Up Up and Away

by Nesta Tuomey

  ‘So think of us poor lads,’ the pilot wound up at last. ‘We’ve enough to do up front without having to worry about what’s cooking at the back. ‘Don’t forget we have the goddamn plane to fly!’

  Sally laughed huskily as she got to her feet. ‘I’d like to see him coping with a pregnant woman with four kids under six and they all screaming for the window seat,’ she chuckled, ‘What a chancer!’

  Turning to follow her friend, Kay locked eyes across the aisle with Graham Pender. Gripped by his gaze, she was unable to do anything but stare. Crikey, it’s him, was all she could think, a deep blush mantling her cheek. Conscious of his burning look into which was creeping something more intimate still, Kay wrenched her gaze away and moved on.

  As she reached the top of the cabin she couldn’t resist peeping back. To her consternation, he was gazing steadily at her. And as he caught her out, he smiled at her with such a knowing glint in his eye that her face flamed hotter than ever.

  SIXTEEN

  As the girls were returning past her window from emergency drill Maura Kane watched them for a moment, then turned her eyes back to the hostess sitting opposite her. The girl was faintly smiling as though she considered the whole thing a huge joke. The Chief Hostess looked again at the report on her desk. Written in Check Mona Richards’ crabbed script it was damning stuff; ignoring call-bells; not talking to passengers and most serious of all, failing to carry out pre-take off emergency checks.

  ‘I can’t understand it. I’m sure I checked the fire extinguishers,’ the girl murmured sheepishly.

  Maura closed the file briskly. ‘How do you account for the fact that Miss Richards found the rear extinguisher under the seat instead of clipped to the wall?’

  ‘Could it have fallen down afterwards?’

  Maura considered this. It was just possible. Mona Richards was known for the severity of her checks. If she took a set against a hostess, she had a habit of hounding her until she became so nervous that she couldn’t do a thing right. The Chief Hostess decided to give this one the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘Very well, Miss Power, you may go, but do try and chat more to passengers.’ She gave a humorous smile. ‘We do have a reputation for being the friendly airline, you know.’

  The girl grinned again, this time in relief and stood up.

  ‘Yes Miss Kane... and thank you.’ Quickly she left the room.

  Maura sighed. She hated doing the heavy on the new girls but discipline had to be maintained. Usually one warning was enough. Two bad checks and it went on their record. It all counted at the end of their six month probationary period.

  She thought of Mona Richards and frowned. At times the Check acted like she hated people. Who had sat in on her selection committee? If ever anyone was in the wrong job, it was Mona.

  The Chief Hostess decided to lay off Mona for a while. Thankfully the October group trained by Sadie McIntyre were all checked out, she thought. As usual, Sadie had done a good job and the feed-back since the girls had taken to the air was encouraging. A pity she would still be away on winter leave when it was the turn of the December group to be checked. At present they were just finishing training and about to fly supernumerary.

  Who would she use when the time came? Maura wondered, consulting his list. With Sadie and Sylvie still away that left only four out of the original six Checks to choose from. Beattie, Mona, Eva, Ciara.

  Maura’s mouth quirked in a smile when she thought of Beattie Burgenhoffer who was a militant union member and with typical Teutonic efficiency was learning Irish. Her ‘Dias Mhuire agat’ rendered in gutteral accents aboard flights had the effect of making startled passengers sit right up. Nevertheless, despite her many eccentricities, Beattie was an extremely capable Check hostess and a ruthlessly ambitious woman to boot. It was mainly due to a lucky break for Maura that she, and not Beattie, was sitting right this minute in the Chief Hostess’s chair.

  Notwithstanding this, Maura decided to keep Beattie in reserve and use some of the others. Perhaps Ciara. She was a bit easy-going and inclined to court popularity with the new hostesses but after Mona that mightn’t be a bad thing.

  And Eva? Maura frowned, thinking of the Hostess Superintendent’s simpering niece who inevitably reported sick when the pressure was on. Well, Eva would probably do all right if she spaced her out a bit. A few Friendship flights to Glasgow and Liverpool with only one hostess to concentrate on at a time.

  Maura buzzed her secretary to send in the next hostess on her list. Would Simon drop in before his flight to Frankfurt, she wondered. Not that she could spare much time if he did. She was due in Oliver McGrattan’s office at eleven to discuss, of all things, food pilfering on flights.

