Chapter 23
Chapter 23
G ertie, who still hadn’t returned her mum’s call, as if it were all her fault, tried to hold her head high for work the next morning. She had her makeup toned down and pulled her hair back in a ponytail; after the glorious weekend, the weather had turned dreich again. Worse than that: it was freezing. She felt that that moment of glamour; of triumph even—she remembered the heads turning as she walked in, the dress swishing, the golden evening—it had been an illusion.
Well, she was going to forget all about it. She was going to get on with the job.
The tin shed was in chaos that morning. Morag out ignoring everyone, doing some touch-ups on Dolly 2, flying with Erno, who as usual wasn’t showing till the last minute, but already in the departures area were a sheep, a sheepdog, and a chicken, queuing patiently.
“You are kidding,” said Gertie. Pete, who ran the shed, shrugged his hands at her.
“Uhm, hello, everyone,” she said, checking the departure time was on the chalkboard—they still did it by hand—along with any delays and the weather conditions, which normally some wag would rub off and replace with “MONSOON” or, occasionally, “MORDOR” on particularly dark mornings.
“Okay, uh, who’s first?” said Gertie. The woman with the chicken moved forward, whereupon the dog set up a ferocious barking.
“Hush bye,” said the man to the dog, who completely ignored him.
“Well I have to check in, but you can’t let that dog on,” said the woman.
“Aye on yoursel’, Senga Albright. I’m bringing Roddy so you can just shut your mouth,” said the man. “It’s only a stupid chicken.”
“Would you listen to that?” said the woman, putting the chicken on the desk, where it fluttered and hopped in its cage, and folding her large arms. “I think he shouldn’t be allowed to board for abusive language.”
“She started it by being rude about my dog!” said the man.
“How was I rude about your dog?”
“You called him ‘that dog.’”
Senga rolled her eyes at Gertie.
“See what I mean?” she said. “And he called my chicken stupid.”
“All chickens are stupid!”
Senga ignored him. “He can catch the next flight.”
“Well, as it happens I cannot,” said the man. “As I actually have a real job and a real farm, and a dog to get bred with a bitch that is in heat and that canny wait as you know fine well.”
“What could I possibly know about your disgusting dog practices?”
“Mating a dog to make another excellent sheepdog is not a disgusting practice!”
“Well it is if you think that’s an excellent sheepdog. Excellent at barking his bloody mouth off if you ask me.”
Gertie screwed up her face. “Uhm...”
“And I was here first,” said the woman, banging the chicken cage down on the table again. The chicken borked uncomfortably. The dog made some warning yips. The sheep looked very very nervous.
“Don’t you be letting that hound near my prize ram,” said the next farmer, a very tall man with a red-veined face that had spent its life facing the wind. “He’s got a busy schedule too.”
Senga frowned. “Whit?” she said. “You’re telling me this entire plane is sex-trafficking?”
“Ooh,” said a couple of ornithologists who had just rolled up with large suitcases full of very expensive binoculars, cameras and a lot of wet-weather gear. “Sex what now?”
Gertie regarded everyone. This kind of thing never happened in the ScotNorth.
“Okay.”
She looked at her diagram of the tiny plane. This was like one of those “farmer crossing the river in a boat” puzzles. She frowned.
“You’re going to Inchborn?” she said to Senga, who nodded.
“My nephew is there,” she said. “This chicken’s sick.”
Gertie wasn’t quite sure what to make of this.
“Oh, let us have a look,” said one of the ornithologists. “What’s up with her?”
“Well,” said Senga, tilting the cage. The chicken borked crossly again as the ornithologist made to undo the latch, whereupon the dog wuffed even louder.
“Do not set that chicken free please!” said Gertie loudly, a sentence she hadn’t expected to utter in her new job, or indeed any job.
Morag had arrived back and hovered by the door, unwilling to intervene, but ready. A full-on dog/chicken/sheep loose in the cabin scenario wasn’t worth thinking about. Obviously the ram would go in the hold, but even so. She sent Erno off to supervise fueling.
The line was now full, or as full as it got—sixteen people—but only Gertie there to check them all in. She glanced around.
“Okay. You with the chicken. You’re in the back row, in the corner, okay?”
She rang up the ticket.
“Actually I’d rather be...”
“That’s where you’re going. Man with dog, you’re waiting till the very end and going up in the front.”
“Hahahah!” said the man. Senga harrumphed.
“None of that,” said Gertie. “And if I notice any more behavior from that dog, I’m going to deny boarding. Which I can totally do. I think.”
The dog whined.
“I’m not saying you’re bad,” she said to the dog. “I’m just saying, you have to behave for this trip, okay?”
The sheepdog bent his head and came up and nuzzled Gertie’s hand, much to the chicken’s alarm.
“You are very nice,” said Gertie. “Just don’t upset anyone on the plane.”
“What about me?” said the man with the ram.
“He’s going in the hold.”
“I’m not going in the hold.”
“Your animal,” said Gertie. “He can’t be in the cabin.”
“Why? Did I have to order it? Is it like getting a special meal?”
“No. He can’t be in the cabin because he’s an untrained sheep.”
“What, and the chicken is trained?”
“STOP DISSING MY CHICKEN.”
“Do you want to get on this plane or not?”
“With this boy’s sperm I could buy this plane,” muttered the farmer.
“I’d love another plane,” said Morag from where she was watching.
Grumbling, everyone checked in their respective animals then removed themselves to three different corners of the hangar to sit and wait for boarding, slagging off the others mightily.
“Well done,” said Morag, coming forward. She didn’t want to sound condescending, but Gertie had handled it all with aplomb. “That was a tough crowd.”
“I don’t think I managed to persuade the ornithologists there isn’t going to be a big sex party,” said Gertie, frowning. “And it’s you who has to fly them all.”
The woman with the chicken stomped up to them.
“Morag!” she said.
“Hi, Senga.”
“You know this chicken is for Gregor!”
“Gregor is fine for chickens.”
“Yes, I know but it’s injured. He can fix it.”
“I expect he can,” said Morag, whose voice always went rather soft when her boyfriend came up in conversation.
“So I think I should sit up the front of the plane, don’t you?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Morag. “But my cabin crew’s decision is final.”
And Gertie felt a little better. And there was no sign of Calum anywhere, which was also useful.