Concorde

I can feel the stress oozing from the people around me. Two long queues showcase hands on hips and shaking heads. The anthem of sighs, frowns, and loud, unhelpful complaining fills the air, competing with the airport’s continuous PA system. I’ll keep it to myself. I can close my eyes and hide my discomfort. One word out of line, and I feel these disgruntled passengers will crush me. Just remember: it’s the airline’s responsibility to rebook me. Just be patient. Think of Hannah.

"This announcement concerns passengers on the recently cancelled British Airways flight to New York. Please see customer service for support".

Yeah, no shit,", someone yells out. I look ahead at the staff frantically serving people in front of me. Heads down, scrambling to salvage what must be the worst possible situation. I take a deep breath and let my eyes ease shut. The man behind me is knocking on my handbag as he shouts on one of those fancy mobile phones, ensuring everyone in London can hear his disgust at the service.

I tilt my head sideways, rubbing my neck. I can feel an ache coming on. I hope it's not the flu or a cold. The crown jewel for uncomfortable flying. As I hit a nerve, my eyes jolt open. A young boy is looking up at me, fixated on my odd hand positioning. Maybe there's a slight worry that I'm strangling myself. He’s holding his teddy bear tightly against his mouth in a shy attempt to hide his face, but he's curious about the action in his immediate surroundings.

His pale blue eyes pierced the space between us like Anthony Hopkins staring at Clarice Starling in the recent Oscar-winning film The Silence of the Lambs. Thankfully, the boy’s platinum blonde hair is friendlier than that of an imprisoned cannibal. The tension in my neck is dissipating. I smile, and he pulls the well-worn teddy bear further up his face to hide his cheeky grin.

"Hi, who was next?" I step forwards, handing over my passport and redundant boarding pass to the well-dressed woman behind the counter. Sarah is typed neatly on her badge.

"How much of a wait are we looking at? Should I take a cab back home?" I ask, trying to be somewhat helpful in a dire situation.

"Let me take a look," Sarah says in a distinct autopilot tone, tapping away on the keyboard.

The man behind me is still on that mobile phone, getting louder. He’s pissed off. I guess he is talking to his wife. He's complaining about missing meetings in New York and a company-paid dinner he’s due to attend that evening. He’s determined to force his way onto another Boeing 747 flight that's probably already as full as the Tube at rush hour.

"Here you go, Ms. Henley." Sarah is talking! She’s placed my passport and boarding pass back on the counter as I shake off my wandering mind.

"Sorry, what’s happening?"

Sarah slowly moves my passport, revealing a new boarding pass quietly placed underneath. What? A new flight is leaving in an hour.

She leans forwards, like a young kid about to whisper a secret to their best friend. "We’ve been able to rebook our Business and First Class passengers," she says in a hushed tone.

I scoop up the documents and study the ticket. It’s real. Heathrow to JFK Airport. I turn to exit the queue in super slow motion, consumed by disbelief. An elderly couple in the next queue had just been served, but their expressions reflected defeat. They grip food vouchers and hotel details scribbled onto a piece of lined notepad paper. I stuff my golden ticket into my jacket pocket and briskly walk away from the gladiator ring.

* * *

Beep. My ticket registers on the scanner at the boarding gate. Wow, just look at that. The beauty greeting me from the other side of the glass made me feel like Alice discovering Wonderland, and the airbridge is the rabbit hole.

Welcome, Ms. Henley. You can walk through that door. You’ll be able to take a look inside," said the gate usher, breaking my trance and raising her eyebrows, acknowledging my thick excitement. I practically skipped through the door.

Here I am, actually inside one. This is incredible. About 25 rows, with one aisle in the middle separating the small, 2x2 seating arrangement. I’m about to fly on a Concorde. Every step was a close study of the cabin interior, but the situation felt very normal. I anticipated something to jump out. To frighten and fill me with wonderment simultaneously. How can something like this be so normal? Shouldn’t we be wearing something between normal clothes and space suits? I stow my bag and sit down. A window seat. Perfect. I wish Hannah was here with me. We’d be gasping and pointing together like giddy kids visiting Disneyland for the first time.