  Maura sighed. Didn’t the Chief Executive realise that hostesses working a heavy London/Shannon with four legs of a journey, turnarounds of barely twenty minutes and no time to eat, welcomed any pickings they could get. Did he expect them to starve, for heaven’s sake! She frowned. What Oliver needed was a spell in a hostess uniform racing up and down the aisle for a while. A lot of his notions would change.

  Her thoughts turned back to Simon. If he didn’t leave it too late there would be just time for a quick chat. She was longing to see him. Lately there had been all too few opportunities, she thought regretfully. For the past few weeks he seemed permanently on continental flights, and was getting far too many overnights for her liking. Maura tapped the desk thoughtfully. Perhaps she should have a word with pilot rostering. Time she called in a few favours, she decided.

  The door opened to admit the next hostess. Maura smiled and waved her towards a chair. By the time the girl had answered a few questions about a recent Paris flight on which her cash-float hadn’t tallied with her bar sales and given a satisfactory reply - extreme turbulence prompting he to offer complimentary drinks to restore morale - it was getting on for eleven.

  ‘Good girl’, Maura praised. Any initiative in a crisis was to be commended. Might be future Check material here, she told herself, deciding to keep an eye on her. The girl flushed with pleasure and left, promising to ‘keep up the good work.’

  A flash of grey and gold past the window. Maura’s spirits rose. Simon! They crashed again as the door swung open to admit her cousin.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Christy!’ she cried, disappointed.

  Captain Kane dropped his cap on a chair and perched on the corner of her desk. ‘Don’t sound so delighted, Maura,’ he said in reproof. ‘I suppose you were expecting lover boy,’ he added with annoying perspicacity. ‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Christy. You know I’m glad to see you,’ Maura tried to infuse some warmth into her tone. ‘How is Jeannette?’ she changed the subject.

  ‘Asking for you, a stor and wondering when the great Chief Hostess is going to grace us with her presence. It’s weeks since you visited,’ Christy chided.

  It was true. But life was so busy these days.

  ‘At the weekend,’ Maura promised. Simon was flying to Dussledorf and wouldn’t be back till late. ‘Tell her I’ll drop over on Sunday.’ She was genuinely fond of Jeannette who had been a former air hostess. Fond too of the couple’s teenage boys with whom she was a firm favourite. When she had the time to shop, Maura enjoyed choosing gifts for them and was always extremely generous.

  ‘And how is the bold Simon?’ Christy asked, picking up Maura’s pen and snapping it open and shut. ‘Hear he’s working his charm overtime on the new hostesses.’

  Maura bit her lip. Trust Christy to get in his dig. ‘Busy like the rest of us,’ she said, and looked pointedly at her watch. Damn! It was getting on for eleven. Now she would have to go without seeing him. Oh Simon, why can’t you ever be on time?

  She said crisply, ‘Hate to rush you Christy, but the great Oliver is awaiting me this minute in his crystal palace.’

  Christy eased his buttocks off the desk. ‘Got to be going anyway before I drop in my tracks. Just thought I’d look in on my successful cousin and deliver Jan�
��s message.’ He flipped his cap on his head and yawned hugely. ‘Been on dawn London’s for the past fortnight. Seems like eternity.’

  ‘Poor Christy,’ Maura went with him to the door, sorry now not to have been nicer. He was all right Christy. He just couldn’t help being a bit of a tease. And a gossip.

  When he was gone, she quickly checked out her appearance in the mirror on the back of her filing cabinet door, sprayed herself with her favourite Nina Ricci L’air du temps and bent to rub a quick brush over her shoes. All this effort for Oliver? She grinned wryly. Wasted on that dry little stick.

  She didn’t hear the door open. Two hands grabbed from behind and held her close. ‘Ever considered what a hard-on in heaven would be like?’ murmured a familiar voice in her ear.

  ‘Simon!’ Maura gasped in delight, turning in his arms. ‘The one and only.’

  Captain Simon Cooney dropped his uniform cap on to Maura’s smooth ash blonde head and tilted up her chin. In the shelter of the cupboard door they kissed. The old magic worked again.

  Maura sighed and gave herself up to the bliss of Simon’s embrace. Oh, to heck with Oliver McGrattan, she thought recklessly. Let the little bastard wait!

