"Gatwick Airport," Douglas said, his deep voice booming through the open space, "now we know we've made it! The glamour! The Tax Free! The escalators!" He mocked. It was clearly aimed at Carolyn, but she - very skilfully - ignored him. Unlike many of the people passing them, who all turned, looking annoyed.

"Ooh, there's a McDonald's here!" Arthur said. His voice filled with a enthustiasm that unfortunately, was not meant to be sarcastic at all.

"Yes," Douglas said. "Very good, but I do prefer somewhere with a liquor licence."

"You don't even drink," Martin grumbled under his breath. He didn't understand how Douglas could have this image of being an irresistible, party -animal-like commercial pilot, and he didn't. And another thing, why did everyone always think Douglas was the captain?

"Admittedly I prefer Happy Hour over Happy Meal as well," Carolyn said.

Arthur put on a voice that would've been annoying in a 9 year old, let alone a 29 year old. "But mum," he began.

Carolyn silenced him with a gesture of her hand. "Unfortunately, I think I'll be babysitting Arthur," she said with genuine regret in her voice - most likely caused by the thought of half a dozen apple martinis she wouldn't be having. "It seems best," she glanced at her son. "Let's not have a reoccurrence of the Nice incident."

"You mean when they had to broadcast your name," Martin said, taking a bit too much pleasure in the fact that for now, he was not the one being made fun of. "Because Arthur had lost you," Douglas added. "And they thought he was from special housing?"

"Indeed," Carolyn said as she nudged Arthur forward. "We'll meet up after security," she called over her shoulder, before disappearing into a mass of people dressed in colourful summer clothes and carrying handbags obviously too big to be called handbags.

"Ah, it's just us pilots then," Douglas said, letting his hand fall on Martin's shoulder, in a gesture Martin was sure was meant to mock him in some way.

They entered what seemed to be meant as a bar, except there were only two walls, leaving everyone rather exposed to the looks of the passing crowd. The colours all seemed a bit off as well and Martin noted, that this was precisely the kind of bar he thought pilots would never go into.

"Isn't there a pilot's lounge?" Martin asked.

"Not one where we're aloud," Douglas said.

There were certain disadvantages of working for a four man company. Mainly that no one would recognise it as a company and they were quite often treated as passengers. Which was hard for Douglas, because he had once been a proper airline captain and had fond memories of the fringe benefits that came with that. Oddly enough, it was even harder for Martin, despite him never having been a proper captain - at all.

Douglas ordered the drinks and then went on to stare into space, or so it seemed to Martin.

"Hmm," was the only noise Douglas had made in a few minutes time.

Despite fearing the mocking that would certainly follow, Martin braved his chances and asked, "What?"

"I love the red outfits," Douglas said.

"Er…" Martin looked around the bar, until his eyes fell on the lovely red outfits, on the lovely stewardesses. Two lovely stewardesses, in two lovely red outfits.

"Tell me Martin," Douglas said, "have you met someone at last?"

"What? Oh. No," he flushed, somehow feeling this was something embarrassing, something embarrassing like being the captain of an airline without being paid. "It's just that…"

Douglas interrupted him. "Then we are both single, available pilots," he said. "And very maybe, they are both single, available stewardesses."

"Yes…" Martin hesitated. Not because he didn't get Douglas' meaning, but because he still wasn't sure whether Douglas had truly meant to include him in this plan of his.

Douglas emptied his glass and then turned to face Martin. "Alright then," he said, emptying Martin's glass, "I'll lay the groundwork and when I signal you, you come over."

"Groundwork?"

"Please tell me you do not need me to have a little talk with you," Douglas said sarcastically.

"No, no, but…"

"Trust me," Douglas said. "Unlike some, I have used my uniform to the fullest - always."

Oh I wonder who he meant by that, Martin thought to himself. He glanced over to the two stewardesses, one looked at him, or almost at least, and it made his face turn red again. "Maybe we shouldn't," he said, "Carolyn and Arthur will be…"

"Look, I don't know what your preferences are, but I wasn't planning on including them, either of them," Douglas said.

"It's just…"

"Martin," Douglas said, "you're 33 years old and stuck on a… 'raft'- that's what you called it right? And here we are, about to meet two wonderfully new people, and you're thinking about Carolyn and Arthur?"

"Yes, I mean no! I mean…"

Douglas stood up and clearly wasn't going to be stopped. "I'll signal you," he said.

"Oh… er, yes, alright. So what's the signal?"

"Me saying 'Hey Martin, come over here.'" Douglas said dryly and raised an eyebrow - Martin pretended not to be embarrassed.

"Hello. Hey, hi, good day," Martin said under his breath. "Hey there. No, perhaps not." He was staring into his empty glass, sitting at the bar. Alone. It had been 20 minutes and Martin was fairly sure Douglas had either decided Martin would cramp his style, or had simply forgotten about his existence all together. And still he was practising his hello. After all, he knew himself well enough to know the second he got introduced to either of the lovely red outfits he'd mess it up in yet unimaginable ways.

"Hello, my name's Martin. Hi, I'm Martin Crieff, hey I'm captain Crieff."

"Martin?"

He heard me, was the first thought that went through Martin's head and then he tried to think of a reply to give to Douglas' unavoidable insult and then… he realised it was the signal.

He got up and managed not to knock something over or, quite possibly, hurl himself over the barstool. "Yes, no," Martin said, responding to the signal, followed by, "yes, no."

He walked over to the table where the stewardesses and Douglas were sitting, in exactly the way Martin had hoped to, calm and nonchalant, cool... almost. Then he remembered his overnight bag was still lying by his barstool and he had to turn back to get it. Carrying this in his arms made him look ever so slightly less cool.

"Hey, I'm Captain Martin, er… I mean the captain Crieff, no! I mean I am, but…"

"Ladies, let me introduce my colleague Martin Crieff," Douglas said to end Martin's misery.

"Actually I'm not his colleague perse," Martin said, "I'm the captain." He smiled, a bit too widely to be considered charming.

"Yes we know," Douglas said, then adding under his breath, "the captain Crieff."

Martin bit his lip and smiled again - again too widely - trying to ignore Douglas.

"That's impressive," the red stewardess on Martin's left said. "You can't be much older than thirty, and you're already the captain." She had a pretty smile - very much unlike the smile still plastered on Martin's face - and pretty curly hair. In fact, she was very pretty all around which made Martin very suspicious of her tone towards him.

"Er… yes," he said. "I suppose…" Martin's right hand was fumbling with his left sleeve.

"You must have qualified very young," she said, still sounding very pleasant and making Martin feel all the more uncomfortable for it.

"He certainly started trying very young," Douglas said. Martin glared at him, but the fact that he forgot to stop smiling first, diluted the effect.

Martin sat down next to the pretty stewardess with the pretty smile.