The Flight Kitchen – Part 2: Last Plane

The last trolley rolled out at 5:50 a.m.

The kitchen went quiet. The great roar died to a hum. The ovens were switched off, one by one. Cooks leaned on the steel counters, sweating and grinning, sipping water, peeling off hairnets. The conveyor belt was empty. The clock said ten to six.

Amira stood at the pass, swaying slightly, wiping her hands on a towel. Her jacket was splattered with sauce. Her feet were screaming. She had never been so tired, or so happy.

"Come," said Tomas.

He led her through the back of the kitchen, past the cold rooms, to a heavy steel door. It opened onto the loading bay: a wide concrete platform at the edge of the airport, open to the sky. The air was cool and damp and smelled of jet fuel and sea. A faint rose light stained the horizon.

He handed her a glass of strong sweet tea. She wrapped her hands round it. They sat on an upturned crate, side by side, with their legs dangling over the edge.

"Thank you for the apricots," said Tomas.

"It was improvisation."

"It was genius."

"It was panic."

"It is the same thing."

She laughed, and leaned her head back against the steel wall. The sky was turning from rose to gold. Far down the runway, a vast white plane was rolling slowly into position, lights blinking. It accelerated, gathering speed, and lifted off the ground in a long roaring arc, climbing into the golden sky.

"That is ours," said Tomas, softly.

"All four hundred trays."

"They will eat your apricots over the Indian Ocean."

"That's the nicest thing I've ever heard."

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Yes."

"May I take you to breakfast? Away from the trays?"

"Yes. May I kiss you first? I've been wanting to since the dates."

"Yes," said Tomas, going pink. "And if you say stop, you must run the pass with me tomorrow."

"I'd run it for ever."

She kissed him, quick and bright, a hand rising to his moustache. He kissed her back with a slow, tired tenderness, tasting of tea and cardamom. Another plane thundered overhead. The sun came up in a blaze over the runway.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Amira. "Very green."

The airline's business class menu now lists, on the last page: Stuffed apricot, by Chef Amira. Cardamom and a very good night.

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