CHAPTER 58
Mum calls Granddad to tell him I'm here. I don't know what Granddad's reaction is exactly, but it's loud. Mum holds the phone away from her ear so that even I can hear him shout. She tilts her eyes skyward as she looks at me.
‘They'll come in and meet us soon,’ she says as she hangs up. ‘He was worried, Isla, you shouldn't have snuck off like that.’
After the cafe is open and we've had breakfast, we go up to the Intensive Care Unit. A nurse meets us at the door.
‘He is still under the anaesthetic,’ she says to Mum. ‘Still sleeping.’ Her eyes scan down my clothes. ‘It might be best if you don't stay long.’
She makes us stick these plastic bag things over our shoes then leads us inside. The room feels different to anywhere else I've been in the hospital. It's quieter, muted somehow, and it doesn't seem to smell of anything. The only sounds are beeps and shuffles and a strange soft whirring. No one is talking; perhaps it's not allowed. Sky-blue curtains surround four of the beds and I can see patients sleeping in another two.
The nurse pushes aside one set of curtains. Dad is sleeping inside with tubes leading into his nose and arms, and a beeping monitor beside his bed. Dad's bed is a lot higher than his last one, it's up to my chest. There are no chairs to sit down on. Mum closes the curtains behind us. We're in our own little world in here: me, Mum and Dad. A small, blue square world. I pull the curtains across a little further, closing up the gap to the rest of the room.
Dad's lying very still and he's making a rasping sound as he breathes. It's as if he's got a cheese grater in his throat and all the air has to go through it. Mum leans across and touches his hair. Dad's eyes flicker and I think he's going to wake up. Mum's hand tightens around mine.
‘Gray?’ Mum tries to get his attention. ‘Gray, I've brought Isla for you.’
When she doesn't get a response from Dad, she looks over to me. I don't think she knows what to say. She moves her other hand to Dad's, gives it a squeeze. For a moment we're all connected, the life from me running through Mum and into Dad. But it's still so quiet; the silence wraps around us like the curtain.
I want to tell Dad everything. I want to tell him about my strange night at the reserve with Harry and the swan. I want to tell him that we got her to fly. I even open my mouth. But the words stay inside, too loud for this ward, and Dad closes his eyes again and the moment passes.
Mum squeezes my hand. ‘Let's leave him to sleep,’ she whispers.
She leans down to kiss Dad lightly on the forehead.
‘I'll bring Jack later,’ she says.
I wonder if I should kiss Dad, too. I'm still a bit damp from the lake and I smell like mud. I touch the back of his hand instead. His skin is smooth and waxy, not very warm.
Jack's waiting at the ward desk.
‘Granddad went off on one,’ he says, glaring at me. ‘I've never seen him so angry. Thought he was going to crash the car or something when he drove here.’
‘It was only a couple of miles,’ I say. ‘I left a note.’
Jack shrugs. ‘Couldn't you just have waited until we got up?’
A nurse looks sternly at us from behind the ward desk; we're making too much noise. Mum grabs Jack and steers him in to see Dad. The nurse goes with them. I find a seat next to the desk and lean my head back against the wall, feeling my eyes close. My body starts swaying and it feels like I'm flying again, far, far above the hospital . . . right up in the clouds. There's a flock flying with me, helping to carry me forward.
Then there are cold fingers shaking me. ‘You're exhausted,’ Mum whispers. ‘Better get you home.’
We walk through the corridors.
‘I want to see Harry,’ I say. ‘I won't be long.’
Mum puts her hands on her hips as if she's going to stop me.
‘I'll be in the cafe in five minutes, I promise,’ I say.
Jack's walking on ahead, ignoring me completely. Mum raises her eyebrows, but I hurry past, not waiting to hear what she's going to say.
A nurse clicks open the door for me. ‘Harry's pretty tired.’
‘I just need to get something I left in there,’ I say. ‘I'll only be a second.’
