He heard a voice and peered towards where he thought it came from, and he realised that he could see out of the window that had once been beside him. It was now crushed against the ground and he could smell the earth. He saw feet ahead. Then he saw a man running towards the craft, and others behind him. They wore athletic-type vests, with numbers on them, and he remembered that as they neared Scafell Pike, the pilots had pointed out fell runners ascending the route. They’d joked about what fools they were, but Donald had admired them and wished he’d kept up his fitness from his twenties. He’d let himself go. His wife’s cooking and the stress of life had convinced him to side-line his health and he’d stopped training, growing portly and out of shape. It was just as they were watching the runners struggle up the steep incline that the pilots had lost control. He recalled a loud bang and ungodly grinding sounds, and the pilots shouting; and then the machine plummeting quickly to earth. He’d hung on, thinking of nothing but the impending impact and how his body would be crushed under a pile of metal.

How long had he been here?

The heat behind him grew more intense. And Bart’s screams more sporadic. He didn’t have the strength to keep turning his head to see his friend, and he couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. He remembered they’d had a full fuel tank for the journey to London. Donald knew how this could end, but he didn’t want to burn alive.

‘Help,’ he rasped.

‘Help!’ he shouted louder.

The man in trainers was kneeling and Donald noticed that he was naked from the waist up, wearing only underpants, and for a moment it distracted him from his intense pain.

‘I’m going to get you out,’ he yelled. Then the man was crawling inside the wreck and Donald knew that he was looking for his belt. He could smell the man’s flesh, and it was the same smell that his son exuded when he’d been out for an early morning run: he smelled fresh and sweet, like the air. The man’s breath came in clouds and for a moment he felt at peace.

‘Shit!’ the man cursed. And Donald knew then that it was hopeless. The stranger couldn’t work his hands around his huge fucking cashmere coat. He heard the crinkle crack of flames devastating fabric and black smoke quickly filled the tiny space. The man disappeared.

‘I’m sorry,’ the man said. He was in tears. Donald could hear his sobs of anguish.

‘Lo siento,’ the man said.

Donald closed his eyes as he felt the first licks of the flames against his legs that were trapped underneath his seat. Dear God, the pain. No, no, no. Lord, don’t let me die this way.