I look at the American man, and he's grasping his seat as tightly as I am.
I feel sick. I think I might be sick. Oh God.
OK. It's … it's kind of … back to normal.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' comes a voice over the intercom, and everyone's heads jerk up. 'This is your captain speaking.'
My heart's juddering in my chest. I can't listen. I can't think.
'We're currently hitting some clear-air turbulence, and things may be unsteady for a while. I have switched on the seatbelt signs and would ask that you all return to your seats as quickly as—'
There's another huge lurch, and his voice is drowned by screams and cries all round the plane.
It's like a bad dream. A bad rollercoaster dream.
The cabin crew are all strapping themselves into their seats. One of the hostesses is mopping blood on her face. A minute ago they were happily doling out honey-roast peanuts.
This is what happens to other people in other planes. People on safety videos. Not me.
'Please keep calm,' the captain is saying. 'As soon as we have more information …'
Keep calm? I can't breathe, let alone keep calm. What are we going to do? Are we all supposed to just sit here while the plane bucks like an out-of-control horse?
I can hear someone behind me reciting 'Hail Mary, full of grace …' and a fresh, choking panic sweeps through me. People are praying. This is real.
We're going to die.
We're going to die.
'I'm sorry?' The American man in the next seat looks at me, his face tense and white.
Did I just say that aloud?
'We're going to die.' I stare into his face. This could be the last person I ever see alive. I take in the lines etched around his dark eyes; his strong jaw, shaded with stubble.
The plane suddenly drops down again, and I give an involuntary shriek.
'I don't think we're going to die,' he says. But he's gripping his seat-arms, too. 'They said it was just turbulence—'
'Of course they did!' I can hear the hysteria in my voice. 'They wouldn't exactly say, "OK folks, that's it, you're all goners"!' The plane gives another terrifying swoop and I find myself clutching the man's hand in panic. 'We're not going to make it. I know we're not. This is it. I'm twenty-five years old, for God's sake. I'm not ready. I haven't achieved anything. I've never had children, I've never saved a life …' My eyes fall randomly on the '30 Things To Do Before You're 30' article. 'I haven't ever climbed a mountain, I haven't got a tattoo, I don't even know if I've got a G spot …'
'I'm sorry?' says the man, sounding taken aback, but I barely hear him.
'My career's a complete joke. I'm not a top businesswoman at all.' I gesture half-tearfully to my suit. 'I haven't got a team! I'm just a crappy assistant and I just had my first ever big meeting and it was a complete disaster. Half the time I haven't got a clue what people are talking about, I don't know what logistical means, I'm never going to get promoted, and I owe my dad four thousand quid, and I've never really been in love …'
I draw myself up short with a jolt. 'I'm sorry,' I say, and exhale sharply. 'You don't want to hear all this.'
'That's quite all right,' says the man.
God. I'm completely losing it.
And anyway, what I just said wasn't true. Because I am in love with Connor. It must be the altitude or something, confusing my mind.
Flustered, I push the hair off my face and try to get a hold of myself. OK, let's try counting again. Three hundred and fifty … six. Three hundred and—
Oh God. Oh God. No. Please. The plane's lurching again. We're plummeting.
'I've never done anything to make my parents proud of me.' The words come spilling out of my mouth before I can stop them. 'Never.'
'I'm sure that's not true,' says the man nicely.
'It's true. Maybe they used to be proud of me. But then my cousin Kerry came to live with us and all at once it was like my parents couldn't see me any more. All they could see was her. She was fourteen when she arrived, and I was ten, and I thought it was going to be great, you know. Like having an older sister. But it didn't work out like that …'
I can't stop talking. I just can't stop.
Every time the plane bumps or jolts, another torrent of words pours randomly out of my mouth, like water gushing over a waterfall.
It's either talk or scream.
'… she was a swimming champion, and an everything champion, and I was just … nothing in comparison …'
'… photography course and I honestly thought it was going to change my life …'
'… eight stone three. But I was planning to go on a diet …'
'I applied for every single job in the world. I was so desperate, I even applied to …'
'… awful girl called Artemis. This new desk arrived the other day, and she just took it, even though I've got this really grotty little desk …'
'… sometimes I water her stupid spider plant with orange juice, just to serve her right …'
'… sweet girl Katie, who works in Personnel. We have this secret code where she comes in and says, "Can I go through some numbers with you, Emma?" and it really means "Shall we nip out to Starbucks …"'
'… awful presents, and I have to pretend I like them …'
'… coffee at work is the most disgusting stuff you've ever drunk, absolute poison …'
'… put "Maths GCSE grade A" on my CV, when I really only got C. I know it was dishonest. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I so wanted to get the job …'
What's happened to me? Normally there's a kind of filter which stops me blurting out everything I'm thinking; which keeps me in check.
But the filter's stopped working. Everything's piling out in a big, random stream, and I can't stop it.