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by
Barbara
Mackintosh
It had been cold grey & damp from overnight rain when I had
left home, now it was raining again, pouring down, it was also
Monday morning & my first day back at work after a two week
holiday, not exactly a recipe to make one feel in high spirits.
Add to that the fact that I was about to take a short flight
&, well, let us just say that I was not at my best.
My name is Peter Heathfield, I work for Tynefeld Meakin Investment
Bank. Although a native of London I have lived on the Isle of
Man for many years, since the Bank posted me here in fact. The
Isle of Man is an important financial centre, enjoying as it
does certain offshore tax advantages over mainland Britain. I
love it here, I love my work, it's just that offshore bit that
can cause problems for me.
You see, to get to the U.K. mainland I have the alternative of
a ferry, taking forever, longer if the weather is bad, not at
all if the weather is really bad, or a flight which can take
as little as thirty minutes. Well, that is the theory, in practice,
as far as the Bank is concerned there is only one way to go,
that is to fly, if I took the ferry someone else could have done
the deal by the time I am half way across the sea, it's as simple
as that, speed is everything.
So on average once every couple of weeks my working day begins
like this, sitting in the departure lounge at Ronaldsway airport
on the Isle of Man, waiting to board the company's executive
jet, & getting very hot under the collar.
By now I am sure you will have worked out that I don't like flying.
My colleagues, this morning there are four of them, all know
me very well, they try to help me but they know that there is
not much they can do, they know that it is my normal behaviour
at times like this to be just sitting there brooding, sitting
with them but not joining in conversation, perhaps not even listening
to them, instead I am usually playing over in my mind what is
to come.
I will see the runway flashing by the window as we take off,
we lift into the air, I'm thinking it can't possibly stay up,
we will come crashing down again. Later I will look down from
the window, I try not to but my eye is drawn, we are very high
& this is such a small flimsy little aircraft, it is a long
way down if we crash. Then there might be turbulence, that is
what I hate the most. Finally as we come into land I will see
the ground, now much closer, thankfully very much closer, it
is nearly over, but I also know that the landing can often be
the most dangerous time. I will be sitting there, palms sweating
but feeling cold, making more trips to the toilet than is normal.
"Good morning gentlemen," says a cheerful voice from
somewhere behind me.
The voice is that of Deborah. The Bank has several executive
aircraft one of which is based here at Ronaldsway, the reason
being that we often have the need to fly to the U.K. or Europe
at a moments notice. Deborah is one of two cabin crew who take
it in turns to man this specific aircraft & she is to be
our hostess this morning. Deb is well known to us all & good
mornings & other pleasantries are exchanged.
I have to confess that I don't normally pay much attention to
Deborah, wrapped up as I am on these occasions in my own deep
thoughts about flying. I try to be pleasant to her like the others,
but even speaking shortly before & during a flight does not
come easy to me. That said, on this particular morning things
turned out to be a little different.
They began just the same. Deborah looking smart in her uniform
which mirrored the Bank's corporate colours, her mid blue skirt
reaching down to just below the knee, a waistcoat with dark blue
pin stripes close together on a white background, worn over a
white long sleeved blouse with a bright red floppy bow at the
neck. Completing her uniform were dark blue shoes with comfortable
length heels, whilst atop her auburn shoulder length hair she
wore a dark blue & red pill box style hat.
As to the difference, well I heard it before I saw it. With my
flying phobia still churning over & over in my mind I was
at first only vaguely aware of a sort of slithering noise, then
my eyes were drawn to Deborah's arm like magnets to steel, like
a radar to it's target. There, folded neatly, as with everything
about her appearance, hung a shiny dark metallic blue raincoat.
Suddenly it was like an awakening, my eyes were fixed on that
glossy blue, my dislike of flying at least temporarily set aside.
Again I heard the slither of it as she moved, might it be polyurethane
I asked myself, it had the look of that material, but it sounded
like PVC, it spoke to me with the louder crackle of PVC, less
supple, less compliant than polyurethane, far more boldly announcing
it's presence to the world, a free spirit saying "look at
me!" And I was, I was upright, alert & looking at it,
in awe of it, in awe of Deborah, it's owner, it's wearer.
