Stewart Hotston
Well-Known Member
So skipping ahead then - this is the first draft of what would then open the book...
He stretched his legs out. It wasn’t often that Idris flew first class. He knew it was conspicuous but he felt good about life so screw it. They were an hour out of Heathrow, passing over the west coast of Ireland. He’d managed to order dinner. Holding up the metal cutlery he’d been given he wondered why anyone believed those who paid more to fly were somehow less of a security risk than those who were herded in as if they were being done a favour to be allowed on the plane at all.
It irritated him how everyone colluded with such a state of affairs. Ordinary people payed good money to travel. Being asked to pay for basics like checking in bags or not having to sit in the middle seat exposed to whatever type of person you might wish to avoid angered him beyond all reason. He’d originally planned on flying economy. Except when he’d been booking the flight he’d been informed it would cost him fifteen pounds to choose a seat and forty five pounds to check in baggage.
Idris didn’t have any baggage to carry on, but that wasn’t the point. He was lucky, he had enough money to be able to fly first on a whim once in a while. So he had. Only that had irritated him as well. Angry with himself for thinking anyone would notice his protest. He regarded his actions as those of an idiot – protesting a service by paying more to get exactly what he was protesting about not having.
Still, a well-cooked piece of turbot with a passable glass of Vouvray promised to distract him for at least some of the flight. In his experience good food inevitably led to mercy.
He refused to think of how quickly he fell to thinking of those in other compartments as belonging there.
I’m too old to care about this, he thought. He sipped the champagne and looked out the window at the carpet of green below.
It was on the third time the woman went past that Idris took notice.
He unbuckled then unfolded himself from the seat so he could see where she was sat. The modesty barriers would have made that impossible without walking up to each of the other first class passengers except she was stood in plain sight at the rear end of the compartment.
She was smartly dressed in a charcoal two-piece suit. It was an expensive get up compared to what the cult normally wore.
We are in first class, he thought. After catching his eyes with a flicker of her gaze she reached up into the overhead compartment for a blanket.
Too late, he thought.
She plonked herself into her pod as he approached. He followed up, using the footrest designed to allow people to have dinner together.
“Hi.”
Her stare was cold. For a moment he thought he’d made a mistake.
“Can I help you?”
“You seemed restless,” he said. He saw only water on her shelf. Pointing at it, “a gin and tonic would help with nerves.”
“I’m fine.” She folded her arms. “What do you want?”
He held his arms up, palms out. “Nothing, like I say you seemed restless. I’ve flown a lot, always notice someone who’s uncomfortable.”
“Damsel in distress?” She asked, scowling. “Think I need some tender care to keep my little brain from overheating?” She made as if to call the steward.
Idris waited, gambling she wouldn’t follow through.
Her hand hovered over the button but didn’t press down. “If you’re going to use it, you need to press it so the light comes on. I can do it for you if you wish.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her shrug was forceful.
“What have you done?”
She stared right at him, eyes wide, unblinking. “Nothing.”
“How did you find me?”
She opened her mouth to speak but looking over his shoulder said nothing.
He craned his neck to see the steward waiting patiently for him to give her his attention.
“Are you eating together tonight?”
“No, we’re not,” said the woman quickly.
“As she says,” said Idris.
The steward nodded with a fixed neutrality. “We’re about to serve dinner.”
Idris nodded. Turning back to the woman he said, “I’ll see you after supper.”
Sat in his pod his whole body twitched. He could hardly sit still, certainly couldn’t think about eating the meal put in front of him. He pushed the fish around the plate before noisily placing the knife and fork on the side of the tray. Everything felt wrong; the hiss of the air conditioning, the reverberation of the engines. He wanted to march back to her seat and smash the truth out of her.
By desert he’d calmed down. What exactly could happen while they were flying over the Atlantic? A second glass of wine steadied his nerves, stopped him viewing everyone in the cabin with suspicion.
He took a brandy instead of coffee. Reclining his seat as far as it would go before it turned into a bed, Idriss forced himself to sleep. His last thought was how the rush of the air conditioning sounded disapproving.
