Sometimes leaving is the beginning.

 

A grumble of thunder set the plane quaking, and Kayleigh Godding tightened her hand around the edge of the bathroom sink. She had been standing there for seven minutes. Not crying—she'd made that distinction somewhere around minute three. Crying was what she'd done last night, silently, sitting on the bathroom floor while Danny slept in the bedroom, mascara running down her cheeks and the heel of her hand pressed against her mouth because she'd learned that even after an argument was over, making too much noise could begin another one. This was different. This was breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, until the trembling in her hands stopped.

 

‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I’ve turned on the fasten-seatbelt sign and asked the flight attendants to be seated. We’ll be entering an area of turbulence.’

 

‘Brilliant.’

 

Kayleigh stared at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was immaculate, and so was her hair. The woman looking back at her appeared perfectly capable of getting on an aeroplane by herself and flying several thousand miles across the Atlantic. Kayleigh almost believed her.

 

The plane shuddered again. She grabbed her handbag from the bathroom floor and slid it up her arm, annoyed to find her hands had started shaking again. Danny used to notice that. Look at you. You get yourself so worked up. Sometimes he'd laugh when he said it, as though her fear were one of those silly little quirks he'd learned to tolerate about her.

 

‘Not today,’ she whispered.

 

She unlocked the door and stepped into the aisle just as the aircraft lurched. Her gaze dropped to the six-inch, red-bottomed heels she'd insisted on wearing to the airport. There were decisions in life that deserved careful reflection, and this had apparently been one of them.

 

Grabbing the nearest seat, she staggered towards her row while several passengers looked up. A few exchanged glances. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she muttered. ‘Very helpful.’

 

Then the plane dropped.

 

Her stomach followed it. Kayleigh lost her balance completely and landed in a stranger's lap.

 

For one extraordinary second, neither of them moved. The man beneath her blinked. Kayleigh blinked back. He was perhaps in his early thirties, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard and an expression suggesting this was not how he'd expected to spend his afternoon.

 

‘Hello,’ he said.

 

Mortified, Kayleigh scrambled to stand, only for another violent shudder to send her straight back down.

 

The stranger looked towards the ceiling. ‘Right. Perhaps we try that again.’

 

He placed one hand carefully around her waist and guided her towards the empty seat beside him. His fingers brushed her hip and Kayleigh recoiled so violently she struck the window. His hand disappeared immediately.

 

‘Sorry.’

 

Kayleigh stared at him.

 

There was no indignation. No Jesus, Kayleigh. No accusation that she'd made something out of nothing or embarrassed him by reacting that way. Just an apology, given so easily that for a moment she didn't know what to do with it.

 

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

 

‘I’m fine.’ The answer came too quickly, but although his eyes lingered for half a second, he only nodded.

 

‘Okay.’

 

Then he turned away.

 

That was it.

 

Kayleigh pulled her handbag tightly against her stomach while the stranger returned to the papers spread across his tray table. There were dozens of them: dog-eared pages covered in handwriting, entire paragraphs crossed through, arrows squeezed into margins, one sheet torn slightly along the edge. He didn't look at her again, and she found herself waiting for him to. When he didn't, she reached into the front pocket of her handbag for her phone.

 

One notification waited on the screen.

 

Danny: Babe, where are you? I promise it’ll never happen again…

 

Her chest tightened.

 

It'll never happen again. He had said that before, although not always exactly like that. Sometimes it was I didn't mean it. Sometimes, You know I'd never hurt you. Once, memorably, it had been Look what you make me become. Then he would cry.

 

Danny cried beautifully.

 

That was the part nobody told you about. He'd sit on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands and tell her he didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd tell her she deserved better, that he hated himself, that she was the only person who had ever really understood him. Sometimes he would reach for her carefully, as though she were the wounded thing, and by the end of the night Kayleigh would be holding the man who had hurt her and promising him she wasn't going anywhere.

 

Her thumb hovered over the message. Perhaps she should tell him she was safe.

 

No. Not safe. That sounded accusatory.

 

She could tell him she'd gone away for a few days, but that sounded cruel. She could say she needed space, although he hated when she said that because apparently space was what people asked for when they'd already decided to leave.

 

Kayleigh caught herself.

