Chapter 3

The hiss of dropping pressure pulls us awake to twist and stretch in
our funked, confined spaces. We are prisoners of the air, deathtrapped
in this falling plane. I know this, as usual.

I tail the heavily made-up flight attendants through singed, jetlagged
eyes. They stalk the gangway in robotic preparation, dispensing cups of
water, collecting headphones, un-reclining seats. They look efficient
and unconcerned, but would they look any different if something was
wrong? Of course they wouldn't. They're professionals.

The autopilot has been switched to manual and our lives dropped into
the hands of human frailty. A person. Maybe an individual with a
family, a house with a mortgage in the suburbs, drinking mates, squash
buddies, a violent temper. This someone could be as messed up as me, as
pumped up with fear. He or she has to deliver us from the sky to the
streets. Calm or carnage, what are the odds? The pilot is God.

Now we are on the move, a clumsy community released from possible
thrombosis. Our last chance to use the facilities before the baggage
hall. There are no more films to watch, no games to play on our tiny,
dead plasma screens, no more free wine to prevent me from shaking.
There is absolutely nothing left to divert my terror, not even a
book.

I need to wake her up now, put a stop to this.

I take Alison's hand, exert a little force on her fingers. Her
gingersnap hair is messed from the doze, her eyes are fluttering,
re-focusing to a sharp, light grey. Responding to the moment, she
clutches and squeezes my hand tight, to the threshold of pain. She
leans to the porthole of a window for a moment, clenches even harder.
She might break my fingers. She turns to me, smiling and mischievous,
the most extraordinary face.

"Does that hurt?" she says.
"Yeah, it bloody does, stop it."
"You started it."
"Well I wanted to wake you up, didn't I?"
"Well you have, haven't you? Look at that out there, Chrissie boy,
that's amazing."
"I know." I can't see a thing. "I'm scared, Alison."
"Breathe deeply, sweetheart, through the nose, relax, that's it. We're
almost there. We did it, babe."

Her grip has turned to a stroke.

And we have done it. I can't believe this. What are we doing here? We
are on the other side of the world, a place where the water goes down
the plughole the wrong way, where babies are born with cricket bats in
their hands. It doesn't feel quite right, too far out of kilter with
all I've known before. We are thousands of miles from London, from
Basildon, from icy October rain, train delays and Daily Mail scandals.
I'll have to be content with the BBC World Service for a while, for a
whole year.

I lean forward into Alison, so that we can take in the view together.
She is mesmerised, a wide-eyed wonder. I wish that I could feel the
same, I really do. I can just about see a sky above us, a canvas of
clear blue. Below, there is a still, green sea, dotted with pancakes of
sand cays. The ocean is so clear that we can see coral cities below the
waterline. I know this should be beautiful but I just cannot feel it.
This almost-spell is broken by the ping of the aircraft's public
address system.

"Fasten your seatbelt, Chris, the sign's just come on. I love this
bit." She says it as if she is mocking me.

I fumble with the straps. I can't get it to lock, always panicking at
this point on every flight I've ever been on. Alison does it for me, of
course. I want her to.

"Help me." I say.
"I just have. You're a baby."
"I know. It'll never change. I can't stand it."
"It's OK Chris, about ten minutes or so and then that'll be it. You can
have a fag then and really calm down."
"I'll want a whole packet. God, let's get this over with."
"Easy, it'll be alright. It's going to be fine. It's so calm out there
even I could land this thing."

I reckon she could as well, she's that bright, always ahead of every
game. Alison is trying for me. I like and need the attention, she knows
I do. She combs her fingers through her hair, gives me her fierce,
white-teethed smile.

"I forgot to tell you something, four eyes." I know what she is going
to say. Sometimes even Alison can be second-guessed.

"What's that then? You're not pregnant, are you?"

She laughs. I just about manage a throaty, frightened chuckle.

"Now, that would be a miracle, wouldn't it? Stranger things do happen,
though." Sometimes that smirk of hers can be so annoying.

"I don't know," I reply. "Those cocktails were really strong. Who knows
what kind of stuff they put in them? You were mad for it last
night."
"Well, you know, when in Rome and all that. I didn't know you had it in
you."
"You were gagging for it."

She pinches me again. It hurts. I wince. It detracts from the fear, I
guess. She pulls me by my shirt collar until I am an inch from her eye
line.

"No, Don Juan, what I was going to say, if you'll let me bloody finish,
is this." She gulps in the fetid air, a pause in an attempt to make the
moment matter, and says, "I love you, Chris."

I know she does, and I was right. She said it. She always says it in
times of high anxiety or pleasured excitement. I love her back as well,
I think. I'm sure I do. We need this time together, this
eve-of-the-millennium adventure. I've been persuading myself ever since
we left Heathrow. The sex was good last night because of my
desperation. I needed to cling to something, to get lost in a
wood-panelled Singapore hotel room, that was all.

I try to pull away, but she's holding me, pleading with me. "Chris,
look at me, do you know that? Do you understand how much I love
you?"

"Yes."

I've just lied. The truth is, I don't know. How can we ever?

"Listen to me, honey." She's trying. "I would not want to do this with
anyone else. You and me are about to have to the greatest fucking time
of our life. The best."

I hope so. We need to get something from this, because there are other
places that I could be. I would never tell her this, of course. She
would be furious.

"Ali, there's snakes down there, big, fangy horrible vicious snakes.
Jellyfish and crocodiles and great big hairy spiders. It's the most
dangerous place in the world. We could be eaten alive within an hour of
landing and it will all be your fault."

She doesn't laugh.. "Shut it, you ungrateful bugger."

"And Rolf Harris and his poxy kangaroos. We might get painted to
death." I can't keep this up. "Ali, can we hack this?"
"I can, you can't." She states this with conviction. "There's more
chance of Kylie eating you alive, you big poof. Come on, tighten your
belt a bit more."
"Shut up, carrot top. One look at you and Mel Gibson's lethal weapon
would shrink to a winkle."
"No way Jos?, not if he knew what was good for him. I'd have him under
my thumb like that." I've got her giggling now. She clicks her fingers.
"Now, you bald bastard, start enjoying yourself, just like you did last
night."

She gives me a wink. She pulls at my belt again and it cuts into my
gut.

"And give us a kiss as well, you fat git."

I do, a big wet sloppy one. It tastes of 39,000 feet lasagne, sleep and
excitement. She holds the back of my neck, softly strokes my hot,
hedgehog hair and returns to the window. She looks a mess, but gorgeous
at the same time.

This monster of the air banks and then dives, a big dipper on the
loose. I'm sure I see dolphins leaping below as we cross the coast and
head into Perth. The surface is dry red, scorched, our new world for
the foreseeable future. The landing gear drops and I grip her hand
again.

"Ali, I don't like this, I just don't."
"Shall I tell you a joke?" She's really smiling.
"No. Yes." I'm feeling sick.
"How do you get an elephant off the stage?"
"What?"
"I said, how do you get an elephant off the stage?"
"I don't know."
"You can't, love, it's in their blood."
"I don't understand, what are you talking about? Whose blood? Am I
bleeding?"

She circles my palm with her index finger. This is the worst bit. This
piece of metal can go either way. Relief or retribution. I need to talk
to a flight attendant. I am shouting. "Did you check this thing for
Y2K?"

And then we are sucked on to the runway. Alison is laughing madly. So
am I. I feel great.

I finally get her joke. I laugh some more.

We're here. Australia.