What she looked was upset. Whether more about the splotches, or her husband’s response, I couldn’t tell. ‘But I’m not sure what that has to do with me.’
‘She’s allergic to cinnamon,’ he spluttered. ‘I spent thousands on this honeymoon, and you’ve ruined it.’
‘She had an apple pasty?’
‘Well, duh! Have you got another explanation for why she’s puffed up like a bullfrog?’
‘How absolutely awful.’ I turned to speak to his wife, feeling terrible about the tears trickling down her ballooning cheeks. ‘I’m genuinely so sorry this has happened, but the menu clearly says cinnamon apple custard.’
‘I didn’t read the menu, though, did I?’ the man yelled. The queue behind him had divided into those taking a nervous couple of steps back, and the people irate enough about the hold-up to press forwards. ‘I asked you if the pasty was custard, and you said yes.’
‘Look, mate, we’ve got flights to catch,’ a large man waiting to be served interrupted. ‘If you’ve got a complaint, write an email.’
‘And, what, I’m just hanging around at the airport for a laugh? We all have flights to catch. Are you going on honeymoon to a five-star hotel in Santorini, chauffeur-driven private tour included? No? Didn’t think so.’
‘Even more reason for you to send an email later – the Santorini flight is boarding.’
‘Um, we don’t have a flight to catch?’ a tanned young woman said, although she didn’t sound too sure about it. ‘We just landed.’
‘Yeah, but our train leaves in fifteen, so we still need to get our coffee, if you don’t mind,’ her friend chipped in.
‘If I don’t mind?’The man’s face had turned almost as red as his wife’s. ‘Wouldyoumind? Going on a holiday of a lifetime with a face like that? What about the photos? She’s going to scare our future children, if we ever dare show them.’
‘Dude, your flight is boarding,’ the large man repeated. ‘Get out the way, yeah?’
‘If I miss my flight, I’m adding it to the lawsuit.’ The man pointed at me. ‘Two and a half grand.’
‘Love, if I were you, I’d leave him to argue and get on the plane without him,’ someone said to his wife, patting her arm in sympathy.
‘What are you going to do about poisoning my wife?’
‘She’s not going to do anything. It says cinnamon in the menu. If your wife has an allergy, it’s up to you to check,’ someone called from the back of the queue.
‘Yeah, but the law says you have to display all potential allergens,’ another person added as the line rapidly descended into chaos.
‘It is displayed!’
‘Look at her, though – poor lass just got married.’
And so it went on.
In my panic, all I could think was how much I needed Mum, and how she’d have sent this man packing and restored order before I had time to pour his wife a free coffee.
Then, out of nowhere, an angel in a lumberjack shirt waded through the jostling crowd and interjected himself between the kiosk hatch and the angry man.
‘Stop,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Look at your wife. She’s in pain and upset and instead of offering comfort, you’re humiliating her. You need to apologise for your horrible mistake, then make it up to her with the holiday of a lifetime.’
The man gaped for a couple of seconds, until the large bloke spun him around. ‘Look at her, mate. This isn’t helping.’
‘I did ask you to check the menu,’ the poor wife whispered, as though she wanted to shrivel into a crack in the floor.
‘Come on, I’m getting the same flight as you,’ a regular customer called Joanie said, linking her arm through the wife’s. ‘We can still make it if we’re quick.’
‘If they let her on. She looks like she’s got leprosy,’ someone muttered from what used to be the queue.
‘Ignore them.’ Joanie started hurrying towards Gate One, dragging the wife with her. ‘I’ve got antihistamines in my bag. We’ll soon have you sorted.’
‘Can we get our pasties now?’ Barb called.