She lets me go, but trails behind. I half-run to get ahead of her. As soon as I get in Harry's room, I take off my coat, find the wings underneath the bed and bundle them inside it. I clasp my arms around them tightly as I stand. I look at him. His eyes are still shut, his body turned towards the window now. His mouth moves a little as he dreams. I want to stay with him until he wakes.
But the nurse comes in, looking at me warily. I step around her, not wanting her to think too much about the bundle in my arms.
‘I'll come back when he's awake,’ I say, squeezing out of the door.
I keep my head down as I go through the ward and make it out before anyone asks any questions. I hurry back to the cafe.
Mum looks at the bundled-up coat in my arms. ‘What's that?’ she says.
‘Just my flying model.’
I try to make my voice sound casual so she doesn't ask me anything more. She wants to, I can see in her face that she has a million questions. So I shift the model to my side, away from her, and keep walking. I get her to tell me about Dad instead.
‘Well, his temperature is still up,’ she says. ‘So he's not out of the woods yet.’
‘I thought he'd be awake by now,’ Jack says.
They talk more about Dad's operation, and I traipse behind them. I unlock the bike from the railings. I have to wheel it with one hand because of the flying model, but I get it to the car. I look over at the reserve. Is she still there?
Jack grumbles as he tries to fit the bike into the boot. ‘What's up with you anyway?’ he says. ‘What's with all the weird things you've been doing?’
‘What weird things?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘You sure you're all right?’
I shrug. If I told Jack about the trip to the lake and the swan following me and the wind lifting me up into the air, he'd be convinced I was going mad.
We pull up at school. Jack's out of the car immediately.
‘Call me if anything changes,’ he says, before slamming the door. He jogs in through the gates.
Mum turns around to study my face. She picks a twig from my hair.
‘Think we'd better just take you home,’ she says.
CHAPTER 59
That night, I dream I'm at the lake. Only it's Harry wearing the wing model this time. He beats the wings firmly and regularly and runs after the swan. I watch him speed down the track, away from me. I want to go with him, but I can't. I'm sitting in his wheelchair and my legs won't work. His feet lift from the track. He takes off. Starts to soar into the sky. Higher and higher. He follows the swan, screeching as he goes. I lean forward in the wheelchair and watch his body getting smaller. There's an ache in my chest as I watch him. But I can't take my eyes from him. I'm scared that if I do, he'll just disappear. I'm scared I'll never see him again.
CHAPTER 60
Mum's on the phone when I wake up. I sit on the top step of the stairs and listen to her end of the conversation. When she hangs up, she stands with her head pressed against the wall with her eyes shut. After a while, I go down the stairs and stand next to her. She slips her hand into mine.
‘Dad's not too well,’ she says softly. ‘His temperature is still up and he has swelling.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘They're not sure. Either his body is rejecting the valve, or . . . they think he might have an infection.’
I shut my eyes for a second, too. ‘Like Nan had?’
Mum's fingers clasp tighter around mine. ‘I don't know, Isla, they won't tell me.’
‘Are you going to tell Granddad?’
‘I don't know.’
We keep standing there in the hall, just thinking. I feel sick. Nan got so ill once she got that infection, she died so quickly.
‘How did he get it?” I whisper.
I almost tell Mum abo
ut the wings, about going to the reserve with Harry and falling in the lake. What if it's my fault Dad's sick? What if he's ill because of the mud and bits of reed that I had on me when I visited him? But Mum just sighs deeply.
‘Who knows, babe? They're doing more tests today.’
I swallow slowly. ‘Will he be OK?’
‘Of course.’ She nods. ‘It's nothing serious yet, they just thought we should know.’
She drives us to school anyway.
‘There's no use sitting around being worried,’ she says. She looks at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘And you're not missing another day. I'll call you on your mobiles if he gets any worse.’
I hold my flying model on my lap. It's filthy. Mrs Diver wants us to talk about our progress today, but the feathers are still stained from the lake. I run my hands over them and try to brush off some of the dried mud. They no longer look like the beautiful thing Granddad and I made in the barn.
At the school gates, Jack hesitates. ‘I'll be at the playing fields at lunch time . . . if Mum calls.’
