Free Girl on a Plane by Miriam Moss Page A

family is going.”
    I feel a sharp wave of disappointment. I felt protected somehow by their presence. I look over and realize that the woman is weeping softly—​with relief, I suppose. The man comforts her.
    He looks over, smiles, shakes his head. “They should let you children go too. I shall ask them, when I can.”
    â€œThank you,” David says.
“Shukran.”
    The little boy, unsettled by his mother’s crying, starts trying to climb out of his seat, so the man turns away to deal with him.
    I really don’t want them to go. “David,” I say, “I don’t . . .” A sob escapes.
    He puts an arm around me. “Neither do I. Maybe they can help once they’re off—​you heard what he said.”
    It all feels so unfair—​so hopeless.
    But it turns out that everything is not so simple for those leaving. The young couple behind us is engaged. He’s Arab and she’s British. He can go, but she’s told she has to stay. He gets up to talk to the captain. Sweaty comes and speaks to the two of them, while the woman sits ashen faced. The two men speak in Arabic, and it’s obvious that the man is refusing to go without his fiancée. Sweaty speaks directly to the woman, and she breaks down, begs him to let her go too. He refuses, raises his voice.
    I can’t stand it when he’s nearby. The thought of him touching me again . . .
    The man refuses to leave her, still insists she goes too. “We’re getting married in a few days. In England!” he says again and again.
    Sweaty shakes his head. He’s standing right beside David now. I can see his expression.
He’s enjoying it, the power he has over them. The bastard.
The woman starts to sob. The man sits down to comfort her. The Giant arrives, listens, and then relents, says she can leave with him. The man stands up, shakes the Giant’s hand, looks overjoyed, then returns to his fiancée.
    Before Sweaty and the Giant go, the Arab man opposite us stands up and with great dignity addresses them formally in Arabic. He keeps gesturing toward us, and for a moment I feel a surge of hope. Can we leave too? Will this all be over soon? But the Giant and Sweaty are adamant. We stay. Sweaty points to his watch and walks away. The Arab man sits down, defeated. His wife, who has already packed up their things, leans over and pats his arm. I want to thank him for trying but feel so incredibly disappointed.
    All hope of escape has gone.
    The couple behind us follows the hijackers to the front to speak to the captain about arrangements for leaving, and Tim slips into his seat beside me.
    â€œBlimey, what was all that racket about?”
    David ignores him. “It’s really not fair,” he says. “Just because she’s in love with an Arab, she’s allowed to go. Maybe I’m half-Arab but have a British passport.”
    â€œAre you half-Arab?” Tim looks fascinated.
    â€œNo, I’m not. But that’s not the point. They’re bending the rules, just for her. Who’s making up these rules anyway? What about saying anyone under eighteen can go too?”
    â€œWell, I think it’s good that they’re bending them,” I say. “If they’re letting her go, maybe they’ll bend them for us at some point.”
    â€œFat chance,” David says grumpily. Then, “I know, I know, I’m jealous. But it just doesn’t feel fair. What have we done wrong? Why’s her life more important than mine or yours or Tim’s?”
    â€œWell, at least some people are getting off,” Tim says.
    â€œExactly,” I say. “If some can, then maybe . . .” I trail off.
    â€œWe can?” Tim says brightly.
    â€œYes, maybe we can.”
    The Arab family stands in the aisle. The man smiles, leans over, and shakes each of us by the hand. The woman waves from behind him. The little boy, still