, she knew those last words were just past the line of being professional, and bordering on sarcasm, but she really didn’t care. She wanted to lie down in the dark on one of the bunks in the rest area, switch off from everything for a blissful hour, and he was delaying it. He’d noticed the sarcasm though, she could tell. She gave him one last overly positive smile and walked away.

‘Sod him,’ she muttered to herself, before whipping aside the curtain to the galley with a little more force than she intended.

An hour in the darkness of the rest area had done little to improve her mood. If anything, it had lowered it faster than the cabin pressure on fast descent.

Maya blinked as she entered the brightness of the galley and smiled weakly at Chloe, who gave her arm a quick, sympathetic squeeze before continuing to load the trolley. Maya shoved her bag back into the overhead locker and placed a hand onto the trolley.

‘You go. I’ll take it from here.’

Chloe looked up. ‘Are you sure? Take a few more minutes if you need it …’ the kindness almost started Maya off again, but she smiled resolutely before shaking her head, her tightly bound curls desperate to escape the achingly tight bun required by the airline.

‘I’m sure. Go.’

Chloe didn’t need telling twice. She disappeared into the rest area, leaving Maya to check the trolley was fully stocked before stepping out through the curtain and into the sea of festive, but weary passengers.

‘Anything from the trolley?’ she repeated methodically to each row, walking slowly along the aisle. The winter sun was bright in the sky now, streaming through the left side of the plane and causing her to squint. Three-quarters of the way there, she told herself. Not long now.

She reached row twenty-eight.

‘Can I get you anything from the drinks trolley?’ She deliberately addressed the window seat, a lady who looked to be in her eighties, dressed fabulously in a shocking red kaftan and with white hair fashioned in an updo that rivalled Joan Collins. She had the biggest sunglasses on her face and pillar-box-red lipstick. Her style screamed ‘fabulous’. The lady shook her head, lifting a nearly full glass of champagne in Maya’s direction. The seat next to her was occupied by a thin man with a receding hairline and three-piece suit, who was quietly snoring. There was a trail of dribble hanging precariously close to his left shoulder as his head stooped sideways. Maya’s gaze moved across to seat 28C.

‘Anything to drink, sir?’ She noted the three empty miniature bottles of whiskey already on his folded-down tray and that his plastic tumbler was also empty, bar a couple of ice cubes sitting dejectedly at the base. One look at his unfocused eyes as they narrowed in on her confirmed her silent deduction – he was drunk.

‘Double whiskey with Coke. Thanks.’ He raised his empty glass at her, shaking it in her direction, the ice cubes clashing together. Maya sighed. She could see he had reached his limit. Damage limitation was key and remaining diplomatic was what she had been trained to do.

‘How about a hot coffee first? Or a cup of tea? We have a range of milks available.’

Silence hovered in the air between them as her words took a moment to register.

‘No thanks. I asked for a whiskey. I would like a double whiskey. With Coke.’ Slurring, she noted.

‘How about a complimentary bottle of water, sir. Flying can cause dehydration, especially for long durations, such as today.’ Maya pulled out a bottle of still water and placed it onto his tray. He looked at it.

‘I don’t want a water. I would like a double whiskey, with Coke.’ He raised his voice. ‘Can you not hear me?’

The lady in the red kaftan rose a perfectly manicured eyebrow in his direction, tutting quietly.

‘I can hear you perfectly well, sir. Let me check the trolley for you.’ Maya pretended to check the trolley by bending down and rummaging her hand through the neatly stacked miniature bottles, ensuring their clinking together was sufficient to convince him.

‘I’m afraid we are all out of whiskey on this trolley. Perhaps my other colleagues have some on theirs. Bear with me.’ She walked down the aisle towards Andreas who was bent over his trolley.

‘Shake your head and mouth No, please. Drunk man in row twenty-eight,’ she whispered into Andreas’s ear and, ever the professional, he did exactly as asked. With flair. Maya loved Andreas, aspiring actor, and all-round eccentric. Arm gestures and apologetic facial expressions were directed towards row twenty-eight, and she squeezed Andreas’s hand in thanks. She walked back to her trolley.

‘I’m afraid we are all out of whiskey on this flight, sir. But please accept this complimentary coffee as an apology.’ She poured him a coffee and placed it onto his tray, along with some milk and sugar. He looked at the beverage as if it was heated sewer water.