  SEVENTEEN

  For a full week after emergency drill Kay couldn’t stop herself starting and blushing every time she saw a darkly handsome man who even vaguely resembled her pilot. She was angry with herself but she seemed to have no control over her emotions. Then something happened which took her mind off romance, if only for a short while.

  She was coming through Cabin Stores one day when she bumped into Florrie Belton, the girl who the previous October had been so dramatically carried into the airport interviews in her father’s arms. The blonde girl was tagging along after her crew when her eyes met Kay’s over a stack of bar containers and she smiled the limpid smile Kay remembered so well.

  Kay warmly returned the smile, then stood gazing after her. She felt a great gladness that Florrie had got into Celtic Airways after all but was annoyed with herself for not speaking to her. A few days later she got her chance when Florrie was the supernumerary hostess on her Bristol flight. On turnaround, the two girls soon got chatting over coffee.

  I don’t know what you must have thought that day,’ Florrie began hesitantly, ‘but once Daddy gets an idea there’s no stopping him. Not that I wasn’t glad afterwards of course,’ she grinned.

  ‘I would have died myself,’ Kay admitted.

  ‘That’s the strange thing. It was like it was all happening to someone else,’ Florrie told her. ‘For ages after the accident everything was kind of dreamlike. Delayed shock, Daddy says.’

  Kay correctly divined that in Florrie’s world, Daddy was the oracle.

  ‘I suppose I was lucky it wasn’t worse,’ Florrie went on, ‘Dickie... he’s my boyfriend... or was then... broke his ribs and was concussed for days. Oh he’s all right now but he was sick for ages. Much longer than me.’

  Kay saw that the hair under the hostess beret was still on the short side, emphasising Florrie’s elfin features but otherwise the girl seemed fully recovered from her accident. Since the start of training, she was lodging with a distant elderly cousin of her father’s, Millicent Muldoon.

  ‘Oh Kay, if you only saw her,’ Florrie moaned, a comic expression in her blue eyes.’She’s a terrible scourge and keeps tabs on me like a gaoler. Every night she has the bolts on the door by nine o’clock and I have to wait till she’s asleep to smuggle in boyfriends. Otherwise I’d never get a court out of any of them.’

  ‘Poor Florrie!’ Kay couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘Ah, you don’t know the half of it,’ Florrie confessed. ‘Wait till you hear. She caught me with one of them the other night. I thought she was asleep but down she came - at the wrong moment.’ Florrie gave her wan smile. ‘She’s writing to Daddy. He’ll probably come up on the next train and make me go into a hostel. Daddy’s such a worrier, that’s the trouble. He doesn’t trust me to look after myself.’

  At least in her aunt’s house, Kay thought, no one cared what you did.

  ‘I’d give anything for somewhere decent to stay,’ Florrie sighed wistfully as their crewcall crackled and they got to their feet. ‘Anywhere to get away from that terrible Millicent.’

  It was a coincidence that a week later Miss Curran suffered her second collapse in a fortnight and was taken off yet again by ambulance. Like most of the old ladies who occupied Molly’s small front room she had eked out her small pension on a diet of tea and bread and now once more she had sailed too close to the shores of malnutrition.

  When Kay mentioned that Florrie was looking for somewhere to stay, Molly cried enthusiastically, ‘ Why wouldn’t she come here? From all you say, the poor child is in sore need of a homely atmosphere.’

  Kay repressed a grin, aware that not everyone coming from a rural background like Florrie’s, as well as an over-protective father, might be keen to embrace so soon the very quality of homeliness just escaped. But the more she thought about having Florrie in the house, the more she liked the idea. When she put it to her, Florrie greeted the proposal as rapturously as Molly.

  ‘You’ve saved my life, Kay. When can I move in?’

  Three days later, after a stormy retreat from the civil servant’s house and her crabby prediction that Florrie would go straight to the gutter, the fair-haired girl arrived by taxi and with Kay’s help, carried her things into the house. Two suitcases, four hat-boxes and a new stereo and speakers were transported up the path past Ginny Halpin who was posted as usual, like some moulting look-out bird at the fence.

  ‘Mind she doesn’t swipe your feller,’ was Ginny’s ribald screech, men as always uppermost in her mind.

