‘ I really fancy you,’ he went on, bolder now. ‘I want to make love to you.’
Danny burst out laughing, turned away from him and strolled to her car. She had to stop to let a plain police car drive past. Henry Christie was at the wheel. He gave her a quick wave and was gone. It would be many years before Henry would even have a conversation with her again. Henry, Danny thought wistfully at that time, if only you’d asked me that question.
PART ONE
Chapter One
Twelve years later, June 1998
Even as the passengers filed on board the aircraft, the cabin crew knew exactly who was going to cause them trouble on the four-and-a-half-hour flight ahead.
It was a young couple, boy and girl, late teens. As they shuffled into the plane past the Chief Stewardess, she could smell the alcohol on their breath, see from their demeanour that they were ill-tempered and irritable — and drunk. They careened down the aisle, bumping into other people, not apologising, having to grip headrests and occasionally missing their hold and falling across passengers who were already seated.
When they eventually found their seats, a middle-aged woman was already sitting in one of them.
‘ Get out of my fucking seat, you sad old bitch,’ the young man snarled, checking his boarding card. His first name was Spencer.
Having had the prudence to stalk the couple down the aisle, the Chief Stewardess cut in quickly. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said, scowling at him. She turned to the lady in the seat. ‘Could I just check your boarding card, madam?’ she asked sweetly.
‘ Yes, yes.’ The woman handed it over worriedly.
‘ I’m afraid you are in the wrong seat,’ she explained, almost pained in the way she spoke. The woman was sitting in the window seat. ‘Yours is actually the aisle seat. It’s an easy mistake to make.’ She offered her hand to the woman and assisted her to move.
‘ Dozy cunt,’ Spencer remarked.
The stewardess took a deep breath and actually bit her tongue.
Once the woman was out in the aisle, the young couple barged across. Spencer dropped heavily into the window seat. His girlfriend, Cheryl, sat in the middle seat. They immediately slapped their recline buttons and forced their seats as far back as they would go.
With her professional patience already showing signs of stress, the stewardess leaned across to the couple. A thin smile was on her face. ‘Please keep your seats in the upright position until we have taken off.’
Reluctantly, they complied with the request. ‘And,’ she added, ‘please behave yourselves.’
‘ I want a drink now,’ Cheryl demanded as though she had not heard a word.
‘ Drinks will not be served until we have taken off. Sorry.’ She stood aside and allowed the displaced woman passenger to take her seat next to the couple. The stewardess looked at the woman reassuringly, then walked back down the aisle to the front of the plane. ‘Watch those two,’ she ordered one of her colleagues.
‘ Stuck-up bitch,’ Cheryl said to Spencer of the stewardess. She was eighteen. He was nineteen. They had both spent the last night of their holiday raving and had come directly to the airport from a club to catch the 7.30 a.m. flight to Manchester. They had indulged in Ecstasy and booze — a dangerous combination. Their bodies were now exhausted, but their minds were alive and kicking, albeit not functioning normally. Spending more than four hours in a plane at 37,000 feet, breathing compressed air, was going to do them no good whatsoever.
Spencer reached down for the bottle of duty-free Bacardi in the flight bag at his feet and broke the seal.
They both pushed their recline buttons again and their seats thudded back.
Danny Furness sat bolt upright in the narrow single bed. For a moment she could not recall exactly where she was, then her memory returned. Geena’s — I’m at Geena’s. She was short of breath, as if she had been running fast. She hadn’t. She had been lying in this bed, in this small, sparsely furnished room for the last ten hours, in a deep, but uncomfortable sleep. Her dreams had been racing along at a million miles per hour — here, there, all over the place — incessant, unrelenting. She felt more tired than ever. Her body was exhausted and weak, as if she had run a marathon. She wiped the sweat from around her neck with the sheet and lay back on the damp pillow.
‘ Jesus,’ she moaned croakily; her cigarette-smoke throat was arid. ‘Am I ever going to shake out of this?’
With a great effort she rolled out of bed, picked up her toilet bag and dragged herself into the. bathroom and under the shower. Compared to her own power shower, this one was almost a dribble. She had to stay underneath the warm spray for many minutes before she felt clean.
Whilst she was drying herself, the bathroom door opened suddenly. Danny quickly covered her nakedness with the towel — but not quickly enough to prevent Alex, Geena’s man friend, from getting the eyeful he was obviously after: the third or fourth eyeful of Danny’s body he had ‘accidentally’ manipulated.
This time he was naked too. He had just got out of bed and his blond hair was in disarray.
He stood in the doorway, displaying a semi-erect penis rising unsurely from a bush of ginger-ish pubes. He had a good, well-tanned body, which actually did nothing for Danny.
‘ Ooops… sorry, love,’ he said languidly. He raised his eyebrows, sniffed and grinned wolfishly, making no attempt to hide his cock. ‘I just needed the loo.’
Danny knew that her friend Geena must still be fast asleep in the bedroom on the floor below. Danny wasn’t aware that Alex had been staying the night, otherwise she would have tried to wedge the unlockable door with a towel or something.
Danny glared at Alex. ‘Yeah, sure,’ she said sarcastically.
‘ Honest to God,’ he said with an open gesture. Danny saw his penis had maximised its potential.
‘ If you ever — ever — do this again, Alex, I’ll cut that ugly dick of yours off with a pair of nail scissors. Now close the door and fuck off.’
His expression morphed from ‘open-honest-accident’ into a dirty scowl of contempt. ‘Frigid cow,’ he snarled. ‘Prefer Geena, do you?’ and slammed the door shut.
Danny sank slowly on to the loo, dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her tired eyes.
This just wasn’t working out; it was time to get a grip.
The plane taxied away from the terminal building and trundled out on to the runway where it came to one of those interminable halts; then the engines began to roar as the power increased. Yet still the huge machine remained there, like a racehorse in the stalls, itching to get away. Suddenly the brakes were released, the aircraft surged forwards on the runway, the massive General Electric engines of the Boeing 767–200 smoothly forcing ground speed upwards until the nose began to rise and the clatter of the wheels ceased as the undercarriage left the ground. The huge bird rose steeply away from Reina Sofia Airport. On one side passengers were treated to a breathtaking early morning view of Mount Teide; those on the other side could see the deep blue of the Atlantic Ocean.
Within minutes the plane had risen to 35,000 feet. To the majority of the 270 people on board, their holiday to the island of Tenerife was, even now, no more than a pleasant memory.
Breakfast was a silent affair.
Geena and Alex had been out late the previous night, clubbing, and had returned in the early hours to indulge in a goodly bout of sex. Danny was glad she had taken one of the sleeping pills prescribed by her doctor. She’d had