I had only read newspaper articles on this astonishing engineering feat. The standard airport hustle and bustle was currently on a loop outside my window. In the seat pocket, a magazine with a majestic photo of a Concorde on takeoff occupied the real estate of the front cover. I pinch it from the slot to get a clearer view. Look at it. I imagine a photographer asking for sexy poses in a photoshoot. The iconic wing design made it feel like a cross between a fighter jet and a rocket, but with the familiarity of a Boeing aircraft for mass transport. Mind you, we weren’t doing that justice, being only at the wanker end of the scale of the cancelled 747 flight.

The weight of a bag landed on the seat adjacent as I flicked through the magazine. Hello, love", a familiar voice said. I want to pull the magazine over my face and pretend I’m not there. It was Captain Loudmouth. At least he was off the phone and had his wish granted, although I’m sure he wasn’t expecting to be this lucky. He lumps his suited body onto the seat after stowing his bag, with a noticeable gush of air coming from his backside.

"This was lucky, wasn’t it?" he remarked.

"Very lucky. Very exciting, I must say." I'm trying my best to be friendly.

"I wonder if we’ll still get the business service. I feel like I’m in economy now with these seats. And the legroom is shit. Won’t be able to sleep". In fairness, he was over six feet, but mate, take a look around.

"Not sure. You won’t need to sleep as we’ll be landing before we take off."

"You what?"

I raise the open pages of the magazine, filling his eye line with a graphic showing how the speed of the aircraft works in crossing the Atlantic. His eyes are busy. I better save him.

"New York is five hours behind. It’s now a three-and-a-half-hour flight. Do the maths."

He studied the page for an annoying amount of time. I held it awkwardly, like a parent waiting for a child to blow out candles on a birthday cake. "Mr. David, would you like me to take your jacket?" a member of the cabin crew asked while walking by, thankfully.

* * *

The sky is a deep blue, stretching across my vast field of view. The slick curve frames the grandeur of the planet below, glowing into space. At 60,000 feet, the cosmos seems just beyond our reach, stirring a sense of both majesty and emptiness.

My hand towel is nearly dripping wet as I wipe another layer of sweat from my forehead. I press the call bell to swap it for another, feeling rather guilty about handing something over covered in my stench.

"It’s fucking hot, right? Why? I thought the air got cooler the higher we flew," my new neighbour claimed as he took slow, deep breaths. He wasn’t sweating with the same ferocity as me, being further from the window, but his widened physique made this a losing battle.

I gesture my head towards the front of the cabin, like someone trying to discreetly give directions without speaking.

"See that dial? We are travelling at supersonic speed. Or 'mach two'. That’s twice the speed of sound."

"So?"

"So, that’s generating an insane amount of friction."

My knight in shining armour, the cabin crew, arrived. "New towel?"

Yes, please, if that’s okay. I can put this in a rubbish bag so you don’t have to touch it".

"Don’t be silly. You’re not the first." He took the towel and briskly hovered back down the aisle.

"How do you know so much about this plane?" asked the big shot.

"I’m an engineer. I’ve always dreamed of going on one. I’m Emily, by the way."

"Michael," he said, with a slightly uncomfortable smirk. "You’re really an engineer?"

"Yes. Why? Never met one with a vagina before?"

Michael recoiled and let out a fake laugh. "Ha, no, no... I was just..."

"It’s fine. I get it a lot. What's in New York for you?" It seems like a friendly enough way to offer him an out without leading him on.

"Oh, ah, work. I’m there every other week."

I nod, noticing he doesn’t seem to care why I was travelling.

