Meet me in Basel

A short story by Lolá Akínmádé

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"I'm sorry, what?

"We need you in Basel tomorrow. Danny can’t make it and someone needs to do the live dispatch," Fiona pauses dramatically. “And finish his article.”

Ayò’s brows arch. “But Danny is a walking Eurovision Encyclopedia! There's no way I can take his place.”

Fiona shrugs. “Well, he’s sick. It'll only be the usual - what to see, eat, drink.”

“I'm not doing that for £200,” Ayò protests. She's a seasoned contributing travel writer living by the pay cheque. As for the Swiss tourism board, it is getting guaranteed press coverage worth thousands in LUX Allure, her pay be damned.

“Fine, I'll double your rate.” Fiona looks up from the piece she’s editing. “Please?”

The next morning, Ayò boards a special flight from London Heathrow, chartered for hardcore fans. She shuffles down the plane’s aisle and its rows grow more vivid as they move away from the monochrome suits in business class. Technicolour T-shirts adorned with mullet-wearing 80s pop stars. Passengers donning red and white Monaco flags. Wait, is it Poland’s? Others wear Union Jack hats and multicoloured clown wigs. One row bursts into song, screaming, “Euphoooooria.” The row behind joins in.

She double-checks her ticket. Seat 28B, between a middle-aged guy wearing magenta glasses and a younger woman sporting a pink feather boa. They’re grinning widely at Ayò. She sighs. Of course they want her seat.

“Sure, I'll switch,” Ayò says before they can ask. Squeals of delight erupt from the row across her aisle. A party of deliriously happy faces. More glitter, flags, hats and... Danny?

Wallflower Danny Rosewood, who never speaks unless spoken to. So passionate is Danny about Eurovision that he can recount all the winners by year, starting with Abba’s Waterloo.

She couldn't believe it when he'd called in sick, couldn't believe he'd miss his favourite event.

“Danny?” He hides his face. “I can still see you,” Ayò spits out.