I am tired and wound up.
Crew boarding on to the Heathrow-bound aircraft is delayed, due to the late arrival of the inbound flight. When we’re finally given permission to board, we have to navigate our way past cleaners and their Hoovers, which block the aisles, leaving us with barely enough time to do our security checks – and none of the galley preparations.
Mid-flight, two people fall ill and require oxygen, and there are too many noisy children. The demands seem endless, and there are lots of complaints about the in-flight entertainment system not working.
Maybe I won’t last too long in the job, after all.
During bunk rest, I dream of Will. He is younger, only about eighteen months old, and wobbly when he walks. William is swimming like a water baby. Amelia hides in the shade of the garden, picking flowers. She is trying to shout instructions to me, but her words come out muffled, as though she is underwater. By the time I understand what she’s trying to tell me, by the time I get the permanence of the whole situation, it’s too late.
I sit up and fumble for my torch. I take small sips of water. There is a boy sitting in premium economy, wearing blue dungarees. They reminded me of his.
I remain unsettled for the remainder of the flight. I don’t feel right. Once I’m strapped into my crew seat for the approach to landing, I nearly blurt out the whole Will tale to my colleague. There is nothing to stop me, and it happens all the time. It took me a while to get used to it. So many crew constantly over-share, spilling all kinds of personal snippets of information, as though they believe they will remain a confessional secret, safe in the middle of the open sky.
But I don’t, of course. There would be no point.
Instead, I talk about ‘Nick’ and how I knew, from the moment I met him, that no one else would ever compare. Look what happened every time Elizabeth Taylor tried to live without Richard Burton. I’ve read that their romance was described as the ‘deadly love that never died’. Without each other, life had no real point.
Nate makes me feel complete, despite his faults, which is why I know it’s love.
Infatuation would make me blind. True love embraces acceptance.
I spend my first day off alone in the flat. I relax by scrolling through pictures of Bella and Miles’ engagement announcement photos. They are having a party next month. I print out the photos I snapped of Nate in New York and add them to my pinboard. They aren’t good quality – not really – but I need to keep everything as recent as possible, because our lives need to stay entwined and up to date, even behind the scenes.
I stare at the board; something feels wrong. I stare and I stare until I figure out what it is.
Bella’s happy face doesn’t belong in my personal space. I grab a pair of scissors and begin hacking, until her head is chopped off or slashed in every single one where she is smiling. The only ones I keep intact are those where she doesn’t look quite so pleased with herself.
I exhale. I feel better.
I take out the two voodoo dolls from the shoebox at the top of my wardrobe. The girl has pins in her head and the boy has just one, in his chest. I want to keep Nate’s heart hardened, until he falls back in love with me. When I’d spotted them at a market stall on one of my Caribbean trips, the colleague I was with laughed when I bought them. ‘Creepy dolls for tourists,’ she’d said. ‘What on earth do you want them for?’
‘A joke,’ I’d replied.
I hate shopping with people. The problem I find with colleagues is that some just aren’t independent, they latch on to me from as early as our pre-flight briefing, trying to find out my plans for down-route and then inviting themselves along.
On my second TAB day off, I pass my driving theory test. Now there is only the practical left to go before I will have new freedom. After I visit a couple of car showrooms, I decide I’m going to order a sleek, grey convertible. I think there may be just about enough room in the boot for a small suitcase.
Afterwards, I have a gaping two-day hole to fill until my next trip to Bangkok. I stay away from Nate’s, having frightened myself with my own behaviour in New York. I need to refocus and make sure I’m strong enough to be near him and not fuck up.
Amy is on an Australian trip, so is of no use. My Juliette and Elizabeth profiles are up to date on Facebook, with the correct comments and photos for the right personas.
I ring Babs. ‘Fancy a visit?’
‘Of course, my love. Perfect timing, I’ve made a beef and ale pie.’
I pack a small bag and head for the train station.
