Part I
Selection
1
The runway is in sight when the plane appears to stall. They all feel it, the descent interrupted, and the engines if they’re still working can’t be heard over the whirr of the air circulation and the whine and hiss of pressure in their ears.
Jody Lamb, sitting between her children in the middle of three seats, gasps as the aircraft lunges to the right. She can see past her son to the dipped wing, pointing like an accusing finger at the scrubland and glinting blue sea of the bay.
She smiles down at Dylan but he is absorbed in the view from the window: the solid earth so close, but probably not survivably so. The wing judders and flexes like a plastic ruler about to snap. Jody feels warmth against her skin; her eight-year-old daughter Grace has clutched her hand and Jody knows she must play the grown-up. Unlike her younger brother, Grace is scared.
They tip sideways again, and a ripple of anxiety spreads through the plane.
‘What’s happening, Mummy?’ Grace has to shout the question, because their ears are blocked.
Jody makes sure to exaggerate her lip movements when she says, ‘Nothing, honey. We’re just coming in to land.’
A glance across the aisle at poor Sam, a first-time flyer, and she can read it in his face, the same prayer: Don’t let my children die.
It’s their first foreign holiday as a family – the first time ever that Sam or their children have been on a plane. Only Jody has flown before, in her own childhood, and it was Jody who calmed their fears, promising them all that it was safer than crossing a road.
Until now Sam has been making a decent job of keeping the plane in the air by willpower alone, but he’s starting to doubt whether that will be enough. By leaning slightly he can see one of the cabin crew, strapped into a seat that faces the passengers, and she looks... not calm so much as blank faced, like she’s put on a mask for their benefit. If she was about to die, wouldn’t she tear off the mask and scream the name of the person she loved most?
Maybe not, he thinks, given that we’re English. But when he looks over his shoulder, he sees that in several rows there are people holding hands across the aisle. Families, like his, that have had to be seated in separate groups.
It’s tempting, but he’s worried it will upset his daughter if he suggests it. Dads aren’t supposed to be afraid of anything, are they?
He presses his palms together between his legs and bows his head, staring at the safety card. Before take-off he studied it for so long that the couple next to him began to snigger – and if Sam was his brother or in any way like his brother, he might have gone off on one.
But he isn’t like Carl, thank God. So he doesn’t react when the bloke mutters something to his wife. They must think Sam’s praying – though maybe that isn’t so far from the truth.
When the man taps on his window, his wife leans over to look, and Sam can’t help but turn. He catches a glimpse of something moving past, and despite the painful blockage in his ears he hears the man say, ‘Gulfstream G650. Magnificent!’
‘Is it meant to be that close to us?’ his wife shouts.
‘It’ll have priority to land. The VIP on board won’t want to wait behind a cheap package tour!’ Then a sniff, as if the man – in his own head – has far more in common with whoever’s on the other aircraft.
Maybe he does. The couple are a lot older than Sam and they look sort of well-fed and pleased with themselves, like they’ve found a secret supply of cake in a world where everyone else lives on porridge.
The aircraft shudders, there’s a loud clunking noise and a few people cry out. When they tip to the left, Sam can see the private jet is about to touch down. Lucky bastards.
Someone taps him on the arm. It’s Grace, with a question. Even though he doesn’t hear it properly, Sam makes an effort to nod and smile. He gestures at her to make sure the belt is tight across her lap, then turns away, and now he is praying. Praying that, if it does happen, it’s over quickly.
A sharp pain in Jody’s ears is followed by a pop, and her hearing is restored. She focuses on the sound of the engines – thank God they’re still functioning – but as she does, the pitch changes and she knows this is it.
Other passengers are thinking the same, she can tell by the murmur of worried voices. The aircraft tilts sharply to the left and she looks out of her window, expecting to see that the wing has sheared off. But, no, it remains intact, shuddering against a backdrop of pure blue sky.
On Sam’s side there is land in sight, but they seem to be alongside the runway rather than approaching it. A crawl of trees is proof they’re still moving, although it feels like little more than a walking pace: Dylan goes quicker than this on the way to school.
The middle-aged man in Sam’s row is talking in a confident voice. The man becomes aware of Jody’s scrutiny and for a second his gaze switches to her, his eyes widening a fraction. Then Sam leans across and says, ‘He reckons we’re coming around, landing from the other end of the runway.’
And so it proves. The plane banks and descends, and from the windows on each side they see rows of trees, a villa or two with terracotta tiles on the roof, a scattering of goats grazing in a field; all of it as close as if they were observing it from the upper floor of a building.
Grace’s hand tightens on her mum’s in the final seconds. Dylan, meanwhile, is joyfully oblivious to their feelings. How wonderful, Jody thinks, to be five and fearless, savouring every moment of what she has come to regard as his second life.
2
Sam’s ears are still blocked. He’s opening and closing his mouth the way he was told to do, but stops when he realises the smug couple have noticed. He must look a right knob.
For most of the flight they’ve been acting as if he didn’t exist, though he caught a few disapproving glances when he ate the food Jody passed to him – it was his idea to bring sandwiches from home rather than pay the rip-off prices at the airport. The Smugs, on the other hand, ordered the full in-flight breakfasts, a couple of brandies and even a small bottle of champagne.
Now Sam can feel the plane coming down. He tenses, but the landing when it happens isn’t much more than the jolt you get from driving over a pothole. It’s only as he lets out a breath that there’s a sudden roar from the engines. The plane seems to lurch as if caught on something – Sam pictures a tripwire stretched across the runway, snagging on the wheels. He grabs the arms of his seat and for a second goes rigid with fear. Talk about bad luck, to crash now–
‘Don’t panic!’ says Mr Smug with a mocking snort. ‘It’s only the reverse thrust.’
‘To slow us down,’ his wife explains. ‘But I’m sure it would give you a shock, if you’re not used to it.’
‘It’s certainly done that.’ Clutching his seat, the man mimics a terror-stricken face.
Sam offers a weak smile, then turns to Jody. She’s holding hands with the kids, the three of them pressed back in their seats like they’re on a rollercoaster. The deceleration is pushing against Sam’s chest, too, but he can feel it easing.