With it folded over her arm, with it slightly hidden behind the
chair of one of my colleagues, I could not see much detail of
this wonderful garment, I wanted her to step from behind the
chair, I wanted her to show me the mac in all it's glorious splendour,
I wanted her desperately to put it on, please Deborah, I was
thinking, please Deborah put your mac on! I was tingling, palms
still sweating but now with another cause.
"We will be boarding in about ten minutes," she said
to us, "I'll come back then to escort you out to the aircraft."
She moved around towards the back of my chair, she bent down
close to my ear. In a low voice meant only for me to hear she
said, "Don't worry Mr Heathfield, despite the bad weather
the captain says we are not expecting turbulence, it should be
a smooth flight."
And at that point I was not worried in the least about the coming
flight, I was joyous, we had not even boarded the aircraft yet
but I was already high, flying with the birds. I was high on
the fragrance of this girl as she bent close to me, high on the
fresh chemical smell of her mackintosh, sweat, clean, blending
so well with her own perfume.
My head swivelled after her as she walked away, the mac slithering,
crackling by her side, I watched her as she opened a near by
door & disappeared through it. My mind was racing, looking
forward now like never before to the flight, to Deborah coming
back to us.
It was as she had said, after what seemed like forever, but which
in truth was just a little less than ten minutes that same door
opened again. I had been watching it intently since I had lost
sight of her but even so, I could not believe my own eyes, I
could not believe my luck, my prayers were answered! There she
was, framed in the doorway, a Goddess no less, in shiny blue.
The mackintosh was full length, narrow fitting with a properly
eyeleted buckle belt pulled in tight, emphasising her tiny waist.
It was a plain looking raincoat, single breasted with raglan
sleeves, slash pockets & with a small collar neatly turned
down. As she turned to close the door behind her I could see
that lying neatly down her back was a large hood which tapered
down to two points, it was held securely in place by a single
button which was almost hidden under the back of the collar.
She turned back & as she began walking towards us the hood's
draw strings danced gaily across her front, they were very long,
reaching almost down to the belt.
The mac was dazzling, shinning brilliant, perhaps the metallic
element giving an extra sparkle to the dark glossy blue. The
light danced crazily across its chaotic surfaces as she walked,
the mac slithered thwacked & crackled as her arms swung gently
at her side, the skirt of the mac swished about her legs, it
was pulled taut this way & that across her upper body, movement
in that area somewhat inhibited by the tightness of the belt.
Deborah announced that it was time to board & our little
group rose to their feet, gathering & putting on coats for
the walk across the tarmac, a walk that this morning would be
a wet one.
Ronaldsway is only a small airport, there are no gates as such
as might be found at Heathrow for instance, certainly no covered
walkway leading right up to the door of the aircraft. But it
is a busy place with a number of aeroplanes sometimes moving
about or starting up their engines, so for safety reasons it
is the job of the hostess to escort passengers out to their waiting
flight.
As she waited for us to put on our coats she made herself ready
to meet the downpour too. Deborah turned up her collar &
fastened the top button of the mackintosh, something that she
did not find easy with the black leather gloves that she was
wearing. It was again a slight struggle for her to undo the button
that secured the hood behind her neck, but this accomplished
she smoothly erected it & with such grace that for a moment,
I wondered if putting up one's mac hood was covered in the air
hostess training manual.
I was putting on my own coat but at the same time I watched her
intently, I tried not to show it, I tried not to stare not to
make my rapture obvious.
The two pointed hood on Deborah's mac was deep, cavernous, obviously
designed to be worn over the uniform hat without either crumpling
the hat, or the hat disturbing the profile of the erected hood.
Even as she pulled in the draw strings & secured them under
her chin she was careful not to pull them so tight as to wrinkle
the hood, just enough to keep it in place, perfect, I thought.
Again the thought of a mackintoshed goddess came in to my mind
as I surveyed her. The mac, although fitting perfectly &
following every contour of her body was both large & long
enough to offer her full protection, even in this mornings driving
rain. I looked at her face, it seemed so small set as it was
deep inside that almost overwhelming hood, I found myself wanting
to escort her out to the aircraft instead of the other way around,
I had this feeling that together with her mackintosh, I wanted
to protect her out there in that pouring rain.
