I ring my house but thankfully there’s no answer so I just leave a message. I tell them I’m in Debbie’s and feel really awful for lying. But the guilt soon passes.
‘Right then,’ Adam says, unbuttoning the front of my shirt. ‘What are our plans for this evening? Are you still supposed to be off sick from work?’
‘Yep,’ I laugh. ‘I’m sick.’
‘So we can’t go out?’
I shake my head.
‘Okay. What’s plan B? We’d better order some food in. What do you fancy?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Can you swim?’
I nod. I saw the swimming pool on our way in but I don’t have a swimsuit. I tell him this.
‘Who needs a swimsuit?’ he murmurs as his fingers reach the last button on my shirt.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Okay, so what’s the catch? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Let’s face it, the guy’s gorgeous, rich, famous, confident, generous, hard-working and nice. He doesn’t hate me for getting drunk and doesn’t think I’m easy for hopping into bed with him on the second date. But men like that don’t exist, do they? Well, that’s what I thought. Until now.
Adam is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. At this very moment there are no other men left on my planet. They’ve faded into oblivion. The only man standing is Adam Kirrane.
I am utterly hopelessly addictively in love. And I’m almost sure Adam feels the same way. He’s asked me to come out to New York (again) so a future together looks highly likely. In fact, right now it seems to stretch ahead of us like an airport runway on a clear night. No air traffic controllers are telling us we can’t take off. I’m just waiting for clearance.
‘You expect too much,’ my mother always said to me.
‘Your standards are way too high,’ my sister used to agree.
‘There are plenty of nice guys out there. You just don’t notice them,’ my friends would advise.
Well I held out. Against all the odds. I held out. I refused to settle. And look what happened. Nobody, and I really mean nobody could be as happy as I am now.
I’ve just emerged from my bed now after a much needed snooze. For the last forty-eight hours I’ve hardly slept a wink but Adam has just gone back to the States and I’m back in my parents’ house.
When I dragged myself through the front door this morning I got an earful from my mum. She was yelling at me for treating her house like a hotel, blah de blah de blah.
God when that woman gets going she’s pretty unbearable.
‘You’ll have to get out,’ she screamed at me as I slunk up the stairs.
Now, how many times have I heard that before?
I don’t take much notice any more really. I’ve been threatened with eviction since I was about eighteen. Actually long before that, come to think of it. As a child I was being threatened with the orphanage almost on a daily basis.
‘You’re nearly twenty-eight,’ is the last thing I hear as I close my bedroom door behind me. Jesus, I think, what the hell’s got into her now?
My mother is always reminding me that she got married at twenty-two. I’m not sure why she keeps telling me this as though it’s some kind of huge achievement. I mean back then everyone got married young. Careers for women weren’t really an option and everyone got married by twenty-five. Now everyone waits till they’re around thirty.
I myself don’t see the point in marrying the nearest man available when I hit thirty. I mean, I think I would be better off single than with the wrong person. I’m strong.
At least, I think I’m strong anyway.
My mother always called me self-destructive as a child. But as I was bullied by my classmates in school and my sister at home, I completely lacked confidence, and used to walk around with my head down most of the time. I thought if I kept my head down, people wouldn’t see me and just forget I was there. It didn’t work. I was basically a punch bag for a certain school bully called Celeste who’d threaten to do my head in if I didn’t steal cigarettes from my mother’s bag to give to her. Celeste, the pest, I really hated her. She made life hell for me. Then to top it all, my mother would hit me when she realised her cigarettes were missing. They say that your school days are the happiest days of your life. Not for me they weren’t. On my last day of school I remember the sun shone very brightly and the birds seemed to be singing a bit more cheerfully than usual. I walked out of the building and didn’t look back. Not once.
That was the first day of the rest of my life. I literally ran home from school, lit a big fire in the back garden, threw my petrol-coloured uniform on it and watched it go up in flames. It was the same uniform Ruth had worn before me. She had wanted to burn it the year she left, but Mum warned her if she did, she’d have to work all summer to get the money to buy me a new one. So that was the end of that.
