Chapter 2 Up in the Air
Up in the Air
Lily-Anne
I hate goodbyes, and I breathe a little easier once Mum disappears into the crowd.
When I’m finally through security with an hour to kill, I pull out my phone and begin typing a message to Brandon to let him know I’ve checked in.
I’m about to tap Send when I hesitate. Is it too much? He’s already done enough by offering the flat, renovating it, and even agreeing to pick me up. The least I can do is not pester him before I’ve even boarded.
After staring at the message a moment longer, I erase it and lock my phone.
Hoisting my guitar case, I drift through the terminal, dodging perfume counters and giant plush koalas until a boutique catches my eye.
The window display is full of summer dresses—flowy, floral prints in bright colours. A skater dress in daisy print stands out, the hem hitting just above the knee. It’s cute. Casual. Exactly the sort of thing I used to wear.
Toby would have hated it. He was only a couple of years older than me, but he carried himself as if he belonged to another century, critiquing anyone who wore modern clothes, which was obviously everyone.
I can practically hear his sneer. “It’s too short. People dressed far better in the olden days.”
I catch my reflection in the glass, suddenly feeling exposed in my plain white T-shirt, loose acid-wash jeans with ripped knees, and canvas sneakers. Clothes I thought I’d thrown out years ago, but Mum had saved them, tucked away as if she’d been waiting for me to want them back.
My outfit’s a far cry from the heels and tea dresses Toby approved of.
I fish my oversized sage-green cardigan out of my backpack and slip it on, letting the soft knit settle over me, the loose lantern sleeves cinched at the wrist. It was vintage, yet even this drew his scorn. I think he just hated that I loved something he didn’t choose.
I eye the daisy dress longingly for another moment, then force myself to move on to my gate.
The flight isn’t boarding yet, just a crowd of travellers slumped in chairs, bags at their feet, waiting.
I duck into a nearby gift shop and make a beeline for the bookshelves. I’m greeted by floral Austens, Brontes in jewel tones…the usual suspects. I select a gold-foiled special edition I definitely don’t need—but can’t possibly imagine living without—and start towards the counter.
Until a familiar face stops me cold. Moody and glamorous, she stares out from the cover of a glossy magazine with a deadpan expression, her dark bob framing a face lined with thick eyeliner.
The headline jumps out: Four Years Since Nova’s Death: Australia Still Mourns Its Most Haunting Indie Soul Star.
Nova. Her voice was everywhere back then. Smoky and unforgettable. Yet she’d seemed so down-to-earth in interviews, kind and witty.
She was one of Brandon’s artists. Dad’s record label had signed her, and she soon made it big overseas. It was a proud moment for Aussie artists.
I wish I’d met her—I nearly did. She was meant to fly back to Sydney from the US for a meeting, and Dad promised to invite her to our house afterwards.
But she never even made it onto the plane.
Nova died at twenty-nine from a drug overdose. She was the same age as my sister. It’s heartbreaking to think about.
I’m about to put the magazine back when Toby’s voice whispers in my head, “Gossip is brain rot.”
The pages bend in my grip. Brain rot sounds pretty perfect right now.
Jaw tight, I march to the counter, where I pay for not only the novel, but the magazine as well.
As I step back into the terminal’s fluorescent glow, my phone buzzes.
Brandon: Hi Lily-Anne. I just wanted to wish you safe travels
My heart gives a small, startled jump. I blink at the screen, my thumbs hovering. I could just reply with a thank-you, but old Lily would have said something charming or witty.
Lily-Anne: Worried I’ll skip my flight, are you?
Brandon: Is that a possibility I should prepare for?
Lily-Anne: Not unless you’re planning to skimp on the castle I requested
The joke had started with Ellenor, who dared me to text Brandon a list of essential fantasy castle features to include in the flat’s renovations, from battlements and moving staircases to my very own Chamber of Secrets.
After culling most of the movie references, I sent it to him in mock-seriousness.
Brandon: I recall chandeliers, a clawfoot tub, and something about a moat
Lily-Anne: You forgot the enchanted library with rolling ladders
Brandon: I think you overestimate the square footage of my humble cottage. But I’ll see what I can do
I smile, a flicker of warmth stirring as I reread the messages, wondering if he’s smiling too.
