Page 30 of The Chemistry Test
Cam
I’ve flown so many times now, but never like this.
Travelling with a kitten and a disabled person is a whole new ball game.
Penny insisted her wheelchair be loaded safely into the cabin before us, so when our flight’s called, we get driven to our gate in a buggy.
It’s a welcome sight in all honesty, and I finally relax enough to take my face mask off.
In daily life, you don’t really bump into paparazzi, especially outside London, and it’s even less likely when it’s nowhere near the release date of whatever you star in. But airports are notorious for being an exception.
So, today, I’m armed with the full get-up, my cap, a face mask and a pair of transition glasses that remain ever so slightly tinted inside.
Even people with smaller roles like mine are at risk of being papped in places like this if they notice you while waiting for bigger celebs.
But luckily for us, there didn’t seem to be any around today.
Now, as we reach the boarding bridge, another member of staff meets us with a manual wheelchair and a friendly face.
‘I won’t need any help when we get to the plane door,’ Penny says as she sits down, her words rushing out a touch too fast. She looks up at me to see if I noticed, and I nod, smirking at her.
Of course I did, Penny. I think it’s starting to feel like an adventure for her now – being in these tunnels always excites me too.
It’s the moment you really start to feel like your trip, or whatever you’re going away for, is about to begin.
We start our expedition through the long, sloping tunnels, with the steward pushing Penny and me walking behind with Tabby in her carrier. I skip to keep up with them, but before I reach her, she leans over for a few seconds, her head disappearing behind the wheelchair.
‘Shoelace?’ I ask, still walking faster than I normally do.
‘Mmm-hmm,’ she says, sitting back up as we get to the door of the plane.
The air hostess greets us both by name and I even get a ‘Welcome back’ from her, but I don’t think Penny notices. She’s too busy folding the face mask she wore through security in her hands, before handing it to me.
I don’t know why, but I low-key love it when people ask me to hold on to stuff for them, like I’m being useful in the most miniscule, short-lived way.
Then, with her hands free, Penny leans on the armrests to get up from the wheelchair and as she does so, I pat the side of the plane.
‘It’s for good luck,’ I say. ‘You can just touch it if you don’t want to pat it though.’ I don’t actually believe in the superstition, but it’s somehow become a part of my flying ritual over the years.
Penny thumps the side of the plane with both hands, making a child behind her jump. Trust her to be overly enthusiastic about this too.
Once on the plane, the air hostess shows us to our seats.
I don’t have to put Tabby on the floor until everyone else has boarded, so I place her on the spare seat next to me so I can comfort her.
‘This is it, Tabby-cat,’ I say, shaking out my hair now I’ve finally taken my cap off.
She’s right at the back of the carrier, so I have to reach in pretty far before she nuzzles her head into my hand.
You can really see how small she is now she’s away from Callie; you could probably fit six of her in there.
‘CJ?’ Penny says, tapping my arm.
‘Yeah?’
‘I think I’m going to get off.’
My hand freezes on Tabby’s back.
‘I’ll get the money together and pay you back for the flight,’ she says hurriedly, already packing away the hand luggage she just got out. I notice her shoes as she taps her foot on the floor. White slip-on Vans. They don’t have any shoelaces.
‘What’s going on?’
‘I just don’t think we’ll get much of the poster done anyway, so you might as well go by yourself. I’ll only hold you back with the wheelchair and everything.’ There’s a shakiness to her voice I haven’t heard before. Thinking about it, she hasn’t spoken much since we left the departure lounge.
‘Penny, you know that’s not true. We have everything sorted with the wheelchair.’ I zip Tabby in, giving Penny my full attention. ‘What’s wrong?’
Her head falls into her hands and stays there. ‘It’s really stupid.’
‘It won’t be to me,’ I say, hoping I sound reassuring. I’m kind of surprised by all of this, to be honest. I thought she’d be bouncing off the walls by now like she was when I showed her around the labs back in September.
‘I’m just a bit ... claustrophobic.’ She kicks the floor, annoyed at herself. ‘Gosh this is pathetic,’ she says, still not looking at me.
‘It’s okay, loads of people feel like that.’
She raises her face but still supports her head with her hands from under her chin.
‘I thought I was going to pass out in the tunnel,’ she says. ‘And not from POTS. How stupid is that?’