‘This is quite frankly appalling service. What is your name?’

Maya pointed at her pin; the name clear to see. ‘It’s Maya, sir.’

‘Well, Maya. Look forward to my complaint.’ He picked up the coffee and handed it back to her, before reclining his seat with some force. A yelp from behind him alerted Maya to the fact that seat 29C had had his book flung into his face.

‘Sir …’ she began, but he pulled his cap far down over his face, crossed his arms over his chest and feigned sleep. With every inch of her body wanting to cry, she took a deep breath and moved onto the row behind.

The plane touched down at JFK airport.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have landed safely at JFK airport ahead of schedule and the local time is midday. May I take this opportunity to thank you for travelling with Oasis Airlines and, on behalf of all the staff travelling with you today, may I wish you all a very happy Christmas …

Maya had never been more delighted that a shift had ended, and she quickly fulfilled her ground duties, emptying the plane of its passengers as quickly as possible. She spoke on autopilot, wishing each passenger a monochrome Happy Christmas, enjoy your stay.

She noticed that seat 28C had exited the plane through the doors at the back and she felt ridiculously relieved. Her throat ached, her head was throbbing, and she just wanted to collapse into her hotel bed and order room service, while binge watching Hallmark Christmas movies. Chloe and the other cabin crew had different plans entirely.

‘You’re not going to sit in your room all day like some jilted bride on her wedding day.’

‘Chloe, I am a jilted bride, that’s exactly what I am!’ Maya exclaimed.

Chloe’s eyes widened at her mistake but brushed off her error.

‘But it’s not your wedding day, though. It’s Christmas! It’s against the law to not celebrate Christmas!’

‘That is in no way correct or factual—’

‘Shhhh!’ Chloe said, raising a finger and pursing her lips. ‘I said it is, so there you go. And anyway, who wouldn’t want to spend Christmas in New York?’

Me.

That’s who, Maya thought. She didn’t want to spend Christmas in New York, or Barcelona, or Antarctica … anywhere, quite frankly. Not without Michael.

Maya was crammed onto the shuttle bus that was headed into New York City at an alarming speed, with splodges of dirty slush splashing up against the side of the window. It was early afternoon, yet the sky was a dark hue of orangish grey with huge flurries of snow whizzing past her steamy window as she stared at the familiar sight of the New York skyline as it loomed ever nearer. The highway was covered in grimy, grey slush; with dirty snow piled up at the sides.

Thankfully, the traffic was light, and the driver seemed completely unperturbed by the weather. She tried to relax, subconsciously rubbing her ring finger as she always did to calm herself and remembered with a lurch of her stomach that she no longer had a ring on that finger. That beautiful, princess cut diamond ring, surrounded on either side by emeralds, was now back in Michael’s possession. She swallowed down a sob and rummaged in her bag until she found her sunglasses. Despite the wintery weather and darkening skies, she put them on. Chloe was sitting next to her but was chattering away with the other cabin crew who were all squeezed onto the shuttle bus, her long legs stretched out into the aisle and her gaze fully focused on the pilot sitting across from her. Chloe laughed at something he said, throwing her head back and puffing out her chest like a peacock, her mountain of blonde curls whipping Maya in the face. Maya rolled her eyes from behind the glasses. She had been friends with Chloe for over a decade now, having first met on their second training day when teamed up together to complete a safety challenge. One shared innuendo about a failed inflatable life jacket and they were in fits of giggles. A drink later that evening in the hotel lobby bar had seen them cement their friendship over a shared love of 1980s classic films and an obsession with shoes. They had been firm friends ever since. Chloe was even meant to be a bridesmaid at Maya’s wedding and she knew how important this flight had been to Maya.

Another stray tear escaped her lid and slipped silently down her cheek. As they crossed the Queensboro Bridge, Maya took in the lights of the city, the twinkling blurring from her tears. No matter how many times she visited this city, it always took her breath away. Once in the Upper East Side, it was hard to ignore that it was Christmas. All the shops, restaurants, and cafés were ablaze with Christmas tinsel, lights, and plastic Santas. There were Christmas trees in most windows they passed, with families huddled together in the warmth, enjoying the festive magic that the world had been building up to for the last five weeks since Thanksgiving. Americans sure did love Christmas.

