A Twist of Fate (2 page)

He may have told us there was nothing to be alarmed about, but the jolting made a lead weight settle in the pit of my stomach. The woman next to me was clutching the arm of our chairs (which she'd acquisitioned for the entire journey so far) until her knuckles whitened. The plane plummeted suddenly for two seconds which seemed more like minutes. More screams. I gasped, not quite a scream, but panicked enough. I glanced at northern man. He was still reading, apparently oblivious to it all. He turned and raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘Dried off yet?'

‘It's quite bad, don't you think?'

‘What?' Another huge jolt. More screams.

‘The turbulence.'

‘Yeah. Worst I've ever known. Not much we can do about it though.'

‘I admire your insouciance.'

‘If I knew what y'meant, I'd say thanks.' He smirked. I still found him sexy, even when in peril.

There then came the biggest jolt of the lot. We must have fallen several hundred feet, plunging down through thin air. The screams didn't stop. I joined them this time. My heart was pounding, my mouth dry. Northern man's book was ripped from his hands and hit the ceiling, along with cups, food, iPads, and Lego. Then there was a loud thud, as if something large had hit the aircraft. It seemed to be alright after that; things went silent. Completely silent. It soon occurred to me that silence on a plane was not a good thing.

Something hit me from above: the oxygen masks had been released. Desperate hands fumbled to put them on. I was shaking so much it took me several attempts, but I soon had the mask attached.

‘
Brace for impact! Brace for impact! Brace for impact! Brace for impact!
' a disembodied voice started repeating over and over across the tannoy. I noticed the cabin crew. The flirtatious steward looked petrified. She was failing to strap herself in due to trembling hands.

I put my head down as far as it would go, resting it on the seatback in front. I felt hands on mine and guiding me to place them, one over the other, on top of my head.

‘Like this. Do it like this. And put your knees together. Tuck your feet back a bit, it's more effective.' It was that rich Yorkshire voice again. I believed him. I wanted him to keep talking. His voice alone would keep me safe, it seemed. Only after he'd helped me did he put his own mask on.

And we started to fall. We were steadily but inevitably ploughing towards the ground. Was it ground? Sea? Where were we? The angle wasn't as steep as I would have thought, but we were going fast, I knew that. The aircraft would break up, surely? The screech of the dying plane was deafening. My ears felt as if they would explode. My whole head felt like it would explode.

So this was the moment when my life stopped going according to plan, when I veered off my chosen path. Only I wasn't so much veering as hurtling towards a dead end.

I just waited. It was going on and on, it seemed. What else could I do but wait? I waited and wished the screaming would stop. I just waited for it to stop.

It did. Suddenly. There was a noise so loud that it denied me hearing. Had we hit or been hit? I was expecting nothingness, oblivion, emptiness. What did death feel like? I was almost curious.

But there wasn't emptiness. In fact, sensation had never been so great. In my confusion, I felt everything more. Sound came back, feeling returned. With confused realisation, it dawned on me that I was still alive. Somehow. And I was suddenly very wet. Perhaps it was that gin again, pouring all over me. But then, if I held my head up – I think it was up – there was also a lot of air. Not the dry, recycled air inside an aeroplane, but fresh air, Earth air. I breathed it in gratefully until it was denied me again, profoundly. My mouth was filled with water, warm, salty, thick water. I was surrounded by water, and my ears were hurting again. I was sinking, fast. I was strapped into my seat and being pulled down into an unfathomably deep abyss. I could do nothing. I scrabbled for the seatbelt buckle but in my panic, couldn't find it. My lungs screamed. My blood pounded. Then hands were on me and they found the buckle and I was free. The same hands held me and together we rose. My lungs clamoured for release but they would have to wait. Up, up … not enough time, not enough time. We were never going to get there. Wasn't it supposed to get lighter as we approached the surface? For me, it got darker, and darker, then black.

Two

It was hot and dry.

Was Heaven supposed to be hot and dry? I thought that was hell. Shit. Had I been that bad in my short life?

