Denis had always wanted to fly. Orphaned at the age of three, he had no real memory of his mother and father and had to build up the image of his parents from information and anecdotes supplied by his elderly aunt, Freda. He knew that his parents had died in a car crash during the war and he understood that his mother was taking his Dad back to the airbase where he was stationed as a bomber pilot. In later years, Denis could see the irony of his father dying in a car rather than in the air.

Today, at the age of 55, Denis was having his annual medical to renew the Civil Aviation Pilots Licence which he had held with pride for over 20 years.

“Morning Doc,” Denis smiled cheerily in his clipped cockney accent, “Do I need to drop my trousers yet?”

Doctor Jenkins had been looking after Denis for a number of years and enjoyed the banter with him.

“Not yet Denis, my hands are a tad too cold at the moment. Let’s start by sounding your chest and taking your blood pressure. You look like you’ve just stepped off the plane from a fortnight away on some sun-kissed beach.”

“No, Doc just the sunbed in my back bedroom, I’m sorry to say! No-one will come with me on a holiday. They say that’s not a break!”

“How so, Denis?”

“Well, I like to do a 5K run first thing in the morning, then a bit of weights in the afternoon and I end the day with a swim. Then I start to have a bit of fun. Most people around my age just want to power-lift pint glasses and the only sweat they want to see is on a chilled glass of lager. I don’t mind acting my age sometimes but I don’t need to look my age as well.” he concluded.

Doctor Jenkins busied himself with the examination routine whilst Denis continued his chit-chat.

“Let’s just do that blood pressure again” requested the medic as he put the cuff around Denis’ right bicep and listened attentively to his chest for a third time.

“So, Denis, have you been out of breath at all lately, or had any chest pains?”

“I only get out of breath chasing the missus around the bedroom; she’s getting quicker, on my life!” Denis quipped.

Jenkins chose to ignore the fact that Denis had mustered up a wife from somewhere.

“I asked the wife the other day what her favourite book is. Know what she told me? ‘Your cheque book’ – charming.”

“Got a bit of a problem here, Denis.” The Doctor announced gravely. The room temperature seemed to plummet by five degrees in an instant. Gloom replaced levity like a cloud blotting out the mid-day sun.

“Your blood pressure is through the roof and I’m getting an odd reverb when I listen to your heart. Now there could be any number of explanations for this but I want to send you for a scan to see exactly what is going on and in the meantime I need you to take some leave.”

Denis sat motionless, analysing every syllable of every word spoken by his doctor. At first it seemed as if he was listening to a foreign language but slowly and painfully the meaning became clear – Denis had an issue which could affect his ability to fly in the future. His day had turned from golden to grey in one short sentence.

“The appointment may take a couple of weeks to come through so best you sign off for at least a fortnight.”

The next week was like walking through treacle in a pea-soup fog. Denis was unable to find the energy to do anything and as he sat motionless in his apartment his faculties all seemed to have been thrown into neutral gear. Inertia had gripped him like a vice and his ability to plan a course of action had deserted him.

Eventually he emerged from the mist and clarity of thinking returned. Denis realised that he must meet this issue head on and set about moving things along by arranging for a private MRI scan.

“I’ve just got to deal with this thing before it drags me down. Deal with it and get back to my life. Deal with it and get back to flying.”

Denis had always been a person to deal with things: being an orphan; having only a mediocre education behind him, he needed to study harder than all the others to pass the written flying exams; having to stay ‘younger’ than the young guns who were challenging for his beloved pilot’s seat. Denis simply got on and dealt with these annoyances.

Days later, he sat in the chrome polished waiting room alone. His decision never to marry or have a long term relationship had not concerned him in the past. Today it did. It would have been comforting to have his Aunt Freda with him, but she had passed away some years before. A friendly smile of support would not have gone amiss, right now.

The title of ‘orphan’ had not weighed as heavily on him as it did on this day.

The Consultant looked too young for the role but had come highly recommended so when he explained his findings there was no questioning the diagnosis. Denis would need multiple bypass surgery.

“And then I can fly again?” demanded Denis.

“I cannot see you flying commercially again” was his final pronouncement, delivered without emotion.

Denis’ apartment was heavy with the silence that had lasted for days following the devastating news. His rowing machine remained untouched as did his shower. He could not recall when he had last shaved or even had a change of underwear. None of this was important to him anymore.

“This is so unfair,” he thought, “I’ve always looked after myself, made the best of myself. Why me? And how could I have missed the signs? There were no bloody signs! There was no way to prepare myself for this!”

If only he had been able to savour that last flight, knowing that it was going to be his final sortie. If only he could wangle one last trip to say a proper ‘Good Bye’ to that part of his life.

For the umpteenth time his telephone rang out, breaking the silence with its shockwaves. Denis did not flinch and the call went to his answering machine. The machine was flashing vigorously with the lurid red numerals “13” – the number of messages left and ignored by Denis since he had received what was a death sentence to him. Denis did not fear losing his life under the surgeon’s scalpel, indeed, in some ways, he saw this as a preferred option. Rather it was the losing of the only lifestyle to which he had aspired. This would not merely be a void, this would be a void within a vacuum. This was too big to fill and too late to start trying.

“Hi Denis, I know you are on holiday, mate, but I need a big favour. I’m scheduled to take the flight to Barcelona tomorrow and just realised it’s our Anniversary. Sally will kill me if I’m not here. I wondered if you could cover my shift for me.”

His mind raced through the options. No-one knew about his condition at work, they thought it was just annual leave. He had never felt better and anyway what better way to sign off than in a blaze of glory of his own choosing.

The next day’ in the country lanes behind the airport, Denis was driving his open-topped sports car at speed towards his appointment with fate. His car gleamed spotlessly in the morning sun and the breeze blew refreshingly onto his tanned face.

Meanwhile, 250 excited people were making their way to the boarding gate for ComfyJet Flight 103 to Barcelona; businessmen rubbing shoulders with loving couples; families with children mixing with trendy young things.

“Tell Alvaro that I will be at the meeting at 4.00pm your time and I expect to have a full explanation of what is going on!” one middle-aged gent in a charcoal grey suit barked into his mobile, his face turning puce with the invective.

“Will we be able to swim today, Mummy?” asked a tousle haired girl of around five as she jumped up and down with anticipation.

“I can’t wait to get you into our hotel room…….” crooned a young man to his girlfriend, the rest of the conversation delivered sotto voce directly into his lover’s ear.

Denis’ crisp white shirt and company tie complemented his Airline uniform whilst his clean-shaven face and clear blue eyes exuded dependability and control. He knew what he had to do.

He was convinced that this was his destiny. There might be some ‘collateral damage’ but a price worth paying to end his life the way it was meant to be.

Denis turned into the airport road and applied pressure with his right foot to the sensitive accelerator and the powerful engine throbbed in instant response to the call for more speed. Denis saw in front of him the ten-foot high Airport perimeter wall which had always been a kind of comfort blanket to him; the wall that encompassed his life.

Denis’ eyes did not waver nor did his hand deviate upon the steering wheel.

“Just like you, Dad” he shouted at the top of his voice.