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Halle gulped down the chilled water, but it did nothing to ease the rawness in her throat.
Shit, shit, shit.
She rolled the icy glass across her forehead, then bent to retrieve her bag.
‘Why did you call it a “flying death trap”?’
She ignored Luke’s question as she waged war with the child-safety lid on the Xanax bottle. Only to have the bottle whipped out of her hands.
‘What are these for?’
‘Give me those.’ She made a grab for the bottle as he read the label, only to have him hike it out of reach.
‘Heavy-duty happy pills. When did you start popping these?’
‘It’s not Ecstasy. It’s a mild drug to help with anxiety. And it’s none of your business what pills I pop.’
‘Mild, my arse. This stuff can kill you if you take too much of it.’
‘You are joking?’ She skewered him with her best give-me-a-bloody-break look. ‘This from the guy who once had so much E he ran down Green Lanes naked declaring to the whole of Hackney he was Sonic the Hedgehog.’
‘I was seventeen,’ he protested. ‘It was Super Mario and I was only half naked, don’t exaggerate.’
‘Nope, it was definitely Sonic. I remember because I was sober.’ Or soberish. ‘And all you had on was a baseball cap!’
‘Well, then I had all the essential stuff covered, didn’t I?’ He threw her the challenging grin again, daring her to deny it.
‘Essential stuff? What, like your brain, you mean? That certainly didn’t qualify as essential at the time, given it wasn’t the organ you did your thinking with.’
His eyes sharpened and she relished the hit. But then the captain’s monotone tenor came over the public address system with a rundown of their flying time and their altitude over the Atlantic, and the brief surge of triumph was smothered in panic.
‘Give me the bottle.’ She stretched out a shaky palm. ‘I need another before we take off.’
He lowered the bottle but didn’t hand it over. ‘How many have you had already?’
She pressed the tip of her tongue to her upper lip and tasted the salty sweat. ‘Only one.’ Or had it been two? Her mind seemed foggy on the details. But then the flight attendant strolled past to check their bays, and the plane rumbled into motion—and the panic became razor sharp. ‘Luke, for Chrissake, hand them over.’
‘Look at me.’
She squinted, trying to focus as he held two fingers in front of her face.
‘Do you know your pupils are the size of pinpricks?’
‘“Prick” being the operative word.’ She made a grab for the bottle again and missed by about twenty nautical miles, her coordination skills—along with her dignity—now completely shot.
‘Why do you need this stuff anyway?’
Why was he looking at her like that—all stern and concerned? And why couldn’t she remember how to speak?
The plane made a lumbering turn onto the runway, then gathered speed. Her stomach lurched up to slam into her larynx. She gripped the armrest hard enough to fracture granite, her nails gouging the leather.
Flying is safe. Remember Rain Man. You are not going to die.
‘Dammit, Hal, since when have you been scared of flying?’
She would have shot him another give-me-a-bloody-break look but she was far too busy clinging on for dear life.
‘Why didn’t you say something sooner?’ he added.