Michael continued. "I know plenty of great bars. We should get a drink while we are both in town." He’s barking well and truly up the wrong tree here. I can feel more sweat rapidly forming on my forehead, ready to drop down like there is a shower hidden in my scalp.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got a few family things to take care of. I'm not looking forward to it. Won’t be in Manhattan."

"Drinks could be a good way to take your mind off everything," he persisted. The attendant suddenly popped out from the aisle vortex, effortlessly swinging into the middle of our conversation.

"Fresh towel for you, Ms. Henley." Thank fuck. I grabbed the towel and patted my forehead.

"I think I might listen to some of the music and get some rest."

His smirk slowly softens with a nod of acceptance, but I got the sneaking sense this wasn’t over. I plug the headset into the armrest. Never Gonna Give You Up blasts through my ears. I lay back in my seat, close my eyes, and imagine Rick Astley doing his rolling dance against the deep blue backdrop, on top of the world.

* * *

"What the fuck do you mean you lost it?" Michael shouts.

"Mr. David, we didn’t lose it. It was left behind and will be on the next flight over," the shaken staff member tries to say reassuringly. Her name is Tiffany.

"I’ve got places to be. When is it going to land? There are expensive watches and suits in that bag. If it’s lost, you’re paying," he aggressively continues. Every fibre was telling me to back away, but I didn’t want to abandon Tiffany. I slowly crept forwards.

"The replacement flight departed about an hour ago. I can assure you it has been loaded with the rest of the luggage from the original flight."

"So what was the point of getting on the Concorde and getting here so quickly if I’m now back to square one?"

"I’m sorry, sir. We’ve done everything we can. We can send it to your hotel once it’s offloaded from the inbound aircraft."

"No fucking way. I want to see it and grab it with my own hands. I’ll wait. And you can provide me with a drink and some food."

I place my arms on the counter as Michael storms off to the seating area.

"I’d rather wait too," I said calmly.

"Thank you, we are so sorry, Ms. Henley, is it?"

"Yes, that’s right." Tiffany grabs my boarding pass and starts tapping away.

"Can you describe your bag?"

"Sure, it’s black. Original, I know. But it has a red and yellow strap around it, and the tag says, Hannah and Emily." Tiffany continues typing.

"Is Hannah travelling with you?" she asks.

"Sort of. She’s in the bag." Tiffany freezes. Her eyes slowly dragged up from the computer screen to meet mine.

"Don’t worry. Nothing sinister. Her ashes are inside. I'm bringing them back to her parents, who live upstate."

"Oh!" Tiffany sighs, probably thankful she doesn’t need to call the police. "I see, I see. Well, rest assured, we have your bag on the next flight. It will be here in a few hours. We are so sorry for this mix-up."

"It’s fine, really. I’m happy to wait. I ticked off a bucket list item by going on that amazing aircraft, so I don't feel like it's wasted time."

"You’re so lucky, I’ve always wanted to go on one. Are you sure you don’t want your bag sent to where you’re staying?"

"Honestly, it’s fine. Having a few more moments with Hannah closer to me than her parents is probably a good thing. I can hug her one last time if I wait. The rental car won’t miss me."

Tiffany's eyes and facial muscles drop, like a dog receiving sad news. She leans forwards, like Sarah back in London, afraid she is about to reveal a secret that will cause a riot. "Girlfriend?" she asked.

"Yep," I said matter-of-factly. Tiffany paused, not knowing what to say. I continued. "She would’ve loved the Concorde but was always prone to a bit of claustrophobia. I can’t imagine holding her hand while sweating that much!"

Tiffany perks back up. "Oh true! You would’ve had to use her clothes to wipe off the sweat."

"It's probably a good thing I took one for the team."

Collapsing onto a chair in the waiting area, I threw my head back, staring at the ceiling.

Michael stirs. "What a waste of time all this has been."

I shrug. "I don’t mind. I’m not in a rush," I say with my head still slung over the back of the chair.

"I'm gonna go get a drink," he announces, and before he could offer again, I cut in.

"Cool. Enjoy."