Nothing to declare

Claire had just congratulated herself for packing like a pro when she nearly tripped over a young man crouched down in the middle of the airport security queue.

He was rifling through a splayed cabin case and cramming stuff into a bulging crossbody bag. Claire recognised the plain black soft case from the Aldi aisle of shame.

She was ready to step past him with a self-righteous huff when she saw a purple sign: “A little kindness goes a long way. At Suvarnabhumi Airport we treat everyone with respect. All we ask is that you do the same.” She exhaled through her nose instead.

“Shit, shit, shit,” the man muttered, yanking out a hoodie and pulling it over his T-shirt. The terminal was aggressively air-conditioned, but it wasn’t that cold. He had dark skin and a fade buzz cut and his accent was unmistakably bogan Australian. It startled her.

“What’ve you lost?” she asked.

He glanced up. “Just trying to get this under seven kilos. Got the cheap fare, you know?”

She didn’t say, That’s why you check the baggage rules before you fly. Instead, she said, “They won’t weigh it till the gate. You can relax for now.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” He nodded toward the airline crew being ushered to the front in their flaming orange uniforms. “People like me get pegged a mile off.”

An announcement blared overhead. “Ladies and gentlemen, for your safety and security, please keep your luggage with you at all times. Unattended bags will be removed and may be destroyed.”

He sighed. “Got all this swag for my nieces and nephews. Was thinking if I couldn’t get under the limit, I’d post it back.”

“That’d cost more than paying for a bag,” Claire said. “I booked the flex bundle. Fourteen kilos, seat selection and an in-flight meal.”

He smiled grimly. “Look, lady, I don’t have flex-bundle money. I’m a disability support worker on minimum wage. First overseas holiday I’ve ever had. My cousins scraped together for this.”

Claire felt vaguely irritated by all this woe-is-me crap.

“I’m Ali,” he said. “I guess you’re on the flight to Brisbane as well?”

Claire’s cheeks puckered inwards like she’d sucked a sour lolly. Be nice, she thought.

“I am,” she said.

He hesitated. Then, “I don’t suppose you’d do me a solid? Just take this one through?”

Claire recoiled. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “People like you don’t trust people like me.”

“It’s not about trust,” she said. “It’s common sense.”

Ali zipped the case shut and stood up. “Relax,” he said. “Not everyone’s out to get you.”

His words felt like a slap in the face. Impatient passengers behind her were shuffling and sighing. Nearby, a toddler was screaming like their tiny world was ending. The parents weren’t being judged half as harshly as she felt right now.

“Fine. I’ll take it.”

He handed over the handle without ceremony or thanks.

The conveyor belt churned out Claire’s efficiently packed backpack, along with her neat zip-lock of travel-sized liquids. Ali’s bag was still being scrutinised deep in the x-ray tunnel.

Four weeks earlier, Trish had called Claire into her office.

Trish had started with syrupy fake concern. “How are you going, Claire? I mean, really going.”

“Fine,” Claire said.

Trish barrelled straight on. “Right. Well. There’s been a complaint.”

Claire’s jaw had tightened.

“One of our new graduates says you’re constantly correcting her in front of others. Nitpicking. Undermining her decisions. She says she feels like she can’t do anything right.”

“Maybe she can’t,” Claire had replied. “I don’t suffer fools.”

Trish had consulted her paperwork, all concerned neutrality. “She said, and I’m quoting here, ‘People like you don’t trust people like me.’”

Claire had stared at her. “Are you accusing me of being racist?”

“Nothing like that,” Trish said smoothly. “We just want to foster an inclusive environment. Like we did last week with the cultural cake day.”

Claire had brought pumpkin scones.

Later that day, she’d stormed through the front door to find Dan horizontal on the couch, surrounded by crumbs and a game controller.

“Have you started dinner?” she snapped.

He’d sat up and triumphantly waved his plastered arm. “Can’t, babe. Got a unicycle off Marketplace, then I fall down go boom! No housework for six weeks!”

Claire had launched into the Trish story: the complaint, the insinuations, the suggestion she attend a Women’s Wellbeing Workshop to “embrace her feminine leadership qualities.”

“And of course they’re not paying for it,” she added bitterly. “It’s all ‘self-directed personal growth.’ Which is code for: piss off, we want you gone.”

Dan had scratched under the edge of his cast.

“Relax, babe,” he said. “Not everyone’s out to get you.”

Claire felt her cheeks burning just thinking about it.

Ali’s cabin case finally emerged from the x-ray tunnel, looking innocent and anonymous. She stepped forward to collect it, then marched off to the gate without making eye contact with Ali, who was being swabbed for explosives.

Claire wedged herself into 27A, angling her knees to avoid thigh contact with the woman in the middle seat, who was already spilling sideways into her space. The woman extended the seatbelt out to its limit and clicked it shut with visible effort.

Claire pursed her lips. She thought people like that should have to buy two seats. Maybe the pressure from the belt would double as a gastric band.

She leaned toward the window, reclaiming millimetres of personal space. Above her, the Aldi bag was nestled in, wheels first.

Claire didn’t fly often, but when she did, it was always window seat. She had a system: tactical wee stop in the terminal, no in-flight alcohol, and no need to use the filthy plane loo. She didn’t want to climb over anyone. And she didn’t want anyone climbing over her.

