Beverley

            I don't like this bit. I tell them all the time but no-one listens. I don't like the long walk down the white corridor with the grey wrinkled roof that flaps in the breeze. I like it even less when I get onto the plane. I feel like I can't breathe. Like I want to run out of there but I'm trapped between the bodies of shuffling adults and I have to keep moving until one of the air hostesses sits me in my seat. It's a bit better then. I get to travel in first class and it feels like there's more air in there than in economy. I can just about remember what it was like in economy. Before Mum met Dad.

            The air hostess is kind of orange from the neck up and her arms don't match. Her legs don't match either. I think she has tights that make them look darker. I'd like to hold her hand but I'm too old for that now so I just squeeze my bag tightly and picture Mum's face. I  hope she comes this time. Last time they sent the maid.

            The man in front of me is tutting loudly and then he sits down in the seat next to me. I look down at his arms. They are white and speckled with freckles. They remind me of the plucked goose we used to have at Christmas when we lived in London.

            I want to put on my headphones but the goose man starts talking.

            "Are you going home?" he asks.

            "Kind of."

            I'm not really sure where home is any more. Kuala Lumpur used to be home. When Dad was there. When we all were there and I didn't have to go backwards and forwards on these planes all the time.

            "Where do you live then?" he asks.

            "Penang," I say. "But I go to school in Surrey."

            He says what everyone says.

            "Penang's beautiful. I've had a lot of holidays there with my wife and children. My kids love the beaches."

            "Yeah. It's a good place a holiday, " I say.

            I'm not lying. It would be a good place for a holiday - for his white freckled children from the UK. His children would be allowed to play on the sand and in the sea. Not like me.

            "We don't go on the beach much."

            That shut him up. I kind of want him to ask. but he changes the subject.

            "My kids are at boarding school too," he says. "They love it. At least my eldest does. He loves the sport: cricket, rugby, swimming.

            He hasn't got the hint, about the swimming. Still talking about beaches. I can picture his son. He'll be like Geoff Baldwin, our year captain, Geoff who calls me "four eyes" and "snake skin", who shoved me in the shower with my clothes on.

            "They do lots of sport at my school," I say. And now I do put my headphones on.

margaret

There’s a lot of people travelling business-class.  I suppose they’re being paid for by employers.  I couldn’t believe it when I saw the difference in fares between business and economy.  Of course, they get preferential treatment, onto the plane first and probably much better space.

            The inside of the plane is huge, seats going off in every direction – much bigger than the one to Paris.  The stewardess is trying to lead me to a seat but I’m not going to be pushed in where it suits her.  I wonder where that young teacher is sitting?  It would be good for me to sit next to her and reassure her.  Not that I’ve much experience of flying but it’s common sense really.  Planes flying all over the world quite safely – though there were those incidents last year, both Malaysian Airlines.  Better not to dwell on that sort of thing.

            Heavens, there’s not much legroom, is there?  And the seats are very close together.  I’m going to sit on the end here whatever that chit of a girl says.  I’m not as slim as I used to be and I need a bit of space.  Besides I’ll need to go to the ladies at some point and I don’t want to have to squeeze past other people.

            Oh, there’s a little boy on his own over there.  I wonder if I ought to sit next to him and look after him.  I’m good with children.  But there don’t seem to be any seats free.

            The stewardess is chivvying me to put my bag in the overhead locker but I haven’t finished getting out what I need – my book, and pills in case I need them, and my peppermints as I might get a throat tickle – nothing worse than people coughing in such a small space.  It’s no good trying to hurry me, dear.  All in good time.

            They’re doing the safety stuff now.  Well, I don’t suppose it’s any different from when I flew to Paris and mostly commonsense.  Of course, it’s all health and safety these days but when you’re in charge of a class of five-year-olds, you’ve got to keep your wits about you.

            Right, I think I’m ready now.  Settle down to snooze, only the man next to me has got his elbow on the armrest.  One good glare should remind him to give way to a lady.