Chapter 8
CHAPTER
‘Are you all right, love?’
The voice is vaguely familiar. Friendly. But if I’m half-asleep in my bedroom with my pillow, why is the man with the cloud of black hair here? Didn’t he help me put the tag on my bag at the—
When I snap upright, the man takes a step back like he did when I jumped in Sydney.
Only, given his size and the fact he’s in the aisle of the plane, he has nowhere to go.
There are passengers behind him and passengers in front.
My vision is foggy. Did I pass out? Go to sleep?
Maybe both. My jaw aches. The pain in my left temple has migrated to my right.
The demons I haven’t seen since I last flew haven’t moved out after all.
With matches, fire starters, kindling, logs and accelerant, they’ve been lying in wait.
Furnace, check. Pitchforks, check. Marching boots, check.
The man is still waiting. ‘Want me to get your hand luggage down?’
A smartly dressed middle-aged man waits impatiently for our one-way conversation to end. The camouflaged bird-watching woman who was sitting in Seat 18B is metres ahead in the aisle.
‘I have it here.’ My voice is back. ‘But thank you.’ I extend my leg, grasp the strap of my backpack with my foot and drag it towards me.
I get a hand to it, but when I straighten again, a wave of nausea hits.
Afraid of throwing up, I tip back my head and close my eyes.
There’s movement to my right as the tall man lifts an armrest and sits next to me.
The plane is still rumbling, but not as much as it was.
I missed the landing. Would Rani say that’s a good thing?
The pain in my head is sharp, my neck is stiff.
I lift a hand and rub. My hair has come loose.
‘Reckon we’ll get a clear run in a minute or two,’ the man says. ‘You got someone waiting to meet you?’
‘I’ll get a taxi to my hotel.’ I open my eyes. Swallow hard. Swallow again. ‘Thank you for waking me up.’
‘No worries.’
The man doesn’t ask questions, but when the crowd clears, he makes his way back to the aisle and when I can’t push myself up from the seat because my legs are shaky and my head pounds and I feel sick, he links an arm through mine and lifts.
‘There you go.’
‘I’m a bit woozy.’
He puts the back of his hand on my forehead. ‘Maybe you’re coming down with something. Rosie and me always know when our little Bella is sick—if she gets a fever, she goes pink and we can’t see her freckles. You’re the other way around, aren’t you? You’ve got no colour and your freckles pop out.’
‘How old is Bella?’
‘Ten in November.’ He smiles proudly.
‘She has a lovely name.’
‘I’m Terry, by the way.’
‘Felicity. Flick.’
He looks to the front of the plane, where the flight attendants wait for the stragglers. ‘Should I ask them to get you a medic?’
I bend my knees a couple of times, bounce carefully. ‘I’m okay, really. I just need fresh air.’
‘You got luggage in the hold? The taxi stand is right outside the baggage claim.’
I hold onto the seats as we walk to the front of the plane, but I must look shaky, because when we reach the end of the aisle, Terry takes my backpack and links his arm through mine.
Even if my legs went from under me, I’m confident Terry could hold me up, but we walk slowly anyway.
I still feel sick, but my head isn’t as painful as it was.
People catch up and bustle past. Children ride on brightly coloured bags, pulled along by their parents. An airport buggy beeps as it goes past.
‘We’re carousel three,’ Terry says. ‘It won’t be as busy down there.’
Other people would have taken their bags off the carousel already. Other people who didn’t pass out on the plane. Other people who—
I don’t expect to see Thorsen standing on the far side of the carousel, but as his eyes are fixed on me and not the open book in his hand, I suspect he’s been waiting for me to appear. Was he sitting up the front of my plane, or maybe down the back and he overtook me?
He stores the book in his sleek, black carry-on bag before extending the handle and wheeling it next to him.
Did he have a meeting, or does he always dress up for the airport?
His suit is navy and his collared shirt is blue.
He has a tie in his hand and he puts it in the pocket of his jacket.
It’s a few weeks since I’ve seen him and his hair is longer than it was.
Boyish, yet not. As if he reads my mind, as if hair on his face might be a weakness, he pushes it back.
‘Felicity.’
Still clinging to Terry like a limpet, I focus on Thorsen’s hand. ‘How is your finger?’
He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question and that would make sense because he’s probably thinking about other things—me. ‘What happened?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘You’re unwell.’ His chestnut eyes are impossible to read. ‘I’ll take you to the hotel.’
I must stiffen, because Terry, who’s been good-naturedly holding me up for the past fifteen minutes, tightens his grip on my arm. ‘Flick isn’t leaving with you if she doesn’t want to.’
‘We’re staying at the same hotel.’ My smile is weak but grateful. ‘We’ll be working together. Thank you, though.’
‘You sure about this guy? You being sick and all, maybe you should come home with me so Rosie can take a look at you.’
Hiding a frown, Thorsen pulls out a card. ‘Sebastien Thorsen. Seb.’
Terry drops my backpack at his feet but keeps hold of my arm as he reads the card. His brows lift so high they disappear into his hair. ‘That’s a lot of letters and titles. What do you do?’
