Can You Keep a Secret? (3 page)

'This is some information about our new business class lounge at Gatwick. We provide full conference call facilities, and meeting rooms, should you require them. Would you be interested?'

OK. I am a top businesswoman. I am a top highflying business executive.

'Quite possibly,' I say, looking nonchalantly at the leaflet. 'Yes, I may well use one of these rooms to … brief my team. I have a large team, and obviously they need a lot of briefing. On business matters.' I clear my throat. 'Mostly … logistical.'

'Would you like me to book you a room now?' says the hostess helpfully.

'Er, no thanks,' I say after a pause, 'My team is currently … at home. I gave them all the day off.'

'Right.' The hostess looks a little puzzled.

'But another time, maybe,' I say quickly. 'And while you're here – I was just wondering, 'is that sound normal?'

'What sound?' The air hostess cocks her head.

That sound. That kind of whining, coming from the wing?'

'I can't hear anything.' She looks at me sympathetically. 'Are you a nervous flyer?'

'No!' I say at once, and give a little laugh. 'No, I'm not
nervous
! I just … was wondering. Just out of interest.'

'I'll see if I can find out for you,' she says kindly. 'Here you are, sir. Some information about our executive facilities at Gatwick.'

The American man takes his leaflet wordlessly and puts it down without even looking at it, and the hostess moves on, staggering a little as the plane gives a bump.

Why is the plane bumping?

Oh God. A sudden rush of fear hits me with no warning. This is madness. Madness! Sitting in this big heavy box, with no way of escape, thousands and thousands of feet above the ground …

I can't do this on my own. I have an overpowering need to talk to someone. Someone reassuring. Someone safe.

Connor.

Instinctively I fish out my mobile phone, but immediately the air hostess swoops down on me.

'I'm afraid you can't use that on board the plane,' she says with a bright smile. 'Could you please ensure that it's switched off?'

'Oh. Er … sorry.'

Of course I can't use my mobile. They've only said it about fifty-five zillion times. I am such a durr-brain. Anyway, never mind. It doesn't matter. I'm fine. I put the phone away in my bag, and try to concentrate on an old episode of
Fawlty Towers
which is showing on the screen.

Maybe I'll start counting again. Three hundred and forty-nine. Three hundred and fifty. Three hundred and—

Fuck. My head jerks up. What was that bump? Did we just get
hit
?

OK, don't panic. It was just a bump. I'm sure everything's fine. We probably just flew into a pigeon or something. Where was I?

Three hundred and fifty-one. Three hundred and fifty-two. Three hundred and fifty—

And that's it.

That's the moment.

Everything seems to fragment.

I hear the screams like a wave over my head, almost before I realize what's happening.

Oh God. Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh … OH … NO. NO. NO.

We're falling. Oh God, we're falling.

We're plummeting downwards. The plane's dropping through the air like a stone. A man over there has just shot up through the air and banged his head on the ceiling. He's bleeding. I'm gasping, clutching onto my seat, trying not to do the same thing, but I can feel myself being wrenched upwards, it's like someone's tugging me, like gravity's suddenly switched the other way. There's no time to think. My mind can't … Bags are flying around, drinks are spilling, one of the cabin crew has fallen over, she's clutching at a seat …

Oh God. Oh God. OK, it's slowing down now. It's … it's better.

Fuck. I just … I just can't … I …

I look at the American man, and he's grasping his seat as tightly as I am.

I feel sick. I think I might be sick. Oh God.

OK. It's … it's kind of … back to normal.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' comes a voice over the intercom, and everyone's heads jerk up. 'This is your captain speaking.'

My heart's juddering in my chest. I can't listen. I can't think.

'We're currently hitting some clear-air turbulence, and things may be unsteady for a while. I have switched on the seatbelt signs and would ask that you all return to your seats as quickly as—'

There's another huge lurch, and his voice is drowned by screams and cries all round the plane.

It's like a bad dream. A bad rollercoaster dream.

The cabin crew are all strapping themselves into their seats. One of the hostesses is mopping blood on her face. A minute ago they were happily doling out honey-roast peanuts.