I’m glad I was the one to burn the damn thing in the end.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hello again. You haven’t heard from me in a while ’cos I’ve been holed up in my room finishing my damn script. I’m off to Milan later this afternoon, so I’m busy printing out copies of my script before I go. I’m posting them to ten literary agents. Hopefully all ten won’t get back to me at once. How on earth could I choose?
I’m looking forward to my trip to Italy. I mean it’s just a day trip. Over and back. But the flight is long enough to do the service quickly and then sit in an empty seat at the back, looking out at the clouds. I love doing that. There’s something so peaceful about it. Gazing out the plane window, I often pretend to myself that this is heaven up here. I adore flying over the Alps and staring down at the snow-capped mountains. Miles and miles of snow, clear blue skies, and best of all, miles and miles of no people, no houses, no nothing. Just lifeless beauty and possibly one of God’s most extraordinary pieces of art.
The plane is only half-full, which is a nice change. Mostly skiers, a handful of Italian students, a couple of businessmen and a fairly large American family, doing Europe, I suppose.
Luckily I’m working down the back so apart from doing the routine service, I don’t have much else to do. No ‘hellos’ or ‘goodbyes’ from me today thank God.
I’ve brought a couple of magazines to help pass the time once the service is done. However it appears that Lydia, the other air hostess flying with me down the back today, has no intention of letting me relax. She only started flying about two months ago and this is her dream, she tells me. I know how she feels. I used to feel the same way.
‘Have you seen the first officer on this flight?’ she asks, as I pretend to read my magazine. I look up at her. She’s a pretty young thing, wearing far too much foundation and red lipstick. Her dyed jet-black hair frames slightly gaunt features. But I can see how men would find her attractive.
‘No,’ I admit, ‘I haven’t’. And I’ve no wish to. The pilots all look the same to me anyway. But sure why should I care who’s flying the plane? The only man I find attractive at the moment is Adam Kirrane. I don’t blame Lydia for getting excited though. She’s young and new so that’s why she’s so naïve about the pilots. She’ll learn though, I think to myself. Oh God yes, I imagine she’ll learn.
I suddenly remember I’ve a letter in my bag. It was left in my pigeonhole and I’d just stuffed it in my bag. Now, I suppose is as good a time to read it. I fish the crumpled envelope out of my bag.
It’s handwritten. I wonder if it’s from a fan. I know it might sound weird but now and again, we air hostesses get letters from passengers who happen to take a mental note of our name-badges, and write to us care of Dublin Airport. Not that we take much notice of the fan mail. At least I don’t anyway; I’m afraid I can’t vouch for my colleagues. What these passengers don’t realise is that, when we give them that extra big smile, it’s not because we find them extraordinarily attractive. No. It’s just part of our job.
Mind you, I sound like a bit hypocritical, don’t I? After all, I’m dating a passenger myself.
Still, he’s Adam Kirrane the TV star and not some random nut on a flight. But I’d probably never have met him if I hadn’t been on the New York flight that day. It must have been fate.
I open up the envelope and read the note. It’s from my supervisor. She mentions a thank-you letter that was sent into head office about me from a certain Mr Charles Daviston. I’m very pleased that someone has gone to the trouble of writing such a complimentary letter. Passengers often promise to write but then rarely do unless it’s to complain. It’s heart-warming to know there are still genuinely nice people left in the world. This letter has almost made my day. Out of pride I show it to Lydia.
‘Do you get many letters?’ she asks almost accusingly.
‘Well it’s probably my third or fourth,’ I tell her. ‘So no. But it was nice of him to write in, wasn’t it? I mean he didn’t have to.’
‘Are you sure he’s not a relative of yours?’
‘Definitely not,’ I laugh.
She reads the letter. ‘Levins,’ she says frowning. ‘I know that name.’
‘Yes, well, he’s a frequent flyer.’
‘I see,’ she says, fairly dismissively. ‘Anyway I’m going up to the cockpit to see if the lads need anything.’
