Part 2 (1/2)

She hands me a leaflet ent.i.tled 'Executive Facilities', on which there's a photo of businesspeople talking animatedly in front of a clipboard with a wavy graph on it.

'This is some information about our new business cla.s.s lounge at Gatwick. We provide full conference call facilities, and meeting rooms, should you require them. Would you be interested?'

OK. I am a top businesswoman. I am a top highflying business executive.

'Quite possibly,' I say, looking nonchalantly at the leaflet. 'Yes, I may well use one of these rooms to ... brief my team. I have a large team, and obviously they need a lot of briefing. On business matters.' I clear my throat. 'Mostly ... logistical.'

'Would you like me to book you a room now?' says the hostess helpfully.

'Er, no thanks,' I say after a pause, 'My team is currently ... at home. I gave them all the day off.'

'Right.' The hostess looks a little puzzled.

'But another time, maybe,' I say quickly. 'And while you're here I was just wondering, 'is that sound normal?'

'What sound?' The air hostess c.o.c.ks her head.

That sound. That kind of whining, coming from the wing?'

'I can't hear anything.' She looks at me sympathetically. 'Are you a nervous flyer?'

'No!' I say at once, and give a little laugh. 'No, I'm not nervous! I just ... was wondering. Just out of interest.'

'I'll see if I can find out for you,' she says kindly. 'Here you are, sir. Some information about our executive facilities at Gatwick.'

The American man takes his leaflet wordlessly and puts it down without even looking at it, and the hostess moves on, staggering a little as the plane gives a b.u.mp.

Why is the plane b.u.mping?

Oh G.o.d. A sudden rush of fear hits me with no warning. This is madness. Madness! Sitting in this big heavy box, with no way of escape, thousands and thousands of feet above the ground ...

I can't do this on my own. I have an overpowering need to talk to someone. Someone rea.s.suring. Someone safe.

Connor.

Instinctively I fish out my mobile phone, but immediately the air hostess swoops down on me.

'I'm afraid you can't use that on board the plane,' she says with a bright smile. 'Could you please ensure that it's switched off?'

'Oh. Er ... sorry.'

Of course I can't use my mobile. They've only said it about fifty-five zillion times. I am such a durr-brain. Anyway, never mind. It doesn't matter. I'm fine. I put the phone away in my bag, and try to concentrate on an old episode of Fawlty Towers which is showing on the screen.

Maybe I'll start counting again. Three hundred and forty-nine. Three hundred and fifty. Three hundred and- f.u.c.k. My head jerks up. What was that b.u.mp? Did we just get hit?

OK, don't panic. It was just a b.u.mp. I'm sure everything's fine. We probably just flew into a pigeon or something. Where was I?

Three hundred and fifty-one. Three hundred and fifty-two. Three hundred and fifty- And that's it.

That's the moment.

Everything seems to fragment.

I hear the screams like a wave over my head, almost before I realize what's happening.

Oh G.o.d. Oh G.o.d Oh G.o.d Oh G.o.d Oh ... OH ... NO. NO. NO.

We're falling. Oh G.o.d, we're falling.

We're plummeting downwards. The plane's dropping through the air like a stone. A man over there has just shot up through the air and banged his head on the ceiling. He's bleeding. I'm gasping, clutching onto my seat, trying not to do the same thing, but I can feel myself being wrenched upwards, it's like someone's tugging me, like gravity's suddenly switched the other way. There's no time to think. My mind can't ... Bags are flying around, drinks are spilling, one of the cabin crew has fallen over, she's clutching at a seat ...

Oh G.o.d. Oh G.o.d. OK, it's slowing down now. It's ... it's better.

f.u.c.k. I just ... I just can't ... I ...

I look at the American man, and he's grasping his seat as tightly as I am.

I feel sick. I think I might be sick. Oh G.o.d.

OK. It's ... it's kind of ... back to normal.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' comes a voice over the intercom, and everyone's heads jerk up. 'This is your captain speaking.'

My heart's juddering in my chest. I can't listen. I can't think.

'We're currently hitting some clear-air turbulence, and things may be unsteady for a while. I have switched on the seatbelt signs and would ask that you all return to your seats as quickly as-'

There's another huge lurch, and his voice is drowned by screams and cries all round the plane.

It's like a bad dream. A bad rollercoaster dream.

The cabin crew are all strapping themselves into their seats. One of the hostesses is mopping blood on her face. A minute ago they were happily doling out honey-roast peanuts.

This is what happens to other people in other planes. People on safety videos. Not me.

'Please keep calm,' the captain is saying. 'As soon as we have more information ...'

Keep calm? I can't breathe, let alone keep calm. What are we going to do? Are we all supposed to just sit here while the plane bucks like an out-of-control horse?

I can hear someone behind me reciting 'Hail Mary, full of grace ...' and a fresh, choking panic sweeps through me. People are praying. This is real.

We're going to die.

We're going to die.

'I'm sorry?' The American man in the next seat looks at me, his face tense and white.

Did I just say that aloud?

'We're going to die.' I stare into his face. This could be the last person I ever see alive. I take in the lines etched around his dark eyes; his strong jaw, shaded with stubble.