Page 96 of Queen of Nothing

We lift into the air.

We glide.

I sink further into the seat. I sink into the relaxation. And I already feel like I’m back where I belong.

16

Guess at some point, I drifted off, because I’m now stirring to a rash-like sensation on my chin.

I drag the back of my hand over my tingling mouth and wipe away a small smear of drool.

The strips of sleep are peeling away from my surroundings.

The airliner.

My family.

For a moment there, I forgot.

A white blur moves in front of my face.

I stare at it for a beat. The sharpness of my vision takes a second too long to return to me, but when it does, I realise that the attendant is offering a hot towel.

I must not have slept for very long at all if she’s handing out the hot towels.

It dangles from the pinch of the silver tongs.

I swipe it with a muttered ‘thanks’, then slap it to my face.

The relief is instant.

Hot, steamy warmth.

I take a moment with it.

The attendant waits. Patient.

I run it down my nose, along my chin, from temple to temple, and make sure to get at the drool patch on my chin.

I wipe down my neck, even into the collar of my shrunken sweater.

Then I hand it back to her.

Her smile is small, polite, as she sets the towel down on the silver platter with the other used ones.

But that smile clicks in my mind.

I remember her. A vague recognition.

She was new once.

Back on the old jet when we were leaving Versailles, and I didn’t think she would last long, since she was getting so flustered.

Now, she seems practiced. A veteran.

And by the stripes crossed along her sleeve, and the pin on her vest, I can tell she worked her way up to the top.

The dip of her head is polite and silent.