He jogs on to meet his mates who are waiting inside. Jess is there, too. He says something to her then throws his arm over her shoulder as he starts to walk. He glances back at me, raises the watch on his other arm and wiggles it in the air.
‘You're late!’
No one is at the gates waiting for me. Not even Sophie, and I've told her about what's going on with Dad. Once again, I wish that Saskia was still here. There's no way she'd ever let me walk in alone. I trudge in behind Jack's mates, wishing I was part of his group. They always seem so close, such a pack. I'm jealous for a second until I see the way that Rav and Deano are looking at the wing model I'm carrying. They lean in towards each other and share some sort of joke. Then Crowy slaps the back of Deano's head.
‘She's just there,’ he hisses.
He turns to see if I've heard whatever Deano's just said. His gaze lingers on my face. I feel my cheeks flushing and glance down at the yellow trainers he's wearing. When I look back at him, he's frowning at what's in my arms.
‘Jack's told me what's going on,’ he says. ‘You all right? About your dad and all?’
I nod. ‘I'm OK.’
I want to say something that will keep him standing there, in front of me, while Jack and the rest of them go to their classes. For one stupid second, I think about telling Crowy about the swan and running around the reserve and about the wind lifting me from the track. I want him to stay and talk to me, and look at me like Harry does.
But he doesn't. He nods at me, once, then peels off with the rest of them, heading towards the English block.
I walk to the art lesson by myself. Mrs Diver sees me coming and pulls me aside.
‘Are you OK to talk about your project today?’ she asks.
I hold up the muddied wings. ‘It's not finished.’
‘Wow, you made a model already.’ She smiles. ‘It's huge!’ She frowns as she tries to work it out. ‘Just give us an update of what you're doing and that will be fine.’
I take my seat next to Sophie and listen to the others talk. Most of them are doing really simple models, like Matt who is making a sort of parachute by sticking material over a tissue box and attaching it to a basket underneath. No one else's model is as complicated as mine; nothing comes close. And no one else has finished.
No one speaks about their project for very long and soon I'm the only one in the class who hasn't said anything. Mrs Diver looks over at me.
‘Do you want to tell us about yours, Isla?’ she asks. ‘There's no pressure.’
I know my model is loads better than everyone else's, but I'm still nervous. I just wish I'd had time to clean it up. I walk to the front of the class. Already I can hear people whispering. I unfold each wing and stretch them out on Mrs Diver's desk. Bits of reed and mud tumble out. The wings are no longer beautiful and white; instead the feathers crumple inwards. The harness is dirty, too. I feel a lump in my throat as I look at it all. All that hard work Granddad did, and I've ruined the model in one night. It's so much worse than I'd expected. I stare down at the wings for ages, trying to work out how to fix them. Then Mrs Diver clears her throat and I realise the whole of the class is staring at me. I swallow slowly, take a breath.
‘My flying model is based on swans’ wings. I tried to make a kind of bird wing flying harness for a human to wear.‘
I hold up my flying model, only it's hard to make the wings stretch out without me being inside the harness, and they flop forwards. Loose feathers float to the table. I definitely hear someone laugh this time.
Jordan yells out, ‘What did you kill to make that?’
I press my hands to the wings. ‘It was stuffed,’ I say. ‘Only stuffed.’
‘Did you drag it off the tip?’
When I look back at the class, they are staring at me like I'm insane. The boys at the back are laughing, sticking their hands into their armpits and flapping their arms like wings. It's horrible standing up there with only my scruffy, muddy flying model that doesn't look as impressive as I hoped it would. Jordan's right, it does look like something I got off the tip, or worse . . . like a bird I dragged out of a lake. My throat goes tight. I can feel my mouth jamming together, and I can't say what I want to say about the wires and how they move individual feathers. I can't say anything about how amazing it all is. I just stare out at the class, clasping my wings tighter and tighter.
‘Bird killer,’ Jordan says.
Mrs Diver comes to my rescue in the end, bustling up to the front and ushering me to sit down.
‘I think it's very impressive,’ she says. ‘And we'll hear more of it later.’
