Chapter 11
Somewhere along the corridor a very angry person is banging on a hotel room door.
The noise is splitting my head in two like a jackhammer on concrete.
I pull the covers up and over my head to mute the sound.
It doesn’t work but I find extra comfort in the darkness.
My eyes are stinging. I can tell they’re puffy from crying.
If only I could remember, a) crying, b) getting back to the hotel.
Whoever is banging isn’t giving up. If I move, I’m likely to vomit.
I lay for a minute fearing everything I did last night, whilst equally never wanting to know to avoid the shame and embarrassment.
‘Callum, open the door.’ The banging intensifies.
From the haze that hangs over my eyes and the fog that’s settled in my brain, it takes me a moment to comprehend the banging is on my door and I am, in fact, the person being summoned.
Blood rushes to my face. I put one foot on the floor to see if I can keep my balance and stop the room from spinning.
It doesn’t work, I feel like I’m riding the Waltzers.
My stomach’s empty but needs to be sick.
I pick up the bathrobe from the floor and pull it over me.
I’ve no idea how it got on the floor from its peg in the bathroom.
There’s no sign of a tramp stamp on my wrists to signal where I’ve been.
The room seems even more depressing in the dark.
It matches my hangover. I’m still pissed.
If I knew a vet, I’d call them to come and put me out of the misery of both my mental and physical state.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror but don’t recognise the reflection.
The banging, both in my head and on the door, intensifies.
‘Open this door now.’ The unmistakable husky voice of Ivy Walsh. Bollocks.
I fiddle with the door chain that I’ve managed to secure in my drunk state. My shaking hands and my slight double vision make the task seem like a nuclear equation. I crack the door open slightly to try and hide my state. Ivy charges into my room wearing her uniform and trademark brown lipstick.
‘Get dressed,’ Ivy barks at me.
My brain can’t process what’s happening. Unable to string a sentence together, I remain mute. Ivy reads the confusion on my face.
‘You should’ve checked out twenty minutes ago. Brush your teeth and put your uniform on.’
The combination of a hangover, anxiety, and the memory of Liam with his arms around his boyfriend cause my eyes to melt. Why does the brain let me remember that hurt and nothing else. The embarrassment I know I’m going to face when the other crew see me looking like this fills me with more dread.
‘No time for tears. I said brush your teeth.’
Ivy grips my shoulders and pushes me into the bathroom.
I do as I’m told and squirt toothpaste on my brush and begin to scrub, hoping it will erase the smell of whatever concoction I drank last night.
The taste of mint makes me gag. I swill my mouth and spit into the sink and start trying to put a thought process together to put my uniform on.
Ivy’s serious tones travel through from the bedroom.
She’s on the phone. Probably to the office to get them to meet the aircraft on arrival and banish my arse from ever stepping on board an aircraft again.
I’ve managed to put my shirt and trousers on.
The tie is proving more of a struggle. I take another glimpse in the mirror; I look exactly how I feel. Broken.
Back in the bedroom Ivy has packed my case; it’s zipped up and waiting to go by the door.
‘I’ve phoned downstairs and told the crew to go ahead and make a start on the pre-flight checks, we’ll get a taxi to the airport. All they know is that you’re not well. I don’t think that’s a million miles from the truth, is it?’
I don’t say a word, but a tear falls as if to say yes, Ivy, I am a mess.
Ivy points at the bed, summoning me to sit down.
I brace myself ready for the lecture of how this will be my last ever flight.
It doesn’t come. She kneels in front of me and puts my socks on for me, followed by my shoes.
The left first then the right. Nothing is said.
The only emotion on display are my tears of sadness that continue to fall.
My voice has disappeared along with my self-respect. My head lowered in shame.
‘You’re to get onboard and sit down, you’re not working this flight home. Understood?’ Ivy’s voice is soft.
I nod to show I’m listening. I understand I won't ever work a flight again.
‘I’m so sorry.’
I mean it. I’m sorry for everything. For not being a better person, for putting Ivy in this position.
I’m sorry for all the men I’ve slept with in the last few months.
I’m sorry for all the times I’ve woken up and not remembered what I’ve done, but most of all I’m sorry for how bad I must have been to drive Liam away. I’m sorry I couldn’t make him love me.
‘Enough of that. You’ve got a bad stomach; you’ve been up all night and all morning.
You’ve slept through your alarm.’ Ivy looks me in the eyes.
She’s not scolding me, she’s guiding me.
She’s looking at me like a mother looks at a child who’s fallen over and grazed their knee.
‘You’re alright, Callum. You’re going to be alright. ’
Ivy reaches up and fixes the knot on my tie. Her hands catch my cheeks; their warmth surprises me.
I don’t say anything. I let Ivy put her hand on mine and pull me up and shepherd me out the hotel room.
She links my arm and pulls me in tight. She’s keeping me upright.
We walk to the lift, my head on her shoulder, my heart in my tears.
We ride to the ground floor in silence, then walk through the hotel lobby and out into the street.
Like the senior she is, she takes charge flagging down a taxi and making sure both our trolley bags are securely in the boot.
We ride through downtown Manhattan, watching the tall buildings and the craziness of the New York city streets rush by.