She disappears. God, she’s a bit of a goer, isn’t she? What on earth does she think the ‘lads’ need for God’s sake? Sure isn’t there a senior hostess in the front galley to make sure the pilots are fed and watered? Honestly these young hosties can be clueless!
A young Italian man interrupts me for a glass of wine. I hand him a quarter bottle with a smile and my compliments. I ask if he’s going home and we have a little chat about his life and I tell him that yes, I love flying, and no, I will not be staying in Milan tonight.
‘Oh. Is a peety.’
‘Yes, indeed, a real pity. Well do enjoy the rest of your flight and if there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask myself or any of the others.’
Oh and nice try, Buddy!
I hear the intercom coming on. The pilot’s announcement. Yippee! I’m dying to know how many feet we are above sea level, what country we’re presently flying over, and when we’ll be landing at Linate Airport. Not.
Oh God, why am I being so giddy? This is ridiculous. Then again, being in love makes you silly, doesn’t it? I’d almost forgotten that feeling.
‘Good afternoon Ladies and Gentleman, this is your Captain, Mike Hanron speaking. I’d like to welcome you all on . . .’
What the f . . . ? I nearly fall of my seat. Am I hearing things? What the hell is Mike Hanron doing on a 737? When did he get off the airbus? And when did he get promoted? Why does nobody ever tell me anything?
I take a deep breath. God, this is unbelievable. How can I face him? No wonder Lydia has been hopping up and down to the cockpit like a bloody yoyo all afternoon. She must be mad into him. Still I don’t blame her. He’s pretty cute.
I can’t believe Mike’s already got his stripes though. He’s so bloody young looking. He can’t be more than thirty-four. Thirty-five max. Jesus all the girls will be after him now. A hunky single co-pilot is rare in this airline as it is, but a good-looking charming captain is practically unheard of.
Thank God, I’m taken now, or else I might make a beeline for him myself. Then again, I probably wouldn’t have the nerve. I still haven’t forgotten the time I met him in Boston wearing my pyjamas and no make-up. Christ that was embarrassing wasn’t it? And I was in such a huff ’cos I’d thought himself and Amy had, you know, got together. Not that that should have bothered me. No. It shouldn’t have had the slightest impact. I wonder why it did? Hmm.
Anyway I’ve got a boyfriend now, so Lydia and all the other girls can fight over Mike. I wouldn’t waste my time chasing him. God no. As if! His head is probably big enough.
I try concentrating on my magazine but can’t. Mike’s voice is still banging on about all the countries we’ve passed over. Now he’s describing the weather blah, blah, blah. He’s got a nice voice though, I’ve got to admit. Funny I never noticed before.
Oh God, she’s back. Lydia, that is. Well that was quick.
‘How are the lads?’ I ask somewhat sarcastically. ‘Still alive I hope?’
Lydia’s face is flying off her. She looks fit to kill someone. Her determined blue eyes are flashing. What’s her problem now? Jesus, they say the best thing about flying is that you get to work with so many different, interesting people. Right now though, I’m thinking it might be kind of nice to work with the same people every day.
‘He said you’re to go up and say hello,’ Lydia leans defiantly against the toilet door. I hope to God she realises somebody has just gone in there ’cos if they open the door suddenly, she’s going to fall in.
‘Who?’ I try my best to look complacent.
‘Mike, as in Mike the captain.’
‘What does he want?’
‘I asked him but he said it was personal.’
She what? She asked him what he wanted with me? God, she’s a bit of a cheeky brat isn’t she? I mean she can’t be more than twenty-one years of age. Children should be seen, not heard and certainly not heard quizzing the captain about his attentions. Well I’m glad Mike put her in her place anyway.
‘I’ll go up in a minute,’ I say, looking back down at my magazine, terrified that my face will give something away. Fuck, this is so annoying. If I don’t go up to the cockpit Mike’ll think I’m exceptionally rude. And if I do go in, I won’t have a clue what to say to him. You see, I still feel kind of awkward around Mike ever since that morning in the hotel.
