A face loomed over him. Brown teeth behind thin fish lips. Wide eyes, deep frowns. Two faces. Then, like a tide returning and bringing waves with it, the world’s noise returned with his breath-with a rattle, he sucked in cold, wet, beautiful air.
“… an ambulance!”
“Don’t move him!”
He let out a whistling breath and tried to sit up, but the movement brought fresh icicles of pain.
“He’s okay!”
“Oh, Terry, he’s okay!”
Nicholas, wanting to contribute to the optimistic mood, tried to whisper, “I’m okay,” but all that came out was a weak sigh.
A man and a woman stood above him, their details vague through tears of wretched pain.
Words spilled out of the woman like marbles from a split sack. “We just backed out and didn’t look and we are so, so sorry-”
“Don’t say you’re sorry!” hiss-whispered her husband.
“I didn’t say sorry.”
“You did!”
“Phone?” wheezed Nicholas.
The couple clarified: a horse-faced pair in matching tweed, looking down at this wounded, talking marvel.
“Of course.” The man handed over his mobile. Nicholas’s thumb shook as he dialed. He loosened his helmet as the LCD screen blinked: Calling.
“My bike?” he whispered.
The man lifted his chin and peered between the top of his glasses and the brim of his tweed driver’s cap.
“Pretty well buggered. You know you’re bleeding?”
“Oh, God! He’s bleeding?”
Nicholas held up a hand for silence. A click as the other end picked up.
“Hello?”
Cate. Nicholas’s heart slowed. Relief as warm as sunlight washed through him.
“Cate.”
“Hello, bear. What’s up?”
“Cate.” He was so happy to hear her. Why? He’d only left her a moment ago…
“Nicky? Where are you? Are you on the road?” Concern in her voice now. “I heard the motorbike and-oh, God, have you had an accident?”
Her voice was growing fainter.
“I’m fine, nothing. A little bingle. You, though. Are you all right?”
He was so happy. Happy and amazed. She was fine. Why had he worried so?
Evening seemed to be falling fast. The equestrian couple was darkening in shadow, their faces growing as lean and hidden as the evening trees themselves. The rain was a steady hiss.
“I’m worried about you! Where are you? Nicky? Nicholas?” Her voice was thin and distant, words from the bottom of a well.
“I’m here… but you’re all right?”
“Nicholas?”
Bump.
A gray pall fell over the world, rapidly making everything dimmer and darker. Gray became black. Evening became night.
“You’re all right…” he whispered.
Bump.
B ump.
Just a little nudge, stirring a tinkle of ice. Bump. A flick of paper somewhere.
Nicholas opened one eye a fraction. It was night. Well, dark, certainly. And his face was cold and damp; chill hissed down on him. Was it still raining? His vision was swimmy.
Bump.
He opened the other eye, and blinked.
The aircraft cabin was as dark as a cinema. Hard plastic window shades were pulled down. The cool air was loosely laced with body odor and cologne. Passengers lay motionless with blankets drawn to necks, mouths agape, sleeping. Most lights were out, but a few private oases of yellow or blue peppered the gloom, a woman reading here, a man wearing headphones watching a small screen there. Up the aisle, a flight attendant checked on her wards, walking between passengers as silently as a benevolent spirit.
Someone behind Nicholas was drinking: ice ticked on thin plastic. Across the aisle from him, a girl of six or seven sat awake, coloring a picture.
“Oh, God…”
Nicholas turned at the desperate whisper, before realizing it was his own. His nose was blocked. He touched his face. His cheeks were wet and cold under the air hissing from the vent above.
He’d been crying in his sleep.
If I shut my eyes now and go to sleep, he thought, I can go back. Back to the beautiful lie that Cate had answered the phone, worried, but alive.
But the truth of things rushed through floodgates, dousing him wide awake. He was alive and leaving Britain. Cate was dead: three utterly dreadful months in the ground. She’d fallen getting down the ladder to answer his telephone call after the motorbike crash, splintering her neck on the bath edge.
The cold weight of the realization sank Nicholas deeper into his seat. He swallowed back bile and wiped his nose. The little girl across the aisle glanced at him disapprovingly. The flight was an eternity. He angled his watch to catch what little light there was.
“Are you all right, sir?”
He blinked.
A flight attendant looked down at him, brows drawn in tight concern. Her face was pale but her cheeks were pink and her nose freckled. Young.
“Excuse me?”
The flight attendant leaned closer, whispered again, “Are you all right, sir? You… made some noise in your sleep.” She held a tissue toward him.
“Oh.” Not knowing what else to do, he took the tissue. “I’m fine.” A lie to send her on her way.
“Bad dream?”
“Yes.” Another lie. So, now she could go.
But she lingered. The little girl across the aisle had stopped coloring and was sitting upright.
“That’s no good. We like our passengers to sleep well.” The flight attendant’s white smile was disconcertingly bright in the darkness.
“You really don’t have to charm me. I’m already on the plane.”
The woman’s smile faltered. “But we’d like you to come back. Another blanket?”
Movement across the aisle caught Nicholas’s eye. The little girl was shaking.
“Hey, you okay?” He pushed himself out of his seat, but was held back by the buckled belt. “Jesus, look.”
The little girl was convulsing now, her legs jack-hammering and her hands clawing at her tiny neck. Her face was sharp red and her mouth was opening and closing like a hooked fish’s.
The flight attendant followed Nicholas’s glance, then looked back at him, concerned. “Or a pillow?” she asked quietly.
“Help her!” said Nicholas loudly, finally unclasping the strap. “She’s…”
The little girl was turning blue, her eyes so wide they showed a finger’s width of reddening white around the irises.
Nicholas stood too quickly, smacking his head on the luggage compartment. Other passengers began to stir