It explains why it looked like she was tying her shoes. ‘It’s not stupid. Just stay there for a second while I get someone – they deal with this every day,’ I say, and as I turn to leave, she stands up too, bag in hand.
‘Penelope Lane. Just sit for a minute,’ I say. ‘You’ll still have time to get off if you need to.’
‘That’s not even my real name,’ she mutters, sitting back down as I go to get help.
A minute later, I return with a flight attendant dressed in the same red skirt as the one who assisted us earlier. Her voice is friendly and calming as she speaks to Penny and she even makes her laugh. I feel a stab of jealousy that I haven’t been able to make her do that myself.
‘A lot of our passengers find it helpful to speak to the pilot and see everything in the cockpit since claustrophobia is often exacerbated by feeling out of control. You’re more than welcome to give it a try, if you’d like?
You can look out of the big windows and see how the plane is safely operated by our very capable pilot.
We build stuff up so much in our heads that sometimes seeing it for what it really is can break those thoughts down. ’
Penny looks to me for an answer and my heart melts, just a little bit.
‘I think you should,’ I say. It’s better than doing nothing.
And when she thanks the lady, her voice definitely sounds more stable.
There are two seats inside the cockpit and, as expected, more controls and buttons than I can count. I personally find it more daunting than having not seen it, but I don’t say anything to Penny.
‘You can sit here,’ the pilot says to her, as she clings on to the door.
She sits in the seat next to him and he talks to her for at least ten minutes before she starts to come out of the comatose-like state she was in.
Her shoulders relax and she tells him about how she used to go to Spain every year but hasn’t been back for a while.
The last time she went, she was young enough to cheer during lift-off, but wildly misjudged quite how loud she was. That sounds more like the Penny I know.
‘Can I take a photo of you together?’ I ask when there’s a gap in the conversation. Penny photographs everything at uni and I know she’d regret not asking herself when she’s back to normal. Her eyes light up at the idea, nerves nowhere to be seen.
The pilot gives her a peaked cap to wear and puts on his own, smiling up at me. I’d imagine he’s used to this sort of thing – like how I am with fan photos at press events. And while it’s all just part and parcel of the job, it never gets less exhilarating seeing people so excited to see you.
For the first time since Gran died, I find myself wishing it was me behind the camera and making someone’s day just by doing the bare minimum like taking a photo with them.
I check the picture to make sure neither of them blinked.
Penny looks like she’s on cloud nine, and even the pilot looks like he’s genuinely enjoying himself.
And from experience, I have no doubt he is.
I hand my phone to Penny to take a look just as the flight attendant returns.
‘Do you want me to take one of the three of you?’
‘I’m okay, thanks—’ I start, but Penny stops me, placing the hat on my head and giggling at how my hair puffs out underneath it. And then, before we’re ready, the hostess takes the photo – catching both of us mid-laugh, with the hat slipping forward on my head.
I like how candid and cheery it looks. My ridiculous, splayed-out cloud of hair will probably be enough to distract Penny from the reason we were in here in the first place when she looks back on it. It’s perfect.
Back in our seats, I rummage in my bag, trying to keep her distracted.
‘Rhubarb and Custard, a mint or a lollipop,’ I say, offering all three packets of sweets to her. It’s mainly to stop our ears from popping, but maybe the sugar will stop her from passing out if she gets panicked again too.
‘Rhubarb and Custard, every time,’ she says, taking a few from the packet and putting one in her mouth. Always a bold move to take more than one. She must be feeling at least a little bit better.
‘Agreed. You know you’ve got a boring flying buddy when they pick a mint.
’ I only said it to keep her distracted, but from my experience, it’s kind of true.
The only person I’ve seen who ever chose a mint when offered was a stuffy man in a suit who spent two hours reading The Advanced Guide to Knots and Ropework .
The plane starts to hum quietly as we roll forward, picking up speed faster than I can fathom it.
Penny digs her feet into the floor and her hands search her wrists for her string bracelet.
The plane is pulling my head back into the seat, but even I can see that it’s not there.
Her breathing quickens and she scrambles around for it in her seat.
The tendons in her hands dance beneath her skin as she does so, so I take the hand closest to me, hoping to make it stop.
‘We’ll find it in a minute,’ I say. ‘You had it when you took the sweets, so it’s definitely here somewhere.’