Ok Katie. Get up. You can do it. Go on. Get it over with. He’s just a guy you work with. He’s just being friendly. Grow up and start acting your age.
‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ I tell Lydia who is staring at the view out the porthole of the back door. At least I’ll get a much better view from the cockpit!
I walk up the aisle and thankfully nobody stops me for anything. Passengers often think if you’re walking around, you’re just dying for something to do. Like getting them another cup of tea or a tissue or something.
I push open the cockpit door and Mike turns around with a friendly smile. I get a shock seeing him in his uniform because I’ve never seen him in it before. He looks unbelievably hot, the crisp white shirt showing off his tan. I wonder if he’s just back from holidays.
The co-pilot is a shy spotty thing who looks like he’s just out of school. God, I’d thought the guards were getting younger looking recently but the pilots seem to be hot on their heels!
‘How are you Katie?’ Mike enquires mildly.
The blood flows to my face. The temperature is rising in the cockpit. I feel like a teenager again. But I like the way he says my name. He has a sexy voice. God, you know, if I weren’t so in love with Adam, I could definitely go for this guy, which is weird. Because I’ve never fancied any of the other airplane drivers.
It’s always the way though, isn’t it? You could go for months – years even – and not meet anyone nice. Then you meet one, and suddenly all these other men come creeping out of the woodwork.
‘Come closer,’ Mike orders and nods out towards the cockpit windows. I move a little forward so that I’m standing very close to Mike now. He smells divine. Armani aftershave. I’d almost bet on it.
The clouds part suddenly and the view that emerges stuns me into complete silence. It’s captivating. The majestic mountains are so still, elegantly draped in blankets of thick, thick snow. Wouldn’t it be so amazing to ski on some of those mountains and have the world to yourself? Then again, the fact that there’s no life up here, makes it so perfect. Skiers would probably only ruin everything.
Mike turns to look at me. ‘Beautiful isn’t it?’
I nod quietly and can’t help thinking how the sky is the exact colour of his eyes. Jesus, I sound mental! I wish Mike wasn’t this good-looking. It’s very distracting. He doesn’t look like a film star in the same way that Adam does but then again he’s
not as intimidating. I could imagine him being great with kids on a beach, building sandcastles and . . .
Right. I should get out of this cockpit this minute before my overworking imagination gets me into trouble.
‘Well I’d better get back out to all those demanding passengers,’ I say.
‘Lydia was saying they’re actually very quiet today,’ Mike sounds surprised.
‘Yes, well . . . oh by the way, congratulations on your promotion. When did you get your stripes?’
Mike’s face breaks into an even wider smile. ‘A while back now.’
‘But when did you come off the A-330?’
‘Oh ages ago. That time we met you in Boston we were just on a training course. I wasn’t flying that time.’
‘Oh right.’ Actually, come to think of it, I do remember him explaining something about a course that night in Boston, but I wasn’t really taking it in. I find all those flying details a bit boring to be honest. Aerosexuality doesn’t do it for me. And anyway I was probably too busy thinking about Adam to take any notice.
‘So gentlemen,’ I add a note of false gaiety to my voice, ‘can I get you anything while I’m up here?’
‘I’m fine,’ Mike smiles. ‘What about you Alan?’
Alan speaks for the first time. ‘I’m fine too.’
‘Well then, I’ll love you and leave you,’ I say breezily. ‘See you in Milan.’
I close the cockpit door and take a deep breath. I then pause to have a chat with Tania and Tara, the two girls working in the front galley. They’re both senior hostesses and a couple of years older than me. And they’re also both engaged so I’m sure they’ve spent most of the flight nattering on about wedding dresses etc. Would-be brides talk about nothing other than weddings. Personally, I’d rather talk about teeth extractions.
Both girls smile at me blankly as I ramble on about nothing in particular.
I try on their rings and make two wishes. One is that my script gets accepted, the other is that Adam and I live happily ever after.
‘You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself,’ Tania says teasingly as she pours me a glass of orange juice. ‘Any men on the scene?’
Mile High Guy Page 18