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By Root 658 0

She moved along the aisles cracking open bottles of champagne. Why not? It was as good a way of spending her last few moments as any she could think of. Some of the passengers took the drinks eagerly, as grateful for distraction as she was. Others ignored her. Jessica pushed the trolley along the aisle, Fee the Scottish girl helping. Jessica was only concerned that she would do her job properly; that she would manage to serve everybody before they hit. Plenty of champagne in the trolley but still six more rows to go. Would she make it in time? She opened a bottle and cursed as her arm jerked and the champagne splashed everywhere. She would never finish her appointed task if the plane was shaking like this, shaking as the wings twisted and the engines roared.

The engines.

The engines were working again.

Everybody realized it at the same moment. Jessica saw a wave of smiles sweep across first class and never in her life had she seen so many human faces suddenly rendered beautiful by sheer joy.

The plane shuddered and began to recover altitude.

Nobody cheered. Nobody said anything. But plenty of champagne was spilled as shaking hands lifted glasses to trembling lips. All of first class was drinking champagne in a ragged toast to being alive.

Jessica hauled the drinks trolley back into the alcove.

She realized that she hadn’t thought of Roy at all when the plane had been dropping. Was that normal? Was it a bad sign? Would the marriage work?

But Jessica had no doubt that the marriage would work when she felt the wave of love and happiness that swept into her as soon as she thought of him.

Fee came back into the alcove and they just stared at each other.

‘I’m going to change jobs,’ said the Scots girl.

‘That’s what I say, every time.’

‘Any of that champagne left?’

‘Certainly.’ She glanced around the curtain as she poured them both a glass. ‘You know I’ve changed my mind about the lesbians in row C. They didn’t even flinch during that turbulence. I’ve decided that they’re not lesbians at all.

They’re spies. You know, returning from a secret mission.

Accustomed to facing danger.’

‘You’re out of your tiny mind,’ said Fee. ‘Here, drink some champagne.’

‘Why is it my bag is always the last one off the plane?’ said Benny. She stood anxiously watching the luggage rotate on the big carousel at Heathrow Terminal Five. Every so often another suitcase would come slithering out of the chute, slide on to the big segmented belt and glide slowly past them. It was never Benny’s. She was beginning to wonder if this time the morons at the airport had finally lost it. Sent it on a flight to the Himalayas or something.

She looked at Roz, standing waiting patiently beside her.

They

hadn’t lost Roz’s bag. It was the first one off the plane.

‘Did you really think it was all over?’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘On the plane. You’re the windshear expert. Did you really think we were going to die?’ Roz was rubbing her neck where the passport control guy had touched her with the scanner.

‘Well, there’s a certain number of crashes every year. It’s a statistical certainty.’

‘That’s kind of my job,’ said Roz. ‘Trying to avoid ending up as a statistical certainty.’ She rubbed her neck. ‘You know, air travel must have been more dignified back in the days when they had real passports instead of implants. I always feel like some kind of animal being inspected when they stick that thing on me.’

But Benny wasn’t listening. ‘Here it is!’ she squealed, scrambling for her bag.

‘God,’ said Roz. ‘You should see the look of relief on your face. It’s pathetic in a grown woman.’

They were walking towards customs when the plump old lady detached herself from the crowd and came barging up to them. She was dressed in a combination of expensive but hideously tasteless clothes which looked like they’d been bought at random from second-hand shops in posh neighbourhoods. The overall effect was of a well-heeled bag-lady.

‘Hello, darlings,’ she said.

Roz just gave her a cold drop-dead look and kept moving, as if the old woman was some time-waster