 

She stared at the blinking cursor beneath his name. Three thousand feet above the ground, heading towards somewhere he couldn't reach her, and she was still trying to find the combination of words least likely to upset him.

 

Her hand moved unconsciously towards her right thigh. Pain answered when her fingers brushed it and she inhaled sharply. Beneath the black fabric of her leggings, the bruise had spread from purple into a sickly yellow around the edges.

 

Danny hadn't meant that either.

 

Apparently.

 

Kayleigh switched off the phone, dropped it into her handbag and zipped the bag closed. Beside her, the stranger gathered his papers together, and she stiffened before she could stop herself. Had he seen? He merely tucked the pages into a leather folder, picked up a copy of GQ and opened it.

 

Nothing.

 

The plane shook again. Kayleigh seized the armrest and squeezed her eyes shut.

 

‘I take it you don't fly very often.’

 

She opened one eye. The stranger was still looking at his magazine.

 

‘What does it matter to you?’

 

‘It doesn't.’

 

‘Then why ask?’

 

‘Because I'm becoming increasingly concerned for the structural integrity of that armrest.’

 

Kayleigh looked down. Her fingernails were buried in it. She released her grip. ‘Not everyone enjoys flying.’

 

‘Ah, yes. Fortunately, mankind has invented several alternatives.’

 

She turned towards him. He finally looked up, the beginning of a smirk beneath his beard.

 

‘Do you always find frightened women amusing?’

 

The smirk disappeared. Something in his expression changed. ‘No.’

 

That stopped her.

 

‘I was trying to distract you.’

 

‘I didn't ask you to.’

 

‘No,’ he said, returning his attention to the magazine. ‘You didn't.’

 

Kayleigh frowned at him. No argument. No wounded pride. No punishment hidden inside a silence that would eventually become her responsibility to break. Just acceptance.

 

It irritated her more than an argument would have.

 

She turned sharply towards the window and traced invisible shapes against the glass with one finger. When the plane tilted again, her stomach lurched and her left leg began bouncing beneath her. Up, down, up, down. The stranger glanced at it.

 

Kayleigh waited.

 

Can you stop doing that?

 

Danny hated when she bounced her leg.

 

The stranger returned to his magazine.

 

Her leg continued.

 

Eventually, the aircraft levelled and the fasten-seatbelt sign disappeared with a soft chime. Around them, the cabin seemed to exhale. Flight attendants unbuckled themselves and began moving through the aisle, and soon the rattle of a trolley joined the low drone of the engines while the smell of coffee drifted through the cabin.

 

Kayleigh opened her handbag and took out a small bottle of hand sanitiser and a packet of wipes. She cleaned the window first, then the entertainment screen, tray table and armrest. She wiped the little latch securing the tray, considered it, then wiped it again before moving on to the seatbelt buckle.

 

The stranger made a small sound beside her.

 

Kayleigh's head snapped towards him. ‘What?’

 

‘Nothing.’

 

‘You made a noise.’

 

‘I breathed.’

 

‘Judgementally.’

 

That earned her a look. ‘I wasn't aware breathing could be judgemental.’

 

‘Yours was.’

 

‘My apologies. I'll try to breathe more respectfully.’

 

Kayleigh narrowed her eyes. He smiled.

 

She sanitised her hands and settled back into her seat. There. Window, screen, tray, armrest, buckle. Everything clean. Everything exactly where it was supposed to be.

 

A flight attendant stopped beside them and placed a meal on the stranger's tray: a dry-looking muffin, a white-bread sandwich containing a slice of meat pinker than Barbie's wardrobe, coffee and several sugar packets.

 

‘Thank you,’ the stranger said.

 

The flight attendant smiled. He smiled back.

 

Kayleigh watched the exchange.

 

‘Great.’

 

He looked at her. ‘What?’

 

‘Now there's something even more nauseating than the food.’

 

His coffee paused halfway to his mouth. ‘Do you always pass such harsh judgement on people whose names you don't know?’

 

‘Only when necessary.’

 

‘And flirting with a flight attendant qualifies?’

 

‘I didn't say you were flirting.’

 

‘You heavily implied it.’

 

‘Interesting that that's where your mind went.’

 

He stared at her for a moment. Kayleigh turned innocently towards the window, though she could feel the corner of her mouth threatening to betray her.

