Down to Earth. Melanie Rose
which was thumping wildly in my chest.
The pilot called out to Matt. The ground staff had just reported that the wind and our position were exactly right. We were over the drop zone; it was time to jump.
Graham, I noticed, despite his earlier bravado seemed to be praying silently and under the circumstances I decided that praying wasn’t such a bad idea. Scrunching my eyes shut I put aside the fact that I hadn’t thought of God for a very long time and entreated the Almighty to forgive me for this folly, praying that I would survive the jump intact.
Whether his silent entreaties to God had given him strength or because he was ever the valiant leader, Graham inched towards the exit with a jaunty thumbs-up, and on the count of three from Matt, jumped blithely out into space.
I watched the wind buffet his jumpsuit as he leapt, catching a fleeting glimpse of his arms and legs spread wide as we’d been taught, before he disappeared from view. But before I had time to register anything else, Matt was guiding Ingrid to the doorway, where she lingered, fingers tightly gripping the edge of the hatch, her body rigid with fear.
‘Three, two, one, now!’ Matt shouted, and Ingrid leapt out after Graham with a screech of terror that resounded in my ears and rolled around my stomach like an express train.
Matt was beckoning me over but I shook my head. ‘No, no way.’
‘I’ll go,’ Kevin slid past me, balanced himself in the gaping doorway, and in a moment he too was gone.
Matt was looking at me.
‘I can’t do it,’ I quaked. ‘I really can’t.’
‘The pilot is coming in for another pass,’ Matt called over the howling wind and the drone of the turning plane. ‘You’ve done all the practice drills, you know what to do …’ He reached out and lightly touched my arm. ‘If you don’t want to do it you don’t have to, but I can guarantee you’ll be disappointed with yourself later if you don’t.’
Every instinct told me to grab his comforting hand and hang on to it for dear life, but I knew he was right. If I didn’t jump I’d be letting my sponsors down. Not to mention the heart foundation who were expecting my contribution.
My colleagues would be on the ground by now, their jumps completed. ‘Please, if there is a God,’ I mumbled as I scrambled towards the doorway, ‘don’t let me die.’
‘Now!’ Matt yelled.
And, with a great gulp of breath, I tumbled outwards into the void.
I fell like a stone, plummeting earthwards at an astonishing speed, the breath squeezed out of me as I tried to spread my arms and legs out in the free-fall stance I’d been taught. My terrified brain was still panicking; why hadn’t the chute opened? Had something gone terribly wrong? But then the static line jerked abruptly and I felt myself yanked upwards as the parachute deployed miraculously above my head.
Opening my eyes I scanned the patchwork quilt of the countryside stretching away for as far as the eye could see. Below me lay bright green squares of young spring growth butting up against brown, neatly ploughed fields and in the distance, the distinct grey tarmac lines of a motorway, speckled with miniature cars moving like brightly coloured ants.
It was stunningly beautiful. My heart was settling back into a regular rhythm and I was thrilled at the feeling of being quite literally on top of the world.
And then the wind came out of nowhere and hit me.
Suddenly I felt the parachute buck and twist. It wasn’t simply a blustery gust of wind; more a tidal wave of air, bearing down on me from above and engulfing me as I hung helpless in the sky. Dark clouds appeared and swallowed me up so that I could no longer see the ground.
I hung there, suspended within the giant wave, buffeted this way and that, breathless and terrified. Completely dis -orientated, I continued my downward spiral towards an earth I could no longer see. The training video certainly hadn’t mentioned this eventuality and I had absolutely no idea what to do.
And suddenly just when I thought I was going to die from fright, the airborne tsunami hurled me to the ground, where I lay panting and gasping like a beached fish.
For a moment I lay motionless, trying to still my racing heart, but the wind was plucking at the parachute, threatening to drag my body through the long, damp grass where I had landed. Fuzzily recalling the drill, I unclipped the buckles on the chute and sat up, looking round in confusion. It seemed I was on the airfield, but it was so dark I couldn’t make out the aircraft hangar or the adjoining buildings.
Pulling up the sleeve of my jumpsuit I peered through the gloom at my digital wristwatch. Nine thirty. But how could that be? I had left the aircraft hangar at three in the afternoon. Even allowing for the short wait before take-off and the second pass the aircraft had made after the others had jumped, no more than half an hour could have elapsed. Tapping the watch with my finger, I concluded it must have been damaged on landing.
I felt a pang of worry as I struggled to my feet. Even if my watch was broken, why was it so dark? And where were the airfield personnel who were supposed to take me back to the hangar?
‘Get a grip,’ I admonished myself as I stood trembling in the darkness. The rogue wind had probably blown me off course and I might not be on the airfield at all. Maybe the terror of the jump had confused me or perhaps I had bumped my head and lain here for hours while the parachuting company had been searching the surrounding woods and fields for me. Slowly I realised that if they couldn’t locate me, I would have to find my own way back to the airfield.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to gather up the silky folds of the chute, and, finding a depression in the soft earth I stuffed the parachute and my helmet in it, covering it with stones to weigh it down. Drawing another steadying breath, I noticed the outline of trees to my right and set off in what I hoped was the right direction.
Ten to fifteen minutes later a building loomed ahead of me, I could see enough to recognise the aircraft hangar and the one-storey buildings, which housed the small office, toilets and mess room where I’d had lunch several hours earlier.
I decided to check the mess room first. But when I reached out to open the door I found that it was locked. Rubbing at the filthy, cracked window pane with the cuff of my jumpsuit, I squinted into the dark interior. I hadn’t noticed the window being quite this dirty earlier in the day and I was pretty sure it hadn’t been cracked either, but anything could have happened in my absence. Moving to the next building I located the ladies’ loo. The door was swinging gently on its hinges in the evening breeze. Pushing it open I saw that the fittings had been vandalised, the toilet seat was hanging to one side and the wash basin had been wrenched off the wall and was lying splintered on the concrete floor.
Wrinkling my nose in distaste, I decided to use the facilities anyway. This same toilet had been clean and tidy only a few hours before, with brightly coloured curtains hanging in the window which had now mysteriously disappeared.
Zipping up my jumpsuit I stood shivering in the moonlight, unsure what to do next. The hangar looked to be in complete darkness, but I did briefly wonder if this was all some kind of wind-up. Maybe Ingrid, Graham and Kevin were hiding in the shadows waiting to leap out and shout ‘You’ve been framed!’ and spray champagne everywhere, while the airfield crew stood laughing appreciatively in the wings.
I walked towards the hangar only to find that the door wouldn’t budge. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I noticed that the door had been kicked in, in one corner, leaving a jagged hole near the ground. Glancing round warily to ensure that no one was around, I lay down so I could spy through the hole into the interior.
The hangar was empty. Everything that had been in there earlier, the television screen on which we’d watched the information video, the padded mats we’d used to practise our rolling falls, the plastic chairs, the parachutes