Chapter 16
CHAPTER
I’m sitting on the bed in my cabin and Sebastien is kneeling on the floor next to me.
His boxer shorts are black and so is the T-shirt that sticks to his skin.
He pushes back his hair and rubs it with a towel.
I’m wearing my pale blue pyjama top with all the buttons done up.
Underpants. Pyjama bottoms. His jumper. Did I dress myself or did he dress me?
Who dried my hair after I got out of the shower?
I press a knuckle against my temple. ‘Did I disturb you?’
‘I was in the shower.’
‘Did I have one?’ My voice goes up and down. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Yes, and then you fell asleep.’
‘This is my second night, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ He unfurls my fist, holds my hand in his. ‘How is your head?’
Memories push through. I was sitting on the bed with a towel wrapped around my shoulders. He bossed me around. Was that when he was dressing me? He lay me down, pulled the covers up. He rubbed my back. He told me to go to sleep.
‘Did I have a panic attack?’
‘Not for long. How do you feel?’
‘Better than before.’
‘You talk about demons.’
‘They have a fire, a furnace.’
He mutters under his breath. Says, ‘Dr Leeton—’
‘Migraine medications make me feel sick. And I’ve always been afraid that if I take prescription drugs like my mother, let alone the recreational drugs my father took, it might lead to other drugs, and I’ll get addicted to them because maybe it’s a genetic thing and—’
He strokes my hand. ‘I understand.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Almost one.’
‘I should go back to sleep, shouldn’t I?’
The bed dips as he sits next to me. He puts a hand against the side of my head and presses gently. ‘This side?’
‘Both. They try to get out of my head through the openings. It gets painful and then I throw up.’
He opens his mouth, shuts it again. And then, in the way he did last night, he swings his legs onto the bed so he’s sitting by my side. ‘When did these headaches start?’
‘I was fifteen.’
He processes that. ‘After your brother died.’
‘It’s related.’
He nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t get it.
‘When I was seventeen, I was assigned a psychologist. Mandy said what happened to Matt was related to the headaches. I had more triggers back then.’
‘Your brother’s accident. Was there a fire?’
‘As his plane came in to land.’
‘Who told you this?’
‘No one told me.’
He puts his leg firmly against mine. ‘You were there.’ A statement. He understands.
‘Do you want me to tell you what happened?’
He takes my hand. ‘If it would be helpful to you.’
‘The plane was on fire and …’ In my head, everything is clear, but I’m not sure how much he’ll understand, because the words I whisper are all jumbled up.
I was running up and down the airport fence like a dog on a chain when the cabin lit up and I saw Matt in the window.
My hands wouldn’t do what I wanted but I got my phone from my pocket and I pressed the keys.
00#. 0##. Finally, 000. The woman who answered asked a lot of questions and I answered every one of them because I knew where Matt was and I knew what had happened.
I told her about the flames, the orange and the red and the yellow and even the blue and the silver.
I told her she had to get my brother out because he was pressed against the window like I was pressed against the fence and there was no way he could get out by himself.
And then, as the woman told me I was doing well and as I heard the sirens, I told her the cabin was on fire and I couldn’t see Matt any more.
I told her my brother was dead.
The next time I wake, I’m on my side, facing Sebastien. He’s half-sitting and half-lying on the pillows and even through the shadows I make out a crease stretching from his temple to his cheek. What did he press up against to make a mark like that?
The hairs on his forearm are soft. I smooth them and he stirs.
‘Sebastien?’ I whisper.
‘Lisse …’ He talks through a yawn.
‘Why don’t you lie down?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Do you miss being a pilot? I think you do.’
‘Don’t talk of planes.’
‘For my sake or yours?’
He yawns again. ‘Both.’
‘Sorry I woke you.’
He slides slightly further down the bed, pulls his hands free of my hold and puts hair behind my ear. He gently strokes my temple with a finger. ‘Go back to sleep, Lisse.’
‘That name is like an endearment.’
He thinks about what I’ve said. Then, ‘Sov godt. Sleep well.’
I’m of no use to the seasick passengers and crew on the lower decks, but volunteering to help in the kitchen for the past three days allows members of the crew who are well to look after those who are not.
Jerry is twenty-five, only three years younger than me, but he has the energy and enthusiasm of a teenager on a long summer break.
He’s not meant to be working on board either, but his skills and training are put to good use.
I hand him a bowl of chopped carrots and onions. ‘I’ll do the potatoes next.’
‘You can use the food processor for veggies.’
‘I’d have to interrupt you to ask operational questions.’ I tap a knife against a chopping board. ‘Doing it by hand is good for fine motor skills.’
‘You and Seb went to bed even earlier than usual last night.’ He’s smiling as he walks to the coffee machine. ‘How was it?’
Jerry’s words should sound odd. And they do. But there’s been no hiding my lack of appetite and pasty face. Or the oh-so-serious man who’s walked me downstairs.
‘I slept better than I did the first two nights.’ After emptying a bag of potatoes into a colander, I carry them to the sink. ‘I’m guessing everybody knows I have a problem.’
‘They don’t judge.’ He shouts over the whirr of the milk frother. ‘My nan has claustrophobia. Is it like that?’
‘Kind of. I have panic attacks and they trigger migraines.’
‘Why can’t you sleep in the dining room?’
‘Aren’t you aware of module six?’
He turns off the frother ‘What?’
‘Passengers below deck. They covered it in training.’
He laughs. ‘You’re such a swot.’
I grasp the sink as the ship rights itself. ‘Even if Captain Simpson allowed me to sleep up here, he’d insist I have someone with me.’
‘Seb’s in the adjoining room, right? He watches out for you?’
He is in the adjoining room, but that’s not where he’s slept for the past three nights. ‘That’s right.’
‘Top bloke.’
‘He’s accustomed to UN peacekeeping missions. Hopefully I’m no worse than that.’
Besides half-sitting and half-lying down on my bed and offering me his hand, Sebastien has been scrupulously careful not to touch me. Mostly I sleep, but when I wake, the confines of the cabin and the sounds of the engines stir the demons. Pitchforks poised, they wait.
Jerry hands me a hot chocolate. ‘Get your calories up in daylight hours.’
I brace my feet as I drink. ‘Thanks.’
‘I wasn’t having a go at you for being a swot. When you’re not doing food prep and cleaning, you’re sorting linen and putting your hand up for a heap of other things.’
‘Anything above deck, I’m happy to help out.’
When I glance at my notebook, Jerry looks over my shoulder. ‘“Favourite food.” What’s that all about?’
‘I’m writing a list of things to talk about tonight.’
When I show Jerry the entries, he laughs. ‘Is this for a New Idea interview?’
‘If you wanted to encourage someone to engage in conversation, what questions would you ask?’