Flight BA 233 from Larnaca to London Heathrow was twenty-thousand feet somewhere above Western Europe and for at least one passenger the plane was a flying prison. Ali Fisher toyed with the chicken in white wine sauce in her compartmentalised plastic tray. She leafed through the in-flight magazine without reading a word. She even tried watching a movie, but Drew Barrymore's roller derby antics could not retain her attention. The images on the screen were blurred by the ones already in her head, the actors' faces obscured by those of Amy and David. And Melanie come to that.
Passion and lust. Pain and betrayal. Quite a lot of mess to create in ten short days.
She leaned back against the head-rest and closed her eyes, but that only served to bring the faces into sharper focus. Checking her watch, adjusted back to British Summer Time, she saw three hours' flight-time remaining. A brief wait at the baggage carousel please God, and then take the train home. Strip off, get showered. Try and wash away all the guilt. Like that would work. Hot milk, codeine for her headache, something to make her sleep. Her night at the airport had been unending. She needed unconsciousness. She needed to blot out the whole sorry denouement. She needed to quell the arousal which still surged intermittently through her, for with it came an accompanying surge of remorse. Damn.
She bit her lip, then stopped, recalling his words, the ones breathed to her over the breakfast buffet the morning after their first time. "Little tease. You know what I feel when you do that? You know what I want to do to you?" She'd blushed, for by then she'd known very well, and she'd bitten her lip all the more knowingly, played up the girlish innocence and blended it with the oh-so-knowing big-girl-now routine to drive him wild.
Big-girl, who was she trying to fool? Her eyes stared wide as she tried to stem the tears which threatened. The last thing she needed was concern from the elderly couple beside her.
"Everything okay?" Shit. The young flight attendant with her hair in a French plait had noticed instead. The girl was stooping over her, a hand laid solicitously on her arm. "You're looking a bit peaky."
Alison shook her head. "I'm fine thanks," she lied. "Could I maybe have a drink of water?"
The attendant was just going to fetch one when the seat-belt lights dinged on. Ali half-listened to the pilot's intercom voice. "...Going to be experiencing some turbulence... trays in their upright position... seatbelts on please."
"Water'll have to wait," the girl smiled apologetically. "You'll be all right?"
"I'll be great." A little turbulence she could deal with. She'd left much more back in Cyprus, hadn't she?
Flight BA232 from London Heathrow to Larnaca, ten days earlier. Ali Fisher outward-bound for two weeks in the Mediterranean sunshine. Same plane, same menu, but angst-free and set for fun. Rotten shame that Sara was still in hospital with a compound fracture, but Alison's friend had provided a blessing from her sick-bed. "Don't stay at home, for God's sake, get out there and raise hell for both of us! Just think how many more boys there'll be without me as competition!"
Ali felt she'd had enough of boys. A girl of maturity and academic prowess beyond her years should be with someone a little less callow than Adam Rylance. There was still a pang of sorrow however at the thought of him. He had been a sweet first boyfriend in an endearingly clumsy jockish sort of way and a perfectly adequate popper of her cherry. His sexual style had been a triumph of enthusiasm over technical ability; she'd always felt like the novice were teaching her own deflowerer. Still there had been affection between them. That plus the sheer thrill of illicit manoeuvres in one or other of their family homes, or similar covert sex-games in whatever other naughty locations they could find. Backs or bonnets of cars, secluded glens in the New Forest and at least one night-club restroom.
She still grinned at the memory of him peeling off her panties on his bed, while his parents watched television below, or the night when her father had nearly stumbled on their mutual masturbation in her living-room. Adam's climax had already been triggered when the paternal voice sounded on the staircase; he had staggered into the lower bathroom hoisting trousers with one hand and clutching his spurting cock with the other, while she giggled desperately, still semi-delirious from where his fingers had been. That recollection, she thought, would always make her laugh out loud.
End of school and different college aims had heralded the break-up. Her sights were fixed on Edinburgh, he wanted to stay a London-boy. She had paid lip service to trying the long-distance thing, but in her heart she had known it was time for the split. An act of cruel kindness for them both. He'd grow up properly and become a better lover for someone else. And she would start on a whole new life-chapter with minimal reference to the previous one.
Their final conversation had been wrenching. She'd been tender but resolute and had cried as she held him. But along with the next day's melancholy there was undeniable excitement. Life was an adventure. Fresh fields awaited to be romped through. And where better to start the romp than Ayia Napa?
She had got made-over especially for her pre-university sunsplash. Sad break-ups sparked serious gym-training and Ali had run, lifted and stretched herself to a womanly tautness over six weeks of summer. Her long straight brunette mane had been trimmed so that shaggy tresses spilled around her shoulders and a broad fringe brushed the upper lashes of her green eyes. Oh, and she had dyed it a deep reddish-burgundy which complimented her dark red lips and the natural strawberry of her nipples in striking fashion. Ali felt positively sultry on that flight. Virginity happily jettisoned, she was on the cusp of adult life. A vibrant fusion of girlish fun and burgeoning sophistication. It seemed almost apt that she were a lone-traveller. Look out Cyprus, look out fucking world - Ali Fisher is landing!
Her wrangle at baggage reclaim and the hauling of her suitcase through a crowded airport did much to see off that initial bravado. The glint of sunshine of Mediterranean blue water stirred her heart during the coach trip, but how much better to have had a comrade in arms beside her with whom to share the adventure. By the time she arrived at the
Grecian Sands
, her Ayia Napa hotel, Ali could not shake the sense of lostness. Sure she could hit the beach, but the prospect of heading out to party alone was a daunting one. Small wonder that she allowed herself to be picked up so easily by Amy Gosling.
The vivacious teenager struck up conversation as Ali was checking in; she was standing at reception as though waiting for someone, dressed in baggy beach-wear and flip-flops, her sunglasses pushed up into her mousy fair hair. "Tough journey?" she asked on seeing Ali flag against the cream-veneered desk.
"Early start," Ali answered ruefully. "I need sleep."
"I know how you feel... We just got here an hour ago." The girl had an attractive round face and smiling eyes. "Mum's still crashed out, but Dad and I are headed for the beach. I swear it's my last ever family holiday. I mean I love them..." Her voice dropped so she could confide. "...But once I'm seventeen I'm making my own plans. It's just I've always wanted to go to the Greek islands, so I'm tagging along this year. Not so much for the party scene - I'd have to sneak away for that anyway - more the history, I love all that stuff. I'm a bit of a geek I suppose. Hey, I love your hair!"
"Ehhh - thanks." Ali was overwhelmed by the sheer rush of words, but gratified nonetheless. "It's... something new. Just got it done a few days ago."
"And you're trying it out some
where
new... Re-inventing yourself, that's so cool!" her new acquaintance gushed. "Like you can go a bit wild here. Not that
I
can, with Mum and Dad around..." The last bit was a cheeky aside for the benefit of the tall athletic-looking man who had just joined her.
