Girl on a Plane by Miriam Moss Page A

that got on at Beirut? I need to speak to them urgently.”
    â€œI’m sorry, they are busy on the ground. There is nothing I can do at the moment.” The Giant’s voice is deep and patient. The captain gives him a frosty look and sits back down across the aisle from the navigator.
    I sit quietly while the boys play interminable games of hangman, then tic-tac-toe. After that, David tries to draw Sweaty in Tim’s school uniform on his Etch A Sketch.
    â€œWhere’s your school, then, Tim?” he asks as he draws.
    â€œIn Kent. I don’t like it much. The older boys are bullies. You have to do things for them
all
the time. One of the assistant matrons is nice, though.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?” David is turning Sweaty into a rat with bulging eyes and drooling gums.
    â€œShe’s called Miss Thomas. She lets me play with her Jack Russell, Dandy. She’ll like Fred. I know she will.”
    David rubs Sweaty out and puts down the Etch A Sketch. “No offense to you two, but I’m feeling
really
tired of sitting here. I need to get up and
walk.
”
    â€œGo on, then,” I say. “Give it a try. We’ll watch. See if you get shot.”
    He looks sideways at me and screws up his face. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
    I shrug. “Wouldn’t mind.”
    â€œCharming.”
    â€œWhy don’t you draw the Giant now?”
    â€œScreen’s too small.”
    â€œDo you want your seat back, then?” I ask.
    â€œOK.”
    While I’m settling back down next to Tim, he suddenly asks whether I have a brother.
    â€œYes,” I say. “Two. Why?”
    â€œI’ve always wanted one,” he says. “How old are yours?”
    â€œThey’re eleven and nine.”
    â€œI’m nine too.” Tim looks pleased. “And do you have a father
and
a mother?”
    â€œYes . . .” I frown. “Why?”
    â€œOh, well, I don’t.” He says it matter-of-factly.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say quietly. “Your mother?”
    â€œYes.” He looks straight at me with serious brown eyes. “She died when I was six.”
    â€œOh, Tim. That’s so sad.”
    â€œShe was called Anna too, you know. We have pictures of her, lots of them, all over the house. Dad still loves her, you see. If she was alive I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t go to boarding school. Sometimes I dream about her. I’m sure it’s her.”
    â€œWho looks after you when you’re home, when your dad’s at work?”
    â€œOur housekeeper, Mary. She stayed ever since Mum died. I write to her when I’m at school—​as well as Dad.”
    â€œWhat does your dad do?”
    â€œHe’s an engineer.”
    â€œWhat’s yours?” David asks me.
    â€œIn the army. Mum’s a teacher.”
    â€œAh! There she is,” Rosemary says from the aisle. “Just the girl I want.” Sweaty’s standing behind her, so I feel a shock of anxiety. “Don’t look so worried!” Rosemary says. “I’m just wondering if you’d like to help me go through the trays at the back, in the galley, to find any uneaten food left over from lunch. Fancy it?”
    I look at Sweaty; his gun is pointing at the ground for once. I’d
really
like to get up and walk about. I nod. “Thanks.” I begin to climb past David, but he springs up to let me out.
    â€œHow come she’s been handpicked?” he asks Rosemary.
    She laughs. “Handpicked? You’ll get your turn, don’t worry.”
    When he’s back in his seat, I lean down. “You see, David,” I whisper, “there are some advantages to being a girl!”
    I follow Rosemary to the back of the plane.
    â€œNow,” she says when we get to the galley, “I’m Rosemary.” She points to her badge. “And you’re