As did Michael. He was crazy about Christmas. The minute Halloween was done with, and the last plastic skeleton was packed away back in the loft, Michael was there, up his rickety old ladder, installing Christmas lights to the roof of their terraced, three-bedroom, red-brick house. Correction, Maya thought, his house. It was never ‘their’ house, she realised. Despite paying half the mortgage and bills for the last three years, Michael had bought the house before he had met Maya, with an inheritance left by an uncle and she’d never thought to query it. She’d just felt so lucky to have met someone with a ready-made family home, all equipped with a box room which was primed, in her mind, to be kitted out as a nursery. It was his idea to get married in New York. In Belvedere Castle, Central Park, to be precise. Not for the beauty of the castle or for the stunning location, but for the fact it was once a renowned weather station and Michael was absolutely crazy about weather. Obsessive even. It came with the day job.

Michael worked in television. He was the local weatherman for one of the most prestigious regional news stations in the country. He had started off with just a two-minute slot at the end of the main news bulletin on weeknights, but his on-screen chemistry with the rest of the team meant the ratings had soared and he was soon more than just the weatherman, sometimes standing in for the other presenters when they were away, or poorly. It helped that he was stupidly chiselled, with a sharp jawline and skin that constantly glowed. Maya used to joke that he looked like he was standing under a giant buttercup all day long as he exuded this golden hue, but he never found it funny; especially as he was lactose intolerant.

He was almost thirty, but his body didn’t show it. He went to the gym five times a week and only ate carbs on a weekend, resulting in a toned upper torso with biceps that nicely stretched the cotton of his shirt. His legs were also toned, but looked good in skinny jeans, almost feminine, not bulky.

Not like the guy from seat 28C, his legs were huge, Maya thought.

Wait, what? Where did that come from? Why did he pop into my head? An image of those denim jeans stretched over those long legs appeared suddenly, unwanted, and Maya shook her head forcefully. Chloe glanced over at her, concerned. But before she had a chance to comment, the bus made a sudden stop, the brakes squealing under the effort, and they both fell forward, knocking Maya’s sunglasses off her head.

‘What the …’ Maya complained.

‘Shit driver,’ Chloe called out, far louder than Maya would have liked, and Maya looked outside to see that they had reached their destination, home for the next three nights. They had stopped directly outside a tower block of a building, all glass and stone, with an elegant neon sign, lit up in a brilliant white hue with the name scrawled in italics – The Lexington Lodge.

Once unpacked, Maya sat on the edge of the white linen bed and stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window at the ever-darkening skies. Towering buildings blocked the horizon, but in between the skyscrapers, she could just see Central Park in the distance. She checked her watch, noting she hadn’t changed it from London time yet. It was just after 8pm in the UK. She should call her father and wish him a Merry Christmas before he got too drunk on the whiskey she had given him yesterday. But she just couldn’t. She felt too deflated to speak to anyone.

I’ll email him, she thought. Let him know I’m OK.

She unzipped the inside compartment of her pull-along and pulled out her iPad, which was encased in a lovely, new marble-effect jacket that had been a reciprocal present from her dad yesterday. She ran her fingers gently over the engraved, gold initials, M.M. He might be a single father, with no common sense or awareness into the inner workings of a daughter, but he did have a mighty fine assistant, Gayle, who was epic at gift-giving. Gayle was ten years his junior, but equal to him in every other sense, including her knowledge and affection towards Maya – she had actually cried when Maya had told her the wedding was off. Lovely Gayle. With her affection for fashion magazines and flair for hunting down vintage classics, she was a total legend. She was loyal, attentive to Maya’s father and had worked with him for almost a decade now, coming on board a few years after Maya’s mum died. She had been divorced twice and now lived in an apartment in the centre of town, spending her days working and her evenings socialising, but Maya suspected that there was more to their relationship than just a working one.

