Read Online Girl on a Plane by Miriam Moss - Free Book Online

quickly and concentrate on the trays.
    â€œTa-da!” Rosemary pulls out an intact can of pineapple juice.
    â€œYou know that couple with the pocket radio, the Newtons?” Alan asks. “They say our hijacking was on the last news. Apparently the PFLP has roadblocks in some parts of the capital, Amman, and the king of Jordan’s sending tanks in to surround the hijackers. So it’s all heating up, with us in the middle. Even the Syrians are massing troops on the border . . .” Rosemary shoots Alan a look over my head, stopping him in his tracks. But it’s too late, I’ve heard too much, and it doesn’t sound good—​
With us in the middle.
    â€œI’ve been through the duty-free, by the way,” Alan says. “Got plenty of booze and a few sodas, loads of gold-plated Dunhill lighters, Nina Ricci scarves, Pierre Cardin stockings, cognac, miniatures, Peter Stuyvesant and Gitanes cigarettes—​but no water or food! Ironic, isn’t it? Perhaps we can bribe the hijackers to swap our duty-free for some bread and cheese.”
    We’ve reached the end of the trays, and we stand to survey the small heap of food and drinks.
    â€œThanks, Anna, you’ve been a real help.” Rosemary smiles. She picks out a packet of crackers and a tiny can of pineapple juice. “Share that with your two boys. I’ll dole this little lot out to everyone else.”
    With Alan behind me, I follow Rosemary back up the aisle, carrying my precious hoard. She stops briefly by the little girl who was sick. There’s still a whiff of disinfectant around her.
    â€œHow are you, Susan? Mrs. Green? Everything all right now?” Rosemary asks.
    â€œYes, thank you.” Mrs. Green smiles wanly.
    Rosemary looks at Susan. Her mother has taken off her messed-up dress, so she is sitting in her underwear. “You’re looking so much better now, Susan. And I hear you’re very good at drawing. Have you tried the coloring book yet?” Susan drops her head shyly. Mrs. Green smiles gratefully up at Rosemary.
    We walk past the couple who were drinking whiskey. The man’s deep in a
Reader’s Digest.
His wife glances up at us from her crossword as we go by. We pass the place where the man with the bomb sat, and then, several rows behind our seats, I’m astonished to see Tim playing Travel Scrabble with the two boys in maroon and gray school uniforms. He must have sneaked out while Sweaty’s back was turned.
    â€œGot some goodies,” I whisper at him. His eyes light up. He makes quick excuses, slips out, and walks in front of me back to our seats. The Arab parents opposite David are talking quietly while their son sleeps between them. The couple behind is holding hands, resting with their eyes closed and heads touching.
    I sit and put the snack down on my table.
    â€œHey!” David looks impressed.
    â€œWe’ll have to take it in turns,” I say. “Just small sips. No glugging allowed.” I break the can open and take the first tiny sip. The pineapple taste explodes in my mouth. It’s unbelievably sweet and so pineapple-y. I pass it on, trying to savor the taste before it goes. But all I want is more.
    David takes a sip. “Ah! Nectar,” he groans.
    Tim can’t stop smiling. I give them each a cracker.
    â€œLet’s see how long we can make them last,” Tim says.
    â€œBut I’m salivating already.” David puts the cracker to his nose and inhales it. Then he bites into it quickly. Tim laughs, takes tiny nibbles across it, fast, like a frantic mouse. I eat mine very, very slowly, but, even so, it’s soon gone, leaving behind only a delicious, creamy memory.

11
1740h
    The captain, the navigator, Celia, and Rosemary seem to be negotiating with the Giant and Sweaty at the front. The little boy across the aisle has woken up and is driving a Matchbox car, a lime-green VW Beetle, up and down his mother’s