Best served cold

A short story by Nikki Smith

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It's her laugh Rachel hears first. A husky cackle that hints at both amusement and a touch of danger, and immediately transports Rachel back 25 years in a fraction of a second. Her reaction is so visceral that she almost spills the champagne she's pouring for the gentleman seated in 6E - has to blot a couple of drops off the tray table with her napkin while keeping a smile fixed on her face.

Holly Knight. Someone who has taken up so much space in Rachel's head that she'd never forget her. Rachel turns around very slowly and watches the woman who had once made her life a living nightmare walk towards her, pulling a large cabin bag which she abandons in the middle of the aisle once she reaches her window seat.

"Stick it up there for me when you've got a minute, can you?"

Her voice has the same dismissive tone it had when they were in sixth form. And she hasn't changed much lookswise, either. Her hair is still blonde - slightly darker than it used to be - and although Rachel suspects there must be some grey lurking under those expensive highlights, she can't be sure. It wouldn't surprise her if Holly has found some way to avoid ageing like everyone else - that she has a portrait of herself stuffed away in her loft like Dorian Gray. She's still thin, like a whippet - all sinewy leanness. Hard and impenetrable, just like she'd been at school.

"Of course."

Rachel hands her bottle of champagne to a colleague, then collapses the handle on Holly's bag and slides the whole thing into the space in the overhead locker. Holly slides into her seat without so much as a second glance at Rachel and begins a heated conversation on her mobile with someone called Marcus.