Panic Button

Six

Max was the first to break the tension that had clouded the cabin.

“Cheers!” he exclaimed, raising his glass.

The response from the others was subdued. The party atmosphere had been well and truly depressurised by Alligator’s opening Round.

“Come on guys, you know it’s just a game,” Max continued, “It’s obviously meant to challenge us.”

“Not sure I want to play another round like that to be honest,” Jo said, “That was way out of line.”

Gwen sighed, reclining her seat. “These prizes had better be really bloody good.”

Max nodded, smiling in agreement. “I guess we have to ‘pay to play’.”

“I’d like to know where they got that photo from,” Dave grumbled, “I definitely didn’t put that on my profile, I know that much.”

“Bet you didn’t,” Max teased. Dave tried his best to ignore the comment.

“They’ve really done their homework on us, haven’t they?” Jo said.

“Got to be in it to win it. Let’s have another drink, yeah?” Max rose and strolled over to the bar.

Popping the cork of another bottle of champagne, he filled fresh glasses and handed them out.

“Not for me thanks,” Jo said, “Is there any water?”

“You sure?” Max said.

“Please.”

Max found some bottles of mineral water. “Sparkling or still Madam?” he said, emulating Dave’s waiter act.

“Sparkling,” Jo replied.

The bottle hissed as Max twisted the cap off. He handed the mineral water to Jo.

She took it gratefully, and hoped he wasn’t somehow disappointed in her. She remembered how much of a stick-in-the-mud she’d felt when she’d first gone out with her friends while on the wagon. After that she’d started making her excuses and it had only taken a little while for them to stop inviting her out at all. Any pride Jo had about not drinking was tempered by the feeling that sobriety had made a social outcast of her. Watching Max offer more drinks to the others, she hoped the same thing wouldn’t happen here on the flight. He was so determined to get the party started again and she began to think that maybe she was a stick-in-the-mud after all. Perhaps I should take his advice, thought Jo, ‘got to be in it to win it’.

“Gwen? Go on…”

Max held out a fresh glass of champagne, beaming. Gwen accepted the glass from him with a flirtatious smile. She took a sip and looked up at Dave, who was standing and stretching his legs by his seat.

Jo watched Gwen, disapproving of the way she was clearly trying to play the two men off each other. In particular, Jo could not deny the fact that she didn’t like how Gwen was flirting with Max. Despite the revelations of the quiz game, Jo felt Max was a genuine, stand-up kind of guy. Knowing that Gwen was a counsellor meant that she knew how to manipulate people. Given half the chance, she’d surely take advantage of Max’s kind nature. Buck yourself up girl, Jo thought. How many times had her own rehab counsellor warned her that low self-esteem had triggered her drinking problems? Jo had lost count. She vowed to herself not to fall into that trap again.

A mischievous look crept across Gwen’s face. “So, Dave… tell us about getting… down there pierced?” she ventured.

Dave tried to hide his surprise at Gwen’s ribald question, but only succeeded in bumping his head on the plane’s curved ceiling. He clutched his bald spot painfully, cursing under his breath. Laughter filled the cabin once more.

“It was… yeah it was great,” Dave replied, still wincing from the blow to his head, “Until one got infected. Hurt like hell!”

More riotous laughter rocked the cabin.

“Nasty,” Max whispered. He was looking delighted that the mood had lifted.

“So I had one removed,” Dave continued.

Jo’s eyes widened. “Ball!?”

“Piercing — Prince Albert.”

“Oh…”

Dave approached Gwen, unzipping his jeans, towering over her. “Wanna see?”

Max laughed and smacked Dave’s butt playfully, like a jockey lashing a racehorse.

“Yeah! Let’s see some of the hard stuff!”

Gwen winced. “No, no I’m all good, thanks.”

“Well stop going on about it then!” Visibly annoyed, Dave turned and stomped to the bar.

“Dave?” Gwen’s voiced wavered. She looked shocked by his sudden change in mood.

He ignored her, opening a bottle of whiskey. He poured a sizeable measure into a glass tumbler.

“All right mate?” Max said, looking up at him.

Dave downed his drink in brooding silence and poured another.

Jo knelt on her seat, head resting against the cool glass of the window. Peering out into the night sky, she watched the wing lights blink amidst cloud vapour like the beam of a lighthouse in thick fog.

The fizzy water had finally begun to offset the effects of the champagne. Her head had cleared a little and she felt at peace gazing out of her little porthole. Just then, a momentary flash of lightning caught her eye, way off in the distance. Thunder rumbled faintly over the drone of the engines.

“Atlantic’s meant to be clear.”

Jo was thinking aloud, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Slumped back in his reclined seat, another large whiskey in hand, Dave shrugged.

“So?”

Jo looked over her shoulder at him. “I checked the weather, you know… before the flight.”

Gwen looked nervous, swallowing hard. “And?”

“And it’s meant to be clear.”

Dave shrugged again, bullish. “Bloody weather men, always get it wrong.” He got up, groaning and stretching, and headed to the bar. Glasses and bottles clinked as he rummaged around, looking for something.

“What are you doing?” Gwen asked. His rummaging was putting her nerves even more on edge.

“Looking for something to eat. You’d think there would at least be some bloody bar snacks on this plane. Bet the business travellers don’t have to ask twice, know what I mean?”

No-one answered. Dave gave up his search with a grunt of frustration and poured himself yet more whiskey.

“Probably left food out of the equation deliberately,” Max said, watching Dave commit further crimes against his liver.

“How’s that?” Dave asked, his speech slightly slurred.

“Get us into the games more quickly,” Max replied, “Lots of booze, empty stomachs…”

“You seem to know quite a bit about it.”

Dave’s statement sounded like an accusation. The whiskey was evidently making the big man surly. Max fell quiet.

Hearing another distant rumble of thunder, Jo turned her attention back to the window. She arched her hands over her forehead to block out the glare of the interior lights. Squinting out into the blackness, another flash of lightning revealed the swirling shapes of storm clouds gathering.

Huge dark forms, like black ships rolling in toward their fragile little island in the sky.