Chapter 3 – Takeoff

Sybil stepped through the narrow entryway and pulled her suitcase over the threshold. To her left she saw at the pilots sitting in the cockpit, and she nodded shortly as the young flight attendant welcomed her aboard. Another attendant was already speaking over the intercom, currently saying something about dimming the lights for the duration of the flight, overhead lights being activated by the control panel on the armrest, so on and so forth about things Sybil had heard dozens of times before. All she needed for this flight was a tolerable neighbour and a low volume so she might hope to get some shut-eye.

Her eyes shifted around at the travellers already sitting in the wide comfy business class seats – mostly men in snappy suits, one woman with her sunglasses still on, two sullen-faced teenagers. Sybil had flown business class plenty of times before, but not for years, not since the last time her whole family travelled together. She could still afford a first-class seat, but only barely, and Sybil believed there were better things she could spend that money on. Even so, she glanced at all those roomy rows and the people sitting in them with slight envy as she moved down the aisle into the coach section.

Here almost half of the seats were already occupied with worn-out, frustrated, or just plain indifferent passengers. Sybil looked around at the tight spaces, praying that she'd have a neighbour that didn't take up too much room or made a mess of things. She sucked in a jaded breath as she heard a baby yowl from several rows ahead. Every few seconds she had to halt as someone blocked the aisle to lift their carry-on into the storage bins, quite a few of which probably shouldn't have been let onto the plane at all due to their enormity.

Air travel really does bring out the worst in people, she silently grumbled.

There were two seats next to each window and three in the middle section. Sybil checked her ticket – 17-G. Thank goodness she wouldn't be one of the poor souls squished in the centre seat of the middle section. She probably had a window seat, which meant she'd have someone between her and the aisle, but it wouldn't be so claustrophobic as the absolute middle.

In her head she counted up as her eyes ran across the numbers below the storage bins. 14 … 15 … 16 … she stopped shy of row 17 as she waited for a man to finish pushing his bulging suitcase into the bin above.

"Do you need any help?" she asked him.

"No, I've got it, just hold on a second," the man answered. He shifted the case around until it was in a position where the lid to the bin might barely be able to close. He moved away from Sybil's row, taking his seat in the middle section. Sybil looked at the row number on her boarding pass and then below the storage bin to double check that she had it right—

Oh my God.

Tom Branson, sitting in the aisle seat of her row, looked up at her. She stared back, dumbstruck.

"Ah … hi," she breathed.

Tom smiled, saying, "Hello again."

Sybil forced a smile, still genuinely shocked that they had crossed paths – for the third time tonight, no less. "Well, this is … um …"

Awkward? Pleasantly surprising? The very last thing she had expected?

She pointed to the empty window seat. "That's actually my seat," she said hesitantly.

"Wait, really?" Tom asked.

Sybil nodded, looking at her ticket for proof. "Yeah, 17-G. Unless there's been a mistake … which I doubt. It looks genuine."

"That is just crazy," Tom said, glancing at Sybil's boarding pass in incredulity. "What an unbelievable coincidence."

"I know," Sybil said in similar disbelief.

She hadn't guessed she would be sitting next to Tom on this flight – there were so many seats on this plane, the chances had been slim, or so she first thought. She felt like some higher being had answered her prayers for a bearable neighbour and gifted her with the best possible person.

"Just as well, then. Here, let me get that for you," Tom said about her suitcase. He got up from the seat and reached for the handle, his fingers brushing against Sybil's hands.

"No no, it's fine, I've—" Sybil protested.

But she let go of the suitcase handle anyway, allowing Tom to push it down. "I insist; you go sit down."

He took the suitcase in both hands and lifted it up to the open storage bin. Sybil smiled at him, appreciating his thoughtfulness as she slid into the narrow row. Her head bumped against the low ceiling and she quickly slumped into her seat, hoping Tom hadn't noticed her clumsiness. She pushed her other bag under the seat in front of her as Tom retook his.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them. All around them were people scuffling, trying to lift their bags into the overhead compartments as quickly as possible, the baby still wailing somewhere, the intercom talking about complementary drinks and dinner options.