Or is he facepalming, regretting that he invited me to stay?
I close the chat, my smile fading.
He’s just being polite. I know that. He was my dad’s friend and colleague. He probably sees me as someone he’s doing a favour for—an obligation he couldn’t quite say no to.
And I’m imposing on his hospitality. Ellenor said as much when I accepted his invitation to visit him in Whitstable.
I think about messaging Brandon again. Just to clarify, Are you sure this is okay?
But I already know how that would come across. Needy and insecure.
So I don’t.
I’m moving towards the gate when my phone buzzes.
He’s messaged again.
Brandon: Let me know if you need anything when you land. Tea? Coffee?
I chew my lip, deliberating. I don’t want to inconvenience him more than I already am.
Lily-Anne: That’s okay, I’m all good
I take five steps, then stop in my tracks. Something about his offer softens the edge of my nerves.
Lily-Anne: Actually…coffee?
Brandon: Of course. How do you take it?
Lily-Anne: Milk and sugar please :)
I stare at the smiley face. Too much? Not enough?
I snort quietly. I’ve just turned coffee into an existential crisis.
Above me, a voice crackles over the PA system. “Final boarding call for Emirates flight EK415, codeshare Qantas flight QF8415, to Dubai. All remaining passengers should proceed to Gate 61 immediately—”
“Oh, shoot!”
I shove the phone in my pocket and bolt for the gate, guitar case swinging wildly in my hand. Gate numbers flit by, none of them right. I’m further away than I realised.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
If I miss my once-in-a-lifetime, soul-searching quest to find myself because I was reading a bloody gossip magazine, I’ll never live it down.
I rush to the counter.
“Hi—sorry. Did I make it…?” I puff, handing my passport and boarding pass to the flight attendant.
She smiles like she sees five of me a day. “Straight down the jet bridge.”
Dazed, I enter the narrow tunnel. Glass walls shimmer with morning light, my footsteps echoing around me as if I’m walking through a dream. A low thrill rises with every step, the rumble of the plane growing louder.
Without breaking stride, I snap a quick photo for our group chat with the caption, Boarding now! I can hear the engines! Then I step onto the plane, grinning despite myself.
“Welcome aboard,” greets the flight attendant, and another gestures me down the correct aisle.
“Thank you,” I gush. By the time I’ve settled into my seat, the guitar case buckled in beside me, I have two new messages.
Mum: Safe flight! Remember to stay hydrated and stretch your legs to keep your circulation moving!
Ellenor: FYI, that was probably the APU you could hear, not the main engines. They don’t run during boarding
I tap a heart on Mum’s comment. Ellenor gets no such love from me. I send her an emoji rolling its eyes, then a message:
Lily-Anne: Been bingeing air crash investigation videos again?
Ellenor: No. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History
She’s such a Potterhead. But I know how to press her precious Slytherin buttons.
Lily-Anne: Spoken like a true Gryffindor
Ellenor: How dare you
A few seconds later, she sends a photo of her middle finger, emerald-green nail polish gleaming beneath what looks like the edge of a conference table.
Mum: Girls!
Lily-Anne: I see you’re stuck at work
Ellenor: Yeah. Sorry, I couldn’t get to the airport. Firm meetings suck balls
Mum: Please, be kind to each other
Mum: Ellenor! Watch your language! What would your boss say???!
We both love-heart her message.
Ellenor: So…got a window seat?
Lily-Anne: Yup. And I’m thinking of poor you as I sip my preflight champagne
Ellenor: Liar. We both know you’re in economy
I chuckle.
Ellenor: You should have listened to me and taken a broomstick. Flown in style!
Lily-Anne: All the way to England? I’d bloody freeze!
Ellenor: Weak. You could have been great, you know
Lily-Anne: Not Slytherin…Not Slytherin…
Ellenor: Ha. Your loss. Anyway…fly safe, mudblood
Lily-Anne: Rude!
She sends me a kissy emoji, and I send back a heart.
I’m about to put my phone away when I realise Brandon’s responded to my coffee order. Just a simple ‘will do’ that doesn’t require a response.
