by Lynda Renham
‘I’m at my parents in Reading,’ she says.
Bugger, she hardly ever goes to her parents.
‘Do you think it’s a sign?’ she asks.
‘A sign?’ I repeat.
‘You know, if you can’t get there, then you can’t go in the microlight and if you can’t go in the microlight, then you can’t … well, you know.’
Blimey, she has a point. Maybe I’m destined not to go in the microlight.
‘Want me to jump you?’ asks a voice.
Then again maybe not.
*
‘We don’t have time, Harry,’ says horsey mouth Jilly.
‘We’ve got plenty of time,’ he responds. ‘I’ll get the jump leads.’
I want to say it doesn’t matter, and that it’s my destiny not to go, but the thought of Ashby seeing the pics of me in a flying suit, all adventurous, stop me.
Jilly paces the pavement like a bobby on the beat. I sit shivering in my Polo as Harry attaches the jump leads.
‘Okay go,’ he says.
I find myself praying it won’t work. That something will be seriously wrong with the engine but the damn thing starts right away.
‘You’ll need to give it a good run,’ he says.
‘I will.’
I’m conscious of Jilly’s annoyed sighs.
‘Hopefully it will be okay but I wouldn’t turn the engine off until you have given it a good run.’
‘I think we’ve established that,’ snaps Jilly. ‘Are we going or not?’
‘Yes, we should get off,’ Harry says. ‘Hopefully you’ll be okay. You might need a new battery. Are you going far?’
I nearly say, ‘Oh yes, three thousand feet.’
‘Surrey,’ I reply.
Can’t believe I’m driving all the way to Surrey with a dodgy car battery, to face my destiny.
‘Well, that’s a good run.’
I feel like we are going to talk about runs forever.
‘Yes,’ I say awkwardly, while trying to avoid Jilly’s dirty looks.
He hovers by the Polo.
‘Right, well, should you need a jump, you know where to come.’
I’m seriously speechless and can’t help wondering if he is aware of the sexual innuendos or whether they were unintentional. Jilly huffs a bit more.
‘I’ll remember that,’ I say.
‘Let me know when you get back,’ he says suddenly.
Jilly huffs again.
‘Oh yes sure,’ I say.
I finally put the car into gear and drive to my destiny. I’m halfway there when I remember my blog and hope that if I do fall 3,000 feet from the microlight Mak will not be too grief-stricken to remember to delete the whole thing.
Chapter Eighteen
Iain is already at the airfield when I arrive. I drive the Polo over a bumpy road and park by the grassy field close to a hanger where Iain is bringing out his microlight. I feel my body tremble when I see it is an open one after all. My heart does that lub dub thing again but I can’t be sure if it’s lust for Iain or just plain fear.
‘You found it okay then?’ he smiles.
I can’t help wishing I hadn’t. If only I’d got lost and driven in just as he was taking off. I would at least have kept face.
‘You can get a coffee in the clubhouse if you like. It takes a while to do all my checks.’
I feel a wave of panic when he brings out the wing. I didn’t think for one minute that the wing came separately. It’s far worse than I imagined. I’m going up in a microlight that has been put together like an Ikea flat pack. I need Valium. I decide it might be best for me to go into the clubhouse than watch him put the thing together. The clubhouse doesn’t have alcohol. How silly is that? There must be lots of terrified passengers who could well do with a nip of whisky before putting their lives in someone’s hands. I go for the next best thing, a hot chocolate and a muffin. I take my time and then use the loo. I figure if I go back now, he’ll be ready. I can’t believe how cold it is. I stare in amazement. The wing still isn’t on and I have to admit to losing a fair bit of confidence in the lovely Iain at this point.
‘Everything okay? I ask, trying not to sound nervous.
‘Mmm,’ he says. I can’t make out if the mmm is a question because he didn’t hear me or whether it is an mmm confirming that everything is okay. It’s very difficult to tell the difference. If I’d known the reply was simply going to be an mmmI would have focused on the tone more.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask again.
He straightens up and looks impatiently at me.
‘It’s all fine, like I said it takes time to do the checks.’
Honestly, like it’s my fault. He told me when to get here. I hope he is keeping a check on the time. After all, I don’t want to be up there in the dark. I watch as he attaches the wing.
‘Right,’ he says suddenly. ‘Let’s get your suit on.’
Oh God, we’re actually doing it.
‘I probably don’t need it,’ I say. ‘I’m wearing two jumpers.’
‘It’s bitter up there, you’ve no idea.’
He then hands me a Biggles flying suit which no matter how hard I try to imagine it, there is absolutely no way it is going to flatter me. I can’t get into the sodding thing either. I bet Karen Blixen never had these problems.