People tease me all day. They say nasty things about how I must have chopped up a swan.
‘I thought you loved birds,’ Matt hisses as he brushes past me in the corridor.
Even Sophie doesn't hang around with me. At break she says she's going to the library to research something. I sit on a wall outside and keep checking my phone, but Mum hasn't called. Perhaps that means Dad is OK now. It's strange, but I almost want her to call just so I can get out of here.
At lunch I walk to the playing fields. Anything has got to be better than hanging around near the idiots from my class. It probably doesn't help that the wings are too big to fit in my locker and I have to carry them everywhere. I walk past Matt and Jordan and they start making clucking noises at me. That does it. I turn around, wanting to yell . . . just wanting to say something that will shut them up. But the lump is in my throat again and I can't do it. I just gape at them, and they only laugh more.
I start jogging. It feels as though everyone in the school is watching me, laughing at the wings in my arms. I keep my head down, not meeting anyone's gaze. I pull the phone from my pocket and check it again, almost crashing into someone as I do . . . but nothing.
Jack's mates are down near one of the goals. There are about six boys including Jack passing the ball between them, and a few girls watching on the side. Jess is there too. She laughs as Jack stops the ball with his shoulder then flicks it across to Crowy. Crowy flips the ball down to his knee, grinning as he shows off. None of them seem to notice me.
So I dump the wings at the side and run onto the field. I jog over to Jack, but he just calls to Crowy to pass him the ball back.
‘What are you doing here?’ he hisses.
I stare at him blankly. ‘You said you'd be here.’
He flashes a quick look in the direction of the girls as he receives the ball then balances it on his foot. ‘Has something happened with Dad?’
‘Mum hasn't called.’
He rolls the ball onto the grass, but doesn't pass it to me. He flicks it up to his knee as Jess looks at him. I understand, then, why he doesn't want me to play.
‘You're trying to show off,’ I say.
He stops to glare at me, boots the ball over to Crowy. ‘Don't be an idiot.’
Crowy stops the ball with his chest then rolls it down to his knee. He bounces it
from one knee to the other. The girls clap, yell for him to get his kit off next. They start up a chant. Jack jogs over to Crowy, leaves me standing by myself on the edge of the pitch. I kick at the grass, sending little chunks of it into the air.
The girls’ chants get louder as Crowy starts pretending that he's stripping for them and his shirt edges up around his stomach. He doesn't look over to me at all, doesn't even recognise I'm here. He just keeps acting up for these girls. I keep kicking at the grass. I want to run over, grab the ball and play properly. I want Crowy to stop being an idiot. I look across at Jack, but he's laughing as much as the rest of them. For some reason, that makes me madder than anything. How can he laugh and be silly when Dad's lying sick in a hospital bed?
So I run at him. I don't even bother with a proper tackle, instead I use the whole of my leg to knock him sideways.
‘Hey, calm down,’ I hear Crowy say.
I don't listen. I stick my arm out and push it against Jack's chest. He stumbles a bit, but he doesn't fall. Somehow he manages to keep hold of the ball.
‘What are you doing?’ he whispers.
‘Just give me the ball.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Cos you're being silly with it.’
He frowns as he looks at me. ‘You're off your rocker.’
‘I just want to play.’
I push both my arms into Jack's chest, try to push him away. I dig at the ball. But he's right there, leaning into me, using his weight to shove me towards the grass. My feet trip over his. I'm starting to fall when my phone rings.
I hit the ground with a thud. Jack's leaning over me immediately, his fingers grasping at my coat, trying to grab at the phone in my pocket.
‘Get off me!’ I yell.
He's pulling my arms, yanking me to my feet. ‘It's Mum, answer it.’
‘Stop it!’ I roll over on the grass, away from him. ‘She's calling me not you.’
‘Just answer the bloody phone.’ He's still grabbing. He doesn't even care that he's hurting me.
I dig in my pocket. My fingers can't grasp the phone quick enough. Crowy's there too now, behind Jack, looking from me to him. He's still got a grin on his face, thinking this is all just a stupid joke. The phone stops then.
Flyaway Page 17
