‘No,’ agrees Tom, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘He’s one heavy mother.’
‘He’s not staying there, is he?’ asks a flight attendant.
‘Certainly is,’ confirms Gareth. ‘You’ll all just have to work around him. I’m off to tell the captain what has happened. Oh, by the way,’ he adds with a wave of his hand as he leaves the galley, ‘you’d better wrap the corpse in some bin-liners otherwise he’ll only shit all over the floor.’
Angela spins round to face the sink and pukes all over her new uniform. It’ll be a miracle, I think as I make my way back into club, if that girl ever flies again.
Back in club and the Poison perfume seems to have done the trick. The colostomy stench is not too overpowering. Or maybe I’m just so tired and worn out by my day that my senses are beginning to shut down. I am so goddamn numb that a man dying of a heart attack in front of me doesn’t affect me any more. I slump back down in my seat. Andy has crawled back into his own chair and is fast asleep. His lips are slightly parted and he is still clutching a drink in his right hand.
‘Are you OK?’ comes a voice.
I look to my left and see that Sue is still awake.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘You?’
‘I can’t sleep. Rachel’s passed out, but my body clock is all over the shop. That’s what comes of flying all the time, I suppose.’ She shrugs.
‘Haven’t you taken something?’
‘I try not to. I don’t think it’s very good for you to be on pills all the time. All the girls are always on stuff. Uppers, downers, vicodin, temazepam, co-proxamol. It’s a wonder none of us rattles when we get off the plane.’ She smiles. ‘Was it all OK back there?’
‘Not really.’
‘I heard the call for a doctor, so I presumed it wasn’t good.’
‘Heart attack.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yup.’
‘D’you want a drink?’
‘I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Here,’ she says, handing over a vodka miniature, ‘have one from Andy’s collection. He doesn’t look like he’ll be needing it for a while.’
‘No.’ I look over at him and smile. ‘He needs all the rest he can. He’ll only get all over-excited again when he lands.’
‘So, was he old? The man who died?’
‘No, not really,’ I reply, taking a sip of neat vodka. It burns the back of my throat as it goes down. My body shivers involuntarily. I’m really not feeling that good. ‘He was quite fat.’
‘Oh,’ she nods. ‘One of those. Was it quick?’
‘Not terribly,’ I say. ‘And all this blood came out of his nose and mouth and ears.’
‘Yuck.’ She frowns. ‘I’ve seen that before.’
‘They’ve put him in the galley.’
‘Really? That’s happened to me before. It’s a nightmare,’ she adds. ‘And they haven’t done breakfast yet, have they?’
‘No, I know. They don’t seem very pleased.’
‘That’s awful. Those poor girls. I hate it when there are corpses on the plane. I remember doing a Middle East flight once when the whole of the back three rows of the plane were taken up with bodies, all wrapped in white sheets. It was terrifying. Their stiff toes were poking out.’ She pulls a face. ‘They were all members of some royal family or other – you know how many of those there are over there. And they refused to let them be put in coffins in the hold. I’ll never forget it. It still haunts me.’
‘Well, I have to say that this bloke might well stay with me for a bit,’ I say, taking another sip of vodka.
I’m not sure if I’m lying. I’m not sure how I am going to react. But at this precise moment Sue is actually talking to me as if I am some sort of friend, so I would do well to sympathize.
‘At least you haven’t put him in the rubbish,’ she says.
‘What?’
‘Well, when I flew seven-six-sevens, there’s a place at the back where we used to store the rubbish and any dead body that came our way during the flights. It’s terrible if you think about it too much. But what else are you supposed to do when you have a full flight and a corpse to deal with?’ She makes it sound so reasonable, so practical, and so necessary.
‘Exactly.’ I nod. ‘My point exactly.’