I didn’t mention my arrival time to Babs, so I catch a bus which takes me past Sweet Pea Cottage. The For Sale sign says Under Offer.
I wait to feel something – some emotion – but no, there is none.
Babs flings open the door the second I ring the bell, wearing an apron decorated with cherries. She has flour on her face. Barbara looks how a mother probably should look.
‘Fantastic to see you,’ she says. ‘I’ll get dinner ready.’
Over pie – I pick off the pastry – new potatoes and green beans, Babs fills me in on the village gossip: two divorces, one death and a burglary.
I update her on my driving lessons.
‘Wonderful news, you’ll be able to visit more often now.’
I nod.
Silence.
The dominant sound in the kitchen becomes the clinking of our cutlery, which means that Babs is psyching herself up to tell me bad news or ask me something.
I wait.
‘Are you up for a visit tomorrow? To see William?’
I get up and fill our water glasses from the tap.
‘It’s his birthday soon, and . . .’ Babs perseveres.
‘No, sorry, I don’t want to go.’
‘Well, I’d appreciate the company. We could also place some flowers by Amelia’s plaque.’
‘Dead people don’t care if they have flowers on their grave or not.’
‘I’m going. I always go.’
‘He’s not there. She’s not there.’
Babs clears her throat.
I think I know what’s coming and I don’t want to hear it. ‘What’s on telly tonight?’ I say, as I stand up and begin to clear the table. ‘Stick something on and I’ll wash up.’
I turn on the hot tap and squeeze a large dollop of lemon washing-up liquid into a bowl, staring at the foaming bubbles. Babs selects a soap opera; I can hear the theme tune emanating from the living room. We used to watch it in the common room at school, crowded on sofas and cushions on the floor, in our pyjamas and dressing gowns.
I join her on the sofa ten minutes later. If I didn’t know that it was one she watched regularly, I’d have assumed she’d chosen it on purpose. Because tonight’s episode involves a graveside scene in which a character attains ‘closure’.
I leave early the following morning, full of promises to visit again soon.
On the train home my phone rings. My solicitor. The house sale has gone through.
I am rich.
I imagine some junior estate agent being dispatched to the cottage to change the Under Offer sign to Sold.
Annoyingly, the flat I’d had my eye on in Richmond has been taken off the market, which means that I have to restart my search for another place. But it will keep me busy until I am back at work.
Somewhere above Europe, then Asia, suspended in no-man’s-land, hurtling towards Bangkok, I am sitting in the galley on an upturned metal container, freezing cold, listening to a colleague, Nancy, go on and on. She’s shown me pictures of her cat, her horse, her godchildren, revealed all about an operation she had four years ago, and told me how her ex-husband was into cross-dressing.
‘It wasn’t that that split us up, though . . .’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
I stand up, put a filter bag into the coffee machine and switch it on, willing a passenger to wander in and faint or do something that will take a while to sort out.
�
��Yes, I’ll have a coffee. Anyway, like I say, it wasn’t the cross-dressing—’
‘I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, Nancy. It’s my turn to complete the security checks.’
Normally I can’t be bothered, but tonight I prowl around the dark cabin, checking the toilets for suspicious messages and bomb-makers, ensuring passengers aren’t ill or up to anything too unusual. It’s quiet. There are no couples trying to sneak into the toilet together to join the Mile High Club, not that it bothers me when they do. I just pretend I haven’t noticed.
By the time I return to the galley, Nancy has latched on to another crew member, Kevin, who from his glazed expression clearly wishes he hadn’t ventured down from the sanctuary of first class.
‘. . . so, it was the fact that he was so selfish. I mean really selfish. I’d get back off a trip, exhausted, having served hundreds of people throughout the night, and he wouldn’t have lifted a finger at home. No shopping in, no . . .’
I catch his eye and smile.
‘I only nipped down for some spare napkins,’ he says. ‘I’ve left the first galley unattended. I’d better pop back.’
