up with a plan.
Soon after I started work, World Airlines rolled out a training package designed to equip us with the skills required to handle a hijacking situation. Run by a former pilot and martial arts expert, the setup took place in a hangar on a private airfield in Gloucestershire, using the front half of a decommissioned B747. We shivered away the morning in our coats, sitting on plastic chairs next to the plane, while the instructor took us through pop psychology and negotiation skills. After lunch, we were split into two groups—cabin crew and passengers—and introduced to a troupe of actors who would be playing the other passengers and the terrorists. I recognized a man from Hollyoaks and the woman from the previous year’s John Lewis advert.
“The scenario you’re about to experience is as close to a real-life situation as we can get,” said the instructor. “You won’t be physically hurt, but you may find the experience psychologically distressing. If you need to leave, blow your whistle, and we will stop the scenario.” We exchanged nervous smiles, all privately hoping we wouldn’t be the ones to put a stop to the fun.
I thought we’d feel silly. Self-conscious. I thought the acting would be hammy, the responses scripted, and perhaps it was a little, at first. Those of us playing cabin crew boarded first, greeting our passengers and checking their boarding passes, which had been faithfully reproduced for maximum authenticity. We carried out the safety briefing, moved to the jump seats, and then we “took off.” Sound effects and a low vibration hummed throughout the plane.
The seat belt sign went off with a ping, and suddenly we were starting a mock drinks service, and the buzz of conversation across the aisles made it feel so real and all the more shocking when there was a loud bang and a scream, and I looked up to see a man in a balaclava holding a gun. A second man had a knife to the throat of a woman, dragging her to the flight-deck door, and a third threw something into the aisle in front of me. I screamed and ducked down behind the trolley I was pushing as a cloud of smoke mushroomed out across the seats. There was more shouting, more screaming, and at no point did I have space to think, It’s just pretend.
I wish I could blow a whistle now.
Lachlan’s cries increase in intensity, and a man at the back, crouched like us in the aisle, shouts for someone to shut that fucking baby up!
“Shut up yourself,” Paul Talbot shouts back.
“It’s been screaming for hours. It’s so fucking inconsiderate.” It’s Doug, more sober now but just as vociferous, his fiancée leaning toward him, pleading with him to be quiet, not to draw attention to himself.
“Inconsiderate? We’re about to die, and you’re talking about etiquette?” Paul gives a hollow laugh.
“I can’t do this.” Doug stands, looking wildly around, as if he’d throw himself out if only he could get to a door.
“Hands on your head!” the hijacker at the back of the aisle yells at him, but he takes no heed.
Ginny pulls at her fiancé. “Baby, sit down! It’s the only way we’re going to get through this.”
“Get through this? We’re not getting through anything. We’re going to die, Ginny.”
Sobs echo around us as hysteria spreads through the cabin. Those who aren’t crying are watching Doug and Ginny, and I wonder if this might be our chance to get past Missouri and into the flight deck. But when I look for her, she’s still holding her position, not remotely distracted by the sideshow.
“No.” Ginny lifts her chin, determined to stay positive. “We’re not going to die. We’re going to get to Sydney, and we’re going to get married and—”
“I can’t marry you.”
There’s a horrible silence, and even with everything that’s happening, my heart breaks to see Ginny’s face crumple.
“What do you mean?”
Doug hangs his head. “I got carried away. It all happened so fast, and you were so excited. I didn’t want to hurt you, but…”
He stops, and Ginny’s voice hardens. “But what?”
“I’m already married.” He sounds as though he might cry, but there’s no sympathy on any of the faces around him.
“You bastard,” someone says from a few rows behind.
“Talk about timing,” Derek mutters.
Ginny bursts into tears, and a woman next to her puts her arms around her. I wait for one of the hijackers to shout at her to put her hands back on her head, but they