This is what happens to other people in other planes. People on safety videos. Not me.

'Please keep calm,' the captain is saying. 'As soon as we have more information …'

Keep
calm
? I can't breathe, let alone keep calm. What are we going to do? Are we all supposed to just
sit
here while the plane bucks like an out-of-control horse?

I can hear someone behind me reciting 'Hail Mary, full of grace …' and a fresh, choking panic sweeps through me. People are praying. This is real.

We're going to die.

We're going to die.

'I'm sorry?' The American man in the next seat looks at me, his face tense and white.

Did I just say that aloud?

'We're going to die.' I stare into his face. This could be the last person I ever see alive. I take in the lines etched around his dark eyes; his strong jaw, shaded with stubble.

The plane suddenly drops down again, and I give an involuntary shriek.

'I don't think we're going to die,' he says. But he's gripping his seat-arms, too. 'They said it was just turbulence—'

'Of course they did!' I can hear the hysteria in my voice. 'They wouldn't exactly say, "OK folks, that's it, you're all goners"!' The plane gives another terrifying swoop and I find myself clutching the man's hand in panic. 'We're not going to make it. I know we're not. This is it. I'm twenty-five years old, for God's sake. I'm not ready. I haven't achieved anything. I've never had children, I've never saved a life …' My eyes fall randomly on the '30 Things To Do Before You're 30' article. 'I haven't ever climbed a mountain, I haven't got a tattoo, I don't even
know
if I've got a G spot …'

'I'm sorry?' says the man, sounding taken aback, but I barely hear him.

'My career's a complete joke. I'm not a top businesswoman at all.' I gesture half-tearfully to my suit. 'I haven't got a team! I'm just a crappy assistant and I just had my first ever big meeting and it was a complete disaster. Half the time I haven't got a clue what people are talking about, I don't know what logistical means, I'm never going to get promoted, and I owe my dad four thousand quid, and I've never really been in love …'

I draw myself up short with a jolt. 'I'm sorry,' I say, and exhale sharply. 'You don't want to hear all this.'

'That's quite all right,' says the man.

God. I'm completely losing it.

And anyway, what I just said wasn't true. Because I am in love with Connor. It must be the altitude or something, confusing my mind.

Flustered, I push the hair off my face and try to get a hold of myself. OK, let's try counting again. Three hundred and fifty … six. Three hundred and—

Oh God. Oh God. No. Please. The plane's lurching again. We're plummeting.

'I've never done anything to make my parents proud of me.' The words come spilling out of my mouth before I can stop them. 'Never.'

'I'm sure that's not true,' says the man nicely.

'It's true. Maybe they used to be proud of me. But then my cousin Kerry came to live with us and all at once it was like my parents couldn't see me any more. All they could see was her. She was fourteen when she arrived, and I was ten, and I thought it was going to be great, you know. Like having an older sister. But it didn't work out like that …'

I can't stop talking. I just can't stop.

Every time the plane bumps or jolts, another torrent of words pours randomly out of my mouth, like water gushing over a waterfall.

It's either talk or scream.

'… she was a swimming champion, and an everything champion, and I was just … nothing in comparison …'

'… photography course and I honestly thought it was going to change my life …'

'… eight stone three. But I was planning to go on a diet …'

'I applied for every single job in the world. I was so desperate, I even applied to …'

'… awful girl called Artemis. This new desk arrived the other day, and she just took it, even though I've got this really grotty little desk …'

'… sometimes I water her stupid spider plant with orange juice, just to serve her right …'

'… sweet girl Katie, who works in Personnel. We have this secret code where she comes in and says, "Can I go through some numbers with you, Emma?" and it really means "Shall we nip out to Starbucks …"'

'… awful presents, and I have to pretend I like them …'

'… coffee at work is the most disgusting stuff you've ever drunk, absolute poison …'

'… put "Maths GCSE grade A" on my CV, when I really only got C. I know it was dishonest. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I so wanted to get the job …'

What's happened to me? Normally there's a kind of filter which stops me blurting out everything I'm thinking; which keeps me in check.