My back was baking as heat poured down onto it. I heard a pounding, drumming sound, but then realised it was the thudding of my head. My mouth was parched and my face felt dry and scratchy. I didn't want to open my eyes. I didn't have the courage. Slowly, gingerly, I moved my fingers. Whatever I was lying on felt remarkably like sand. And I could hear something too. Waves. Gentle waves, lapping. It dawned on me slowly that I had, in actual fact, survived. This wasn't heaven, hell, or any other unimaginable afterlife; this was land, and I was alive.

At last I dared blink my eyes open. For a moment, in the confusion and haze, I thought I was back in the Maldives. There was fine white sand, palm trees, the gentle slapping of water on the shore. I tried to make sense of it. Had I dreamt it all? Had I ever got on the plane?

I tried to push myself up but a searing pain shot through my side and my right arm. I cried out as brightness flashed behind my eyes and I slumped back into the sand.

‘Don't try to move too quickly. You're all right, but you've bashed yerself up good and proper.'

I knew that voice. Where had I heard it before?

‘I want to … I want to turn over,' I stuttered.

‘Alright. We'll try. Easy does it.' Hands, reassuring in their strength but calming in their tenderness, eased me over. Pain again. Acute, throbbing pain. I sucked in with the agony of it and squeezed my eyes shut. But I was over, on my back. I blinked open my eyes.

Perhaps I was in Heaven after all, because the Archangel Michael was staring down at me. Hewn face, thick hair, blue eyes, strong neck supported by broad shoulders. It was a face and body that could slay any dragon.

‘There we go. Take it easy. It's possible you've cracked a rib, but I reckon you're just bruised. You've got off lightly, believe me.'

‘Am I alive?' I felt a bit drunk. I still couldn't sort the mash-up of confusion in my throbbing head.

The angel smiled. ‘Yeah, you are. You and me. We made it.'

I looked at him more steadily. ‘I know you. Big Bag Man.'

He smiled again. ‘That's the one.'

‘Did you … was it you …? My seatbelt. I couldn't undo it … Did you …?'

‘The fuselage sheared off right in front of us. Managed to get to you just in time. Nearly lost you. I swam in with you. Took a while. We were a long way out.'

I looked up at him. His head blocked out the sun but it shone around him, giving him an ethereal glow.

‘You're my angel.'

‘Nah. Just lucky enough to get my hands on you. Not so lucky with the rest.' His voice grew solemn.

It was all coming back. The plane. The crash. I glanced about. We were on a shore somewhere; palm trees, sand, a hill behind us, rocky outcrops. But it was quiet. Where were the others?

‘Where is everyone?'

He came and sat beside me, and stared out to sea but said nothing. My heart started to pound. ‘But … the plane was full … we survived … where are the others? There will be others. There must be others.'

He shook his head slowly. ‘Nobody else has come ashore alive. Not that I can tell anyway. I've …'

His voice trailed off again and he glanced over to a wooded area far to the right.

‘What?'

‘I've pulled ashore those I could.'

‘Those you could?' My mouth grew even drier.

‘Six so far.'

‘D … dead?'

He nodded, looking back out to sea.

‘I've buried them under branches. I'll try to dig a trench later. Keep them safe until we're rescued.'

‘But … we can't be the only ones … we can't be.' My mind was numb.

‘Crazy, isn't it? But that's what it seems. The fuselage cracked right where we were sat so we could escape. That must've protected us from the impact too. We just … dunno … got lucky. I tried to get to some others, but …' He fell silent for a moment, then looked up again. ‘There don't seem to be no more islands round here. Hopefully some others came ashore elsewhere, but it's not a big island, and I haven't heard anything.'

‘But where are we? An island? What if they don't find us? What if they never find us?'

‘There's a lot of wreckage floatin' out there, and we can't have been far off the flight path. They'll know roughly where we went down even if some of the instruments failed. I've already spelt out SOS with rocks over there, and I'll get a fire goin' in a minute. They'll spot the smoke. Luckily, some of the catering trolleys washed up. We've got a fair bit of food and drink to keep us goin'. Blankets, seat cushions. And I reckon they'll reach us in a few days. We'll be fine.'

‘Fine?' I wasn't convinced.