‘Although,’ she adds, leaning forward, her soft round face looking momentarily sad, ‘there are some things that are truly shocking.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I remember when I did the Abu Dhabi-Colombo run we used to find some awful things. Once, when we’d touched down in Sri Lanka, the cleaners noticed this trail of blood on the floor that went from one of the seats to the toilet. They opened the toilet door and saw more blood on the floor, then when they opened the litter chute they found a baby.’ She winces. ‘It wasn’t making any noise or anything, it was tiny and naked, but it was still alive. The mother had apparently given birth in the toilet during the flight and bitten the umbilical cord with her teeth. She’d been raped by her boss in Abu Dhabi and didn’t want to bring shame or disgrace on her family. We looked through the passenger list, found out who it was, and traced her back to her family just outside Colombo. The airline then delivered the baby back to the mother.’
‘What happened then?’
‘They offered all the flight attendants counselling.’
‘No, I meant what happened to the mother and the baby?’
‘Oh.’ She shrugs. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say.
‘But it used to happen quite a lot on those flights, because so many Sri Lankans work in the Middle East as servants. We’d get lots of pregnant girls crying on the flight, all the way to Colombo. Most of them had been attacked by their bosses. But I only saw one baby delivered in the toilet and thrown away.’
‘Awful,’ I say. ‘How long ago was that?’
‘About eight years ago now. But those were the days.’ She smiles suddenly. ‘Loads of rich sheikhs on the flights buying you Carrier watches and Boucheron jewellery. You had to be careful, though,’ she continues. ‘Abu Dhabi and Dubai are quite small places; you could get a reputation quite quickly. It wasn’t always advisable to accept all their presents.’
‘I didn’t know you lived in the Middle East.’
‘I didn’t do it for very long,’ she replies. ‘There was one girl who worked with me who really knew how to work it. She dripped in gold and used to be collected straight off the plane on the tarmac by an air-conditioned limo. There was always some sort of fur waiting for her on the back seat. I wonder where she is now.’ She smiles. ‘What a strange place . . .’ She looks perturbed. ‘I can’t believe I’m going back there. It’ll be the first time since I left.’
I lean across the aisle and take her hand in mine. She doesn’t withdraw it. I run my thumb gently across her soft skin.
‘I am very glad you decided to come,’ I say.
My mouth is smiling and my heart is pounding. I am touching her. I can’t believe it. And she didn’t recoil at the idea. Could Sue possibly feel the same way about me as I do about her? I feel a sudden rush of joy and adrenalin.
‘Oh, I say!’ comes the jaded nasal voice of Gareth. He is standing in the aisle looking down at our clasped hands. ‘If I can tear you away,’ he says, sarcastically.
I pull my hand back onto my lap.
‘What?’ I ask sharply.
‘No need to be like that,’ he says, pretending to be offended. ‘I’ve got a problem at the back of the plane and I need your help.’
‘Mine?’ I ask. ‘Why?’
‘You’re management. Craig’s had a go, Tom’s had a go, and I’ve been back and forth twice. I could go and get the captain, but seeing as we’ve already had the first officer through this evening, and what with the corpse and all that, I’d rather not. I don’t want him to think I can’t control the plane.’
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Well, there are a couple of queens going for it on the back row of the
plane and no matter how hard we complain or the people around them ask them to stop, they carry on,’ he explains.
‘What are they doing?’
‘Blow jobs and . . . you know . . . the rest,’ he says, his top lip curling in disgust. Or is it envy? I’m not quite sure.
‘Do you really need me?’ I ask. ‘It’s not the sort of thing I usually do.’
‘I know,’ says Gareth, ‘but I’m sure you’d do it better than anyone else.’
Sue leans in. ‘I could have a go if you want?’
‘No, love,’ says Gareth, patting the back of her hand, where my thumb has just been. ‘You’re off duty.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she says.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say, easing myself out of my seat. ‘I’ll go.’
I walk through rows and rows of sleeping passengers, all laid out as if they’re at a contortionists’ convention. Some are curled up in their seats, others have their feet in the air, propped up on the side of the plane. Some appear to have broken their necks, while others are folded up all over their next-door neighbours. Not one of them looks comfortable.