 

A moment later, she heard him unwrap the sandwich. The smell reached her almost immediately and her stomach rolled. She retched, covering her mouth.

 

The sandwich stopped halfway towards his.

 

‘All right,’ he said. ‘That's just rude.’

 

Despite herself, the corner of Kayleigh's mouth twitched. ‘If sitting beside me is really that unbearable, why don't you move?’

 

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Now who's passing judgement?’

 

‘After that reaction, connecting the dots isn't particularly difficult.’

 

‘Well, if you must know, airplane food makes me nauseous.’

 

‘Oh.’

 

His expression softened, and Kayleigh waited for the joke. A sarcastic remark, perhaps. Something about her being dramatic after everything else. Instead, he reached above his head and pressed the call button.

 

A few minutes later, the same flight attendant returned. ‘Everything all right, sir?’

 

‘Could you take this away for me?’

 

She glanced at his half-eaten sandwich. ‘We'll be coming through with rubbish bags shortly.’

 

‘Perfect. Thank you.’

 

He wrapped the sandwich again and pushed the tray as far away from Kayleigh as it would go. She stared at him until he looked over.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Nothing.’

 

‘You're staring.’

 

‘I wasn't.’

 

‘You were.’

 

‘I was observing.’

 

‘Judgementally?’

 

Kayleigh almost smiled.

 

When the rubbish bag eventually appeared, he dropped the sandwich and untouched muffin inside. There was no sigh, no performance, no reminder of what he'd given up. He didn't even look at her afterwards.

 

That unsettled her more than it should have.

 

Kindness usually came with bookkeeping. Danny remembered everything he'd ever done for her. Flowers bought six months ago could reappear in an argument like evidence submitted before a jury. A dinner he'd paid for became proof that she was ungrateful; a weekend away became something she was expected to remember when she accused him of making her unhappy.

 

After everything I do for you.

 

Kayleigh looked at the stranger. He was reading again, or pretending to.

 

‘That was nice of you,’ she said.

 

He shrugged. ‘I wasn't particularly attached to the sandwich.’

 

‘Still.’

 

‘Still what?’

 

She didn't know how to answer. Still why? What do you want? When do I have to pay you back? The questions felt ridiculous once she tried to put words around them.

 

‘Nothing.’

 

He nodded. ‘Okay.’

 

There was that word again. No demand for an explanation. No insistence that she finish what she'd started.

 

Silence returned, but this time it felt different. Kayleigh studied the safety card, the ancient magazines stuffed into the seat pocket, her fingernails, and eventually the stranger himself. He'd put earphones in now and was browsing the entertainment system. She watched him for several seconds before he paused and turned.

 

Caught.

 

Kayleigh immediately looked down, heat creeping into her cheeks.

 

Ridiculous.

 

‘Can we start over?’

 

The words escaped before she could reconsider them. He removed one earphone.

 

‘Sorry?’

 

Kayleigh held out her hand. ‘I’m Kayleigh. Kayleigh Godding.’

 

His gaze dropped to her hand before returning to her face. For the first time, his smile seemed entirely sincere. He took it.

 

‘Scott Hall.’

 

His handshake was warm and brief. He let go first.

 

Kayleigh liked that.

 

‘Scott,’ she repeated.

 

‘Kayleigh.’

 

‘You don't look like a Scott.’

 

His eyebrows rose. ‘We've known each other seven seconds and I'm already incorrectly named?’

 

‘I'm observant.’

 

‘Ah. Of course.’

 

Her eyes wandered towards the battered stack of papers he'd put away earlier. ‘Do you have some kind of business arrangement waiting for you in New York?’

 

A line appeared between Scott's eyebrows. ‘What makes you think that?’

 

Kayleigh gestured vaguely at him. ‘Well, you're dressed like—’

 

‘Someone involved in business?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

Scott laughed. ‘Your powers of observation have failed you.’

 

‘Apparently.’

 

‘I'm a writer.’

 

Kayleigh looked towards the folder. ‘A writer?’

 

‘Allegedly.’

 

‘What does that mean?’

 

‘It means I've spent four hours moving the same scene backwards and forwards through a script and am now calling it work.’

 

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. The sound surprised her enough that she fell quiet.

 

Scott noticed.

