Callie took her glasses off. The trip would be long, and she wanted to sleep. The rail link from London had been noisy and smelly; ten different people had disturbed her. The ferry ride had been impossible; the six hours of seasickness had left her drained and green.

Now she was on the plane, the fasten seatbelt light was off, she had a pillow and blanket, and her father's contribution to her journey had ensured a first class seat. That meant legroom, and a small row of miniature bottles lined up on the tray table. Her head was swimming, but she felt less ill than she had on the boat.

In satisfaction, she snuggled down into the seat and tucked the blanket around her. As her eyes drifted closed, she noticed the man next to her shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He turned and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, but do you think you could talk to me for a while? I'm afraid of flying - if you could keep me occupied until we get to JFK it would be great."

She growled in rage and frustration, and bit him quite viciously, but the stewardess was very understanding.