A Cornish Cottage by the Sea. Jane Linfoot

We’re bumping our way backwards along the fuselage floor and when I screw my head around there’s a gaping space where the door used to be. Then the backdraught hits and we’re sucked out of the plane.

What happens next is the most crazy thing that’s happened in my life so far. There’s no lurch of my stomach, no warning, but I’m hurtling downwards. The air rush is wrenching my cheeks off my face, and the blow is so hard I can’t breathe. I’m just screaming and falling. Falling and screaming. Somehow I remember to stick my arms and legs out. Then I’m freezing and screaming. And choking. And the flat patchwork of fields below are hurtling nearer and nearer. It’s going on forever. We have to stop soon, or we’ll definitely die.

Somehow we spin, and I catch sight of the camera guy a few metres below us who almost looks stationary. And bizarrely he’s waving at us. It’s that weird thing about waving. Without even thinking, I’m waving back. Then we’re twisting again, and I’m looking up across the sky at Bella. Her cheeks are distorted, her hair is plastered across her face and she’s waving madly too.

Then, just when it feels like it’s never going to stop, there’s a yank and the air rush stops. Everything slows down and my screams have stopped. Instead of falling we’re hanging, suspended on strings, and up above us a broad blue parachute is billowing across the sky. And I can hear Dan’s voice again.

‘That’s the ’chute out. Not long now. Would you like to do some twists and turns on the way down … or hold the parachute?’

He has to be joking me, make mine vanilla. ‘Straight down is fine … thanks all the same.’

It’s so relaxed, there’s even time to look around. Far below I can make out a tiny tractor ploughing a rectangle of field, cars zooming along a ribbon of road. There’s the cream rendered slab of the headquarters, and minutes to admire the logo in shades of blue, painted on the roof. There’s even time to see my shiny new Audi, its flinty metallic paint glinting, on its own at the far end of the car park where it won’t get bashed. A gleam of sunlight reflects off the driver’s window straight into my eyes – that has to be a good omen. Tash acing it as the supportive sister, perched on a straw bale at the edge of the gazebo in her pale blue mac, one arm around her children, Tiddlywink and Wilf, the other holding her phone up to the sky.

Then the ground is rushing towards us; it’s close enough to see individual blades of grass, a tree at a wonky angle.

And there’s Dan’s voice again, as his hand clamps my head onto his chest. ‘Okay, and we’re almost down, lift up your legs like we showed you.’

One massive bump later we’re lurching forwards as Dan lands for us. Then my feet hit the ground too and guys are running in for high fives as they hurry past to sort out the ropes and pick up the crumpled parachute. As I stagger I hear a whoop, and I whip round to catch Bella crashing back down to earth too. There’s a needle of pain under my ear as my neck cricks, but a second later it’s whooshed away as Dan unclips me.

‘Okay? So how was that?’ His smile is wide, and the video guy is hurrying over to catch my reaction.

‘C-c-c- cold.’ I’m back to juddering again, but I’m alive, and the whoosh of happiness bursting up in my chest is like a fountain. ‘And f-f-f-frigging a-a-a-amazing.’

And right now there’s a rush of thoughts stampeding through my head. How I’m so grateful to Dan I could throw my arms around him. That after this I can do anything. How cool it would have been if Colin Firth had been waiting on the ground. Or Marcus even. I strike that one out pretty damned fast. How awesome it is being alive. How I need to do it all over again.

Then Bella’s there and she sweeps me into a huge hug. And when we finally break apart Tash is standing on the grass, beaming, passing us a plastic

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