The loud drone of a para-motor made her glance up at the sky. Dreadful, noisy machines, she hated them. And now there were two of the blasted things. Why were they allowed to fly so close to the beach, disturbing everyone’s peace and tranquility? She squinted into the sun as she watched the ungainly machines fly past; they seemed far too insubstantial to carry the weight of a man, just a propeller and a small engine attached to their backs. Yet there they were, flying across the waves one behind the other. They were so low that she could see the faces of the pilots; both seemed to be men although it was not easy to be sure with the helmets covering most of their heads. One appeared to be very young but she was sure that the other was much older, despite the fashionable Air Jordan’s that he was wearing. She recognised them straight away; her grandson had asked his father for them for his birthday but her son refused to spend over a hundred pounds on something he said would be ruined in a week. She smiled to herself, everyone wanted to look younger these days. The man with the expensive trainers was shouting something to the other one, who shook his head and gestured as if to say that he couldn’t hear him. It was no wonder with that awful noise.
As if in answer to her prayers, the noise level had dropped; it was no longer deafening her. In fact one of the para-motors had gone completely silent. What had happened? She looked up and shaded her eyes in order to see it clearly. The younger pilot was looking frightened. Something was definitely wrong; he was no longer moving forward in a purposeful manner, but floating unsteadily beneath the multi-coloured canopy. It looked as though the propeller of his para-motor was slowing down and might stop altogether. Had the engine stalled? She leapt to her feet, her suncream forgotten. What could she do? The young pilot was struggling to control his craft; he tugged on the lines attached to the parachute as though that would help but even she could see that it was making no difference. The para-motor was already beginning to descend. He was going to land right on top of her. She ran further up the beach, desperate to keep out of his way but unable to take her eyes off him. Now she could see the terror on his face as he tugged frantically at the guide lines but his efforts were useless. For a moment the sun was in her eyes and she blinked just as a sudden gust of wind buffeted him and for a moment he was airborne again. She breathed a sigh of relief but it was short lived and once again the para-motor began to lose height. The pilot of the leading vehicle appeared not to have noticed the drama taking place behind him and continued on his journey, gaining height and flying over the harbour then turning eastward along the coast, seemingly unaware that his companion was in trouble. She gasped as she watched the young man’s descent; the motor was completely silent now and the propeller barely moved. The man was still struggling with the parachute, desperately trying to catch some wind in the sail. If only there was something she could do to help him. She found herself whispering a Hail Mary, but by now he was completely out of control and was heading straight for her, so close that she could feel his panic. She shrieked and ran towards the road, torn between the fascination of watching his descent and the fear that he would crash on top of her. People at the far end of the beach were on their feet now, but like her there was nothing they could do but stand and watch. Everyone was mesmerised by the imminent catastrophe, frozen in time. Suddenly a strong gust of wind pulled the para-motor up into the air and away from the beach; it carried man and machine across the harbour wall and out of sight. There was no sound of the motor starting up again but no sound of a crash either; did this mean he was all right?
People were running along the promenade towards the harbour. She dashed back to where, only minutes before, she had been lazing in the sunshine, grabbed her bag and followed them. She prayed he was all right. He looked too young to die. She knew she had to do something, but what? Her brain was numb; she was unable to think clearly. Should she phone for the police, or the coast guard? The truth was she had no idea how to do either and she didn’t speak any Spanish anyway. She was completely helpless.
By the time she arrived at the harbour wall, panting for breath, there was already a small group of people gathered to watch the unfolding drama. ‘Where is he?’ she gasped, stopping to ease the hammering of her heart. ‘What happened to him?’