"Well. What are the odds?" Tom said offhandedly.

Sybil, with a slight smile, replied, "I hope you don't think I'm stalking you."

Tom looked at her. "What? No, I – I hadn't considered it, actually. Are you?"

"Don't worry, I'm not," Sybil laughed, "I'm just as surprised as you are about this."

But it's a nice surprise, she thought.

The intercom buzzed again. "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay, we should be moving away from the jet bridge in a few minutes. Once all carry-on items are stowed away, please take your seats so we can get you to London before Christmas."

There was scattered chuckling. A couple more passengers filed past, though the noise level had lowered somewhat. Quite a few had pulled the magazines out of the seat pockets and were absently flipping through them just to stave off the monotony of still being on the ground. Some had already pulled out those crescent-shaped neck pillows and were waiting for the cabin lights to turn off so they could sleep, or at the very least try to.

Sybil glanced out the window, seeing the orange lights illuminate the concrete. They hadn't moved from the jet bridge yet. Would this plane ever get into the air like it was supposed to?

She couldn't see with her head turned away, but Tom was looking in the same direction as she was. "D'you think they're keeping us here on purpose?"

Sybil looked at him quizzically. "What? Like a conspiracy or something?"

Tom shrugged. "You never know."

"I'd rather not think about that possibility. We were only delayed because of the rain. But I do hope that it doesn't turn into one of those intense thriller films – killer on a plane, or someone goes missing mid-flight, that sort of thing." Her gaze ran across the cabin. "Being thousands of feet above the ground is scary enough for me."

"Do you not like flying?" Tom asked.

"I don't have a fear of it, so to speak," Sybil explained. "There are parts of it that make me nervous. that's all. Like taking off, or turbulence."

Tom nodded, understanding. "I'm sure everybody gets nervous when the plane hits turbulence."

"I like smooth flights," Sybil went on. "When the plane jolts or something it just reminds me that I'm in a metal tube, and that the ground is a long way down. And we'll be over the ocean for most of the time on this flight. Then it makes me wonder if something is about to go wrong, like an engine's stopped or the wings are going to snap off."

"Does it help to keep telling yourself that things like that almost never happen?" Tom suggested.

Sybil shook her head. "I've always seen it as 'what can go wrong, will go wrong.' Maybe that's just a bit of my training bleeding through. As a nurse, I have to be prepared for anything that might happen."

"Well … do you need someone to hold your hand?"

Sybil and Tom looked at each other, and neither seemed to be capable of moving. Tom seemed mortified at his own words. His jaw twitched, as if he was trying to say something but whatever he wanted to say kept slinking back into this mouth. Finally, he managed to blurt out a string of apologetic stammering.

"Oh God, that was – shit, I'm sorry – I don't know why I said that – I just—"

"Tom, it's … it's okay," Sybil tried to assure him.

Tom inhaled nervously. "Are you sure? I shouldn't have—"

"I forgive you," Sybil said. She gave him a placable smile. "We'll just blame it on the alcohol."

"Yeah," Tom sighed, still abashed at himself. "Yeah, that sounds reasonable. It's the alcohol talking. No more Guinness for me."

"I'm cutting you off for the rest of the flight," Sybil said, remembering that they served cocktails on this flight.

The screens attached to the backs of the seats in front of them flickered on, showing a plane flying serenely through a bright blue sky. "Thank you for flying Delta Airlines today," the peppy voice in the speakers began. "Our first priority on this flight is your safety, so please pay attention to this brief presentation …"

Ah yes, the inescapable safety information, Sybil thought dryly. Most of the people on the plane could probably regurgitate all of the emergency procedures word-for-word, including herself. Nothing in the video would help her with any level of anxiety she was feeling right now – the recent storm was bound to cause some turbulence, and Sybil forced herself not to think about what else could possibly go wrong.

Shit, stop freaking out over nothing, she thought. Why, all of a sudden, was she mentally panicking? She had flown plenty of times and nothing had ever gone horribly wrong. It's the stress, she told herself. It's just stress from the delay and the waiting. You're just being nervy.

