TWENTY-ONE

The engines kept roaring. Darryl could feel their vibration. Excitement welled up in him once more: yeah, it had been an adventure. He understood now why his dad had wanted to take off and see a totally different place. The world was full of adventures, and he was going to have as many as he could in his life.

He was going to help people, too. Being with his mum over here had made him realise how good that could feel. She was still helping, with Alicia as well as the kids who might be coming to New Zealand.

Darryl glanced forward. In the row ahead, the girl sat motionless. Was she still frightened and upset? He couldn’t tell.

Another five minutes and the plane began to level out. The seatbelt sign blinked off. The air hostess began moving down the cabin, chatting to people. She rested a hand on Alicia’s shoulder, smiled and murmured to her for a moment. The girl must still be scared, all right. Maybe he’d go and sit by her; tell her it was OK. Or maybe he’d just tell his mum, and she could go.

The air hostess reached their row.

‘’Allo. Is there anytheeng you need?’

Mrs Davis smiled and shook her head. Darryl began to do the same, then asked: ‘Can I move across to the other side?’

The air hostess raised her eyebrows. ‘You do not enjoy to sit with your mother?’

Darryl shook his head, and started saying ‘No, I just want to see out—’, then realised both women were grinning at him. If he ever became (yerrrk) a parent, he was not going to embarrass his kids the way certain people did.

Darryl stood, and began moving across the aisle to the empty seats opposite. He noticed Raoul, sitting by himself three rows back, gazing straight ahead. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed together. He stared straight past Darryl for a moment, then seemed to recognise him, and gave a nod. Man, he’s a real barrel of laughs, Darryl thought.

Outside, a great curve of blue sky swept down to meet a deep green ocean. The whole world glowed. Darryl remembered the photograph taken by the first astronauts to walk on the moon, the one showing Earth floating blue and white and perfect against the blackness of space, with its pale skin of atmosphere surrounding it. Nuclear explosions could damage that atmosphere, his book said, and let in deadly gamma rays. Scary.

He stared towards the horizon. Their flight path took them hundreds of miles out to the west of Mururoa. The pilot had said the test was at midday. He checked his watch: 9.05. Yeah, they’d be halfway to Tahiti by then. Oh, well.

He settled back in his seat and gazed out the window again. Light. Clean, shining light, all through the sky and across the ocean below.

Darryl pictured that TV documentary: the colossal explosion ripping upwards from under the sea, the great tsunami of water tearing outwards to destroy the warships moored around. He remembered the canoes he’d seen gliding across the water at Mangareva, canoes like the one Noah and the others had given him and his mum. He thought of them smashed to pieces, the people on board hurled to their deaths as the sky blazed and burned. A thing like that mustn’t be allowed to happen. It mustn’t.

Oh no, he realised. Oh no, I’m actually agreeing with Alicia!

Darryl sat there, trying to believe it: he’d left home feeling one way; now he was going back feeling completely the opposite. Incredible.

Finally, he took out his book, opened it. Takahiro was a ten-year-old boy in Nagasaki, on 9 August 1945. It was three days after Hiroshima, and he’d been swimming with friends near a wharf, seeing how deep they could dive. Takahiro had plunged down and nearly touched the bottom, when up above him the sky flashed ‘as bright as a thousand suns’. He kicked his way back to the surface, and burst out into the air, to find his friends screaming, blinded, their hair burned from their heads. He staggered through a city on fire, where people lay in blackened, twisted shapes, past where a woman hunched wailing over a dead baby, skin peeling from both of their bodies. The sky was dark; strange heavy raindrops fell, leaving black stains on his skin. When he finally found his street, his house was gone, smeared out of existence. Only a few charred bits of timber remained; the ground was fused and cracked like glass. He never saw his parents or sister again. After three days, Takahiro himself began to vomit; sores appeared on his body; his mouth and eyes filled with ulcers. Radiation sickness. He died when he was twelve.

No, it mustn’t be allowed to happen again. Ever.

It was 10.17. The sky was paler. A thin veil of cloud spread above. His mother sat reading her notes. Alicia’s head was bent. She was reading, too? Praying? Maybe she felt better now that she realised the plane wasn’t going to drop out of the sky. Darryl gazed around. The other passengers were dozing or slowly turning pages.

The air hostess, Françoise, was coming down the aisle with a tray of tall glasses. A pineapple drink? He’d better have one – or two – while he still could.

Someone moved past him. Raoul, heading for the front of the cabin. He took no notice of Darryl or his mother, and began talking to Françoise. The air hostess’s polite smile faded. Then she nodded, and set off towards the cockpit, Raoul behind her. She knocked, opened the door, and started talking to those inside. The young man stood silently, hands by his sides. Françoise turned, nodded to him again, and he disappeared through the door.

Must be going to do more training, Darryl decided. Nah, he hasn’t got his uniform on. Maybe he just wants to watch.

Come on, he urged the air hostess. I’m thirsty. 10.30: they’d been flying for an hour and a half. About four hours to go.

Françoise was talking to Alicia, offering her one of the drinks. She spoke again as the girl jerkily shook her head, looked concerned, then put the drink back on the tray. Alicia must still be frightened. Yeah, he’d go and talk to her, as soon as he’d got his drink.

The air hostess straightened up and moved on. Behind her, the cockpit door opened, and Raoul emerged. He stood there, looking down the rows of seats.

At the same moment, Alicia rose. She turned to step into the aisle. Darryl saw her face, and felt his breath catch. Her eyes stared; her mouth trembled. She was terrified. In her hands she clutched the brown bag. She wasn’t going to be sick in it, was she?

Raoul hadn’t moved. He’s waiting for her, Darryl realised. What was going on?

The girl had reached the aisle. She stood there, one hand gripping the back of a seat. She seemed unable to move. Raoul spoke to her, a couple of words, harsh and angry. She jerked, then stumbled forward.

From back down the aisle, Françoise was calling, asking something. The other passengers craned their necks, trying to see what was happening.

Words began pouring from Alicia, high, shrill, frightened. She reached Raoul; he stretched out an arm to hold her, comfort her.

No, it wasn’t for comfort. The young man seized the brown bag, shoved his hand into it. He was talking, too, loud and fast, over-riding Alicia, shaking his head at her. He yanked something out of the bag, thrust it into the girl’s hand. She tried to push it away, crying ‘Non! Non!’ Raoul shook her, hissed more words at her. In the cockpit, one of the pilots had turned to watch.

Darryl was on his feet. His mother began to stand as well. Françoise, still holding the part-empty tray of drinks, was coming back up the aisle.

At the same moment, the two figures at the front turned. Alicia faced the cabin; Raoul took a stride back into the cockpit. Both of them held guns.