Page 125 of The Sound Between Us
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, and mean it.
“Wait until you see Bangkok.”
The flight attendant returns with lunch that looks as if it came from a Michelin-starred restaurant instead of an aeroplane galley. Proper plates, actual cutlery, food that’s been clearly prepared by someone who understands the difference between nourishment and survival.
“Is this how you always travel?”
“For the past few years, yeah. Before that, it was commercial first class, which sounds luxurious until you’ve experienced this.” He gestures around the cabin. “I know how it sounds—”
“Obscenely privileged?”
“I was going to say surreal, but that works too.” His smile is rueful. “I still sometimes can’t believe this is my life.”
“But you like it.”
“I like the freedom. I like not having to queue or deal with crowds or worry about being photographed looking miserable in airport security.” He pauses. “I like being able to bring the people I care about with me.”
The people I care about. Plural, but his eyes are on me when he says it, and the warmth in his voice makes something flutter behind my ribs.
“What about you? How are you feeling about all this?”
I consider the question whilst chewing thoughtfully on salmon.
“Terrified. This is so far outside my experience that I don’t even have a reference point. But also...” I search for the right words. “Excited. As if maybe I’ve been living smaller than I needed to.”
“You haven’t been living small. You’ve been living safely.”
“Same thing, sometimes.”
“Not the same.” He cuts into his salmon. “Safe means you think before you jump. Small means you don’t jump at all.”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
Harrison opens his laptop and starts typing. “Sorry, just need to sort a few things out. Sound checks, press schedules.” He glances up. “You’ll love David when you meet him—he’s our tour manager. Solid kind of guy, keeps us all in line.”
“Did you ever tour with your dad?” he asks, fingers still moving across the keyboard.
“Yeah, when I was small. All I remember is the maze of corridors backstage and feeling pretty special because I had a plastic wallet hanging on a rope around my neck covered in glitter stickers, those cushion ones that smelled of strawberries.”
Harrison grins and shoots off another email. I doze to the sound of him typing.
Lifting my head at one point, I watch him scrolling through what looks like spreadsheets. “You know this isn’t very rockstar. More business bore and a board meeting.”
He shuts the laptop. “Have you ever considered the mile high club?”
When we begin our descent into Bangkok, the city spreads below us, endless lights and geometric patterns stretching to every horizon. It’s nothing like London, nothing I’ve ever seen, and the scale of it makes my chest tight with a mixture of anticipation and panic.
“Welcome to Thailand,” Harrison’s hand finds mine again as the wheels touch down.
The airport is a revelation of efficiency and politeness. We’re whisked through immigration and customs with a level of deference that makes it clear Harrison Carter doesn’t wait in queues in Tokyo any more than he does in London. The entourage appears—tour manager, local coordinators, security personnel who blend into the background whilst remaining obviously present.
“Ms Rogers,” the tour manager approaches with professional warmth. “I’m David Chen. Welcome to Bangkok. I hope the flight was comfortable.”
“Thank you,” I manage, though comfortable feels inadequate for what I’ve just experienced.
David pulls out a laminated pass on a lanyard. “Your backstage access.” He grins. “Harrison mentioned you might appreciate the decoration.”
The pass has been covered in glitter stickers. Little stars and music notes scattered across the plastic, exactly the kind of thing that would have made eight-year-old me feel like the most important person in the world.