Once the tablet had booted up, Maya quickly fired off an email to Gayle thanking her for the lovely present and wishing her season’s greetings. She realised that she hadn’t even asked Gayle what her plans were this year, she’d been so engulfed in her grief. But secretly she hoped Gayle was spending it with her dad. She then emailed her dad with a reassuring, upbeat and clearly phoney message, telling him she had arrived safely and that she:

She pressed send and slumped back onto the bed, feeling exhausted. Noting the remote on the bedside table, she switched on the TV and an old black-and-white movie flashed up, It’s a Wonderful Life. George Bailey was trying not to flip out completely in the bank, despite having lost huge sums of money. His eyes were frantic, desperate to keep it together. To not fall apart. Much like her, ever since that awful day.

Three weeks earlier …

‘And now over to Michael for this weekend’s weather forecast. So, Michael, are we in for any snow this weekend? Does Father Christmas need to start de-icing his sledge in time for Christmas?’

Amanda Avary turned slightly in her presenting chair, her toned arms resting on her desk and her mega-watt smile glinting in the studio lights. Her blonde hair was coiffed into a pristine side bun and her professional make-up highlighted her sharp cheekbones and large, blue eyes. Her slender body was squeezed into a powder-blue bodycon dress. Her colleague, Samuel Stinson, was looking equally pristine, in his dark suit and matching powder-blue tie. Both in their thirties, they made a striking couple and were the main reason the ratings were so high.

‘Thank you, Amanda. Unfortunately, there is no snow on the horizon for this weekend, just sporadic, heavy rain showers for most of the country, with higher-than-average temperatures.’ Michael gestured to the green screen behind him with ease, before turning to the camera. ‘However, we are going to see a surprise phenomenon tonight.’

Michael was wearing dark trousers and a navy shirt that Maya had picked out and ironed for him only that morning. His face was lit up with excitement, a flush spreading up from his neck, visible even through his made-up face. The make-up artist currently watching off screen had her make-up bag ready to try and correct this before the next weather section.

‘We are?’ Amanda looked confused, but her smile never faltered. She looked over at Samuel, who just shrugged in confusion.

‘Shooting stars?’ he asked, theatrically raising his hands towards the camera, ever the professional.

‘A lightning storm?’ she questioned.

Michael shook his head. ‘Something much more local.’

He took a step forward from his small podium, causing the crew to panic and mouth frantic words to one another. Cameraman Two followed him as he made his way across the studio floor towards Amanda. She let out a nervous giggle, all high pitched and feminine, her hand raised to her earpiece, hoping for some guidance. Michael stopped beside her desk, before turning to the cameraman that had followed him. There was an awkward atmosphere in the air, with the teleprompter being pushed forward in the vain hope that Michael would revert to the script. He ignored it completely and looked directly into the camera before speaking, his voice breaking slightly.

‘No, Amanda, tonight I am going to tell the world how my life has been changed dramatically by the phenomenon that is Amanda Avary.’ He gestured to her with a flourish.

‘This amazing woman, this beautiful, gifted, talented woman who lights up the lives of millions of people watching her each and every day …’ he paused for dramatic effect and Amanda was starting to match him on the blushing front, while Samuel looked on gormlessly ‘… is the same woman that I have fallen hopelessly in love with.’

A gasp went up around the studio, with Samuel’s gasp being the most dramatic. Michael continued, his gaze solely on Amanda and his voice rising.

‘This woman is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I can no longer keep it a secret from our friends, our families … indeed, the world!’ At this, he made a grand, circular motion with his hands, before lowering himself down onto one knee. He pulled a small, square box from his trouser pocket and slid it onto the desk, making sure the diamond was clearly in shot. The single solitaire glinted in the bright studio lights.

‘Amanda Avary. Will you do me the greatest honour of becoming my wife?’

The studio went totally silent, with an assistant floor manager standing there with a sign saying, ‘cut to break’. Amanda just looked completely shocked, her eyes wide and unblinking, her mouth open as if catching flies. Seconds passed, which, in television time, was dead air.

‘Amanda?’ Michael looked less confident now, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Samuel, kicked back into action by the screaming in his earpiece, turned to his camera and said quietly, ‘We’ll be right back after this quick break.’

In their shared house ten miles away, Maya was sitting on the sofa in the lounge, a large glass of wine remaining untouched on the coffee table in front of her and a sizeable artificial tree twinkling merrily in the bay window. She had been wrapping Michael’s Christmas presents in bright green wrapping paper and was surrounded by gold ribbon and bows. Now her shiny, unblinking eyes were filling fast with tears and her gaze was focused on their flat-screen television; the adver