But the filter's stopped working. Everything's piling out in a big, random stream, and I can't stop it.

'Sometimes I think I believe in God, because how else did we all get here? But then I think, yes but what about war and stuff …'

'… wear G-strings because they don't give you VPL. But they're
so
uncomfortable …'

'… size eight, and I didn't know what to do, so I just said "Wow those are absolutely fantastic …"'

'… roasted peppers, my complete favourite food …'

'… joined a book group, but I just couldn't get through
Great Expectations
. So I just skimmed the back and pretended I'd read it …'

'… I gave him all his goldfish food, I honestly don't know what happened …'

'… just have to
hear
that Carpenters song "Close to You" and I start crying …'

'…
really
wish I had bigger boobs. I mean, not Page 3 size, not completely enormous and stupid, but you know, bigger. Just to know what it's like …'

'… perfect date would start off with champagne just
appearing
at the table, as if by magic …'

'… I just cracked, I secretly bought this huge tub of Häagen-Dazs and scoffed the lot, and I never told Lissy …'

I'm unaware of anything around us. The world has narrowed to me and this stranger, and my mouth, spewing out all my innermost thoughts and secrets.

I barely know what I'm saying any more. All I know is, it feels good.

Is this what therapy is like?

'… name was Danny Nussbaum. Mum and Dad were downstairs watching
Ben Hur
, and I remember thinking, if this is what the world gets so excited about, then the world's mad …'

'… lie on my side, because that way your cleavage looks bigger …'

'… works in market research. I remember thinking the very first time I saw him, wow, he's good-looking, He's very tall and blond, because he's half-Swedish, and he has these amazing blue eyes. So he asked me out …'

'… always have a glass of sweet sherry before a date, just to calm my nerves …'

'He's wonderful. Connor's completely wonderful. I'm just so lucky. Everyone's always telling me how great he is. He's sweet, and he's good, and he's successful and everyone calls us the perfect couple …'

'… I'd never tell anyone this in a million years. But sometimes I think he's almost
too
good-looking. A bit like one of those dolls? Like Ken. Like a blond Ken.'

And now I'm on the subject of Connor, I'm saying things I've never said to anyone. Things I never even realized were in my head.

'… gave him this lovely leather watch for Christmas, but he wears this orange digital thing because it can tell him the temperature in Poland or something stupid …'

'… took me to all these jazz concerts and I pretended to enjoy them to be polite, so now he thinks I love jazz …'

'… every single Woody Allen film off by heart and says each line before it comes and it drives me crackers …'

'… just looks at me as though I'm speaking some foreign language …'

'… determined to find my G spot, so we spent the whole weekend doing it in different positions, and by the end I was just knackered, all I wanted was a pizza and
Friends
…'

'… he kept saying, what was it like, what was it like? So in the end I just made some stuff up, I said it was absolutely amazing, and it felt as though my whole body was opening up like a flower, and he said, what sort of flower, so I said a begonia …'

'… can't expect the initial passion to last. But how do you tell if the passion's faded in a good, long-term-commitment way or in a crap, we-don't-fancy-each-other-any-more way …'

'… knight in shining armour is not a realistic option. But there's a part of me that wants a huge, amazing romance. I want passion. I want to be swept off my feet. I want an earthquake, or a … I don't know, a huge whirlwind … something
exciting
. Sometimes I feel as if there's this whole new, thrilling life waiting for me out there, and if I can just—'

'Excuse me, miss?'

'What?' I look up dazedly. 'What is it?' The air hostess with the French plait is smiling down at me.

'We've landed.' I stare at her.

'We've
landed
?'

This doesn't make sense. How can we have landed? I look around – and sure enough, the plane's still. We're on the ground.

I feel like Dorothy. A second ago I was swirling around in Oz, clicking my heels together, and now I've woken up all flat and quiet and normal again.

'We aren't bumping any more,' I say stupidly.

'We stopped bumping quite a while ago,' says the American man.

'We're … we're not going to die.'

'We're not going to die,' he agrees.