Towards the back of the plane, however, there are a few people who are not asleep. Rigid with irritation, they have their reading lights on as they sigh and whip their way through magazines. The scene in the back row to the left of the plane explains their annoyance. Three blokes are sitting in a line, half covered in a blanket, and even as I walk towards them I can tell they are up to no good. One appears to be bouncing up and down on another, while the third is moving both his hands briskly under a blanket. They are all obviously drunk. There is a collection of empty miniature bottles rattling around on the floor underneath them. They are either oblivious of my approach or don’t seem to care.
‘Excuse me.’ I cough.
The one jigging up and down stops and the blanket wanker grinds to a halt. They all stare at me.
‘Yes?’ giggles the jigger.
‘If you don’t stop what you are doing right away,’ I whisper, ‘we will put the plane down and have you arrested in whichever country we are flying over at the moment.’ All three of them snigger. ‘Which by my calculations right now would be Saudi Arabia.’ I have no idea exactly where we are, but Saudi is the most frighteningly exotic country I can think of. They all continue to smile at me. ‘Where they cut hands off for theft, stone people for adultery and, if I remember rightly, homosexuality is illegal.’ That got their attention. The smirks slowly shrink off their faces – as I should imagine, does the rest of their anatomy. ‘Think about it, because any more fun and games from you lot and that’s where you’re headed.’
As I turn to walk back up the other end of the plane, feeling slightly pleased with myself, I see Craig careering towards me.
‘You shouldn’t have any more problems with that lot,’ I say, indicating over my shoulder with my thumb.
‘Thanks, that’s great,’ he says, sounding flustered. ‘We were at the end of our tether.’
‘I just gave them a quick lesson in sharia law.’ I smile.
‘Great.’ He’s not really listening, just ushering me ahead of him. ‘We need you up here. You won’t believe what has just happened in first.’
1–2 AM
THERE SEEMS TO be quite a commotion going on in the galley back in club. I can hear raised voices that are trying to talk quietly. All hisses and spits, they sound like a pit of spatting snakes. Sue looks at me anxiously as I arrive. Andy is awake, sitting bolt upright and grinning from ear to ear. Even the colostomy man looks as if he has been stirred from his brandy-induced slumber.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask Craig when he finally slows down long enough for me to talk to him.
‘It’s Belinda,’ he says, trying to look shocked.
‘Yes?’
‘Well . . .’ He pauses dramatically. ‘Loraine’s just caught her sitting on the face of one of the Fun Five boys.’
‘What?’ I say, so stunned by the information that it doesn’t actually register. ‘She was doing what?’
‘She was sitting on the face of the lead singer of Fun Five,’ he says, more slowly, adding more detail, just so that I can get the whole picture. ‘Her skirt was hitched up around her waist, her thighs were either side of his head, and he was—’
‘Yes, thank you,’ I say, putting my hand out in front of me. ‘I get it.’
‘Isn’t it fabulous!’ declares Andy, practically clapping his hands in delight. ‘I don’t know how she thought she would get away with it!’
‘Well, no,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Quite extraordinary.’
‘I heard some Qantas girl did the same thing all the way from Singapore to Sydney,’ announces Rachel, who has also been woken up by the incident. ‘I’m amazed a girl can keep her legs open that long.’ She shrugs.
‘Anyway,’ I say, ‘what has all this got to do with me?’
‘Well,’ says Craig, ‘she’s claiming that they slipped something into her drink and that you saw it happen as you came through the cabin a while back.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. She says that you saw the boys and her interact and that they were overly friendly and that she was not, and that the only reason she did what she did was because she was drugged.’
‘Oh,’ I say again. ‘Well, that’s not really exactly what I saw . . . I don’t think.’
‘Well,’ says Craig, ‘they are all in there waiting for you.’
‘Who?’
‘Belinda, Loraine, Gareth . . .’
‘And the lead singer?’
‘Him? He’s drinking champagne in first with the band,’ says Craig. ‘Apparently they stopped making sense hours ago.’
‘Right. And where did the incident take place?’