She turned towards Tom; his eyes were fixed at the screen, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The poor man must have been terribly embarrassed with what he had said earlier. Surely he had meant nothing by it, and Sybil wasn't angry with him at all. He had drunk a pint of beer earlier, so that had to be the reason he had said it. He hadn't said it to be creepy or pervasive, and she wasn't unnerved by it at all. That was all there was to it.

Though, Sybil remembered, he had spoken coherently and without a trace of sarcasm. He had spoken as if he had genuinely been offering to hold her hand. That baffled Sybil: had he truly meant it? Did she seem like she needed a hand to hold on to? She looked down at her own hands and found both of them were gripping the armrests tightly.

Sybil Crawley, you are too old to be acting like a scaredy-cat.

The safety video ended and the seatbelt sign binged on. There was the repeated metal snapping of buckles, and both Sybil and Tom followed through. Sybil tightened her belt across her lap as much as she comfortably could. The intercom buzzed again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we ask at this time to please turn off all electronic devices, including cell phones, laptop computers – a list of approved devices can be found in the back of the magazine in your seat pocket. The use of cell phones are not permitted during the flight unless they are in airplane mode …"

Sybil leaned down and fished for her phone in her bag. After this moment, Mary wouldn't be able to hound her anymore – she'd be without communication on either side. She shut it off and stuffed it back inside just as the main lights turned off. It became very dark, though random people began to turn on their individual reading lights. Likewise, Tom reached up and turned the tiny white light over his head, illuminating his face.

"Wait – I'm sorry, are you going to want to sleep?" he asked Sybil.

Sybil shook her head. "No, I don't think I'm going to be able to."

The plane lurched and began to pull back from the jet bridge. The roar of the engines filled the cabin. This is it, Sybil thought. Just breathe easy. You'll be fine. You'll be home soon.

"Welcome aboard to this flight from Hartsfield-Jackson to Heathrow," the pilot said over the intercom as the plane moved down the long stretch of asphalt. "Thank you for your patience tonight, we are now cleared for takeoff. The weather conditions may cause a bumpy takeoff, but we'll climb above it quickly, so don't worry. Flight attendants, please take your seats and secure the cabin for take off. Enjoy your flight."

Sybil sighed at the mention of 'bumpy takeoff.' She had been worried about that, and now that the plane was moving and the lights were off, it seemed even more alarming now.

The plane manoeuvred around, slow at first as it turned corners to get to the runway. The high-pitched whine of the engines surrounded the cabin, sounding like an Arctic wind. In the row where Sybil and Tom were, close to the wing, it was awfully loud and the temperature inside seemed even colder with the engines howling. Yet overall the passengers were quiet. The baby had miraculously stopped bawling, and it seemed that everyone else was holding their breath, waiting for the plane to take off. Sybil inhaled in an attempt to be calm as she peered out the window. The terminal moved out of sight as the plane finally turned down the runway. It stopped for a moment, and Sybil froze as she braced herself for the rush of speed about to come.

Somehow, her heart was still pounding with agitation. Her hands had once again found themselves attached to the armrests, her fingers curled around tightly. Her stomach was clenched and it was impossible to relax herself at this moment.

"Actually, Tom … I think I might like that hand now," she muttered shyly.

Her eyes were fixed at the top of the seat in front of her, and she didn't move a muscle. When she felt his hand slide over hers she didn't flinch, much to her surprise. He felt warm (odd because of the chill in the cabin) and his fingers gently rested across her own grasping the armrest. There wasn't any tremor or clamminess that she could feel. He was calmer than she was, that was for certain.

The plane started to move again, bouncing Sybil in her seat slightly. It felt like they were running just as an earthquake was occurring. The whine of the engines grew louder and higher as the plane roared up to speed. The lights of the airport rushed past as blurs in the window. Sybil remained perfectly still, her jaw clenched as the plane raced faster and faster, pressing her back into her seat.

All the while, Tom did not move his hand off of hers. She concentrated on the feeling of his hand, the sensation of unfamiliar skin, this small form of comfort being afforded to her. How could it be that she felt just a little bit safer with this person whom she had met only hours before and barely knew anything about besides work life?

