Chapter 32
I wake having slept like a prisoner on death row.
Putting on my uniform, I’m very much regretting my moment of enthusiasm for the love of flight the night before.
I get ready quietly so I don’t disturb Soumia.
I leave her a little note on the hall table next to the bowl of keys: Gone flying, back for tea.
I considered treating myself with an Uber to the airport, but as I’m awake early, I’ve decided to get the tram.
There’s no slower route to the airport. It takes about ninety minutes with a connection in town, but at a fiver return, it’s the cheapest option.
The tram stop is a ten-minute walk from home.
The route zigzags through identical rows of terraced houses.
I call in at the paper shop for a protein shake.
June is behind the counter, the unchanging face of the community.
As families come and go from these streets, June is the unmoving foundation of them.
Every morning she’s open at five-thirty to deliver the headlines to the locals via a network of paperboys and girls.
She’s come to mine and Soumia’s recuse several times when we’ve ran out of mixers for our duty free.
She wishes me a safe flight as I leave, pulling my trolley bag behind me.
The little bell on the door, which rings to signal the arrival of a new customer, chimes as two school kids rush in for rations to get them through the day.
Despite it being peak time, I’ve managed to bag myself a seat next to a man who I’m guessing, purely from their black briefcase, is a wanker.
Never trust a man with a briefcase or a clipboard, advice my mother gave me.
She didn’t teach me much, but she left me with those words of wisdom, along with, ‘if a man asks to split the bill, run a fucking mile.’
The tram slows as we reach the city centre as the driver tries to avoid the mass of people scurrying to work.
I nod my head in acknowledgement of the Manchester Arena Bombing memorial as we pass through Victoria station, a habit I’ve picked up since reading the messages from loved ones to the victims shortly after the attack.
It’s here I change trams for the connection to the airport.
The tram picks up pace again as it leaves the city centre and heads south towards the runways.
I don’t bother checking the crew list on the app. It’s only a two-hour flight to Madrid, a quick turn around and then home. I arrive to check in early but Ivy has already beat me to the crew room. She sits ready and waiting to brief the crew.
She doesn’t look up from her papers. ‘I didn’t know you were flying today.’
I sit next to her. ‘Last minute addition, aren’t you lucky.’
Ivy shuffles through the papers with a confused look on her face. ‘Frig it, frig it, frigg it all.’
She slams the paperwork on the floor. It catches me off guard. I’ve never seen or expected Ivy to be the sort of person to have a strop, murder you while you sleep maybe, but never a strop.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
‘No food, no water, no catering whatsoever. Run an airline, they couldn’t run a friggin’ bath.
’ Ivy kicks the small pile of paperwork with her black loafer.
‘I don’t know why I bother. I told them not to take this flight, last minute rush job for the sake of a few thousand. I swear he does it to spite me.’
‘Who?’
‘That ex-husband of mine. It’s our granddaughter’s birthday today.
It’s very convenient that this flight has popped up and there is no one else available to lead it but me.
He’ll get her all to himself. Spoil her rotten, then frig off for another year.
’ Ivy reaches in her pocket and takes out her vape, inhales deeply then exhales a cherry scented mist. The fruity odour takes me by surprise.
‘Don’t look at me like that, a passenger left behind four refills on my last flight.
No point in them going to waste or handing them in to lost property, they’d never be seen again. ’
I don’t think I’ve ever been this shocked in my life to hear Ivy’s confession. It’s a sackable offence to take lost and found items for yourself, and Ivy’s normally the one doing the firing.
Ivy reads my expression. ‘Don’t think I haven’t seen it all before.
I was having take-off drinks in the back galley whilst you were still in nappies.
Your generation of crew aren’t the first ones to go wild down route.
I did a round-the-world trip in the 70s with my best friend Cassandra.
We were stunning. Tiny waists and big busts, we turned heads everywhere we went.
We only ever drank champagne that had been bought for us by the most handsome of first-class passengers.
’ Ivy looks into the distance like she’s searching for a memory.
‘A passenger once took us out on a speedboat and filled us up to the brim with Laurent Perrier. We did the flight the next morning completely pie eyed. Cassandra mixed up the meals and served a plate of seafood to a politician who was allergic. We ended up diverting into Senegal.’
I’m seeing Ivy in a whole new light. ‘Did you get fired?’
‘No, she slept with him to apologise. He bought her an ivory necklace to say thank you. She’d never do it now though; she’s completely against poaching.
’ With that, Ivy bends down and collects the paper, bringing her back into the here and now.
‘You see Callum, whatever scam the crew are up to, or whatever antics they get up to down route, I’ve been there and got the ivory necklace to prove it.
The only difference is, we had the common sense not to take photos of everything and post them online. ’
‘Does that mean we’re forgiven for the midnight dip in the pool?’ I figure it’s worth a shot while Ivy’s in such an unusual mood.
‘To be honest, Callum, I couldn’t give a frig what you all got up to down route.
The ex-husband was delighted Nick’s bare arse made the funny segment of the news at ten.
’ I did not know this. ‘Bookings took a sharp increase for the next forty-eight hours, but we’ve got to be seen to be doing something.
We can’t have all the crew behaving like it’s their first time abroad without mum and dad, even if it is the case for most of them. ’
‘It’s not very fair on Soumia though. She deserves that promotion.’
‘I’m not saying she doesn’t, but the rest of the crew have to know there are consequences. Her time will come; it’s just delayed.’ Ivy looks at her watch. ‘Talking of which, where are the rest of the crew?’
Right on cue, the door clicks open and they file into the room. I’ve no doubt they’ve been stood in the corridor, looking at their watches, only wanting to enter at the very last minute to minimise the time they must spend with Ivy Walsh.
‘Come on you lot, hurry up.’ Ivy’s voice is raised whilst the crew scurry to their seats and take out their briefing notebooks. ‘It’s a full house today, no catering onboard, and we’re carrying an engineer.’ Ivy looks at her papers, ‘He’ll be travelling in 4E, Olly Barry, anyone met him?’