Stuck between a couple on a long haul, I expected one to swap seats. They didn’t

It’s the walk of despair. Shuffling down the aisle towards the dreaded middle seat knowing your comfort for the next 14 hours is in the hands (or elbows) of your seat companions. What piggy-in-the-middle misery awaits? Man-spreaders? Colicky squawkers? Sumo wrestlers? Hygiene-impoverished backpackers with an aversion to footwear?

I shudder at the possibilities as I approach my seat – 30J – for an overnight flight. I’m the first here. The only part of my long-haul hop that’s so far gone to plan. With a bit of luck, I can get myself sorted before my aisle and window seatmates arrive. Noise-cancelling headphones in the seat pocket. Water bottle in. Travel pillow. Eye mask. Bag up. Do I need my Kindle…? Holy shi-raz! They’re here.

A young man. Perfunctory smile, arch of the eyebrows that says “sorry lady, you need to move; that’s my window seat”. I lurch off mine like a chastened chihuahua, an avalanche of pillows, blankets and carry-on accoutrements spilling from my lap. I don’t want to be that passenger holding up the boarding queue.

“Sorry,” I drop a blanket booby-trap in my haste. “Pardon me,” window man responds, our elbows jostling. He sits down. And what luck, aisle woman is here too so we can all sit down together. Here we go. A furtive sideways glance and sniff tell me this pair should be respectable cabin chums. Of course, I can’t yet know for sure. Peak fart, fidget, snore and slobber time is still a few hours away. Still, they seem harmless enough. And how convenient – and coincidental – that they came to their seats at the same time.

Aisle woman tells me she has a connecting flight to Europe. “We’re spending a few weeks in Greece,” she says. “We”. How lovely. A sparkly flash on her ring finger as she adjusts her tray table. A reticence to say much more. I’m wondering if she’s meeting her fiance in Europe – a romantic rendezvous. A long-distance relationship, an emotional reunion, a Grecian wedding … then the penny drops. This pair is a couple. They’ve played the spare-middle-seat lottery – booking an aisle and window in the hope of that no one takes the seat between them – and lost. I’m in it.

I’m expecting them to offer to trade. Surely resting your head on your partner’s shoulder is better than dribbling on a stranger’s? Apparently not. When she goes to the toilet, I courteously do too. And he follows. So here we are, the three of us in a conga line for the lav, with me the meat in the coupledom sandwich. And I’m wondering, is this a thing now? Couples would rather sit apart – next to a stranger for 14 hours – than in the middle seat?

Ma