‘In the back, in the corner, in first.’
‘Did the other passengers report them?’
‘No,’ says Craig. ‘Loraine noticed them on her way through to ask the captain what he might like for breakfast.’
‘Right,’ I say, nodding away.
‘Hadn’t you better get in there?’
‘Are you sure they need me?’
‘Yes,’ confirms Andy, giving my leg a push from his seat. ‘And I want every single gory detail.’
The hissing and spitting cease as soon as I enter the galley. Belinda is sitting down on one of the silver food boxes, Gareth and Loraine loom above her. Her smooth, swept-back blonde bun looks a little dishevelled, her navy uniform is creased and her red and white striped scarf is nowhere to be seen. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips plump and her eyes bright. In short, she looks like a girl who has just had a good seeing to.
‘Thank God,’ she says when she sees me, like I’m her knight in shining armour. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Up the back sorting out something,’ I mumble. I don’t quite understand why she is setting so much store by my help.
‘Tell them,’ Belinda announces, leaning back against the galley wall, thrusting her bosom out. The top three buttons on her white shirt are undone. ‘Tell them what you saw.’
‘Um,’ I say, looking at both Gareth and Loraine who have turned to me expecting some sort of explanation. ‘Well, what do you want me to say?’
‘That you saw what they were doing. That you saw them slip something in my drink. That I would not have done what I did otherwise.’
‘So you do admit it, then?’ asks Gareth.
‘It wasn’t as bad as Loraine makes out,’ she says.
‘Oh please,’ says Loraine. ‘You were right on top of him. The poor bloke could hardly breathe.’
‘Poor bloke?’ hisses Belinda. ‘He spiked my drink!’
‘When did he do that exactly?’ asks Gareth. ‘As you were serving him? I don’t quite understand.’
‘He asked me to join him and then he did it,’ she says. ‘You saw them, didn’t you?’
She is looking at me again. I’m not really sure what to do. I don’t really want to accuse her of lying, but then, sitting on a passen
ger’s face while supposedly on duty is a serious offence. If only she had waited another couple of hours or so we would all probably be congratulating her on her splendid celebrity conquest. But somehow, in the back of first class, it doesn’t seem right.
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I don’t remember seeing anything that much. I remember seeing the boys behaving badly because I discussed it with you, didn’t I?’ I look at Gareth, who nods in agreement. ‘And you.’ I look at Loraine. ‘But other than that, all I saw were some leery boys and you coping with them quite well, if I may say so.’
‘So no drugs, then?’ asks Gareth.
‘Not that I could see.’
‘You shit!’ Belinda spits.
‘Sorry?’ I say, somewhat taken aback.
‘If you hadn’t been so bloody busy looking up my skirt or copping a feel of my tits as you walked past, you might have noticed them spiking my drink.’
‘I didn’t feel your breasts,’ I say, my heart beginning to race. ‘I couldn’t be less interested in your breasts. You rubbed them up against me as I walked past.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she says. ‘As if.’
‘Please yourself,’ I reply.
‘You sad old pervert.’
‘That’s enough!’ says Gareth, raising his voice. ‘You’re in enough trouble as it is without accusing other people of things they patently haven’t done. You came on this plane with a bit of a reputation, my young lady, and I’m afraid you have now added to it, and ended your career at the same time. I shall be reporting you when we land, and you won’t be flying with us or any other airline again.’
‘Picture me giving a shit,’ says Belinda, her chin raised in defiance. ‘They spiked my drink.’
‘That’s your story, love,’ says Gareth, sounding deeply patronizing. ‘But you’re forgetting that I’ve been doing this for nearly twenty years and there is nothing I haven’t seen before.’
‘I’m a victim!’ she yells.
‘No,’ says Gareth, as if he is talking to a small child, ‘you’re a little slut. And you are now officially off duty and you’re to sit in here for the rest of the flight. Any trouble, and I’ll have you arrested.’
‘Wanker,’ she says as he leaves the galley. ‘And you’re just as bad,’ she adds as I follow him.
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