Deborah looked at us, the group was ready, "Everyone got
all there belongings," she said. After another moment or
two she turned & we began to follow her towards the exit
door.
Normally I would have been at the back of the group, reluctant,
not really wanting to go out to the aircraft at all, but this
morning I was at the front, right behind our sweat smelling,
crackling, shiny hostess. I did not want to miss a second of
her, I did not want to miss a single ripple of her mac, a single
crackle of her PVC, I wanted to see the light reflected of the
material as it stretched across her shoulder blades, pulled this
way & that, having it's work cut out to keep this gorgeous
creature all covered up & protected.
She opened the door. I felt a blast of cold air, I heard the
background hum of the airport, the distant wine of a jet engine
as an aircraft taxied across the other side of the airfield,
but most of all, there was the sound of rain falling on the tarmac.
I find it to be a sort of calming sound, a dull sort of sound,
as though everything out there is put on hold as everyone stays
inside, out of the rain, as though the world is waiting until
the rain has stopped, before life can continue. It is not like
that of course, we have to go out in the rain & I give thanks
for that, for if not, rainwear would not have been invented.
Deborah stepped out through the door, I heard that same rain
now transform in an instant from its calming, almost sedating
effect, into its exciting mode, it's really exciting mode as
the rain began to fall on her hood & shoulders! As we all
filed through the door behind her she moved out into the open.
The rain was quite heavy, I could hear the sharp staccato sounds
on the PVC, there was lots of rain but all these sounds were
separate, rapid crackle, this was the heart rending sound of
Deborah's mac getting wet.
I felt sick, breathless, I felt cold, I was trembling my heart
fluttered. No! I thought no! Dear Lord no! She shouldn't have
to go through this! Please! Oh please help her mac to protect
her, please help this gorgeous mac to keep her dry & safe
inside its confines, please!
It was somehow almost more than I could bare. I always seem to
feel this way when it is someone I know inside the mac, someone
I can feel for, it does not seem to matter so much when I see
a complete stranger being rained upon, I still love it of course
but it's different.
The aircraft was parked some distance away & so I had the
time to dwell on Deborah, the time to take everything in. I took
in more of that spattering sound as the rain fell on her, the
slithering sound of the raincoat, the thwacking sound of the
mac about her legs, the streams of water running of her hood,
pouring of her shoulders, flowing down the full length of her,
dripping from the hem. It almost seemed she was so shiny that
the rain could not possibly penetrate her defences, I hoped not,
oh how I hoped not!
But all to soon our walk was over. It would always have been
to soon I reflected, but all the same, why could the aircraft
not have been parked another hundred yards or so away? Now we
were at the foot of the short flight of steps that lead up to
the aircraft's door. Deborah climbed them & turned to face
us, standing just inside the doorway & slightly to one side
allowing us to board. I stood at the bottom of the steps allowing
the others to board before me. I think they took this as my normal
reluctance to fly, but in truth, on this particular day, I just
wanted to savour every last minute of the dark blue raincoated
woman standing there, framed as in a picture, & what a picture!
Come to think of it, I don't remember thinking that I was about
to fly, not even for a second.
She just stood there as in a dream picture, her little face set
inside the deep mac hood, speaking & smiling & welcoming
each of her passengers in turn. I climbed at the back of the
queue, as I got closer to her I could see the little drops of
water still lingering on the top of her hood, a few on her shoulders
& some down the front of her, but most had just run straight
of that wonderfully shiny material, it had protected her I thought,
& I was happy that it had.
"Welcome aboard My Heathfield," she said in her always
pleasant voice, "Try to relax" she whispered to me,
"The Captain says it should be a good flight today, it's
raining but there is no bad weather flight wise, it should be
smooth."
She always seemed to pay more attention to me than to the others,
don't misunderstand me, I know that it was all part of her job
for she knew better than most about my intense fear of flying.
I croaked a half strangled, stuttering "Thank you."