I don’t appreciate this city. I appreciate this, Ivy Walsh, her kindness.
She offers me a mint, I take it. I don’t need her to tell me my breath is 90% proof.
The taxi takes an hour to get to the airport, Ivy pays, insisting she’ll claim it back from the airline.
We must be late as Ivy doesn’t even stop for a cigarette before entering the terminal.
She ushers me through passport control and to the gate, down the airbridge onto the aircraft where she checks the passenger manifest for an empty seat.
She sits me in 1A, I’m guessing less for the comfort of the premium cabin and more so she can keep an eye on me.
She orders the other crew to leave me alone.
Even Jason keeps his comments to himself.
I take off my tie, lanyard and jacket and lie with a blanket over me.
I manage some soup from the premium meals, the first thing I’ve eaten since the bread roll in the galley yesterday.
I hope to Madonna that Muscles isn’t on this flight home to see me looking like this.
It’s soon dark outside, the sky beautifully black, the stars shining out.
I say hello to my gran. She’s always the brightest star in the sky.
I hope she didn’t see what I did last night.
She wouldn’t judge me, she’d say, Oh Callum, come on.
Pull your socks up, chin up, shoulders back.
Then she’d ruffle my hair and kiss me on the cheek and put a pound in my hand for some sweets. She did that until I was twenty-four.
Ivy dims the cabin lights and turns the heating up; a trick crew use to make the passengers fall sleep as soon as the wheels go up for the flight home across the Atlantic.
I recline my seat, close my eyes, and let the hum of the engines soothe me.
The movement of the aircraft in light turbulence gently rocks me in and out of sleep.
I’m calm. I’m numb. My mind’s empty. I want the flight to last forever.
Ivy wakes me after the passengers have disembarked.
I put my tie and jacket back on and follow the crew off the aircraft, through the airport and back into the crew room.
Danielle squeezes my arm and asks if I feel better.
I smile and say I do. I don’t. Jason makes a remark about me being workshy.
Chantelle must have grown in confidence on the way home as she turns and tells him to shut up. Ivy looks at her and smiles.
In the crew room, Ivy sends me to wait in the tiny office which has two chairs and no room to swing a gerbil.
It’s normally used to quiz crew who can’t answer their briefing questions.
No crew member leaves this room smiling.
Nick and Dave poke their heads around the door and tell me they’re going and to call them if I need anything.
I thank them. They walk off hand in hand to continue their romance.
I hear Soumia’s crew enter the room and quickly count the flight takings before they leave one by one for the staff bus back to the car park.
Soumia and Ivy are talking. I can’t hear what they’re saying despite the walls being thinner than an economy blanket.
I pull down on my sleeves then spin the silver ring I wear on my index finger round repeatedly.
The talking stops and the door opens. I jump up.
Soumia enters and puts her arms around me. I fall into her.
Soumia whispers into my ear. ‘You idiot.’
I cry again. Not silently this time. Big sobs.
‘Where did you go?’ Soumia continues to hug me tight.
‘I don’t know,’ I say between gasps for air. I can taste my snot.
‘You’ve got to stop this babe, it’s not good for you.’
‘I know. I...’ I think of the words and let the honesty spill out. ‘I can’t cope. I love him.’
‘I know you do babe. I know you do. Shhhhh, come on.’
‘Make it stop hurting.’ I beg between sobs, my shoulders violently moving up and down.
Soumia pulls back and holds my arms by my side. ‘It will babe, I promise you. One day you’ll wonder who the hell Liam is.’
I look away from Soumia. I hate that his name was once used to describe my life partner but is now used to label someone who left me without looking back.
I put my hands up to my face to cover the snot which is started to bubble under my nose.
Soumia pulls out a packet of tissues out the top of her trolley bag and hands one to me.
‘I saw him,’ I tell her.
‘In New York?’
‘No, on Facebook.’
‘I told you not to look him up, it doesn’t do you any good.’
‘I didn’t. He was tagged in Alex’s picture. He doesn’t think about me at all.’
Soumia detonates a truth bomb. ‘He didn’t think of you when you were together, babe.’
‘His new fella’s so slim.’ I release the tears again.
‘Stop torturing yourself. You could have a six-pack and he’d still shag about. It’s who he is. Deep breath. In, out. In, out.’
I copy Soumia’s breathing. I ignore the comment about infidelity. I refuse to believe the whole six years was a lie. In, out. In, out. My hands steady. My thoughts shift back to the crew room.
‘Do all the crew know what I’ve done?’
‘No, babe. They all think you’ve been poorly. Ivy called crewing and said you had a stomach bug and to put you down as sick for the next five days.’
‘Is she still here?’
‘No, she left.’ Soumia makes her way back into the main crew room, I trail behind.
‘I need to thank her.’ I wipe my nose.
‘You do.’ Soumia turns the lights off.
‘She dressed me.’
‘What?’
‘She dressed me. I’m so ashamed.’ I bite my bottom lip to steady it as I crawl into my jacket, pulling it over my blazer. ‘I didn’t get your chocolates.’
Soumia extends the handle on her crew case and takes my hand. ‘Don’t worry about that. Let’s get you home, then we’re deleting those apps.’