 

If he wondered why she'd looked startled by her own laughter, he didn't ask.

 

‘My best mate, Jordan, and I are supposed to be working on a television series together,’ he continued.

 

‘Supposed to be?’

 

‘He's working. I'm having an existential crisis at thirty thousand feet.’

 

‘That explains the pages.’

 

‘Those pages are evidence of suffering.’

 

Kayleigh glanced at the folder again. ‘What's it about?’

 

Scott leaned towards her, a mischievous smile appearing. ‘Sorry, love.’ He lowered his voice. ‘That one's a secret.’

 

Kayleigh laughed again, and this time she let herself. ‘Fine. Keep your secrets.’

 

‘I intend to.’

 

‘Is it any good?’

 

‘Absolutely terrible.’

 

‘At least you're confident.’

 

‘Delusion is essential in my profession.’

 

Kayleigh smiled. Scott studied her for a moment—not in the way Danny did when he was trying to work out whether she'd calmed down enough, not searching for the correct moment to resume an argument. He was just looking at her.

 

‘What about you?’ he asked.

 

Her smile faltered. ‘What about me?’

 

‘Why are you off to the Big Apple?’

 

‘I’m not.’

 

‘No?’

 

‘It's only a connection.’

 

‘Where are you headed?’

 

Kayleigh hesitated. ‘The Bahamas.’

 

Scott's eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Oh, my.’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Nothing. That's just considerably more glamorous than New York.’

 

‘You think?’

 

‘I know. I've been to Slough.’

 

Kayleigh snorted. ‘That's your benchmark?’

 

‘It's important to remain humble.’

 

She shook her head.

 

‘You've got a long journey ahead of you, though,’ he said.

 

‘I know.’

 

‘Holiday?’

 

The word caught somewhere inside her. Kayleigh looked down, and whatever Scott saw in the movement was apparently enough because he didn't repeat the question.

 

Instead, he asked, ‘What's in the Bahamas?’

 

Kayleigh's fingers found the clasp of her handbag. Her phone was inside, along with Danny's message. She could picture him discovering the empty wardrobe by now, opening drawers and calling her name through rooms she'd already left behind. Perhaps another message was waiting. Angry this time, maybe, or frightened. He might tell her she was cruel. He might tell her she'd misunderstood what happened. He might remind her of Paris, her birthday, the necklace, the night he'd stayed awake with her when she had the flu.

 

Danny could make an entire relationship out of its best ten minutes.

 

Her fingers tightened around the clasp. She could almost hear him saying it: You're really going to throw all of this away because of one bad night? Except it hadn't been one bad night. She knew that. She had known it last night on the bathroom floor and this morning when she'd booked the first flight she could afford. Yet even now there was a treacherous part of her mind arranging evidence for his defence.

 

I promise it'll never happen again.

 

Kayleigh looked towards the window. Beyond it, clouds stretched endlessly beneath them, bright where the storm had begun to break. Somewhere behind those clouds was the life she'd left that morning. Her clothes were still hanging in the wardrobe. Her favourite mug was beside the kitchen sink. There was a book on her bedside table with the corner of page two hundred and seventeen folded down, and she'd forgotten her good moisturiser in the bathroom.

 

She'd remembered her passport.

 

Funny, the things that mattered when you had twenty-three minutes to leave your life.

 

‘Kayleigh?’

 

Scott's voice was gentle.

 

She looked at him. For one dangerous second, she wanted to tell him everything. Perhaps because he was a stranger. There would be a peculiar safety in giving the story to someone who had never met Danny, someone who couldn't tell her she'd remembered it wrong or remind her of all the good things he'd done. Someone who couldn't ask what she'd said first, whether he'd been drinking, whether she was sure he'd meant to hurt her.

 

Then another thought occurred to her.

 

She didn't owe Scott the story either.

 

Not because he was kind. Not because he'd thrown away a sandwich. Not because he'd made her laugh. Not because he'd asked.

 

Kayleigh loosened her grip on the handbag and, for the first time since she'd boarded the plane, let it sit beside her instead of holding it against her body. Outside the window, the aircraft had cleared the storm.

 

She turned back to Scott and leaned slightly towards him.

 

‘Sorry, love.’ A small smile appeared on her lips. ‘That one's a secret.’