The Perfect Girlfriend(42)

They both beam. ‘Thank you,’ they whisper back.

The man accepts the lasagne without further complaint. The woman won’t give in that easily and takes the tray on the condition I find her an extra bread roll and some ‘decent wine from first class’. I pour a small bottle of economy red, which she turned her nose up at earlier, into a business-class glass and present it to her. She takes a sip and nods approvingly.

I sink down into a hard crew seat when the service finally ends and pick at a lobster salad I took from the first-class galley, but I find it hard to swallow.

During afternoon tea service, I feel weak and dreamlike. I’m so close. I cannot mess this up. All that separates me and Nate is a mere steel cockpit door.

I jump as his voice fills the cabins. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer, Nathan Goldsmith. We have approximately half an hour until we land in sunny Las Vegas, which is a sweltering thirty-eight degrees Celsius. Despite this, it may still feel a little bumpy on landing, as there are strong winds.

I stand still, trying to distance myself from the chaos of the galley, and close my eyes, savouring the memory of his arms around me and his smile. But an unwanted memory sneaks in – his anger when I initially refused to move out. And the time when I hid his passport so that he couldn’t go to work because I just needed him to talk to me.

But that was then, and this is now.

I was a different person back then, driven demented by rejection. I’ve now obeyed his wishes and given him space. He has to – surely – make allowances for that. There were lots of happy times. He loved my sense of humour.

The standard pre-landing announcements begin. I secure the cabin and remind people over and over to fasten their seat belts. The plane begins to rock and sway as we dip beneath the clouds. Cabin crew, seats for landing.

It’s time.

The crew member taking over responsibility for manning my door appears. I thank him and make my way forwards, then climb the stairs. The aircraft makes a sudden drop. I clutch the handrail. The engines are whining. On the upper deck, I walk slowly down the aisle past all the business-class passengers, as nervous as a bride. I almost scream as an old lady grabs my arm as I pass her seat.

‘Excuse me,’ she says, letting go. ‘Do you know if this turbulence will get any worse? I’m not a good flyer.’

‘It’s all going to be fine,’ I say, walking on, whilst tugging at some loose strands of hair to partially hide my face.

I stand outside the cockpit door and wave at the camera. The green light illuminates. I push open the door and dart in, shutting it firmly behind me. I slide into the seat behind Nate. He is too busy to acknowledge me, we are almost on final approach. The captain points to some headphones. I put them on. I listen to air traffic control as I study Nate’s neck. I can see the hairs on his exposed skin.

Outside, the Vegas skyline rises up to greet us. An alarm sounds above the constant stream of words from the ATC tower. The automated voice counts us down.

One thousand feet. Five hundred.

The rocking and swaying are less noticeable in the cockpit.

One hundred feet. Fifty, forty, thirty, twenty, ten.

We touch down.

My chest swells with pride in Nate.

As we decrease speed, I remove my headphones whilst the roar of the engines subsides. I observe Barry and Nate complete their routines and checklists.

As we turn off the runway, Nate turns round, a smile on his face.

I smile back.

He freezes, as though he’s seen a dead person, then turns to face the controls again.

The terminal comes into sight. Welcome to McCarran International Airport.





14


I recently came across a quote: People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. I want Nate to feel unthreatened as he digests the situation, so I decide to retreat.

‘Thank you,’ I say and leave, quietly shutting the door behind me.

After the sanctuary of the cockpit, the cabin is hectic. Manoeuvring my way through the mass of bodies pulling bags from overhead bins and bending over whilst gathering their belongings, I squeeze downstairs.

‘Excuse me. Excuse me, please,’ I repeat, making my way through the debris: headsets, discarded earplugs, eyeshades and newspapers.

I am numb. I thought I’d feel terrified, elated, overjoyed, some strong emotion. Instead, my feelings are frozen; my senses dulled. Noise is muted, apart from the loud voice inside my head.

Focus. You cannot fail.

On automatic pilot I pack my flight apron and flat shoes into my bag. Standing on the edge of a seat, I check the hat racks are empty and scan the seats for the bright-orange infant seat belts. I gather two and return them to the sliding stowage behind the last row.

Keeping my eyes ahead, I disembark with my economy-crew colleagues. We pass slot machines situated below a bombardment of advertisements – hotels, car hire, clubs, bars, restaurants, weddings – before reaching crew immigration. The passenger queues are long and bulging. A weary-looking yet resigned mismatch of people shuffles forwards, dressed in everything from summer dresses, three-quarter-length leggings, baseball caps and T-shirts to those who are more cautiously dressed in trousers, with jackets or jumpers folded over their arms.

The crew suitcases have been off-loaded and are by the side of the baggage carousel, lined up neatly in a row. I select mine and continue through Customs, not looking any of the officials in the eye, as though I have nothing to hide, until the automatic doors part. Pulling my bags behind me, I emerge into the arrivals lounge. Among the balloons, flowers, signs and other paraphernalia dotting the awaiting crowd, I seek out the exit signs.