The swans start to disappear, fading into stars. They whoop again. And then, gently, their noises turn into a song. A swan song. It's beautiful. As they fly into the darkness, their voices become faint. Only a low rumbling hiss remains. A sighing sound, like a person's last breath. But one voice is still clear. One small squawk of joy fills the sky.
And it startles me awake.
CHAPTER 74
There are tears on my face. I lie still for a moment, just breathing. In . . . out . . . in . . . out. I wait for the shadowy shapes in the room to make sense. There's a breeze shaking my bedroom window, rattling the pane like a bag of bones. I roll over and hold my knees to my chest.
‘Harry,’ I whisper.
His transplant was today. I still haven't heard anything.
I sit up. There's a flapping noise, coming from the garden. I go to the window, pull back the curtains and look out. I don't know what I'm expecting. Perhaps the swan from the lake. Or Harry, fallen from flight . . . fallen right out of my dream. But there's no one. Only the shed. The oak tree. The washing line. I watch a sheet move backwards and forwards with the wind, turning and flapping as if it's alive.
I lean my elbows on the sill. The night sky is clear as water. I scan my eyes across it, my head still full of my dream. There are no swans there, no Harry. Just stars. For once I can see them through the fog of city lights. I sigh into my hands and press my nose up to the glass. It had felt so real, it had felt as if Harry was migrating. Leaving me.
I shake my head firmly. It was a dream. It doesn't mean anything. My reflection becomes blurry as my breath hits the window. I wipe it. I stay there for a while, watching the moonlight threading through the trees and making patterns on the grass. Then I glance back up at the soundless, endless sky. Tonight is too early for migrating. The swans won't be leaving until spring. Even then they'll return a few months later. They always come back.
But Harry?
I climb back into bed and grab my phone from the bedside table. There's a few messages from Saskia. I'll ignore them for now. I take a breath and text:
Are you OK?
Then I scroll through my contacts until I get to Harry's name. It's four in the morning. Even if he's alive, he won't be awake, but I send it anyway. I don't even know if he can get messages in the isolation ward.
I lean back against the headboard and hug my knees again. The darkness settles around me, thick enough to smother. I don't know how long I sit there, just listening to the gentle creaks and groans of the house. The rattling against my window starts again, and I hear the flapping from the washing line. I breathe really, really lightly as if I'm scared something might break. There's a fluttering that starts in my chest and works its way out into my body until I'm shaking all over. I don't take my eyes from the phone.
Then it lights up. I've got a message. I smack my head back into the headboard in shock and my breath comes out in a rush. I'm blinded for a moment by the sudden brightness. It's Harry's number. My eyes become wet as I read it.
I'm OK. I was just dreaming about you. x
Acknowledgements
This book has been a very long flight in the making. In fact it was originally called ‘The Long Flight’ and began its journey several years ago during my MA at Bath Spa University. It's been rewritten ten times since then, its main character has changed gender, and we've lost and gained several characters along the way.
It would never have been possible without the brilliant ‘flock’ of helpers around me. Thank you to so many people for their time and help with this book, and for the support, advice and knowledge they've given.
My flock includes: Simon Read, Liz Wright, Brian Christopher, Barb Hughes, Imogen Cooper, Linda Davis, Andy Daniell, Derek Niemann, Dr Catherine Atkins, Dan Burrows, Julia Green, Mimi Thebo, Lewis James, Cadi James, Cam McCulloch, Anna Bartlett, Hem Wijewardene, Barry Cunningham, Anthony and Bee Christopher, Lon Wright, and all my Facebook buddies who helped answer research questions!
This book would never have migrated without you.
Thanks.
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First published by The Chicken House, 2010
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Australia Pty Limited, 2014
E-PUB/MOBI eISBN 9781925063684
Text © Lucy Christopher 2010
Cover photograph © Nicole Goggins
Cover and interior design by Steve Wells
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