In a split second, they were in the air. For a few seconds, the plane lifted smoothly up.

Then there was a jolt of turbulence, and Sybil felt her stomach drop. She wished she could block her ears from the typical creaking of an aircraft now in flight, because now she was worried they really were the sounds of the wings about to break off. She shut her eyes as she felt the plane jostle up and down for what seemed like forever. Her fingers gripped the armrest tighter, but Tom did not remove his hand. She tried her best to breathe evenly, to stay still, to convince herself that this was all normal. The pilot had said the takeoff would be bumpy, and they'd get over it soon.

Although Tom's voice was soft, she could still manage to hear it over the roaring and the creaking. "Who was it that called you before? When we were leaving the bar?"

Sybil paused, trying to collect herself. "My – my sister," she answered. "She was just … making sure I was getting on the plane. She knew I was delayed."

"Okay. Where does your sister live?"

"London," Sybil said. Another jolt of turbulence, and she audibly moaned. She absolutely hated the feeling of her stomach shifting in her body, making her queasy for a brief second.

"Wouldn't that mean your sister was calling you in the middle of the night?" Tom questioned.

"Yeah, she was awake. She had a baby recently, and she's become a bit of an insomniac," Sybil explained. She was picking up on what Tom was doing – distracting her so that she wouldn't think about the plane, if only for a few seconds.

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy. I've never seen him because he was born after I left for Georgia. I probably will when we get to London, when my sister and her husband come to pick me up from the airport."

"Is your sister older or younger?"

"Younger."

"Any other sisters or brothers?"

"One other sister, also older."

"Wow. Must have been fun growing up."

Sybil winced as the plane bumped in the air again. "If you think constantly going for each other's throats is fun—" Suddenly she laughed amidst the jouncing. Evidently Tom was working wonders, though just as quickly her laughter turned into a gasp as the plane jolted once more.

The cabin started to level out with a few more creaks. "So, anyone else in the family in the medical profession?" Tom asked.

"No, just me," Sybil said. "My sister's husband's parents were doctors, but that's the closest relation."

"What made you decide to become a nurse?"

"I – I think – ugh, there are so many reasons," Sybil said, trying to think straight through the sporadic shaking. "Of course there's the 'I want to help people reason,' and I feel like being a nurse, as opposed to a doctor – it lets you connect with the patients better. They depend on you once they get out of surgery, and while they recover, and you have to deal with their visitors …" She paused and wondered if the turbulence was subsiding.

"The nurses fight the battles," Tom finished for her.

"Exactly. I feel that's what I'm meant to do," Sybil said.

"And like I mentioned before, I bet you do it well," Tom said.

"Yeah," Sybil said absently.

She heard the intercom buzz. "This is your captain. We apologize for the bumpy takeoff, but we're through the worst of it now. We ask that you keep your seatbelts securely fastened while seated as there may be more turbulence. Thank you."

Sybil let out a long, slow breath. Her whole body seemed to relax at once. She opened her eyes to the dimly lit cabin, the sky outside the window completely colourless. She looked down at Tom's hand covering her own and then up at Tom, giving him a grateful smile. "Thank you for distracting me."

"It was no problem," Tom said warmly. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah, for now," Sybil nodded.

Tom took away his hand, leaving the back of Sybil's feeling strangely naked. She pried her hand off the armrest, bringing it down to her lap and flexing her stiff fingers.

"That must have been a bit … weird … the thing with the …" Sybil pointed to Tom's hand and then her own.

"Hey, I offered it in the first place," Tom said. "I sort of gave you the idea."

"Well, thank you. It really worked," Sybil said. "I'm not usually like that," she added sheepishly. "Something just came over me."

"Stress of a long day?" Tom guessed.

"Maybe," Sybil contemplated. "Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it as well. Oh, I don't know. I was being silly."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Tom said. "We all get scared sometimes."

"But I'm almost never on the verge of a panic attack on an airplane," Sybil groaned.

"Well, the pilot said the worst has passed, so we're fine now," Tom reminded her. "And I'm glad could be of some help."

"Yeah," Sybil murmured. "I'm glad you were here too."