Kevin used to be an accountant, but the burning desire to travel made him change career in his early forties. He seems fun. He made everyone laugh in briefing with a tale about how he’d missed a crew bus to a remote stand on his previous flight and had ended up getting lost in the labyrinth of corridors beneath the terminal. Kevin winks at me before escaping through the thick galley curtains. Maybe I’ll hang out with him. He seems intelligent and entertaining, so far.
A call bell chimes. Hallelujah!
I make my way along the aisle, among the sleeping masses buried beneath blankets, avoiding sticking-out feet and random shoes, until I reach seat 43A, above which the call light is illuminated white.
‘Please may I have a cup of tea, dear?’ asks an old lady, switching on her reading light.
‘Of course.’
I scan the darkness for any other lights. This is what my life has come down to: looking for people to serve so I don’t have to listen to any more chatter.
In the galley, as I pour boiling water from the hot tap on to the tea bag, Nancy resumes.
‘Any plans for Bangkok?’
I consider. What wouldn’t Nancy do? Hmm. Not sure. Better play safe and keep it vague.
‘Not really, I like to go with the flow and not make definite plans. I never know how I’ll be feeling or how I’ll sleep.’
I pour milk into the tea and grab a few sugar sachets, place them on a tray and return to the cabin.
The moment I’m back, Nancy opens her mouth.
‘I’m going to visit The Grand Palace, with the first officer, Katie. We live in the same village and when we realized we were on the same trip, we decided that it was time to venture out for a bit of culture and do something rather than the same old market shopping.’
‘Good for you.’
‘You’re very welcome to join us.’
‘Thanks, you’re kind, but I’ll see.’
‘Probably wise. Katie’s all loved up at the moment. She’s at that initial stage where she can’t help dropping her new boyfriend’s name into every conversation, regardless of the topic. I don’t begrudge her, of course I don’t. She’s been on her own a while, never had much luck with men. But, between you and me, I bet it will be “Nate this” and “Nate that” whilst we’re at the temple.’
‘Nate? That’s an unusual name?’ I am surprised at how normal and casual my voice sounds, as inside I feel heart-sick.
‘Is it unusual? I hadn’t really thought. It’s probably short for Nathan or something.’
‘What’s his surname?’ My heart is beating just a little faster.
‘I don’t know. Anyway, it’s time to go and wake the others, it’s our turn for bunk rest now.’
I prepare some hot towels and pour several glasses of juice. I place them on a tray. My hands shake a little. I head towards the tail of the plane, once again negotiating limbs and debris, the most dangerous of which are always magazines – I’ve seen them send people flying. I use a key to unlock the door to the crew bunks, which I shut behind me – it’s not uncommon for passengers to make themselves at home if they gain access – and switch the lights on to dim as I hold the rail with one hand, clutching my tray in the other whilst negotiating the small staircase.
‘Morning, everyone,’ I say.
Some people shoot up, gather their belongings and head off to the toilets.
Others sit up, visibly exhausted and disorientated, clearly wishing they were at home, in their own beds.
Fifteen minutes later, I am lying on a top bunk, wearing a grey tracksuit and sliding around in a sleeping bag. My seat belt keeps slithering down towards my hips as I toss and turn, like a rag in a washing machine, as we hit turbulence. I feel as though I’m in some parallel, non-existent universe.
One thing is clear in my mind: I will be joining Nancy and Katie on a tour of the Grand Palace, after all.
10
After an hour, I give up on my three hours and twenty minutes break. I can’t bear it a moment longer, lying there, trapped. I’m going to go and suss Katie out. I need to see her with my own eyes to make an assessment.
I feel light-headed as I reapply my make-up in the toilet. At the beginning of the flight I looked presentable. Now I feel sick to my stomach. I knew Nate wouldn’t be celibate, of course. I’m not deluded. But to have a name, to be stuck mid-air with someone who is a potential rival, is a horrendous situation to find myself in.
