By the time he asks me for the next instruction, there's a grin on his face.
CHAPTER 42
When Mum gets there, Granddad is still stitching thread through the wings. Granddad doesn't turn to acknowledge her and she doesn't say anything to him either. Instead she finds an old coat, spreads it out next to me and sits down. Her eyes slowly take in the whole big wingspan of the swan.
‘Jack said you were making something for school,’ she says.
‘And for Dad.’
She nods. ‘They're beautiful.’
It's not long before Jack comes in, too. His eyes widen when he sees what we've done.
‘You cut them off,’ he says. ‘Or was it Granddad who did it?’ He smirks at me, then sprawls out on the other side of Granddad and starts fiddling with the box of surgical equipment.
I wait for Mum to tell me it's time to go. But she just watches quietly. So I help Granddad with the climbing harness, holding it still for him to sew the wings to. His stitches are so small and neat, I can hardly see them.
‘You're good at that,’ I say.
‘Just practice.’
His hands aren't even shaking. Now that he's helping me with this, he seems like a different person. Mum's noticed too, I'm sure.
After a while, Jack starts sighing and looking at his watch. ‘They'll all be waiting for me,’ he says. ‘Can we go now?’
Mum leans on my shoulder as she pushes herself up. ‘Come on, Isla, it's almost nine.’
Granddad stops threading the needle, a flash of frustration across his face.
‘I want to carry on,’ I say, suddenly having an idea. ‘I want this ready for Dad to see before his operation.’
Mum fiddles with her rings as she thinks.
‘I could drop her back at the house,’ says Granddad. ‘Or even drop her straight at the hospital tomorrow morning.’
I look quickly at Granddad, we all do. It's so unlike him to suggest something helpful. For a moment or two, it doesn't look like Mum knows what to say. She raises her eyebrows at me.
‘It's up to you, babe.’
I nod, thinking of Dad . . . wanting to try anything right now to make him feel better. Even if it something as crazy as showing a flying machine I made. ‘I want to finish this.’
And I do. We're so close to the end, it seems crazy to stop. Even if it does mean that I have to stay at Granddad's again.
Mum brushes her fingers through my hair as she goes. ‘Be good.’
But Granddad and I don't sleep. We keep going for hours, turning the wings into a flying model that, gradually, starts to move. At some stage, Granddad fetches a lamp from another part of the barn and puts it near us for more light. He gets old, scratchy blankets, too, and we wrap them around our shoulders. The dust on them makes my throat itch. After a while, the small letters on the instructions sheet blur before my eyes. I bury my head inside the blankets and just watch Granddad work. He looks so focused, so completely concentrated on getting it right. I wonder if he was like this as a vet. Perhaps this focus and skill is why he thought he could care for Nan at home, why he was so angry when Dad took her to the hospital.
I'm pretty much asleep by the time Granddad leans away from what we've made and notices me. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let's go inside and get a drink.’
The wind has died down when we get out of the barn. The only sound is our feet, crunching against the dirt path. I screw up my eyes when we get into the lit kitchen, and look down at the lino floor until they've adjusted.
We sit on the couch sipping tea, sweet and hot. Granddad looks tired, but not exhausted. There's a sparkle in his eyes. But I feel myself sinking down and the cup being taken from my hands. My head drops back into the cushions, springs and feathers beneath me.
And I dream of Dad. Swans are carrying him up into the sky, singing the most beautiful song as they go. It's a swan song to take him higher.
CHAPTER 43
A beeping sound goes off near my ear and I wake with a start. The room is silver grey and Granddad isn't next to me any more. There's just a cold cup of tea on the carpet, and my phone. I lean over and grab it. The message is from a number I don't recognise.
Swan just tried to fly again, but no luck. Saw a flock flying in the distance, but they didn't land. Harry. PS Wish you were here.