He turned and looked at me, a mixture of resignation and curiosity on his face, before holding out his hand.

‘You're stuck with me, I'm afraid. Better do this proper. I'm Paul. Paul Mason.'

‘Callie Frobisher.' I shook his hand, acutely aware that his were the hands that had saved me.

‘Callie? What sort of a name is that?' he asked with a faint sniff of amusement.

At any other time I would have given him a ticking off for his rudeness, but I didn't have it in me. ‘It's short for Caroline. I hate the name Caroline. Callie, I can live with.'

‘Why were you travelling?'

‘I was returning from my holiday. Oh God!' Panic stabbed at my chest. ‘My parents! They'll be so worried. They'll be desperate, devastated. Oh God. They'll hear about the crash. I need to get back, I need to let them know!' I scrabbled to my feet, but pain sheared through me again and I stumbled back, falling against Paul slightly. I rolled off him and started to sob uncontrollably.

‘There's nowt you can do. It's alright. They'll have a day or so of uncertainty, but then they'll see you and know you're all right. Don't let yourself get stressed. You've been through it. Best not to get more upset.'

He was right. I tried to stem the tears and turned to look at him. ‘What about you? Have you got family to worry about you?'

‘Aye. My dad. But he didn't know I were over here working so he'll be none the wiser.'

‘Working?'

‘I'm a building contractor now. I was working on that new hotel.'

I knew the one he meant. An elegant, five-star luxury palace I'd seen under construction along the coast from where I'd stayed. ‘You said now. What did you do before?'

He paused briefly before answering. ‘Army.'

‘Really? Did you see active service?'

‘Aye.' Paul stood up at that point. ‘Best see about getting that fire going. It'll get dark quickly.'

I stared after him. His strong legs took him quickly over to one of the washed up containers. He seemed to know what he was doing, gathering wood and brush. Soon enough a fire crackled into life. It was reassuring to have someone with survival training. I picked myself up gingerly, careful not to exacerbate my injuries, and walked over.

‘Anything I can do to help?'

He glanced up. ‘You'd best rest to make sure you don't hurt yourself more, but you can try to spread some of those blankets around and over the branches if you like. Won't do much good if the rains come in again, but it looks like the storm that brought the plane down has passed.'

The blankets had already dried in the sun but were sticky from sea water. I did my best to drape them around and soon made a den amongst the trees near the beach. I laid some more blankets on the ground. It was all very
Swallows and Amazons
. Wasn't this what I'd dreamt of as a child? The reality was a little different. That sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach made me suddenly nauseous and I stumbled out, clutching my side as pain asserted itself. I retched violently into the undergrowth.

‘You OK?' Paul called over.

I turned and nodded vaguely. ‘Sorry. Things are just catching up with me.'

He was coming over with a bottle of water. ‘They will. It'll get worse, you know. You're in a sort of shock, but if you can keep going, that would be best. Don't exert yourself, but try to take your mind off it. Here, drink up.'

He held out the bottle and I drank gratefully. The cooling water seemed to settle my mind as well as my gut. I smiled up at him. He smiled back and the shine from his blue eyes immediately soothed me.

‘There's a load of food. Pretty crap, but it'll keep us full. I'll bring some over. I like your little 'ouse.' He grinned at my pathetic efforts.

‘Pretty shoddy, I'm afraid. Terence Conran would not approve.'

‘Who?' I wasn't sure if he was feigning ignorance to play up to me. He gave a chuckle. ‘I'll go and get the food.'

Paul soon returned with bread rolls, cheese, pate, mini puddings, and oranges. It was all tiny portions, but, after much tearing of plastic wrappers, we had a feast in front of us. He sat beside me and offered a beer.

‘Do you think it's OK to drink alcohol?' I asked.

‘Do you fancy it?'

‘I do, strangely.'

‘Well, go on then. A little of what you fancy does you good.'

I fancy you
, I thought.
Would you do me good?

We clinked cans. ‘To survival,' he said.

I gave a weak smile and repeated his words. ‘To survival.' I sipped; he glugged. He opened another one quickly. The sun was setting fast and the beach glowed golden around us.