He grimaced as he clambered into the cockpit. The last thing he wanted to do this morning was pilot a group of brash businessmen halfway across the country. He’d left home early while his wife was still asleep, before he could try to put things right.
He knew he shouldn’t listen to other people, so-called friends, who dripped poison into his ear, stoking the jealousy that always lay just beneath the easy-going surface. The rumour mill had gone into overdrive recently until he could bear it no longer. He’d had his suspicions for a while. All those mysterious phone calls that she left the room to take. It’s only Mum, you don’t want to hear me rattling on. Or it was her sister, or her best friend. Once, he had arrived home unexpectedly to find her in earnest conversation. When she saw him, she’d switched on a bright, unconvincing voice before abruptly saying goodbye to whoever was at the other end of the line. He’d waited until she was in the shower and then furtively checked her mobile. There were numbers he did not recognise, incoming as well as outgoing calls.
He had to know. So he’d tackled her, accused her of having an affair. If he had expected a confession, followed by an abject apology, he was disappointed. What he got was disbelief, followed swiftly by indignation, turning to anger.
He checked the instrument panel and prepared to take off. Last night’s confrontation echoed in his head. He jerked the controls impatiently and taxied down the short runway. They were in the air. But what was that noise, a sort of grinding sound? The plane juddered. The instrument panel lit up. One by one, the emergency lights flashed. He could not steady the plane. It gave a sudden sideways lunge and he could hear the voices of his passengers, no longer self-assured and blasé about a hop between airfields but shouting in panic, “What’s happening?” “My God, we’re going to crash!”
He jabbed urgently at the radio. After what seemed an age, it crackled into life. Mayday! Mayday! The plane was lurching at a crazy angle now, its nose dipping towards the ground it had so recently departed. He struggled with the controls but the neon of the lights dazzled and confused him, he felt dazed and, then, strangely detached. It was like a dream, he was watching the pilot desperately attempting to land safely, he himself playing no further role in the proceedings.
As the plane smashed into a cornfield, the mangled remains of a brace of birds lay crushed beneath it. A solitary feather floated slowly down and came to rest on the shattered wing.
The compensation paid out by the insurance company would be generous. The grieving widow cared little for this. She started ringing round family and friends to tell them the funeral arrangements and to cancel the surprise fortieth birthday party.
He knew he shouldn’t listen to other people, so-called friends, who dripped poison into his ear, stoking the jealousy that always lay just beneath the easy-going surface. The rumour mill had gone into overdrive recently until he could bear it no longer. He’d had his suspicions for a while. All those mysterious phone calls that she left the room to take. It’s only Mum, you don’t want to hear me rattling on. Or it was her sister, or her best friend. Once, he had arrived home unexpectedly to find her in earnest conversation. When she saw him, she’d switched on a bright, unconvincing voice before abruptly saying goodbye to whoever was at the other end of the line. He’d waited until she was in the shower and then furtively checked her mobile. There were numbers he did not recognise, incoming as well as outgoing calls.
He had to know. So he’d tackled her, accused her of having an affair. If he had expected a confession, followed by an abject apology, he was disappointed. What he got was disbelief, followed swiftly by indignation, turning to anger.
He checked the instrument panel and prepared to take off. Last night’s confrontation echoed in his head. He jerked the controls impatiently and taxied down the short runway. They were in the air. But what was that noise, a sort of grinding sound? The plane juddered. The instrument panel lit up. One by one, the emergency lights flashed. He could not steady the plane. It gave a sudden sideways lunge and he could hear the voices of his passengers, no longer self-assured and blasé about a hop between airfields but shouting in panic, “What’s happening?” “My God, we’re going to crash!”
He jabbed urgently at the radio. After what seemed an age, it crackled into life. Mayday! Mayday! The plane was lurching at a crazy angle now, its nose dipping towards the ground it had so recently departed. He struggled with the controls but the neon of the lights dazzled and confused him, he felt dazed and, then, strangely detached. It was like a dream, he was watching the pilot desperately attempting to land safely, he himself playing no further role in the proceedings.
As the plane smashed into a cornfield, the mangled remains of a brace of birds lay crushed beneath it. A solitary feather floated slowly down and came to rest on the shattered wing.
The compensation paid out by the insurance company would be generous. The grieving widow cared little for this. She started ringing round family and friends to tell them the funeral arrangements and to cancel the surprise fortieth birthday party.