I make my way to the front of the plane and upstairs to business class. The crew member – an older man – is in the small upper-deck galley preparing the breakfast trays.
‘Hi. I’m just going to pop into the flight deck,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to ask them if they need anything?’
He checks his watch. ‘Yeah, go ahead. They’re due a call.’
I know what times the flight crew are called during the flight, which is why I came up at this point. I pick up the interphone and key in the numbers for the flight deck. My heart is pounding at the thought of Katie’s voice answering the call, but she doesn’t. A male voice does. ‘Hi. Mike speaking.’
‘Hi, it’s Juliette from down the back here. I’m upstairs and just wanted to pop in to ask you something. Do you need anything?’
‘Hang on a minute.’
Muffled voices.
‘Yes, two coffees please. One white, one black, no sugars. And if you’ve got any crew sandwiches left, that would be good too, thanks.’
‘OK.’
I make the coffees. Which one is Katie’s? I slide out a tray of sandwiches from the crew trolley. I call again to announce my arrival.
I walk up the aisle and wait outside the cockpit door. The captain opens it and as soon as I enter, he closes it firmly behind me. The white, green and blue instrument lights judder brightly in the dimness of the enclosed area. In the FO’s seat there is a man. No Katie. The door to the pilot bunk area is shut; she must be asleep.
‘Is someone on their break?’ I say.
‘Yes.’
Damn.
The captain takes the tray from me. I remove the coffees and I place them in the space behind each seat.
‘I came to ask if it’s possible for me to sit here for landing?’ I say. ‘I’m fairly new and—’
‘Sorry, no, this is a training sector. James,’ he points to the first officer, ‘is preparing for his command – promotion to captain – so I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.’ James turns round and gives an apologetic wave.
‘Oh.’
‘Hopefully, you’ll get another opportunity soon – as, normally, I’d say yes.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Thanks for the coffee.’ He peers through the spy hole whilst James checks the CCTV cameras. ‘All clear.’
He opens the door for me and I step back out, feeling deflated but not defeated.
On our journey to the hotel, I s
it behind Katie, listening in to a conversation between her and the other first officer.
Her hair is plaited and pinned up – a personal dislike of mine.
Will used to love my hair in plaits. Well, he liked pulling them.
She looks nondescript.
Their conversation isn’t interesting – they mainly discuss cycling. I can’t imagine Nate on a bike. He wouldn’t look right in a cycling helmet.
He just wouldn’t.
Like most crew, Katie looks completely different out of uniform when we gather in reception the next morning. It is only Nancy, Katie, another guy – called Ajay – and me.
Katie has long, curly red hair and loads of freckles. She looks friendly, yet capable, the sort of person you’d ask for directions. She appears tomboyish, with her muscly upper arms and her sensible beige trousers, as though she is trying too hard to fit in with the male pilots. However, when she smiles her whole face becomes pretty.
At first, I wasn’t sure what Nate would see in her. But I think it’s because she looks so wholesome, so ‘girl next door’.
On board the tour bus, I look over at her again. She is gaping out the window, her mouth slightly open. We are stuck in traffic for ages, but I’m unable to engage in any useful conversation with Katie because an enthusiastic tour guide talks non-stop whilst standing at the front of the bus with a microphone.
I zone out.
The reason I know Nate loves me is because he told me so.
When I told him I loved him, he replied, ‘Yeah, me too.’ He’d have just kept quiet otherwise.
Admittedly, he was reluctant – initially – about me moving in so soon after we’d got together. But I pointed out that, although it was a bit of a whirlwind romance, perhaps it was meant to be.
The place I was renting was being sold. That was true, even though the landlord said I could have potentially stayed on for another three months. But there really didn’t seem to be any point in me finding someplace else to live. It was a tiny white lie for our mutual benefit.
I had briefly considered joining the airline then, but I wanted to be the perfect girlfriend. To be there for Nate, when he returned home from trips.
The Perfect Girlfriend Page 9