Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Speaking of physical distance, it turns out I’m not able to maintain much from my other ex-husband.
When I told him I’d go with him to Scotland, he insisted on using his travel agent friend to book everything for us, claiming it was much cheaper than if I were to do it.
Which I wasn’t sure was true, but I couldn’t prove it because he wouldn’t send me the receipts.
Which is how I find myself sitting next to him on a flight to Edinburgh with a layover in Doha nine days after I found out about the inheritance.
But I didn’t actually get much rest, and not just because it’s practically impossible to sleep while sitting upright in economy. I couldn’t help but remember the last time we did this on our honeymoon.
Back then, we’d been unable to keep our hands off each other, and we almost got scolded by one of the flight attendants for causing the other passengers discomfort with our making out.
It’s now around 3am Brisbane time, but we’ll be landing in Doha at 5.45am, which is deceiving because of the time difference. I think we still have nine hours to go.
It occurs to me that even without the Youth Compound, you can slip into a weird time vortex through flying.
I push my eye mask up onto my forehead and glance at Jarvis. I’ve been trying not to make any physical contact with him the entire time, but it’s kind of difficult considering how small the seats are. Every tiny brush of our arms sends a jolt of nervous energy through me.
And how does he still look good in the least glamorous situation possible? He’s grown out his facial hair a little since I last saw him, so combined with the slightly longer hair, he looks like a bad guy in a period drama. The sexy bad guy.
Oh God. Rachel. What is wrong with you?
Jarvis must feel me looking at him, and he turns his head to face me. Where Frankie’s eyes are a shade of blue that verges on grey, Jarvis’s are a deep blue-green. And when he focuses his attention on someone, they know it.
The corner of his mouth turns up slightly. “What?”
“Nothing.” I don’t like that we’re practically whispering. It feels too personal.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
“I did a little.”
“You didn’t bring a neck pillow,” he observes.
“I lost mine when I moved back to Shell Beach.”
“Ah.” He hesitates. We’re sitting in a row of three seats with a window, but an elderly woman is sitting next to the window. I’m in the middle, and Jarvis is on the aisle. “You can lean your head on my shoulder if it helps.”
I raise an eyebrow. “No, thank you.”
“Think of it as an inanimate object not connected to me.”
“I’m okay.”
“You really hate me, don’t you?”
Even though he’s whispering, I can hear the hurt in his voice.
“There’s a difference between not wanting to sleep on top of your ex-husband and hating him.”
He breaks out into a smile. “I wasn’t asking you to sleep on top of me.” He gets one of the small pillows provided by the airline and puts it on his shoulder. “There. Now there won’t be any physical contact.”
I don’t want to look like I’m caving so easily. That would set a bad precedent for the trip.
“I appreciate the effort, but I’ll stay where I am.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, I’ll leave the pillow here for now.”
He turns back to reading something on his phone. I don’t think he’s had any sleep so far, but he doesn’t seem tired. That was always one strange thing about Jarvis. He could get away with four or five hours’ sleep and still function properly.
I select some new music to play on my headphones and put the mask back over my eyes.
I’d chosen a playlist I’d put together a while back, and Jeff Buckley’s Last Goodbye comes on. Damn it. This song reminds me of Jarvis. I used to play it after we broke up, and it was suitably angsty for my mood at the time.
I click to the next track. I don’t want to listen to Jeff right now.
An Alice in Chains song comes on instead, and I don’t like that the universe is trying to remind me of the nineties.
My mouth feels dry. I don’t have any water left, so I reach down to pick up my handbag, intending to find a mint. I push the mask back onto my forehead and rummage around in an attempt to retrieve the tin.
But I end up finding something else.
Oh my God. It’s the compound. How did that get in there? I put all the jars in the kitchen cabinet the other day, so I really don’t know how one of them found its way here.
Wait. When I dropped the box while talking to Frankie, I must have accidentally tipped one of the jars into my bag.
I’m lucky I didn’t get pulled aside and questioned at the X-ray machine on my way out of the country. Will I be checked when I land in Doha and Edinburgh too? And would it be picked up as a drug? I have no idea what’s in that stuff. What if it contains illegal ingredients?
I check the label. It’s a four-hour dose. Would it be better to take it and get rid of the evidence? Or risk getting it through customs?
And then I try and think about it from a practical perspective. This is basically a sleeping tablet. I can escape for a few hours and rest somewhere more comfortable than here on the plane next to my ex-husband.
I must be delirious from tiredness, because it suddenly sounds like an amazing idea.
I tuck the jar into my pocket and turn to Jarvis. “I need to go find some water.”
He stands to let me out. “Could you get me some too?”
“Uh, sure.”
I head to the back of the plane and ask the flight attendant for a cup of water.
I’ll just pretend I forgot to get Jarvis one since I’m not sure I’ll have much time after returning to my seat before I pass out.
I can’t exactly mix up the compound in front of him, so I head to one of the plane’s bathrooms and tip the compound into the cup.
It starts fizzing, and I wonder if I should drink it right now.
No. I’ll start drinking it on the way back to my seat, and that will give me a moment to settle in.
I leave the bathroom and start sipping from the cup as I walk up the aisle, but just as I’m about to reach Jarvis, I trip over someone’s foot. Why can’t people keep their limbs to themselves?
I lose my balance and gasp as I anticipate hitting the floor.
Jarvis must have been waiting for my return, because he’s suddenly in front of me, stopping me from injuring myself. He deftly catches the cup I’m holding and steadies me with his other hand.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
“Ah, yeah,” I say, slightly dazed.
He gently presses me toward my seat, and I sit, fastening my seatbelt around my lap.
It’s only then that I realise I hadn’t finished drinking the compound. And when I look at Jarvis, I see he’s tilted the cup to his mouth.
“Wait!” I yell.
Some of the surrounding passengers shoot me dirty looks, and I blush.
Jarvis drinks the remaining contents and then stares at me. “What?”
I breathe out heavily. “Too late.”
He wrinkles his nose. “What did I just drink?”
“I told you to wait.” I wonder if only drinking half a dose each will cause any effect. I have no idea what to expect right now.
He sits back beside me. “Did you put poison in my drink and then change your mind?”
I know he’s joking, but there’s still a tinge of uncertainty in his voice.
I don’t want to freak him out, so I go with the most plausible explanation. “That was my cup, and it had a sedative in it. So don’t be surprised if you fall asleep in the next five minutes.”
“Oh. Oops. But I guess that’s okay. I was finding it hard to sleep anyway.”
“I read that a side effect of this medication is vivid dreaming. So be prepared.”
“Sounds like fun,” he says, weirdly not concerned at all.
At that moment, I start to feel the effects of my half dose. I quickly put my mask and headphones back on and brace myself.
The plane seems to hit a patch of turbulence—or maybe that’s just my personal experience—before everything suddenly goes still.
I open my eyes. My headphones and mask are gone, but it’s still dark. Which makes sense if it’s 3am back home.
I wait for my vision to adjust and see I’m in my teenage bedroom in Shell Beach. I reach over to the bedside table and turn on the lamp. A quick check of my watch confirms it’s 3.20am.
Phew. Okay. Hopefully Jarvis is doing fine, wherever he is.
Should I go and look for him? I don’t know where he lived back in 1999, but it probably wasn’t far if he was volunteering at the local community centre.
I shake my head. It’s not my fault he took the compound. He can fend for himself. And if he thinks he’s just dreaming because of the medication, it shouldn’t cause him any psychological damage.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling. I was right about relaxing here being infinitely more comfortable than the plane.
But my mind is a whir.
What do I do now?