of my muscles is tight, as though I’m on the starting blocks, about to take off. I think of Mina, on her way to work, and for all that I didn’t want her to go, I’m glad it’s another five days till I have to face her again.
“They’re sending me an itemized bill,” Butler says. “But if there’s anything you want to share in the meantime…”
I find a frown, as if I’ve got no idea what she’s talking about.
“Because I’m assuming you’re aware that job phones aren’t to be used to make personal calls.”
“Of course.”
“Right, then.”
I take my cue and stand up. Say, “Thank you,” without thought as to why. For the heads-up, I suppose, the chance to prepare a defense, although the world’s finest barristers couldn’t spin together enough of a story to get me out of this one.
What happened with Katya is the least of my problems.
Once Butler sees that phone bill, it’s over.
THREE
10 A.M. | MINA
As I near the airport, I see the police presence that tells me another demonstration is under way. Development for the new runway started three months ago, and periodically a cluster of protesters forms near Arrivals to make their feelings known. They’re no trouble, in the main, and—although I’d never go on record with this—I sympathize with them. I just think they’re going after the wrong target. We’ve created a world in which we need to fly; that can’t change now. Better, surely, to tackle the factory emissions, the landfill?
I think guiltily of the daily wet wipes I use and resolve to dig out my Clarins again. A banner’s been stretched across the road. PLAINS NOT PLANES. They must have only just put it there—security’s pretty tight around the airport. The police can’t stop them demonstrating, but they take down their signs as quickly as they go up. It seems a pretty pointless exercise, given that anyone traveling to the airport either works here or has a ticket to fly somewhere. A sign isn’t going to change their minds.
I slow for the roundabout, glancing to the left where a woman holds a placard showing a photograph of a starving polar bear. Seeing me looking, she thrusts it toward me, shouting incomprehensibly. My heart races, and I reach for the central locking, my foot slipping on the accelerator in my haste to pull away. The absurdity of my reaction—to a woman on the other side of the railings, for heaven’s sake!—makes me cross with the lot of them. Maybe I’ll keep using the bloody wet wipes, just to spite them.
After arriving at the car park, I lock my car then wheel my case to the shuttle bus. I usually walk to the crew room, but the pavement’s slippery with gray ice thrown up from the roads, and what was fresh snow at home is slush here. I can’t wait to touch down in Sydney and see sunshine, dump my bag at the hotel, and head to the beach to sleep off the flight.
In the crew room, there’s the buzz in the air that comes with hot gossip or new rosters. I queue for a coffee and cup my still-cold hands around the plastic. A woman in civvies looks at me appraisingly.
“You on the Sydney flight?”
“Yes.” I feel myself flush, half expecting her to call me out on it. You shouldn’t be here…
Instead, she grimaces. “Rather you than me.”
I look for a name badge but don’t find one. Who is this woman, so full of opinions? She could be anyone from a cleaning lady to a finance manager. Hundreds of people pass through the crew room even on a normal day, and this is not a normal day. Everyone wants a piece of Flight 79. Everyone wants to make history.
“Santiago’s fourteen hours, and that’s not too bad.” I smile politely, getting out my phone to signal that we’re done, but she doesn’t take the hint. She comes closer, pulling me toward her and dropping her voice as though someone might be listening.
“I heard something went wrong on the last test flight.”
I laugh. “What are you talking about?” I speak loudly, banishing the tiny seed of fear her words have planted within me.
“A problem with the plane. Only they hushed it all up. They made the crew sign confidentiality agreements and—”
“Stop it!” I’m 99 percent certain I’ve never worked with this woman. Why has she latched on to me, out of everyone here? I scan her face, try to work out where she’s from. Human