Chapter 22

Cabin crew, please prepare the cabin for landing.

Someone has to respond to the flight deck to acknowledge the PA. Normally it would be Allegra, but she’s stuck in the middle of the airplane, stuck in the middle of what may be the worst flight of her career. If no one responds to the PA, they’ll do it again or phone the cabin to check if they’re okay, and are they okay? Because there is still no sign of Ellie and Anders, and meanwhile the injured guy sobs and the fortune teller trots merrily on. She is currently talking to the bride and groom.

Allegra turns stiffly to face the front of the plane, and thankfully there is Kim, drawing the business-class curtain back. Allegra signals “phone” with her hand. Kim gets it, nods. So that’s under control, and once again Allegra is walking down the aisle, her skirt damp against her thighs, trying not to breathe in the toxic, gut-twisting smell of that seemingly sweet child’s vomit. (Is there some in her hair ?) “Could you put your tray table back up, please, sir? Could you open your window shade, please, madam?”

Cabin prep must still be done, even while a passenger distributes deathly predictions.

Allegra sees Ellie finally emerge from the galley. About time! Thank you!

She comes face-to-face with the lady. They exchange a few words. Ellie puts her hand on the lady’s arm.

Well done, Ellie, turn her around, get her back to her seat.

But Ellie smiles and nods at the lady, then steps around her and walks briskly toward Allegra. The lady continues on her way.

Allegra can’t believe it. “Why didn’t you stop her?” she hisses when they reach each other.

“Stop who?” says Ellie. “I’ve been with Anders.” She lowers her voice. “He fainted.”

“What?” For goodness’ sake. “Is he okay?” She’s going to kill him. Intermittent bloody fasting.

“I gave him something to eat,” says Ellie piously. “He’s fine now.”

“Good. Well done. So now please help me stop this lady.” Allegra points.

Ellie turns to look. “That lady? Why? She’s fine. She’s just on her way to the toilet. She mentioned something about having bladder cancer? And being eighty-eight? I said I was sorry and to let us know if she needed anything.”

“No, she doesn’t mean—” Allegra catches herself. “She’s upsetting people. We need to get her back to her seat.”

“The seat-belt sign isn’t on yet,” says Ellie. Her nostrils twitch and she looks aghast at the state of Allegra’s uniform. “What happened toyou?”

A passenger says, “You two need to stop the chitchat and get that freaky fortune teller under control.”

A wave of something halfway between laughter and tears builds in Allegra’s chest. She ignores the passenger and keeps walking toward the lady.

Ellie follows. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—wait, was she telling my fortune just now?”

Allegra reaches the lady as she is pointing at a passenger in the second-to-last row.

“I expect—” she says.

“Excuse me.” Allegra’s voice is firm and loud. Her hand hovers respectfully over the lady’s shoulder without actually touching her. “Madam?”

“Please don’t interrupt.” The lady glances back at her. “I need to focus.”

The passenger in the aisle seat is a woman with a crazy mop of curly gray hair and red-framed glasses. “Yes, let her focus!” she says cheerily. “It’s my turn! I want to hear what she has to say.”

“Madam,” sighs Allegra.

“I expect heart failure, age ninety-five.”

The curly-haired woman lifts up her palm. “High-five! I’ll take that! Ninety-five, woo-hoo!”

People are peculiar.

The lady ignores the offer of a high five and turns to the window seat on the other side of the aisle, where a man sits, hunched, his back curved. He’s wearing a black hoodie and AirPods.

The lady points at him. “I expect road injury, age sixty-four.”

He’s oblivious, doesn’t hear, doesn’t respond, will never know he should make a point of looking both ways when he’s sixty-four.

“I really need you to return to your seat now,” says Allegra. “We’re going to be landing in Sydney soon.”

“I expect smoke inhalation, house fire, age fifty-nine.” The ladypoints at a woman steadily working her way through a bag of chips.

The woman stops, one chip midway to her mouth. “Fire? Where?”

“There is no fire,” says Allegra. “Absolutely not.”

Superhero emerges from the lavatory tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

The lady points up at his big barrel chest. “I expect kidney disease, age ninety-three.”

“Please sit back down now, madam,” says Allegra.

“Once I’ve completed my task,” says the lady.

“I think we’d better do what the flight attendants say,” says the superhero in his deep superhero voice. “They’re in charge.”

He’s like a brick wall. There is no way anyone is getting around him.

“I don’t think I’m done yet!” says the lady. She attempts to peer around the man.

Ellie speaks up. “No, madam, it’s fine, you are done. You’ve, uh, completed your task.”

“I’ve completed my task?” Those words seem to be the magic charm. Apparently even freaky fortune tellers can be task-focused. The lady looks back at Ellie hopefully. “Have I?”

“Absolutely,” says Ellie. “Good job! You probably need a glass of water.”

“Hydration is so important at my age,” says the lady thoughtfully.

“Very important. You sit down and I’ll bring you one straightaway,” says Ellie. Allegra may have underestimated Ellie.

“Thank you,” says the lady. “With ice, please.”

“No problem,” says Ellie.

“I’m exhausted,” the lady confides to Allegra as she leads her back to her seat.

“Me too,” says Allegra.

Allegra feels the curious sideways glances of passengers. The baby is quiet. No one speaks or calls out. The atmosphere is like a classroom after a teacher’s lost their temper.

The lady sits, capably buckles her seat belt, sighs.

Ellie appears with a plastic cup of ice water, which she hands to Allegra.

Allegra can now see Anders at the rear of the plane, apparently fine again, smiling and charming, back doing his job, leaning over to help get someone’s seat into the upright position.

“There you go,” says Allegra. She hands the cup to the lady, who drinks thirstily.

There is an empty seat next to her, which is fortunate, and the man in the window seat is busy packing away his laptop.

“Are you feeling okay?” asks Allegra.

“I’m in excellent health,” says the lady. “I take no medication whatsoever.”

Might want to reconsider that, thinks Allegra.

“We’ll be in Sydney soon, so—”

The lady points at Allegra’s forehead. Her voice has become mumbly, as if a drug is taking effect. “I expect self-harm, age…age…twenty…”

Her voice fades. She looks down at the cup.

“Twenty what?” says Allegra in spite of herself. She leans closer, glancing at the man in the window seat to make sure he’s not witnessing her unprofessional interest in her own fortune, but he’s still busy packing away his laptop.

The lady rests her head against her seat. Her hand still grips the plastic cup. Her eyes close.

Self-harm. The phrase slithers into Allegra’s consciousness like a parasite. She sees the mustard-colored walls of a small room coming toward her from all sides. That childhood sensation of her nose pressed flat, bones crushed, the air squeezed from her body.

The lady opens her eyes very briefly.

She says, “Age twenty-eight.”

The pilot says, “Cabin crew, please be seated for landing.”