Lucy in the Sky

passengers are either sleepingor watching the in-flight entertainment, I hoist myself up in my seat and climb over my dozing neighbours, carefully treading on their armrests so as not to wake them. I lift back the curtain dividing us and Business Class and step through. The Asian businessman is sleeping, so I creep over to him. Carefully taking the phone from its mount, I scrutinise it. No! It looks like it needs a credit card.
    ‘Miss! What are you doing?’
    The businessman jolts wide awake at the sound of the air hostess’s shrill voice and stares at me, startled. He shouts something I can’t understand and, before I know it, the phone has been wrestled out of my grip by Franny and I’m being frogmarched up towards the front of the plane.
    In the kitchenette area she turns to me and says with icy-cold hardness: ‘You’d better listen to me long and hard. First, you rocked up late and drunk. You were lucky that we didn’t refuse you passage on this aircraft—’
    ‘I wasn’t that drunk,’ I interrupt.
    ‘Enough! This is the one and only time I am going to tell you. If you don’t go back to your seat and calmly stay there for the duration of this flight, you will be banned from ever flying with this airline again. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’
    A red flush has crept across my face and I nod my assent. Mortified, I make my way back to my seat. Again I climb up and over the sleeping passengers, all the time watched closely by Franny. When she’s satisfied that I’ve been put firmly and literally back in my place, she turns and leaves, shaking her head in disgust.
    After a few minutes of sitting there with my face burning, I decide I’d better watch a film or something–anything to try to take my mind off my situation. I won’t be moving again.
    An hour later, when they’re bringing the breakfast trolley through, I barely look up, and when we finally land I can’t meet their eyes as I walk out through the door. They don’t say anything which may cause a scene in front of the other passengers, but I know they’re delighted to see the back of me. I just hope they’re not on my return flight. But right now, of course, there are other concerns on my mind.

Sydney

Chapter 1
    I have to clear Immigration before I can call the wanker but as soon as I’m through and walking towards the luggage conveyor belt I’m dialling his number.
    He picks up, laughing. ‘Hello?’
    ‘James.’
    ‘Lucy! How are you? How was your flight?’
    ‘You lying, cheating, son of a bitch.’
    ‘Lucy?’
    ‘You heard me, you bastard.’
    ‘Hey?’ Confusion reigns.
    ‘The sheets, James, the sheets. How did your friends know about the shitty sheets I use when I’m doing my fake tan? They don’t know, you arsehole—’
    ‘Lucy!’ he interrupts, but I’m on a roll.
    ‘They don’t know because they weren’t there. Whoever it was that you were shagging knows–oh, she knows alright.’
    ‘Lucy!’
    ‘Shut the hell up, James, I don’t want to hear! You have really blown it this time–I will never, ever forgive you!’
    ‘Lucy!’
    ‘No! Shut up!’
    ‘EGYPTIAN COTTON!’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Egyptian cotton!’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    He sounds panicked. ‘I told them about the ludicrously expensive Egyptian cotton sheets you bought from Selfridges a few weeks ago. I was complaining about it to a bunch of people at work just the other day.’
    ‘Why, James, why would you be talking about our sheets at work? I don’t believe you.’ My voice is flat.
    ‘Well, you’re going to have to because I was. Jeremy said something about how I must be enjoying my promotion and living the high life now and I said we won’t be living the high life if you keep spending money on stupid Egyptian cotton sheets!’ He barely pauses for breath.
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Yes, oh . This is crazy!’
    ‘I thought “nice sheets” was sarcasm.’
    ‘Well, you thought wrong. Again.’
    Neither of us can speak. The wind has been ripped out of my sails and I picture James all worked up, on the other side of the world, breathing hard and fast into his chest. I genuinely don’t know what to say. I’m still so angry. It’s like when you have a dream that your boyfriend has cheated on you and you wake up and look at him and still feel pissed off. He doesn’t understand, of course, because he’s done nothing wrong. But you still want him to apologise. I really don’t feel capable of saying sorry again.
    ‘Lucy?’
    Nothing.
    ‘Speak