I read it three times. Then I check the time: 6.47am. He's up early. I lie there, looking around at Granddad's shabby lounge room, and wonder what to text back. I stretch my arms above my head. My body aches as if I have been running for hours. I sit up and glance over to the kitchen. The house is silent and still, and empty. I get up and open the back door. There's a robin's clear, loud voice. I scan the shadowy fields for swans, stand on my tiptoes and try to see the lake.
I reply to Harry.
I'll see you later. I've got a surprise for you.
I stick the phone in my pocket and walk. I yawn in crisp, morning air and feel the dampness of dawn on my cheeks. Granddad is searching through a pile of boxes, but looks up when he hears me.
‘I've finished it,’ he says. ‘Just now.’
‘Why didn't you wake me?’
A part of me feels angry. I wanted to make the flying model; it's my project after all. But then I see the swan wings stretched out across the concrete, with the climbing harness in between them, and I'm glad Granddad's done it. There are wires connecting different parts of the harness to the feathers. There are velcro loops running down the middle of each wing for my arms to be attached and gardening gloves towards the wing tips for my hands to go in. The model looks beautiful and complicated and exactly like the picture. I pick up the crumpled instructions and check how Granddad's made it.
‘I don't know where you found those instructions,’ Granddad says slowly. ‘But they're good. Whatever they say to do just works.’
I kneel down to the model. I run my fingers up the thick leather strips that lead up from the back of the harness and see how securely they are attached to the wings.
‘This is amazing,’ I say. ‘Better than I could have done.’
This makes Granddad chuckle. He draws his shoulders back and looks proud of himself. It's the same sort of movement that a swan makes when it resettles its feathers.
‘Let's see if they work,’ he says.
He lifts the wings up carefully, holding them flat. They look absolutely massive.
‘Are they heavy?’ I ask.
Granddad shakes his head. ‘Not really. Surprising, eh? But then, as well as the bones being hollow, it's only stuffing inside this thing.’
I turn my back to Granddad and he helps me to step into the climbing harness. I tighten it around my hips. Already I can feel the wings pulling me backwards.
‘It'll be better in a minute,’ Granddad says. ‘Hold your arms out straight.’
I do, and he fastens my outstretched arms to the wings by wrapping the velcro straps tightly around them. Then he passes a leather strap that looks like an old belt around my chest, attaching me to the material running down my back. I breathe in as he tightens another leather strap around my stomach. He closes the final bit of velcro, securing my hands inside the gardening gloves.
‘There,’ he murmurs. ‘Nice and snug.’
I can see my shadow on the far wall; my tiny-looking body with the huge wings spread out behind me. I look like some sort of winged superhero. Bird Girl. I try moving my fingers, one by one. I look down the wings, get a little buzz of excitement when I see the wires leading out from the gloves moving too. I follow the wires with my eyes and notice the primary flight feathers parting and twisting with my movements. I roll my shoulders and feel the feathers ruffle out behind me. It's exactly the way a real bird would move its feathers.
‘Magic,’ Granddad breathes.
The feathers are so close to me that I can smell their dust and stuffing. The wings press against my back as if I'm wearing a big backpack. I arch my back and watch my shadow on the wall; the wings change shape slightly with each movement I make.
‘Try folding them inwards,’ Granddad says. He checks the instructions. ‘Bend your elbows and bring your fists towards you.’
I try it. At first the wings seem too stiff to move, but I pull on them a little harder and they fold inwards obediently.
‘Now try to cross your arms over your chest.’
I slide my right arm over my left and the wings settle around me. Granddad presses his hands across his mouth, shaking his head gently. It's what Dad does when he's really impressed with something.
‘Just like a proper bird,’ he murmurs again. ‘I've never seen anything like it.’
I can't do anything but nod. I'm still blown away by it all myself. Granddad and I have made an amazing wing model, a proper flying machine just like da Vinci's.
‘Let's take them to the hospital,’ I say.
CHAPTER 44
‘
You can park over there.’
Granddad's hands tighten on the wheel. He doesn't want to do it. But I'm making him.
He keeps the car running and waits for me to get out. I lean across and turn the keys in the ignition.
