The others are dressed very differently to her.
The young woman in the seat directly behind her hasn’t even glanced up from her phone. She’s blonde, pretty and plugged into headphones, her plump, shiny lips set in a permanent pout. Amelia had only shot a quick glance at the others, but she swivels slightly in her seat now, trying to see them out of the corner of her eye. Sure, she could just turn and address them, but something about these people intimidates her more than any of the dangerous situations she’s been placed in over the years. Besides, it’s early. The taxi picked her up at 5am, and she dozed most of the way to the airfield. No one needs to be having conversations with strangers at this hour.
‘Does anyone know where we’re actually going?’ a gruff American voice blurts out from the back.
Amelia turns round fully, relieved that someone else has taken the initiative. The voice belongs to a serious-looking guy in a smart, well-fitting suit. His hair is dark, parted neatly and greying at the temples. He might be attractive if he wasn’t frowning, accentuating the long, vertical wrinkle that splits the middle of his forehead. He’s wearing a headset with a microphone sticking out by his cheek.
‘I don’t think we’re meant to know yet,’ says the woman across the aisle from him, in the single seat. She’s red-haired and bouncy, her eyes wide with excitement. ‘But who’s going to pass up one of these things? Isn’t it exciting?’
‘Pass up what things?’ comes the bored voice of the man in front of her. He’s the grungy one; mussed hair and two-day-old stubble. He’s wearing a faded Ramones T-shirt and clutching a camera on his lap. ‘I’m not sure what’s so exciting—’
‘We’ve been specially selected for this,’ the redhead says. ‘Or didn’t you read your invite?’
‘Ah, but did we all get the same invite?’ This from the man-bunned hipster type sitting next to the plugged-in blonde, who is seemingly oblivious to the others talking. ‘I doubt it.’ He nudges his companion, but she ignores him, bopping her head to the beat of whatever it is she’s listening to.
This is a good point, Amelia thinks. It was clearly stated that they weren’t allowed to tell anyone what was in the invitation. Not even each other.
Especially not each other.
She’d been worried about that initially, but they’d explained why it all had to be kept hush-hush, and it had made sense in the end. You can’t be too careful. She clears her throat. ‘We’re all here to provide feedback on a new luxury service. A unique island adventure, it said. I—’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. I have it right here.’ An immaculate older woman in an expensive-looking blue linen dress loudly cuts her off. She pulls a piece of paper out of her oversized handbag and pushes her delicate-framed glasses up her nose. Her hair is styled into a helmet so smooth and neat it looks like it would prevent a head injury if she were to fall from a height. ‘This is what my invitation says.
‘Congratulations on passing the selection process. The Directors of Timeo Technologies formally invite you to participate in an exclusive demonstration of their brand-new luxury concept island adventure. You have been chosen due to your potential fit with the brand and we would request that you do not share this information with anyone else at this time—’
‘Right. Yeah . . . that’s the same as mine,’ says Camera-guy, cutting the woman off. He widens his eyes, flashing Amelia a look.
Amelia clears her throat. ‘Mine too,’ she says, ‘but that’s the only part of it we’re allowed to talk about, right?’ They all stare at her, and she takes in their expressions.
It’s not hard to recognise fear.
She gives them a small smile, surprised again at how out of place she feels here. Despite all she’s achieved, she feels like that lost girl she was at school. Not fitting into one group or another. Everyone slightly bemused by her, although she could never really work out why. A creeping sense of dread washes over her, just for a moment. Then it’s gone.
The older woman scowls, then drops the paper into her bag, saying nothing more.
The girl in the seat behind Amelia finally takes off her headphones. ‘Anyone know where we’re going then? This is such fun!’ Her accent is pure Made in Chelsea, her smile full of perfect, too-white veneers.
‘Nice of you to join us.’ Her man-bunned companion pokes her in the ribs and she giggles.
Camera-guy sighs. ‘Can’t be going too far, in this thing. Right?’ He addresses Amelia, and for a second she can’t speak. Why would he assume she would know? Although as it happens, she does.
‘This is a modified PAC Cresco. It’s usually an agricultural plane, used for short distances. We can probably travel five hundred miles without refuelling, unless the wind is against us, in which case it’s more like three hundred. I suppose that could take us to Guernsey or maybe France, at a push—’
‘Wait,’ the American says. ‘Where’d all that come from? What are you, a pilot?’
Amelia shakes her head. ‘No. I just have some experience getting flown around—’
‘Well, damn. Impressive. But Guernsey – that’s hardly a luxury retreat, is it?’
‘Actually—’ the helmet-haired woman starts, but she’s cut off by a voice coming over the tannoy.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Welcome to the start of your adventure . . .’
As he speaks, there’s a mechanical whirr as the blinds come down. Amelia raises an eyebrow. All mod cons in this plane, then. Most other times she’s flown in one of these, seats were removed to make room for supplies, and the windows were filthy with ingrained grime. Certainly no automatic blinds.
‘Please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened,’ the captain’s voice continues.
‘Oh, I hope we’ll be getting some refreshments soon,’ Headphone-girl’s shrill voice comes from behind her. ‘I’d love one of those miniature G&Ts!’
She’s soon drowned out by the sound of the engine starting.
‘Aren’t we having a safety demonstration?’ someone shouts from the back. It’s harder to pick out the voices as the noise intensifies.
The plane starts to shudder, and then it moves. Slowly at first, taxiing along the runway. Amelia has flown during the small hours before, so it shouldn’t be so disorienting, but she usually knows where it is she’s flying to. All part of the adventure, though, she supposes. The plane picks up speed and she leans back in her seat, closing her eyes. Her hands grip the armrests on each side. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s flown, she still feels nervous. Still feels ridiculously relieved when the plane lands safely.
Her stomach flips as the plane lifts into the air. The whining of the engine is loud now, an angry screech, vibrating her whole body with its strength. She knows it’ll calm down soon. Once they’ve reached their cruising altitude, the plane will level out, the noise will abate, and she’ll be able to stop gripping the armrests quite so hard.
There’s a click as the tannoy switches on once again. ‘Please relax and enjoy your short flight.’
Odd, Amelia thinks. Odd that they’ve chosen such a small plane with no cabin crew, but the passengers are taking up all the available seats as it is. It’s not the best way to put everyone at ease. The plane is steady now, the engine noise a drone rather than a screech. She takes her hands off the armrests.