Page 112 of Lesson Learned

The only plane I’ve travelled in before was an Airbus A320 from Wellington to Christchurch. Economy class. The one that brought me from home to Kingswood. It looked nothing like the private jet he has me on now.

Despite the smaller overall size, we have so much room inside it’s more like a luxury lounge than a form of transport. He reclines his seat until we’re almost flat and holds me against his chest.

“Where are we going?” I belatedly ask. Up to now, my concern has been what we’re leaving behind rather than what’s ahead.

“We’re going to Auckland first and I’ll take you to a safehouse. Once I have word we’re cleared to leave, we’ll get on another plane and fly over to London. From there, we can go wherever you want.”

“London.” My voice is dull. I’m still struggling to process everything that’s happened today. Still filled with worry over the damage done to my friend.

“For starters. There’s a house we can use there for as long as we want, but my family has houses all over.”

“All over.”

“There’s one in Rome, one in Tuscany, one in Chania with the prettiest view of a harbour you’ve ever seen.”

I blink up at him, thinking this can’t possibly be real. “Chania?”

“It’s on the island of Crete, in Greece. You can sit on the balcony and just watch people coming and going all day. The houses are so colourful, it’s like a sunset built with bricks and mortar.”

“Is this real?”

“As real as we need it to be.”

Conner has one arm around my waist, holding me steady against him, the other stroking back my hair. My nose tickles and I sneeze, wriggling out of his arms to sit up, reaching in my pocket for a tissue I already know isn’t there.

He presses a buzzer, and a uniformed man appears. “Yes, sir?”

“Could we have some tissues?” Then he turns back to me. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

I shake my head and the tissues appear in seconds. While I blow my nose, I try to put my thoughts in order, but they don’t want to make sense.

“I don’t…” My words falter because there are so many things I don’t understand.

“It’s okay.”

“What’s okay?”

“You don’t have to follow everything that’s happened right now. You’re allowed to take your time with it, to let things settle, then see how you feel when you’ve had time to reflect.”

Time to reflect. It sounds like an unimaginable luxury.

“Am I allowed to call the hospital when we reach Auckland? I want to check that Marnie’s okay.”

“Of course, you’re allowed. Anything you need, just let me know and we’ll sort it.”

“Does that include me going back to school?”

“If you want.” He settles me against his chest again, resuming the long soft strokes of my hair, each one a comfort. “But I think Kingswood is out of the question.”

“Can I visit my friends?”

He shifts in his seat, repositioning his arm to have a firmer grip on me. “Maybe not for a while, but they’ll always be more than welcome to visit you.”

The big question, the real question, lodges in behind my breastbone, making it difficult to breathe.

I’m afraid to ask it because if the answer doesn’t come back the way I hope, it can’t ever be unasked. We can’t ever revert to this sweet pocket of time when he’s holding me, and I am safe.

But he might know. A part of him could understands what it’s like to be set adrift from everything and everyone he’s ever known.

---