I don't think she would have noticed anything unusual about my
reply for it was always like that, but this morning it was not
for the usual reason that I could barely speak.
I stepped past, moving into the main cabin & half turned
to see her pulling up the steps. The mac pulled tight across
her shoulders & back as she stretched forwards, it crackled
as it strained & stretched with her. Then the door began
to close & I was inside, she was out of sight.
The cabin was full of chatter & general hubbub as we took
of our wet coats & began to stow things in the lockers above
our heads. Then Deborah, the door now closed & secured came
through to join us, she began to help us to secure coats, brief
cases & other belongings in readiness for take off.
She stood beside me in the narrow isle, again I found myself
trying to look at her without making it obvious. I wanted to
brush up against her, to feel her, smooth & slippery, but
I dared not. She had not yet had time to lower her mac hood &
I gazed at it, it's shape, unruffled, perfect, then one of the
last remaining drops of water slid gently down the back of it
as she looked upwards & I shivered. She stretched up to put
a coat inside an overhead locker & I saw the mac stretch,
I saw it pull at her tight restricting belt, it was taught under
her up stretched arms, it slithered & crackled then her arms
came down again. The mac was released from it's tightness &
the sound that it made was like that of a stiff paper when it
is being ruffled & crushed. I could smell her, fresh &
clean, sort of hospital clean, she smelt heavenly!
Then all was stowed, we took our seats & Deborah moved away
to the back of the aircraft, away to her little galley, her work
place, the mac slithered of into the distance & it was all
over, she would take of her mackintosh & go about her normal
duties now. What a shame I thought that the rules & regulations
didn't require her to keep her mac on for the whole flight, it
would make sense I thought fleetingly, supposing we had to ditch
in the sea, all that water, after all she wouldn't want to use
up valuable time putting her mac on again. I smiled to myself,
it seems strange now but even that quick mental picture of us
ditching in the sea did not bring my fear of flying flooding
back to me, perhaps the additional picture of Deborah swimming
& getting completely wet in the mackintosh & me rescuing
her kept it at bay. An even more silly thing is that I can't
even swim.
We had begun to fasten our seat belts when our hostess appeared
again, now minus mackintosh of course & ready to go through
the safety routine. She pointed out the exits, told us how to
put on our life jackets, you know the sort of thing. Normally
all this would make me more nervous than ever about the flight
to come, but not today. She stood there in her uniform, skirt,
blouse, but I still saw her with her raincoat on & I thought
how nice the yellow PVC life belt looked against the dark blue
shiny PVC mac. I breathed in deeply, I shuddered & my breath
shivered audibly out again. I think David who was sitting across
the small table from me just thought it was my phobia once more,
or at least I hope he did. I just hoped & prayed that it
would be raining at our destination so that out lovely dreamy
hostess would have to don her shiny protective outfit again,
oh how I prayed!
It was not long before we were in the air & on our way. Even
then I felt no anxiety, I felt like happiness had flooded over
me, I sat there eyes not focused, dreaming. I was not exactly
calm, I tingled from my head to my feet in fact, but unlike on
other flights this time it was all due to the beautiful Deborah,
the girl & her shiny mac, a cure for my phobia where all
other treatments had failed completely.
For me these flights seem to drag on forever, even the very short
hops just to the mainland, but this morning it was almost over
before it had begun. I had watched Deb going about her duties
in the cabin, serving breakfast to us, catering to our every
need in her always calm & efficient way. I watched the figure
in the crisp clean & smart uniform, but it was not the uniform
that I saw. Each time she came into the cabin it was Deb in a
smooth shiny blue mac that I saw, & with her hood up too.
It was no use. I simply had to see Deborah's mac at least one
more time! We were nearing the end of our flight & I thought,
supposing it's not raining at our destination! I decided to go
to the toilet, this I knew from my many visits there in the past
was right at the back of the aircraft, the journey there would
take me past the galley, I might, I just might see her mac again.
Nothing was said, the others would have just thought it normal
for me. I walked slowly as I reached the place where Deborah
was working. I drew in a deep breath, then nothing, I could not
breathe out! It was there, hanging on the wall right behind her.
