The Perfect Girlfriend(2)

Reality creeps in and out. I think I hear a splash like a swooping seagull which has spotted an unsuspecting fish.

Then nothing.

I jolt up, dizzy and disorientated. I look around, down.

I run, I climb, I reach, I grip, I pull.

But it is futile because Will is not there. He is not there because he is deathly still. Somewhere, deep inside, a piece of me detaches before disconnecting completely.

Ever since, my mind excels at taking me to safe places, whenever I need it most.





1


Present Day

I apply fuchsia lipstick to complete my transformation. All the best ideas are so brilliantly obvious, once you’ve thought of them. My reflection in the water-splashed mirror is of someone with thick make-up and dark-brown hair, but my own eyes. The polyester necktie scratches my skin and, although it feels alien to wear the uniform, the starchy trouser suit with eighties-style shoulder pads allows me to morph into an anonymous airline employee. My expression is neutral and professional; calm and controlled. A new year, a new me.

Amy, her reflection beside mine, wrinkles her nose. ‘The stench of these toilets reminds me of school.’

I wrinkle mine back. ‘The cheap loo roll and miserable sound of dripping water doesn’t help.’

We both pause for a second or two, listening.

She glances at her watch. ‘We’d better go, we don’t want to make a bad impression.’

I follow her out. Her auburn hair is woven into a bun so neat, it doesn’t look real. Her perfume is floral and understated. Mine is too strong, the sickly smell has been irritating my nostrils all morning. As we merge with the other eighteen trainees filing back into the classroom, Brian, one of our instructors, raises his hand, palm outwards.

‘Ahem.’

Silence falls. I wonder if anyone else feels like me, suffocating the desire to scream because – seriously – how hard can the work be? I intend to show up, take off, chuck out a tray of food, whip it back, job done. I expect passengers to be capable of entertaining themselves with the in-flight entertainment system once fed and watered. After landing, I imagine I’ll have plenty of time to chill by a hotel pool or explore local markets.

I realize that Brian is still speaking. I force myself to listen.

‘There’s no need to sit down as we’ll be heading into the mock-up area for an examination of the training equipment.’

We traipse out and gather in the corridor, before being herded along by Brian’s partner in crime, Dawn. We follow her downstairs and through the main reception area. Dawn jabs a code into a keypad and we enter a small room. The walls are lined with pegs, hanging off which are mounds of dirty-looking overalls.

‘Listen, please, everyone. We’d like you to wear an overall over your uniform. Place your shoes on the racks at the bottom and put on the white feet-protectors.’

I freeze. Everyone but me starts lifting overalls off the pegs and checking them for size. God, I can’t do this. They are filthy. They look as though they haven’t been washed since . . . ever.

‘Juliette? Is there a problem?’ Brian’s expression is of exaggerated concern.

‘No. No problem.’ I smile.

He turns away. ‘Now, ladies, for those wearing skirts, make sure your legs are properly covered. Velcro on some of the equipment wreaks havoc with your tights.’

Crap. I’m going to have to do it. I slide my arms in before doing up the buttons. I don’t know why I bothered to get my suit dry-cleaned. I look ridiculous in the baggy jumpsuit, complete with elasticated material around my ankles. All that’s missing is a face mask and I’d look like I’m about to investigate a crime scene. Even Amy looks less immaculate than usual.

‘This is going to be fun,’ I whisper under my breath to her.

She beams. ‘I can’t wait to try out the practical drills. I’ve been dreaming of this since I was small.’

‘Really?’

Why would anyone dream of becoming a waitress, albeit a flying one, from childhood? When I was young I had plans. Big ones. Proper ones.

‘Any time today, Juliette.’ Brian is holding open a door.

He is really getting on my nerves and yet I still have another five weeks of his company to endure. I follow him into a giant warehouse containing sections of various aircraft; some at ground level, some on raised platforms with stair access. We catch up with the others walking alongside the building. The front door of a plane bursts open and several overall-clad people fly out and down the slide. A male, uniformed crew member operates the door, barking instructions above a shrill alarm. ‘Jump! Jump!’

We whisk past until Dawn and Brian stop beside a blown-up, silvery-grey mass, not unlike a kids’ bouncy castle. ‘Now, before we board the slide-raft, I’m going to talk you through the survival equipment. A landing on water will, from now on, be referred to as a “ditching” . . .’

Dawn’s voice fades as I zone out. I know the statistics. They can call it what they like, but the chances of surviving a plane crash on water are not good.

At five on the dot, we are released through the secure gated area and back into the real world; the airport perimeter road. The roar of low-flying aircraft and rush-hour traffic is briefly disorientating. I inhale cold, crisp air. My breath mists as I exhale. The group divides into those going to the car park and the rest of us, heading for Hatton Cross. I only half-listen to their excited chatter. The group splits again; those catching buses head off first and the rest of us, including Amy, enter the tube station. I walk alongside her as we make for the platform.