A slight hesitation. ‘I’m an aeronautical engineer.’
‘I’m a footy coach.’ Terry points to a bench near the doors. ‘How about I sit Flick down over there?’
If he doesn’t sit me down, will I tumble to the carousel and go around and around until I fall off? I close my eyes and when I open them again, the men are exchanging glances over my head. Thorsen, taut like a spring, takes my other arm and he and Terry walk me to a bench and sit either side.
‘Felicity.’ Thorsen’s frown deepens. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘A bit wobbly on the flight,’ Terry answers for me. ‘Maybe I should take her home to Rosie. She’s not a nurse but she’s a carer in a nursing home and she’s seen it all.’
Thorsen grasps my hand; his thumb goes to my wrist. ‘Her pulse is fast.’
I take three deep breaths. Three more. ‘I haven’t eaten.’
Terry takes my other hand. ‘She’s cold as ice.’
‘Felicity?’ Thorsen again. ‘You’re in shock.’
‘No.’
‘Tell me what’s going on.’
‘I did.’
‘Diabetes? A virus?’
‘No.’
‘Good questions.’ Terry is impressed. ‘Are you a medic as well as the other thing you said?’
I’m at risk of passing out again, but I don’t want to worry Terry any more than he’s already worried. ‘Captain Thorsen is in the air force.’
‘Armed services. Good on you, Seb.’
Thorsen’s focus is on me. ‘Is it hypotension?’
‘I left Denman early this morning and had a full day of travel. I didn’t have lunch.
’ The words make sense, so why does he stare at me so critically?
I’d go to the bathroom and slap colour into my cheeks if I thought I could get there and back on my own.
I lean forward a little, planting my feet as if I’m all set to stand.
‘Would you mind getting my bag from the carousel, Terry? It’s black with a blue and white striped tag.
Then you should go home to Rosie and Bella. They’ll be waiting.’
Another silent exchange between the men.
‘I saw you reading a book, Seb,’ Terry says. ‘My girl Bella is a reader. She got a reading award at school assembly just last week. That’s how good she is.’
‘You must be proud of her.’
‘You’ve got that right. What do you like to read?’
Are they talking like this so I can take more deep breaths? ‘Please don’t—’
‘Mostly fiction.’
‘Bella only likes stories too, not the fact books my nephew reads, like The Guinness Book of Records.’ He squeezes my arm. ‘What do you like to read, Flick?’
‘Are you doing this to distract me?’
Terry laughs. ‘Reckon we are.’
‘I read books with footnotes. Non-fiction.’
‘Reading is reading,’ Terry says. ‘I reckon your mum and dad would be proud of you too.’
Thorsen checks my pulse again.
‘How’s she going?’ Terry asks.
‘Better than before.’
‘You’ll make sure she gets to her hotel in the city, won’t you, Seb?’
‘I’ll take care of her.’
Light-headed or not, I’d like to tell Thorsen to piss off, but that would upset Terry.
‘Felicity.’ Thorsen’s knee touches mine and I inch away. His face is still impossible to read. Antipathy? Concern? Annoyance? None of those things are encouraging.
He looks at his watch. ‘Your heart rate is up.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Are you still nauseous?’
‘I didn’t say that I was.’
‘You didn’t have to.’
He not only knows my heart rate, he’s inside my head and knows how I’m feeling? I could tell the truth: I’m afraid of flying and I had a panic attack. He might raise questions about my suitability to go to Morrison Island. He might also raise questions about my sanity. He’ll judge me.
I pull my hand free. ‘I don’t need anyone to care for me.’
Terry looks from Thorsen to me. ‘You sure I’m good to go?’
‘I won’t leave her,’ Thorsen says.
As Thorsen insists I sit in the front seat of the taxi while he sits in the back, there’s no need for conversation.
The air conditioning is cool, and I can close my eyes without judgement, so by the time we reach the hotel, I feel much better and can get out of the taxi all on my own.
Thorsen pays the driver and takes charge of the bags, so I reach the hotel reception desk first and check in.
He’s still at the desk when, key card in hand, I put my backpack over my shoulder and pick up my duffel bag.
‘Thank you for waiting at the airport and for sorting out the taxi. Tonight’s orientation session is for people who haven’t been to Morrison Island before. You won’t be there, will you?’
A stiff smile. ‘No.’
‘I’ll see you around, then.’
‘You’ll have a medical on Friday.’
‘You have no control over that, or my training or the work I’ll be doing with Professor Johnson.’
‘The UN funds that work.’
‘I’ll do my job, so there’ll be nothing to worry about.’
‘Some of the observation huts are remote. You’d be on your own.’
‘That doesn’t concern me.’
He opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Says, ‘Maybe it should.’
‘Stop it.’
He frowns. ‘What?’
I’m wobbly on my feet, my head aches, the receptionist is tapping sparkling pink nails on a clipboard. But I lift my chin. ‘Stop underestimating me.’
‘Mr Thorsen …’ The receptionist sends Thorsen a thousand-watt smile as she holds out a pen. As Thorsen takes it, I nod a pointed goodbye before crossing the floor to the lifts.