I looked at it in wonderment, how I wished that she was wearing
it again now!
She caught my expression, I looked quickly away. "All right
Mr Heathfield?" she enquired.
I tried to hide my feelings, I don't think she would have read
my face correctly, she would have just assumed, or at least I
hope she would have, that it was my old fears again. She smiled
at me.
"Er, ye, yes" I stammered & went on my way.
For the few moments that I was in the toilet I was trembling,
cold with sweat. I finished washing my hands & almost before
I had dried them they were perspiring again.
On the way back to my seat I again passed by the mackintosh hanging
up on the wall, again I quivered. This time Deborah was not there,
she must be in the main cabin with the other passengers, I could
not see her because a curtain separated the galley quarters from
the passenger area. I stopped by the mac. I looked at the curtain,
my heart pounded.
I stretched a hand out to it, stroked its smoothness. With both
hands I took hold of it, pulled it to me, I felt it against my
suit, felt it slip effortlessly over me, then I pulled it upwards
& buried my face it . My ears were full of the mackintosh
noise, I breathed in & gulped down it's smell, it's taste
even. Again that fresh smell, chemical freshness but with the
hint of Deborah upon it, the scent, the smell of the girl herself,
I was in absolute mackintosh heaven.
I released it, breathed in again longingly & knew that I
would after leave it, Deborah could return at any moment. The
mac slithered against the wall as I let it go & turned to
go back to my seat.
I was startled. As I turned towards the curtain to go back I
looked up, it opened & there was Deborah. I must of flinched,
I must have had a startled look on my face. She looked quizzically
straight at me, then I saw her glance away, for less than a second,
in the direction of the mackintosh I think before her eyes came
straight back to mine. The raincoat I thought must have still
been swaying against the wall, perhaps just a little after &
I had released it from my grip, I could not know for sure if
it was, I could not look back at it, that would surely give me
away.
I forced a half smile on to my face, nodded towards her to allow
her through the doorway first, I did not say a word. She stepped
slowly through into the galley, she continued to look at me.
After a pause a smile eventually began to come to her face, but
it was not the usual sort of "Are you all right?" or
"Don't worry My Heathfield" type of smile that she
often gave me, it was a look more of enquiry that came across
her features. There was another slight pause before she thanked
me for making way for her, but her voice was faint as if she
were far away or thinking about something else & not what
she was saying at that moment.
Once back at my seat I sat down, shaking again. David must have
noticed this, he leaned forward & said, "Don't worry
Peter, it won't be long now."
"What? Wha..., oh, er, yes" I stumbled. I looked at
him, then I stared out of the window.
Had she seen me? I wondered. Had she seen me with her mac! My
heart was in my mouth, I trembled more than ever.
------------------
We were back on the ground. The pilot was saying over the public
address that he hoped that we had enjoyed our flight, he gave
us details of the time, the outside air temperature & to
my groaning disappointment that it was dry & sunny, indeed
looking out now, my eyes focusing for the first time since my
encounter with Deborah in the gangway, it looked very much like
a warm summer day.
We gathered our belongings together, not bothering to put on
coats & making our way to the exit at the front of the aircraft,
from where our hostess would collect us & usher us to the
terminal.
Having given up all hope at the sight of the dry & warm sunny
weather outside, & feeling generally downcast, imagine my
complete surprise when the curtain to the galley was pulled back
& there stood Deborah, once again looking seraphic, in shiny
dark blue.
I know my eyes widened, I know my mouth dropped open slightly,
she seemed to look straight at me.
After a moment she walked forward to the front to open the door
& let down the steps. I heard her mackintosh rustle &
slither & crackle lightly as she brushed passed me. Was it
my imagination? Did I feel her push against me as she brushed
passed? Or was I just blocking her path?
The five of us followed her to the terminal where she held the
door open for us. One by one she wished each of us a pleasant
day as we passed into the building. I was at the back of the
group, when I got to the door she smiled at me, wished me too
a pleasant day & added, "You seemed to be all right
today Mr Heathfield, it didn't seem to worry you, as though something
else had taken your mind off it."
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