But I’m still on a strange high after Ellenor’s ridiculous messages. And he may as well know what he’s in for.
Lily-Anne: Boarded. See you on the other side!
Then I send a GIF of an over the top slow-motion pour of latte art using colourful food dye. A swirling rainbow masterpiece of deliciousness.
His response comes a minute later.
Brandon: Christ. Is this what you’re expecting?
Lily-Anne: Not necessarily Jesus Christ, any historical figure will do, religious or otherwise. Just make it pretty
Brandon: Understood
Grinning, I set my phone to flight mode and lean back in my seat, exhaling a long breath as we wait for take-off.
The roar of engines is unmistakable now.
We safety brief. We taxi. We soar.
Outside, clouds blur past, the plane climbing higher and higher. Tension drains from my shoulders, and for a moment, I’m giddy with weightlessness. I stare down at the shrinking city below, relief rushing through me. I’m leaving it all behind.
When the drink cart comes round, I order that glass of champagne.
Sipping, I consider the music options on my in-flight screen.
Classical…nope.
Jazz…nope.
Hard no to Frank Sinatra.
My teeth clench. I used to love this stuff, but now, I can’t listen to any of it without feeling caged.
Dean Martin’s That’s Amore was my favourite. Was it truly love when Toby serenaded me with it? I felt so special. So cared for.
My grip tightens on the glass stem.
I’d needed someone desperately. We’d only just buried Dad, and I was a mess, drifting from one class to another like a ghost, failing all my practicals. I was on the verge of dropping out when Toby found me crying in a dark lecture hall.
He listened as I spoke through my tears about how my world was falling apart.
Then, after lending me his handkerchief, he provided answers. All I had to do was follow his lead. With my family reeling after losing Dad, his certainty was magnetic.
It crept in slowly. The control. The little criticisms. The twisting of words until I didn’t even know what I was apologising for, or why I was crying.
I’d been miserable for a long time, but he finally pushed me past my breaking point when he tried to convince me to sell my guitar—in front of the whole ensemble, no less.
It felt like a betrayal.
He knew Dad had bought me the Cole Clark for my birthday.
He knew what it meant to me.
Yet he still tried to take it away.
I hadn’t realised he was capable of hurting me like that.
Something in me snapped in that moment, the haze finally lifting, and I stood and left him and the ensemble behind. No tears, no shouting, no explanation—I simply packed my guitar, told him it was over, and walked out, leaving him and the other musicians gaping after me.
My vision blurs. The champagne has lost its sparkle, the bubbles lodged somewhere in my throat.
I blink furiously and rip open the plastic bag of complimentary headphones, cycling through the music menu with a quiet vengeance. I can listen to anything I want now.
Pop, R&B, rock, metal, rap…
Linkin Park’s Numb catches my eye. Ellenor and I used to sing this. Me in the back seat of her car, thinking my older sis was the coolest person alive as she drove us to get milkshakes.
I hit play.
The song intro hits, haunting and familiar, and I close my eyes as the lyrics wash over me. It’s loud and raw, a little messy—exactly how I feel.
I lean back into the headrest and sink into the music, letting nostalgia settle in my bones.
When it ends, I put on Do Me a Favour. Brooding and British, the breakup song echoes my exhaustion, its bitterness fitting over me like armour.
It reminds me of when I walked away from Toby. I’ve replayed it so many times in my mind, each time wishing I wasn’t so polite when I ended things.
“You should have yelled at him,” Ellenor said after. “I would’ve torn him a new one. Or at least told him to fuck off.”
And it made me wonder…
Perhaps I should have screamed at him under the glare of the rehearsal lights. Let my pain echo in the vaulted ceilings of the concert hall before storming out.
But no. The Arctic Monkeys are right in their song: telling him to fuck off would have been too kind.
Walking away was the quiet win I needed. I can’t regret that.
I switch over to girl-power anthems and spend the rest of the flight buried in my new Austen book, drifting through movies, and watching clouds slide past the window.
When I check the on-screen map, the tiny plane icon is inching across the world, carrying me closer to something new.
To England.
To whatever version of myself might be waiting there.