I was used to plane journeys. In airline company terms, I was what might be referred to as a Frequent Flyer. Several tens of thousands of airmiles stored up, the pre-flight emergency procedure demonstration memorised, occasional forays into business class if I was having a particularly taxing day. It was all second nature - as comfortable as walking.

In my capacity as a Frequent Flyer, I had also grown accustomed to what I’d started calling a dreamy landing. It happened more often on shorter flights than long-haul, I found, when you don’t have enough time to properly sleep but might choose to pass those couple of hours by dozing in your seat. I usually fell into this state after putting on some headphones, or after having chosen a particularly dull film from the inflight selection. It’s a form of time-travel, really. One moment, you’re cruising along at thirty-seven thousand feet in the air, then you close your eyes and the next thing you know, the cabin’s filled with the sound of seatbelts being undone.

Typically, a dreamy landing was a particular annoyance to me. I didn’t mind nodding off during a flight if I woke up before descending, but missing the descent itself was a huge disappointment. It had always been my favourite part of the journey. Different everywhere you go - seeing the sea rise up to meet you, skimming the roofs of suburban neighbourhoods, watching a patchwork landscape spread out beneath you...

On that day, however, I would have done anything for a dreamy landing.

When everything went quiet, my eyes opened in the expectation of seeing tarmac outside the window. That brief flash of disappointment went through me - how could I have slept through it? It felt like a mere blink. But outside was dark. Pitch dark.

Actually, so was the inside. Removing my headphones, I shifted in my seat, sat up straight. The woman in the seat next to me, by the window, was gripping the armrest with bony hands, knuckles gone pale. I could hear myself breathing.

No sound. Why was there no sound?

Then my stomach lurched, and I understood. The power had gone.

“Oh, my God...” I heard myself whisper, eyes flirting around the cabin in a desperate search for reassurance. But none came.

The cabin crew were shouting something from the front of the plane, but their voices were soon lost amid a cacophony of screaming. One of the screams was coming from right beside me, where my neighbour was starting to sob uncontrollably. I felt my stomach was about to escape out of my mouth.

Tilting, tilting... the nose had gone up for the briefest of moments and now was guiding the plane downwards, dragging us along with it, oblivious to our kicking and screaming. It dove towards the earth - the sea? My experience told me that we were above open water, as there were no lights twinkling below, not even any moving vehicles. Nothing but a black abyss.

A bang against the plane’s metal underbelly lurched us even further forward, until I felt we were almost vertical, plunging. My head was starting to spin. Nothing from the cockpit. No power for a tannoy, not even the most fleeting of words from a safe voice. We were going down, there was nothing they could do...

Fighting the pressure slowing my brain, fighting the nausea, I picked my phone out of my pocket. Need to tell them. Maya that I love her. Emma that I’m sorry. Look after your mother. I’m sorry.

But the screen was black, dead, and no amount of button-pressing would bring it back.

My God...

I turned my head towards the window again. Hard to make it out amid the darkness. What if...surely not. What if we were above land after all? What if their power had stopped working, too?

Eyes starting to flicker, they wanted to go upwards into my head. Can’t let them. Stay awake. Get in position, to...to survive.

Head leaned forwards, against the momentum of the falling plane, against gravity itself. Pushed it forwards and bent over in my seat, until my hair brushed the back of the seat in front. Head between the legs. Like a bout of nerves. A shot of something strong and you’ll be all right -

Woman next to me grabbed my hand. Connection. Human. Last thing I registered before I -