The COP26 Kabuff: A Beatrice Deft Short

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Beatrice set the book she'd been reading on her tray table - Stan Grant's Talking to My Country - and gazed down on the green city below as the plane began its descent. Tree-filled parks, high-rise blocks, a landscape of rising mountains beyond. A broad river, with boats purposefully heading into the city from the sea. She stretched, grateful once again for her intercontinental flight apparel: a silk eye mask, loose-fitting leggings, an ethical ALPHA60 T-shirt and a long cashmere cardigan.

The woman in the seat next to her gestured at her book. 'Yous here for the conference?'

Beatrice scrutinised the speaker. The redhead had spent the whole flight from Dubai with headphones in her ears, smiling occasionally to herself. Her question, like her gaze, was direct, but not confrontational.

'Yeah,' Beatrice replied. 'You?'

'No, I'm just returning home. The Dear Green City. Bit different from Dubai. Looking forward to some rain to be honest.'

Beatrice laughed. 'It's definitely a completely different climate.'

'Aye,' replied the woman. 'Have you visited?'

'Just the once. I was doing some work at the literature festival.'

'You're a writer?'

Beatrice shook her head, and smiled. 'No, not quite. I'm in publishing.'

Her neighbour's face lit up. 'I love reading! I've been listening to Shuggie Bain all the way. Makes me feel back home already. I'm Isla, by the way.'

'Beatrice.'

They both felt the plane wheels engaging, then some seconds later smoothly touching down.

'Welcome to Glasgow!' said the woman. 'It's a great city. Look, if you need anything, here's my card. Just drop me a line.'

Isla handed over a glossy card, strikingly printed in black and gold on white. A name, a phone number, and a social media handle. Beatrice nodded, and put it into her purse.