Chapter 5
Though I don’t feel like it, I dance into the front room, gowned and with a towel round my head, Wigfield style, to make Soumia laugh. My toned hairy legs sticking out the robe I’d stolen from a hotel.
‘You look a right dick.’ Soumia smirks. Not the full laughter I was hoping for, but it lifts the mood from yesterday.
I spot a brew on the coffee table surrounded by post-it notes in various colours.
A pink one instructs the pre-flight check of an oxygen bottle: at least ? full, carry strap attached, mask connected to high-flow, spare mask available.
A green one indicates the drill to follow in a decompression: grab mask, sit down, hold on.
‘Have you got time to test me before you go to work?’ Soumia’s already handing me a pile of prompt cards, each one asking a question about an emergency procedure.
‘Sure.’ I take my tea and sit down in my usual spot on the opposite end of the sofa, curl my legs underneath me, and knock back the two paracetamols that Soumia has put next to my mug.
‘It’s not going in; I’ve been studying all night,’ she says.
‘You already know it. The questions are multiple choice anyway, you’ll be fine.’
‘I need this promotion. I can’t bear to do another flight being undermined by that old boot.’
‘She’s not that bad.’
‘Easy to say when she likes you.’
Soumia’s right. I am the old boot’s favourite.
Ivy Walsh is the original dragon-wagon. Pushing a cart and serving passengers since well before the Wright brothers took to the skies, she has a tight black perm that is reminiscent of a Brillo pad and is never without a menthol cigarette in her hand.
Onboard she gets through an eight-hour flight by breathing in the lingering nicotine from her uniform.
‘Just don’t let her get to you.’ Again, easy for me to say.
The problem about Tiny World Airlines is that it only has two rickety old aircraft, both held together with silver tape and the grace of God. Having less than fifty crew means you can’t avoid anyone.
‘On the last flight she made me serve the whole of premium on my own while she went into the flight deck and watched Eastenders on her phone. The flight crew didn’t even say anything, they were terrified she’d curse them.
’ Soumia gives me a telling look, and I know immediately what’s coming next.
‘Will you do a flight for me next week? I’ve already checked the roster and you’re on a Boston; I’m on a Hamilton. It’ll be a straightforward swap.’
‘Then why bother swapping?’ I know exactly why.
‘Ivy’s the senior on it.’
‘Hmm, it’ll cost you.’
‘I already let you live here for next to nothing.’
Soumia’s right. She could charge double the ￡400 a month she charges me, but she’d rather live with a friend than a stranger.
I thought all my Christmases had come at once when Soumia invited me to move in.
A beautiful garden fronted Victorian terrace with a sky-blue door which welcomes and protects in equal measures.
Built to house the mill workers during the industrial revolution, the smog which once hung over the streets has been replaced with bright flowers from hanging baskets on every lamppost. Their addition to the suburb has helped house prices to rocket.
Soumia continues her plea. ‘Toast in bed every day for a week. I’ll even make you crumpets.’
‘I hate them.’
‘Tea and toast then, but only if you help me pass the exam too.’ Soumia throws a post-it note on the table.
‘Deal.’
We mock shake on it.
The truth is, Soumia deserves the promotion.
She’s been flying longer than most of the crew at Tiny World put together, we both have.
The difference is, I don’t want it. I’m happy to blend in, go along with the crowd.
Leave me down the back of the aircraft to cook the meals, set up the carts and check the toilets.
I can do that without thinking, autopilot on.
I lost my ability to make decisions when Liam left, at least sensible ones.
I wouldn’t allow myself to be in charge of a tv remote, never mind a pressurised cabin filled with two hundred and twenty passengers.
I continue to quiz Soumia. ‘In an emergency what is the alert call the captain will give the cabin crew?’ It’s a basic question.
‘Will the senior cabin crew member report to the flight deck immediately.’ Soumia knows her stuff inside out.
‘Why haven’t you gone for it?’
I look away. ‘I couldn’t be bothered.’
‘It’s more than that though, isn’t it?’
‘Leave it, babe.’ I’m in no mood for deep conversation.
‘You can’t keep doing this.’ Soumia turns to me, stands up and takes the one step needed to reach me on the other side of the sofa, kisses me softly on the top of my head, then turns to leave the room.
‘Doing what?’ I call after her.
‘Fucking the pain away.’
I finish my brew and head upstairs to get ready for my flight.
I close the bathroom door, turn on the shower, strip off, and step under the water.
Soumia has expertly renovated the house by mimicking décor she’s viewed on Rightmove, spending hours spying into people’s homes courtesy of estate agent’s pictures.
The bathroom has been done tastefully with white tiles on both the floor and walls; the fixtures and fittings are black to contrast. The shower head is a great big circle resembling a bin lid that is suspended from the ceiling.
The water rains out of it, cleansing me of my sins from last night.
The shower is where I do my thinking. If Liam stayed, I wouldn’t go out and get pissed.
I wouldn’t let older men degrade me and spit in my face.
Jesus, did I use protection with Derek? Bollocks.
I would have been happy just sleeping with Liam for the rest of my life.
Six years and I didn’t so much as kiss anyone else.
Why didn’t he tell me how he was feeling?
What’s he doing now? No, I don’t want to know.
I hope he’s happy, but I hope he knows what he did.
I hope he feels some guilt. Probably not.
I bet he set me up with Olly. I bet he was laughing at me from around the corner waiting to see how long I’d stick around for.
Oh fuck. Shampoo in my eye. I reach for a towel and press it tightly against me to take the sting away.