Ali moved down the aisle, flashing a casual thumbs-up. Claire avoided eye contact but watched as he continued down the aisle. Four rows back. Middle seat, middle row. Good. Stay there.

The cabin filled with the usual pre-flight rituals: armrest wrestling, overhead bin wars, the smell of someone’s tuna sandwich. The woman next to her was watching reels on her phone without headphones, giggling at baby goats in pyjamas.

The guy in the aisle seat was wearing a muscle shirt and had a Southern Cross tattoo on his bicep and noise-cancelling headphones perched on his temples like a crown.

Then Ali was back at Claire’s row.

“Hey, mate,” Ali yelled to get the attention of aisle-seat guy. “Would you mind swapping seats with me? I just realised, small world, that’s my old mate from school.” He gestured towards Claire. “Haven’t seen her in, like, forever. Thought it’d be nice to catch up.”

Claire suddenly found the safety card in the seatback pocket fascinating.

The man didn’t even look up. “Piss off,” he said. “You want an aisle seat, pay for it like everyone else.”

The woman in the middle seat perked up. “I’d be happy to swap,” she said eagerly.

“Ah no thanks, all good,” Ali said quickly. “Don’t wanna be a hassle.”

He backed away, retreating to his own row.

Claire fumed. What the hell was that? She hated when people tried to cheat the seat selection system.

The flight passed in a blur of forgettable movies and unidentifiable airline food. When they landed, Claire remained seated, silently judging the scramblers already tearing into the overhead compartments like contestants in a game show, before the seatbelt sign was even switched off.

When it was her turn to stand up in the crowded aisle, she pulled down her backpack and left the Aldi bag where it was. After all, it wasn’t hers.

Despite the jammed aisle, Ali appeared again, threading through the bodies like a fish darting through water.

“Hey,” he said. “Think you forgot your case.”

Her heart started pounding. This wasn’t what she had agreed to.

Ali raised his eyebrows and grinned.

People were watching. A man was jiggling up and down on the spot trying to soothe a crying baby. The woman behind her let out a theatrical sigh.

Claire reached up and yanked the case.

It was heavier than she remembered.

Claire moved slowly through the terminal, the case trailing behind her like a guilty conscience on wheels. She scanned the crowd ahead until she spotted him, pumping a free sample of hand cream at a duty-free stand, then rubbing and sniffing his hands casually. She hurried towards him.

“Ali,” she hissed. “I’m not taking this out through customs.”

“Lavender,” he said. “You should try it. Calming.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You ditch that case and we’re both on the six o’clock news. Just take it through and meet me outside. You’re a respectable-looking white woman. No harm, no foul, no wucking furries.”

Claire started to feel a bit light-headed. “If there’s nothing dodgy in it, why won’t you take it?”

Ali looked her dead-on.

“Have you ever felt wrongly accused?” he said. “Like the whole system’s already decided what kind of person you are?”

She thought about her humiliating meeting with Trish.

“Do you think I get a fair shake of the sauce bottle at airports?” he continued. “One minute I’m just some Aussie bloke coming home from a holiday, next thing I’m standing barefoot on a rubber mat while they unpack my jocks in front of two security guards and a sniffer dog.”

Claire needed air. She wanted out of here, away from this guy.

Ali glanced at the customs signs ahead. “Nothing to declare,” he said. “Perfect for you.”

He disappeared into the crowd.

Claire stood still for a moment, the case handle slick in her palm.

She took a deep breath and rolled forward.

Near the exit, a black labrador with a jaunty navy-blue vest was sniffing a family in matching watermelon-print shirts. The handler murmured something to a colleague, then nodded toward Claire’s line.

Her eyes stung. Her throat tightened.

She remembered an article she’d read during the pandemic about dogs trained to detect COVID. Viral proteins. Cancers. Emotions, even. Could they smell fear?

She focused on her breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Like they’d taught at the Women’s Wellbeing Workshop.

She forced a smile for the customs officer. Shoulders back, head high, eyes forward. Marched right past the dog.

Claire stepped outside the terminal, legs wobbly. She felt giddy with relief, like she’d just run a marathon. But instead of getting a finisher’s medal, she escaped a Bangkok prison.

Dan was supposed to pick her up, but she’d gotten a message from him when she switched off flight mode. Sorry can’t get you babe. Fell off the unicycle again. Cracked the cast. At the hospital now. Xx

At the far end of the pavement, she saw Ali. He was beaming, phone in one hand, waving with the other, like they were friends.

Resentment bloomed in Claire’s chest. She had let herself be guilted, manipulated, nudged into compliance with a sob story. Like always, she’d been a good girl.

And she still didn’t know what was in the case. Up until now, she’d been too anxious to wonder.

She turned the opposite direction from Ali.

She walked first. Then walked faster. Then jogged. The case bounced behind her, wheels thudding over seams in the concrete.

She jumped onto the travelator, weaving past old couples and family groups. Along the concourse. Toward the train platform.

A train was waiting. Doors open. Carriage nearly empty.

She could hear rapidly accelerating footsteps behind her.

“Hey!” Ali shouted.

She didn’t look back. She leapt onto the train as the doors began to close.

Ali’s face appeared behind the glass just as they sealed shut, his hands hitting the window with a dull thump.

The train pulled out. Claire stood swaying in the aisle, one hand gripping the yellow pole, the other holding the handle of the case.