Chapter 1
We have two ears and one mouth, so that we can listen twice as much as we speak. That’s what my Great Aunt Emmeline always said to me growing up. She was full of those quaint old phrases. Eventually, of course, I realised it was just her way of telling me to shut up for five minutes and not to ask so many damn questions. I’ll never be sure quite what impact it had on me, but I believe it’s the very thing that turned me into the people watcher I am today. There really is nothing more satisfying than studying what makes people tick.
Don’t get me wrong of course; I still talk too much and ask far more questions than perhaps I should, but no woman in the Thornback family could ever be anything else. A wallflower is certainly not a fitting role for a descendent of the great Elizabeth Thornback. That’s my Great Grandma, the adopted mother of Great Aunt Emmeline. Apparently I’m very much like her, a fact I pride myself on.
But right now, as I sit on this plane, watching it fill up, I don’t feel that pride. There’s a nasty crick in my neck from persistently slumped shoulders and a boulder has been lodged in my gut since at least February. After weeks of torment from my line manager, I finally handed in my resignation and worked my notice, finishing yesterday. The stress was beyond anything I could have imagined. As exam season loomed, it didn’t matter to anyone that the children were crumbling. It didn’t matter that they had made more than 4 terms progress since September. All that mattered was whether they would pass their SATs. How could anyone put that stress on seven year olds? The look of shame in their eyes when they felt they had let people down, let me down, was heart-breaking. I just wanted to hold each and every one of them and tell them how wonderful they truly were… but that’s not teaching, apparently.
A child dawdles up the aisle, holding the back of her mum’s skirt. She catches my eye and I smile, removing myself from my thoughts before putting in my headphones and slumping back in my chair. I’m tired and cranky after the four hour long delay and my anxiety is rising. I’ve always been a nervous flier, but it’s worth it for the destination, or so I try to convince myself as I daydream about the white sand beaches I’ll soon be sprawled on at the adults-only resort; the hot sun warming my skin, no more early morning alarms, heaven!
“Excuse me.”
I open my eyes and am greeted by the exhausted face of a young mother, an infant on one hip and a boy of about eight behind her fiddling with some video game.
Great, that’s just what I need! Gritting my teeth, I smile benignly and shuffle into the aisle to make room for the small family, muttering some polite apology.
The mother deposits the baby onto the window seat whilst she straps the boy in beside me. He barely acknowledges the world around him with his nose stuck in his console, but at least it should keep him quiet for a few hours.
Reinserting my headphones, I close my eyes, sit back and let the music transport me to my island dream; or at least away from the overcrowded, stagnant smelling hell in which I’m currently trapped.
I’m relieved when the flight crew begin their safety talks and the rumbles of tyres on tarmac announce our imminent departure. Switching my phone to airplane mode, I stow it ready for take-off and watch the briefing diligently. I know it, of course, from all the other flights. It never really changes does it? But it’s something to think about as the airport slips away from the window.
My feet tap out a rhythm on the floor and I pop a sweet into my mouth to occupy some part of my body besides my brain. Why had I read that article about plane crashes? Three feet is maiming height, was that it? Or was it fifteen?
The force of the plane as it begins to pick up speed down the runway pushes me into my seat. Holding my head back, I grip the arm rests with all the strength I can muster and screw my eyes shut. I hold my breath as the plane bounces and trembles before finally lifting off, leaving my stomach on the ground. It takes about a minute before I finally breathe out and slowly open my eyes.
The wispy clouds outside are a welcome sight and as the plane banks, showcasing the patchwork of verdant fields below, I sigh.
Keeping my shoulders glued to the chair back, I crane my neck to see the beauty unfolding below. Roads cut through the valleys like a ribbon cast out on the breeze and tiny coloured dots zoom along, each one another life flitting about their hectic schedule.
A bittersweet feeling so hard to define overcomes me. The daily grind is over, but what next?
I’m pulled from my thoughts by the chime of the fasten seatbelt sign turning off. A polite greeting from the captain announces that we’re now at cruising altitude and that snacks will be served shortly.
Thank God! I’m famished.
