It's amazing how quickly your mood can shift. Inside it was all serious and sombre. Now I'm out in the fresh air I feel like I'm on holiday. Maybe I have bipolar. I laugh out loud at the thought as I spot Sean Cassidy in the front seat. His hair is dark chocolate brown for a change. Interesting, kinda handsome, too if you like that kind of thing. I look down at myself and pull a face at the baggy sweats I'm wearing. Not exactly femme fatale get up.

"Get in the back," Pete directs from behind me. I turn and offer him my best salute. It's important to establish a chain of command in situations like this. I want to be right at the far end of the chain. The fun irresponsible end, that is, not the world weary and serious end. I can see him reading this thought on my face and he shakes his head. "Whatever happened to women's lib?" he asks himself, but I ignore him because I know full well that he hates responsibility just as much as I do. He's trying to wind me up so I demand some. Tough shit, Commander, I got here first.

"Just so we're clear," I say, climbing into the back and eyeing the pile of clothes on the seat next to me. "I'm not dyeing my hair."

"Fortunately that won't be necessary, Marion," Sean says in his posh voice. "We quite simply haven't the time." I flick open the passport. They used the same photo from the Janey Wilson passport. This one's called Marion Linklater.

"Could yeh not find a decent photo?" I ask accusingly, borrowing Sean's accent.

"Were you unable to locate an appropriate pair of shoes?" Sean replies, sustaining posh. I narrow my eyes. Pete Wisdom demonstrates that he does have at least one brain cell by not saying anything.

I change in the back seat. One of the advantages of having worked in the sex industry is that I have absolutely no hang-ups about people seeing me without my clothes on. First of all, everyone looks fine naked and secondly, if you're naked, people are generally too busy thinking about what you're going to taste like, to worry about what you look like.

oooOoOoOoOOOoOoOoOooo

By the time we are at the airport we are all in character and all using our very best BBC voices. Sean is called James. I'm having to stop myself from saying it with a bond-girl-esque lisp. Sean-James is my phony husband. Pete, now George Fortescue, is a business colleague. They are on their way home from a conference. As the little woman, I don't have to bother my pretty little head with the details. Credit where it's due, Pete Wisdom can sure set up a back story.

By now, I'm wearing so much make-up that my face looks just like the passport. My hair has been coiffed within an inch of it's life and I nearly asphyxiated myself with hairspray to keep it there. Also, I used about ninety-seven hairgrips, which means if I lean my head on anything I'm liable to get poked in the cranium by an inch of metal. All of this is going to seriously limit the amount of sleep I can get on the flight. Still on the plus side, my heels could be classed as a deadly weapon so if anyone happens to annoy me I can skewer them. Oh, and we're travelling business class. Nothing but the best for George Fortescue, darling.

oooOoOoOoOOOoOoOoOooo

"James, darling, could you be a sweetie and pass the sugar?" I ask. Sean-James and I have played the posh game before. It irritates the hell out of people and they usually move away. Typically we can clear a space ten feet around in less than twenty minutes. It's worked a treat, so far, we got waved through passport control and are now sitting in splendid isolation in the business class lounge, drinking an American attempt at tea.

"Oh certainly, my love," 'James' replies. "I say this tea really isn't up to snuff, what?" It gives me great pleasure to report that we are even winding up George Fortescue. He's developing an eye-twitch.

"Oh, it's simply abysmal," I reply. "What say you, George?"

"Just slipping out for a breath of air," he says through gritted teeth.

"All right, old man," James says amiably. "We'll see you anon."

As Pete-George stalks off we exchange knowing smiles and lean in for a tête-à-tête. "Jaysus, Mandy, I'd forgotten how good you were at that," Sean whispers in my ear. I smile like he's just paid me the nicest compliment. He kisses my jawline before he adds, "He lasted longer than I thought he would though. What do ye want to know?" I shake my head and draw away, gazing into his eyes, still smiling.

"Less I know, the happier I am," I murmer back. "Just tell me my family's safe." I see his eyes and know he can't give me that reassurance. I pull back from him and let my eyes fall sadly on the tea. It's dreadfully disappointing tea, don'cha know. He reaches over for my hand allowing me to look him in the eyes.

"Who?" I breathe.

"Mick," he says. He stands and walks behind me, resting his hand on my neck. I force a smile and lean back against him. We are the very picture of a loving couple.

Damnit.