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

arm and over and back across her table. His father reads a magazine, undisturbed.
    â€œDo you know what?” Tim says. “The boys farther back have a set of Monopoly!”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYes.” He’s grinning. “And loads of other stuff. Walkie-talkies, a Spirograph . . .”
    â€œHave you told them about Fred?”
    â€œNot yet.” He opens David’s pack of cards and starts setting them out for a game of solitaire.
    David looks at his watch. “Do you realize it’s past five thirty? Surely they’ll let us out soon?”
    â€œFancy a walk in the desert, do you?” I say.
    â€œWell, anything would be better than this.” He wrenches open his paperback, sighs dramatically, and starts to read.
    I’m bored too, though I don’t want to admit it. How can I possibly feel bored when these might be my last few hours on earth? But I do. And I feel restless. I turn around, kneel on my seat, and look back down the plane. The Arab couple opposite me glances up briefly, then goes on whispering. I look at the rows and rows of heads—​smooth, tufty, ruffled, bald—​at the long row of portholes, the only source of light now, and at the endless stretch of overhead shelving rushing toward the back, where the toilets and the galley cluster in the dark.
    The couple drinking whiskey together earlier, that Alan called the Newtons, have swapped places. He’s got a small radio pressed up against his ear. Her dyed-blond bouffant hair now looks like a tousled bird’s nest. She’s talking across the aisle to an elderly Asian couple.
    In the front, in first class, Alan has twisted around to flirt with the two blond sisters in miniskirts. He’s leaning over, offering them a cigarette.
    Suddenly the captain peels off from the Giant and the stewardesses and positions himself at the top of the aisle. He raises one hand and calls: “Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys . . .” He pauses until the cabin’s quiet. “The hijackers say that you can now move about a little, not all at once, please, and only quietly and sensibly, for just a few minutes each. So please stretch your legs, have a walk up and down the aisle, and then return to your seat. If we can do this without causing the hijackers concern, without too many people doing it at the same time, then I think we may be more comfortable, so please be thoughtful and don’t overdo it.”
    I stand quickly, slip past David before he can say anything, and walk to the front. I want to get to the open door, to see something else instead of the inside of this plane, to breathe some fresh air.
    Alan is standing in the aisle now, still chatting with the girls. I squeeze past him. He smiles and says hi. The two girls completely ignore me. I’m obviously too young to bother about.
    I pass the captain, who is standing with the navigator, talking with Celia and Rosemary. The Giant stands off to one side, leaning up against the bulkhead, his arms crossed, looking almost relaxed. His gun hangs over his shoulder, the barrel pointing down.
    And suddenly I feel exposed being up here alone, but I’m desperate for that fresh air; I feel so sticky and hot. I’m glad that there’s no sign of Sweaty and that the cockpit door is firmly closed. Is the man with the bomb still in there? And, if so, what’s he doing? I haven’t seen him leave. What would I do if he suddenly came out? The thought chills me.
    I feel the blast of hot desert air long before I reach the door, and have to shield my eyes against the blinding pool of sunlight on the floor, which I pad through in bare feet.
    A black seat is on the left and folded down, inviting me to sit on it. It’s where the crew sit for takeoffs and landings and is held in place by two thick belts attached to the wall.
    I put my hand out and touch the heavy metal door. It’s inches thick and has been swung back to