Michaela couldn’t get comfortable. She drummed her fingers on the armrest and earned an annoyed look from the fat woman next to her. The woman stared at her tattooed forearms and Michaela pulled her sleeves down and reached for the headphones. She didn’t know what the in-flight movie was, but anything would be better than listening to her thoughts for the next eight hours.

She spent the four hour stopover drinking coffee and pacing the airport from one end to the other. She was nervous, stomach churning. She alternated between cursing Sandy for convincing her that this was a good idea, and praying she was right.

Back on the plane, she fished Trisha’s postcard out of her bag and gazed at it, ignoring the interested looks from her new neighbour. The scene on the postcard was beautiful. Michaela wondered if it had been taken somewhere near where Trisha lived. Perhaps they could go there. Take a picnic lunch. Get reacquainted; work things out.

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, clutching the postcard in white fingers. Was she being an idiot? What was Trisha going to say when she saw her? For God’s sakes, Trisha didn’t even know she was coming. Michaela swallowed and wished she was sitting up front in first class so she could order something a bit stronger than coffee to drink. No, she didn’t need a drink. She just needed to think about this rationally.

Just because Trisha didn’t call back at any time during the three days it took Michaela to get organised and get on this plane, didn’t mean anything. Except she’d needed Michaela and Michaela had fucked it up again. Well, now she was going to fix that one. She opened her eyes and looked down at the postcard again. It would work out okay. Trisha had needed her, right?

Good grief but she wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a full eight hours in a clean, soft bed somewhere. Instead she was standing in line at customs, her leather satchel over her shoulder and a hastily packed suitcase at her feet. Just the one; she’d packed only the basics, jeans, jerseys, clean underwear and a warm jacket. She’d told Heyward, the manager, that she’d be away two weeks at the most. Why then, she wondered, had she not purchased a return ticket?

‘Because I don’t know the exact date I’ll be coming back,’ she told herself, realising with a blush she was speaking out loud. She was tired. The line was inching forward and she tried not to catch the eye of any of the uniformed guys, uniformed guys with guns. ‘We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,’ she said, again out loud. The customs guy looked at her and beckoned her to hand over her bags.

Michaela wiped her forehead with a sleeve. She didn’t cope well without proper rest. Got all drawn and pale looking. And unlike most of the women in the customs line with her, she didn’t try to disguise it with make-up. Michaela just wasn’t that sort of girl.

The customs officer was checking her face against her dark blue passport. Michaela didn’t think she’d changed that much in the five years since the passport photo was taken but he seemed to be taking his time in the comparison. Bugger she wished he would hurry up; she needed to pee.

The customs guy was speaking. ‘You had a stopover in Bangkok?’

Michaela nodded. ‘Yeah. Only four hours. I never left the airport.’

He was staring at her tattoos. ‘You meet anyone while you were there?’

Michaela stared at him. ‘No,’ she said.

He looked back down at her passport. ‘You’ve spent a long time in the U.S previous to this year. What were you doing here?’

Michaela watched him flicking through the pages and visas. ‘I was studying at the University of Ohio.’

‘Ohio?’

‘They have a good literature and writing school.’

The guy looked at her again. ‘So you graduated now?’

Michaela tipped her head on the side. ‘B.A honours. Was studying for my Masters when my grandmother died and I had to go back home.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m just back here to visit a friend.’

‘Not to finish your studies?’

‘Not at this time. Look, why all the questions? I’m a New Zealander. Hardly a terrorist threat.’

He closed her passport and gestured at her suitcase. ‘Just doing my job,’ he said. ‘If you could come with me, please, we’ll examine your things over here.’

Michaela couldn’t believe her bad luck. What possible threat could she be, for crying out loud? She followed the muscular customs official as he carried her gear further into the room. The woman in line behind her gave her an odd look and stared after her.

Michaela sat in a plastic seat, answered more questions, this time from a baby-faced blond woman with a hard-assed attitude. She was required to take off her shirt and display the inked designs on her skin, explain their significance. Sniffer dogs were brought by to give her bags a once over. Her passport was frowned over and she was questioned closely about where she was going.

‘To visit a friend,’ she said. Again.

‘What friend? Where does this friend live?’

‘A woman I met when I was living here.’ She stared at the uniformed woman. This one was wearing a gun as well. Michaela didn’t know what sort. ‘My girlfriend,’ she said.

The officer raised her eyebrows. ‘Girlfriend?’

‘Yes,’ said Michaela. ‘She was my girlfriend when I lived here. She called me last week, said she needed to see me.’

‘And you just packed up and came? Why did she need you?’

Michaela closed her eyes. ‘I’m here to find that out.’