‘Will you come in, show Dad with me?’
Granddad breathes out slowly then gets out of the car. He doesn't say anything as we walk across the car park towards the hospital entrance. His eyes are darting around, though, and he's clasping his hands together tightly. I hold the wing model folded up in a tight bundle, close to my chest. It's still early, not long after eight. Mum won't be here yet; we've arranged to meet outside Dad's ward at nine. I hug the wings tighter as I realise how cold it is. Granddad bumps into me as an ambulance screams past, its lights flashing bright in the misty morning. He hesitates as we go through the entrance hall.
‘Are you sure they'll let me in?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘We can wait in the cafe until they do.’
He pauses near the plastic palm trees and I think he's going to turn around and go home right then.
‘Let's just try,’ I say. ‘Think of Dad's face when he sees what we've made.’
He keeps following me to the lifts. I hold the doors open until he gets in after me. There's a small boy and his mum already in there and they keep giving me weird looks. I'm sure the boy thinks I'm carrying a real bird. It's actually quite difficult to carry the wing model. I have to put my arms underneath to support it and rest my chin on top. I suppose if you couldn't see the harness underneath it, it would look like I was hugging a swan.
Granddad walks really slowly all the way to Dad's ward. There's a cleaner up ahead, mopping down the floors, and Granddad turns away from the disinfectant smell. I see how hard this is for him, how much he doesn't want to be here. When we get to the entrance he stops and folds his arms over his chest.
‘Why don't you check that it's OK first?’ he mumbles.
I go in and ask the nurse.
‘Nine is when visiting hours begin,’ she says, eyeing the wing model warily. ‘I'll let you in then.’
When I come back to the corridor, Granddad is gone. I run back the way we've come, but can't find him anywhere. The lifts are all full, so I hold the bannister tightly with one hand and keep my other around the wing model as I race down the stairs. I turn sideways at the bottom to get past someone in a wheelchair. Granddad's not waiting in the cafe, or near the plastic trees. I go through the sliding doors and into the car park. He's there, his hand on the car door. He waves when I see him.
‘Your dad will love those wings,’ he calls out to me.
Then he gets into his car. I'm so shocked that he's leaving like this; I just stand in the entrance, right in the way of everyone trying to get in, and stare after his car. I can feel the anger in my throat and chest, making everything tight. I clutch the wing model. I understand now why Mum's always so mad at him.
I turn quickly. I take the lift to Harry's room. It's not a conscious decision, not really, it's just where my feet seem to lead me. There's a lady coming out of the ward as I get there and she holds the door for me. The ward is quiet and sleepy. There aren't even any nurses on the front desk.
Harry's door is closed. I peer in through the glass section of it and see that he's awake. He's sitting up in bed, turned away from me. He's looking out the window through a gap in his curtains. I glance down the corridor to check for nurses. Then I try to put on the harness. It's hard without Granddad there to help, and I can't tighten anything properly. I unfold the wings a little so I can get my arms into the loops, and fasten the velcro straps with my teeth. I press my legs against Harry's door until it opens. I sidle into his room sideways. Then I uncross my arms, and the wings spread out behind me.
Harry turns. His mouth opens a little as he focuses on me and his eyes go wide as saucers.
‘Isla?’ he whispers.
I almost laugh at the way he looks so totally gobsmacked. ‘Who were you expecting?’
I take a step towards him, the wings bouncing lightly around me. It's hard to keep balanced with them outstretched like this, hard to walk straight. They're so huge. My left wing brushes against the TV on the wall. I try to pull it inwards. Everything feels stiff and disjointed, but I'm beginning to get the hang of it. It's actually easier than I thought. Harry raises his hand as if he wants to touch the feathers. I stand close to the bed, and let him. His face is as pale as his pillowcase.
‘It looks like you've seen a ghost,’ I say, trying to joke.
He doesn't smile back. ‘I thought I had,’ he says. ‘With the light from the corridor shining in behind you . . . you looked like an angel.’
