Leaving London

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

The flight from London airport to New Zealand takes 24 hours, and considering we're crammed into a space only big enough to twirl my ankles, that is a very long time. I absentmindedly pick at a sandwich, managing to scatter crumbs all over the scratchy, indigo seat, but I don't really care. The air hostess offers us a pot of tea or coffee to balance on the tiny food trays that snap down from the chair in front, but Dad politely declines. I settle back into my supposedly 'deluxe' seat, and brace myself. We're in for a long trip. I'm seated by the window, so as the plane ascends into the air, I watch with delight as the patches of fields, roads and houses turn into small specks on the land. By the time we've flown over England and are drifting over open sea, my stomach is churning as I try to reassure myself that everything will be okay. I almost break my back by twisting round to get a last glimpse of England, but it's no use because it's already concealed with a huge wad of cotton-wool clouds. The serenity of being up above the clouds is soon broken by a bustling mass of food orders and duty free offers trundling down on a rattling trolley in the aisle. I sigh, slip my headphones on, and settle back.

By the time we touch down in Singapore for a brief fuel stop, I've flicked through several magazines, listened to my summer playlist until I get sick of it and braided my hair. Apart from a chance to stretch my legs, and dawdle over a pack of gel pens I spot in the travel-size WHSmith's, we don't actually get to see any of Singapore, which is annoying because it's one of the places I most want to visit in the future with my friends. Well, wanted to.
Instead, we make sure to fill up with packets of sweets and to buy drinks for the voyage, and wait by the gate.

Before long we're buckling ourselves back onto the plane, and most of the other passengers pull down their blinds and dim their overhead lights - not me. I watch as they drag jumpers or blankets around their shoulders, and begin to drift off into the naïve world of sleep, but I can't. I'm too overpowered with excitement to even contemplate the thought of trying to doze off. Because my legs are beginning to ache, I amble up and down the aisle a few times, pretending to go to the toilet and checking out the safety instructions. I get a few wary glances from anyone who is awake, so I return almost immediately and firmly close my eyes shut. I open them again, expecting still to be back in drizzly England, staring through my window at grey, dull pavements. The backs of the chairs in front stare back at me instead. This doesn't feel real. None of this feels real yet. It's as if we're just going off for a holiday, not a lifetime. A lifetime.

I awaken to the low hum of the engine, and peer out of my tiny port-hole window, and marvel at the sugar pink sky. The clouds hang just below us; lying in huge ruffles of white candyfloss that seems almost eerie in the desolate air. We're too high up even for birds - I haven't seen a smidgen of speckled feathers since yesterday - and this reminds me how far away I am from the real world. Living in Dream world perhaps, swooping high above anyone's reach: lost in the clouds. I'm brought down to reality quickly, as I get passed a small, mismatched breakfast: a squashed croissant, which seems to have lost as much hope as I have, a carton of orange juice and an economy-sized pot of jam, which looks like my thumb would only just squeeze into.

"Wow. They've really gone all out on this breakfast, eh?" Dad mocks.

"Shush, they'll hear you!" I elbow him, but grin to let him know I agree, as I swallow the food within a minute. The peace and quiet of the breakfast soon dies down as the plane begins to rock side to side, sending cutlery and food items clattering from the snap-down trays, and making hand luggage rattle in the overhead cupboards.

"We've just encountered some light air turbulence, so until further announcement, the passengers on board are no longer permitted to use the toilets or unfasten their seat belts. Thank you." The sound of one of the air hostess' voice pings into the plane, although quite patchy and hard to hear because a child near the back is crying their eyes out. Extremely loudly.
I groan out loud, angrily pushing back in my seat and adjusting myself so my ears are nestled inside my jacket hood. The sound of squealing children is no longer whiny and raw, but muffled. Thank God.