  ‘Jerusalem! Where did that come from?’ Florrie gasped when she saw Miss Curran’s life-size crucifixion picture on the bedroom wall. Although suffering a peripheral tidy-up at Peg’s hands, the room was still littered with reminders of the elderly lodger’s presence. The poster was just one of the items Bill had neglected to include when packing her few belongings into plastic bags, so huge he had overlooked it.

  ‘Poor Miss Curran has gone to live nearer home,’ Molly explained diplomatically, having insisted on accompanying the girls upstairs, despite her rheumatic knee. Superstitiously, Kay crossed her fingers, afraid that even now the ambulance with the anorexic Miss Curran on board might come screeching up from town.

  Florrie soon settled in and became a firm favourite with them all.

  By this time February was half over. In the hostess section, wind-swayed daffodils planted at the same time as the prefabs in the hopes of bringing a little beauty where so much ugliness prevailed, sprang in clumps where the dirt track ended and the grass began. On the crowded noticeboard space was continually being made to accommodate more and more of the gaily coloured postcards arriving each day from holidaying hostesses, their brief scrawled messages acting like the sirens’ song on all who gazed on them. It would be March before Kay’s group were eligible for travel concessions and then they were planning to go somewhere hot - very hot. They were unanimous about that.

  In the meantime Kay’s young cousin made his Confirmation. Winifred rang inviting them to the ceremony and the lunch after it which she was holding in her house. Even Peg was included - to help with the washing-up, Kay unkindly suspected.

  To her amazement when Molly asked Dave to drive them there, he agreed at once.

  ‘It’ll be an awful bore,’ Kay felt she must warn him. ‘I mean Sam’s fine ... he’s lovely but Winifred and Cahal... Are you sure you really want to come?’ she demanded.

  ‘How can I refuse,’ Dave retorted with a grin. ‘You make it sound so entrancing.’

  Kay shrugged and said no more seeing that he was obviously reconciled to a day of excruciating boredom.

  At the last minute Dave’s new Volkswagen developed gear trouble and rather than let them down, he borrowed a van from a friend. It was a battered old wreck, once white in colour, its number plate almost
completely obliterated by miles of mud and dirt. On one side someone had written, ‘Wash me, you shit,’ and on the other with a flash of wit, ‘Comes also in white.’

  When Kay saw it, she stared in horror. But if it was bad on the outside it was even worse inside. There were no seats in the rear and room for only one beside the driver (which a claustrophobic Peg insisted on having), so that Kay and Molly had to sit in armchairs in the back.

  There had been hard frost on the ground that morning and the weather forecast predicted sleety conditions turning to snow later in the day. They rattled up the countryside huddled in rugs against the icy draughts and every time they stopped at traffic lights the engine had a habit of cutting out so that it was all hours by the time they reached Kilshaughlin.

  ‘Didn’t leave on time, I suppose,’ Winifred said acidly when they congregated in the churchyard after the ceremony. She stared in snobbish disbelief at the van, then pointedly ignored Dave. Not surprisingly when he dropped them at the Hynes’ house, he declined to come in for a drink - he had not been invited to lunch - and roared away without too many false starts to sample the town’s pint.

  It was a dull lunch but would have been a lot duller without the wine Kay had brought. Afterwards, she allowed Sam take a tiny sip from her glass while Winifred was seeing off her in-laws.

  ‘Sam’s been drinking Auntie Kay’s wine.’ As soon as her mother returned, Mary, the sneak, told on her.

  At once, Winifred launched into a bitter diatribe on the evils of drink, accusing Kay of corrupting her son. The atmosphere became positively lethal and Kay was only too glad when Dave arrived to take them home.

  By the time they started back the roads had frozen solid. Molly had caught a chill, which steadily worsened in the sub-zero temperature. Kay was worried sick as her aunt coughed and shivered beneath the inadequate rug, and was convinced that if the drive didn’t kill her, the cold would.

  Up front, Dave feared they would have to stop and put up somewhere for the night. Don’t brake, he kept telling himself, remembering all he had ever read about driving in icy conditions. Grimly he coasted over the treacherous surface, patiently tackling each new hazard as it was presented. He was never so glad of anything in his life when he turned the van into Carrick Road and slid to a stop.