Lucy in the Sky

Prologue
    London to Singapore
    Friday: Depart London Heathrow at 2105
    Saturday: Arrive Singapore at 1750
    Duration: 12 hrs 45 mins
    ‘ Ladies and gentlemen, would you please fasten your seat belts, stow away your tray tables and put your seats in the upright position. All electronic equipment must be turned off during take-off and landing, and mobile phones must be switched off until you’re safely inside the terminal at Singapore International Airport, as this can interfere with the aircraft navigation systems …’
    Oh, bugger it, I think I’ve left my phone on. Bollocks! It’s in the overhead locker. I weigh up my options: ask the fat bloke next to me to move or cause a possible plane crash? Fat bloke? Plane crash? Better not risk it.
    ‘Excuse me, please.’
    He looks confused.
    ‘I’ve left my phone on.’
    Grunting unhappily, he nudges at his skinny wife to move.Then, huffing and puffing, he hauls himself from his seat. Now all he has to do is edge sideways and we’ll be home and free. Argh, this is taking forever! Wonder if he’d be quicker in an emergency? I’m starting to regret my decision to have a window seat.
    Path cleared at last, I quickly locate my phone in my bag and see that a text message has come in. My finger hovers over the off button, but that tiny blinking envelope is far too inviting. Nope, I can’t resist. Aah, it’s from James.
    HI LUCY! JUST SHAGGED JAMES IN UR BED. THOUGHT U SHOULD KNOW. 4 TIMES THIS MONTH. NICE SHEETS! XXX
    It doesn’t compute. I don’t understand. It’s from James. What does he mean, just shagged James…Oh, no. My stomach feels like it’s plummeted 10,000 feet but the plane hasn’t even taken off yet.
    An air hostess hovers in the aisle. ‘Miss, would you take your seat, please? The aircraft is about to depart.’
    I can’t. My feet are frozen to the spot. I look at her in alarm, my grip tight on the phone.
    ‘You need to turn that off.’ Her tone is steely as she nods towards the phone’s glowing screen.
    ‘Please. I just have to make—’
    She shakes her head, slowly, adamantly, and Fatso heaves a heavy sigh. I feel the weight of dozens of pairs of eyes staring at me as I stagger, stunned, into my seat. The whole row quakes and judders as my hefty neighbour manoeuvres himself back in beside me.
    ‘Miss. Your phone.’
    I glance up at the unsmiling air hostess, then back down to my mobile. The message screams out at me.
    HI LUCY! JUST SHAGGED JAMES IN UR BED.
    But I have no choice. With her beady eyes watching me like a hawk, my finger slowly presses down on the little red button. There’s no nuclear explosion. No one dies. The light on the phone merely dims and my heart sinks.
    James has cheated on me.
    And the slag had the gall to text me from his mobile phone.
    The plane is taxiing to the runway. Outside the window it’s a cold and windy English winter night. I’m on my way to Australia for the wedding of my two best friends, Molly and Sam. And some summer sunshine…
    But right now I don’t know how I’ll ever be warm again. I feel like someone has ripped out my intestines and replaced them with shards of ice.
    My gorgeous sandy-haired boyfriend has been having sex with another girl.
    The image of him in bed with someone else slams into my mind. Someone else running her fingers through his hair. Someone else gazing into his blue, blue eyes. Someone else writhing up against him, their bodies bathed in sweat…
    I think I’m going to throw up. I rummage around the seat pocket in front of me and manage to find a sick bag. But the feeling passes and I force myself to take a couple of deep breaths. Oh, God, this is a thirteen-hour flight! I don’t know how I’m going to cope.
    The plane lurches forward and forces me backwards into myseat as it zooms off down the runway. Suddenly we’re in the air, and we’re climbing, climbing, climbing, and leaving the lights of London far behind us. Then abruptly there’s cloud and it all goes dark outside.
    My mind whirrs into action. Who is she? Have they been seeing each other long? How many times have they slept together? Is she better in bed than me? Is she slimmer? Taller? Sexier? Does he love her? Oh, God. Oh, God. How could he do this to me?
    Nausea rockets back through me and this time I really do throw up.
    ‘Urgh.’ Fatso flinches in disgust, while his anorexic wife peeps at me nervously from behind his great hulk of a frame.
    Ding. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has switched