He stretched his legs out. It wasn’t often that Idris flew first class. He knew it was conspicuous but he felt good about life so screw it. They were an hour out of Heathrow, passing over the west coast of Ireland. He’d managed to order dinner. Holding up the metal cutlery he’d been given he wondered why anyone believed those who paid more to fly were somehow less of a security risk than those who were herded in as if they were being done a favour to be allowed on the plane at all.
It irritated him how everyone colluded with such a state of affairs. Ordinary people payed good money to travel. Being asked to pay for basics like checking in bags or not having to sit in the middle seat exposed to whatever type of person you might wish to avoid angered him beyond all reason. He’d originally planned on flying economy. Except when he’d been booking the flight he’d been informed it would cost him fifteen pounds to choose a seat and forty five pounds to check in baggage.
Idris didn’t have any baggage to carry on, but that wasn’t the point. He was lucky, he had enough money to be able to fly first on a whim once in a while. So he had. Only that had irritated him as well. Angry with himself for thinking anyone would notice his protest. He regarded his actions as those of an idiot – protesting a service by paying more to get exactly what he was protesting about not having.
Still, a well-cooked piece of turbot with a passable glass of Vouvray promised to distract him for at least some of the flight. In his experience good food inevitably led to mercy.
He refused to think of how quickly he fell to thinking of those in other compartments as belonging there.
I’m too old to care about this, he thought. He sipped the champagne and looked out the window at the carpet of green below.
It was on the third time the woman went past that Idris took notice.
He unbuckled then unfolded himself from the seat so he could see where she was sat. The modesty barriers would have made that impossible without walking up to each of the other first class passengers except she was stood in plain sight at the rear end of the compartment.
She was smartly dressed in a charcoal two-piece suit. It was an expensive get up compared to what the cult normally wore.
We are in first class, he thought. After catching his eyes with a flicker of her gaze she reached up into the overhead compartment for a blanket.
Too late, he thought.
She plonked herself into her pod as he approached. He followed up, using the footrest designed to allow people to have dinner together.
“Hi.”
Her stare was cold. For a moment he thought he’d made a mistake.
“Can I help you?”
“You seemed restless,” he said. He saw only water on her shelf. Pointing at it, “a gin and tonic would help with nerves.”
“I’m fine.” She folded her arms. “What do you want?”
He held his arms up, palms out. “Nothing, like I say you seemed restless. I’ve flown a lot, always notice someone who’s uncomfortable.”
“Damsel in distress?” She asked, scowling. “Think I need some tender care to keep my little brain from overheating?” She made as if to call the steward.
Idris waited, gambling she wouldn’t follow through.
Her hand hovered over the button but didn’t press down. “If you’re going to use it, you need to press it so the light comes on. I can do it for you if you wish.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her shrug was forceful.
“What have you done?”
She stared right at him, eyes wide, unblinking. “Nothing.”
“How did you find me?”
She opened her mouth to speak but looking over his shoulder said nothing.
He craned his neck to see the steward waiting patiently for him to give her his attention.
“Are you eating together tonight?”
“No, we’re not,” said the woman quickly.
“As she says,” said Idris.
The steward nodded with a fixed neutrality. “We’re about to serve dinner.”
Idris nodded. Turning back to the woman he said, “I’ll see you after supper.”
Sat in his pod his whole body twitched. He could hardly sit still, certainly couldn’t think about eating the meal put in front of him. He pushed the fish around the plate before noisily placing the knife and fork on the side of the tray. Everything felt wrong; the hiss of the air conditioning, the reverberation of the engines. He wanted to march back to her seat and smash the truth out of her.
By desert he’d calmed down. What exactly could happen while they were flying over the Atlantic? A second glass of wine steadied his nerves, stopped him viewing everyone in the cabin with suspicion.
He took a brandy instead of coffee. Reclining his seat as far as it would go before it turned into a bed, Idriss forced himself to sleep. His last thought was how the rush of the air conditioning sounded disapproving.
