Page 5 of Wants and Needs
He’s fast, and a moment later he’s sitting next to her and I can’t see them anymore, though I can hear a word or two when he speaks loudly again. I see Ally pay attention to them, especially London, so I settle back in my seat knowing it’s all being taken care of by someone else.
It takes another half hour before the plane starts moving out of the gate—on time thankfully. My thoughts drift to how busy my next days will be.
I really want to sleep for the whole flight, not only to help with jet lag, but also because I’ll have less than twelve hours in Manhattan before I need to get on another plane to California for CJ’s thirtieth birthday. Thankfully I won’t be alone on that flight, since everyone who lives on the East Coast will pile onto a private jet, so I won’t have to deal with strangers for that flight at least. But I do need to unpack and pack again, as well as make sure everything’s in order at the brownstone and at both Sculpt, Sebas’s gallery, and St. Anthony, CJ’s gallery, both of which I manage.
Soon enough, my mind is full of unwanted thoughts—the house, the final decision to move permanently to America...
Before, I had the house in Oxfordshire, and that was a type of safety net that meant whatever happened I could always come back.
Now that’s gone, and that’s agood thing, I tell myself.
It means I trust that my safety net is now in New York. With my friends. With all those people who have become my family.
Starting therapy last year helped in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. I’ve now embraced this version of me, one that’s not the same as it was in college but also not the self-destructive manwho I became after my parents’ deaths. It means that when the sign for the seatbelts turns off, I don’t feel a sense of relief that I’ll now be able to get a drink to pass out.
I can sleep anywhere and anytime now, but I’m not even tired, really.
I do need to go to the bathroom, though, so I quickly stand up, but not before the woman in the seat in front of me does too. She gets to the bathroom first, and a man from the other aisle beats me to the other bathroom at the front, so I stand around to wait and watch Ally and the other flight attendant—Phil—fill up the drinks cart.
I look away, I have to.
I don’t think of myself as an alcoholic, not strictly, but I do know I’ve straddled the line for too long, and I don’t need to be diagnosed to know being sober is better for me. In all respects.
My eyes collide with London’s, and she looks beyond uncomfortable, and is clearly trying to get someone’s attention.
I see it then. The man’s hand is on her knee, the one she has drawn up to her chest, and she’s pressed to the other side of her seat.
She couldn’t be signaling more clearly to this wanker that she doesn’t want his attention, and he’s still reaching over to touch her knee.
“Ally,” I mutter, looking back at her. She looks up, a bit startled, and I just nod in London’s direction. “Follow my lead.”
I do all I can think of in that moment and walk over quickly, then open my arms and act my arse off.
“London,” I cry enthusiastically. Her eyes open wide as I bend down to give her an air kiss, and whisper in her ear at thesame time. “Name’s Carter, you want me to get rid of the fucker?”
“Yes,” she whispers, so fucking low, the single word trembling with emotion. I have to clench my teeth to keep the anger at bay. “It’s been so long, Carter,” she says then in a normal voice, sounding a lot less rattled. I stand straight again and smile down at her, and I have to give the girl kudos for how well she’s handling this when she reaches up for my hand and smiles at me as if I’m a long-lost cousin or something. “We have to catch up,” she says almost like a cheer.
“We do,” I agree, then make sure I look as innocent as a baby when I shift my gaze to the wanker. “Would you mind trading seats with me? I’m in a single just one row back.”
“Oh, well?—”
“Also available is the same seat as yours but two rows back, Mr. Prodi.” Ally interrupts whatever protest he was about to utter.
“Yeah, all right,” he says in an American accent—New York accent if I’m not mistaken.
Ally interrupts him again, offering help with his carry-on luggage when he goes to say something to London, and I don’t move from my spot in front of London until he’s sitting at the back.
“Thank you,” she says, bringing my attention back to her. Her voice quivers again, and I have to dismiss the lava-hot fury inside me.
God, some people really are scum.
“I’m glad I saw it,” I tell her honestly. “I’ll sit here, but don’t you worry, I need to sleep, so I won’t bother you.”
And with all that emotion out of the way, exhaustion suddenly weighs down every bone in my body.
After I get my belongings and place them on top of my new seat, I turn to check on London again and see her eyes wide, firmly stuck on the wall above her screen. She looks scared out of her mind.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask her quietly, and I consciously put my hands on my lap where she can see them, and stay very still.