By the time the snack cart arrives, my stomach is beginning to rumble. I order a coke and I’m handed a packet of pretzels. The mix of salty and sweet; there’s nothing better! Opening the packet, I pull out the first pretzel, savouring the saltiness on my tongue before washing it down with the ice cold sugary goodness. It’s been so long since I had a proper coke.
Sitting back, I flick through the in-flight entertainment and come across a mindless rom-com I’ve seen a million times before; a babble to occupy my brain for the next hour or so.
By the time it ends, so has my coke, but the pretzel bag is still half full.
“But I’m hungry,” complains a small voice beside me.
“Shhh… Lucas, stop,” his mother says in hushed tones. “You ate all the snacks already. There are no more. Dinner will be in an hour. You’ll be fine until then.”
Eek, hungry kids - nobody wants that. Tantrums are on their way for certain. That four hour delay must have been hard with two overtired, hungry kids at her feet. I’d managed to grab a sandwich at a deli counter. Who knew when the last time these pair had had real food?
Reluctantly, I grab my half-finished bag of pretzels and hold them out to the boy.
“Here, I’ve finished. You can have what’s left.”
The boy’s eyes grow wide and he looks from me to his mother who nods.
“Thank you,” she says, taking the pretzels and handing them to her son.
I nod and smile, but before I can leave, my stomach gives a growl of dissent. I can’t help but laugh and I see a pink flush creep up the mother’s neck.
When I return, the pretzels are gone and boy is buried back in his game. At least he’s quiet but mum seems to be avoiding eye contact.
Putting on my headphones, I flick on another movie and close my eyes, drifting off to sleep.
Out of nowhere, the plane lurches, waking me with a start. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep, but the movie is finished and the sky outside is black. Rain pelts the window panes, beating out a loud tattoo. A rumbling of panicked murmurs is spreading like wildfire throughout the cabin; clear even through the distortion of my headphones.
A sudden flash causes me to jump, my breath catching in my throat. A fork of lightning comes down right beside us and a flurry of screams surrounds me. The plane drops then catches itself, followed by a series of sharp tremors.
My heart is in my throat. As the next bolt of lightning strikes the wing, I can’t contain my squeal of panic. The plane groans and banks sharply before the wing emits an almighty crack.
Something hard hits the top of the head, startling me. Reaching up, I grapple with the plastic mask that now dangles over me. My fingers tremble as I pull it towards my face, covering my nose and mouth.
Beside me, the frantic mother is fumbling with her son’s mask, still not wearing her own. The look of fear in her eyes scares me more than anything else I’ve seen.
Instinct takes over and I swat away her hands, pulling the mask over the boy’s face. When finished, I chance a glance at the mother and nod, what I hope is encouragingly.
She’s white as a sheet, rocking, cradling the infant in her arms as tears streak her face. She seems to be praying.
For a brief moment, I wonder whether I should be too. I’ve never been religious, and for a moment, I wish I were. A little bit of faith right now might do me good. But I don’t know how to pray.
A voice over the intercom interrupts my thoughts and gives me more pressing things to consider.
In a voice far too calm for the situation, the captain gives out instructions. I focus on her every syllable…
“Put on your life vest. Do not inflate it inside the aircraft. Place both hands on the seatback in-front of you. Cross your wrists. Heads down, stay down.” She repeats her instructions and by the third time, I’m certain I have everything right.
Checking the window, I expect to see the ground rushing up to meet me, but instead, I can just about make out the white caps of the ocean waves creeping slowly closer.
“Brace! Brace! Brace!” the cabin crew chant. “Heads down, stay down. Brace! Brace! Brace!”
I do as I’m told, but keep my eyes on the window. The wing, stretching out just in front of me is bouncing wildly but still there, contrasting starkly against the pitch darkness of the open water below.
The plane jerks once more, and impulsively I shield the head of the boy beside me with my arm, keeping him down… and that’s when it happens.
A fireball like nothing I could have imagined rips apart the engine and the plane careers left, banking hard.
I cling to the boy beside me as the plane rips apart around us. First, intense heat is all I know then cold air lashes my face and rips the breath from my lungs. The seat seems to pull us down. The boy screams and somewhere, maybe above, maybe below, explosions shatter the silence of night. Somehow I manage to pull the cord on both life jackets and just in time…