I laugh at him properly then. ‘Don't be stupid.’
But he's completely serious. He's quiet for a bit, just taking it all in. He strokes his fingers against the wings.
‘Where did you get these?’ he asks. ‘What are they for?’
I explain about my art project and flying machines and how I chopped up the stuffed swan. I tell him how Granddad helped.
‘He used to be a vet,’ I explain. ‘So he's good at sewing stuff.’
I show Harry how I can use my fingers to move different parts of the wings. Then I fold them in by crossing my arms over my chest. We experiment with them a bit more and find out that I can move other parts of the wings by twisting my arms. Harry's face gets more and more excited as we discover each new thing.
‘They're the most amazing thing ever,’ he says.
His expression keeps me laughing, and the harness gets tighter against my chest.
Then Harry grins. ‘I've thought of something,’ he says. ‘You said the swan on the lake followed your every move.’
‘She did. When I ran, she ran . . . when I stopped – ’
‘So she followed you exactly, did exactly what you did?’
I nod. ‘What are you getting at?’
His smile gets bigger, stretching out into his cheeks. ‘What if you ran with her with those wings on?’
‘What?’
‘What if you, or me, found out how swans use their wings to take off, which feathers they move, that kind of thing . . . and you showed her how to do it with this flying model?’
‘Why?’
‘If she's following you anyway, then maybe she might follow you doing this too. You could show her how to take off.’
I stare at him. ‘That's crazy.’
‘Maybe.’ He laughs. ‘Reckon you can run with that on?’
I pull my wings inwards. ‘It's pretty awkward,’ I say. ‘Anyway, I'd never remember how to move these wings as well as run.’
‘What if I came with you? What if I called out instructions as you ran?’
He's got my full attention now. I hold his gaze, testing how serious he is. ‘You'd come with me?’
He nods slowly.
‘What about your medication? The chemo? I thought you didn't want to go down there.’
He keeps looking at me, his skin golden from the light coming in the window.
‘If I don't go now, who knows when it will be,’ he says. ‘I'm fed up of being ca
reful all the time.’
And, like that, the words I was going to say disappear. He keeps talking, softly and urgently.
‘We don't even have to tell the hospital. We could go at night.’
I hold up my hand, stop him there. I don't want to say it, but I do. ‘I'm not sneaking you out of here. I'd get in real trouble.’
‘It's fine, nothing ever happens at night here, I should know, I'm awake most of it.’
His voice falters a little when he says that, but he doesn't drop my gaze. He's really serious about this, I can see that. I've no idea why. I let myself imagine what it might be like to be down near the lake with Harry, in the dark. Just us and the swan. But in my imagination, Harry is well and strong and leads the way confidently, his hand in mine. In my imagination, he's not sick.
‘Aren't you scared?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘Of course.’
‘Then why do it?’
I want to know why he's changed his mind, why he wants to do this with me.
‘My doctor talked to me yesterday,’ he explains.’ Once they find a match for my bone marrow, they'll put me in isolation. I probably won't be able to see you and I won't be able to leave, and who knows when I'll come out. So, I . . .’
I nod, suddenly understanding. ‘You want to go while you still can?’
‘I want to go with you.’
I sit down on his bed. He looks scared and young, not like the Harry I know at all. His hand is near mine on the duvet. I could reach across and touch it.
‘I'll think about it,’ I say.
He nods once, looks back to the window. I wait for a few moments for him to say more. Then I get up from the bed and start taking the wings off. I use my teeth to unfasten the velcro around my arms. Harry shuffles over and helps.
‘They'll work,’ he whispers. ‘I know they will. She'll copy you.’
‘How do you know?’
He shrugs. ‘A feeling.’
I smile. It's like something Dad would say. He holds the wings while I step out from the harness. I turn back to the bed to fold them in and bundle them up. I want to brush my hand against his and find out how much he really does like me. But instead, I grab the wings from him, and take a couple of steps to the door.
Flyaway Page 13