‘Let me help,’ he offers.
At last, a gentleman. I finally get into the thing and look like Michelin tyre woman whereas he manages to look very sexy and rather like An Officer and a Gentleman, Richard Gere. I waddle to the microlight and think of that scene from Fifty Shades of Grey and am about to ask him if we can play music while up there when he plonks a pair of industrial sized headphones on to my head followed by a huge helmet. He pulls the strap so tightly that I feel sure I’ve now got three chins. I don’t think this is the best time to ask for a photo. I’ll do that when we land and I’m all exhilarated. He then nods his head at me and says something but I can’t hear a thing. He pushes me forward and I realise he wants me to climb in. It’s all starting to feel a bit of a mission now. It had been fine when I had my jeans and jumpers to cope with. Since then I have expanded about a foot in circumference. I can’t believe I’m actually sitting in a microlight. There is barely room for him. I wait with a racing heart as he dons his own headphones and helmet before plugging something into mine.
‘Can you hear me?’ he asks.
I can, and a sense of calm envelopes me. I’d had visions of screaming my head off up there. Not out of fear you understand but just to get him to hear me.
‘Yes, it’s really amazing,’ I say. ‘I never realised. I thought that I’d have to shout and that you’d have to keep turning. I had to admit to being a bit worried about that, especially as you would be steering and …’
He buts in and says,
‘You’ve exceeded my word count.’
I know nothing about microlights or the rules that go with them but I made sure I did some research and nothing I read mentioned word count.
‘Word count?’ I query.
‘I can only absorb so many words and after that I shut off I’m afraid.’
How bloody unhelpful is that? I’d better hang on to my words then. The last thing I need is to exceed my word count and not be able to scream take me back down I’m scared shitless.
He tightens my seat belt and then proceeds to climb in. He manages to squeeze in front of me, but blimey, it feels weird being this close to a complete stranger even if they do make my heart go lub dub.
*
Sunday 28th January: 11 am
Don’t ever want to go in a microlight again. I can’t think what madness induced me to do it in the first place. I was terrified while also afraid to open my mouth. There was hardly any room for my feet. Did think of sticking them outside but at 3,000 feet I decided that may not be safe. Don’t know what I was thinking of. Never mind my feet, bloody hell, taking my whole body up wasn’t safe. By the time I’d realised this he was already star
ting the engine and shouting ‘clear prop’. Not sure what the prop was or who was supposed to be clearing it. And then he said something into the radio and before I could yell ‘stop the microlight, I want to get off,’ we were racing down the runway.
‘Ready?’ he’d shouted, like there was some final chance to get out if one wanted. The truth was I was never less ready for anything in my life. He didn’t even give me the opportunity to parachute out. The thing shook all over the place. He needn’t have worried about word count. My throat closed up and the wind whipped at my face. I did eventually manage to scream ‘Oh God, I’m going to die.’
He said something about it being the thermals. The only thermal I could think of was thermal underwear. I’d grabbed his waist for dear life. Couldn’t see anything else to grab quite honestly. It could have been romantic if we hadn’t have been 3,000 feet in the air. He obviously loved it up there because he asked me several times what I thought of it. I was too afraid to say what I thought in case I used up all my word count and didn’t have enough over to say ‘take me down’.
I admitted it was fantastic if you liked that kind of thing. I didn’t want him to know I was scared shitless. I couldn’t believe it when he said ‘What?’ I couldn’t stop thinking how I’d wasted two words. Iain then terrified me by saying he needed to check the fuel. That would have been fine, except he then said to check the fuel I would have to lean over. Honestly, like it wasn’t enough that the noise from the engine had practically perforated my eardrums. What kind of man asks you to lean out of a microlight? I thought I would pass out with fear. Was terrified there would be a big gust of wind. I’m a little overweight but not that overweight that I couldn’t fall out of a microlight. I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t checked the fuel before we left. He took long enough after all. I did hint we were flying quite high but all he said was ‘the higher the better. It’s so relaxing.’
Could think of better ways of relaxing. And then for some reason and I couldn’t begin to explain why, I started rabbiting on like an old woman. I just couldn’t stop. I can’t remember what I talked about. I just needed to get my mind off that bloody huge drop. After fifteen minutes Iain said,
‘We’re going down now.’
I well and truly exceeded my word count. Even more so, because when we landed I asked him if he would take a photograph. Well I had to get something on Instagram didn’t I?
Chapter Nineteen
I hover outside Harry Bloom’s flat. The smell of roast beef greets me and I hesitate. No doubt Horsey Mouth is here cooking him Sunday lunch. I knock softly, wait for a few seconds and then gingerly walk back to my flat. At least I tried.
I hear the door open behind me and curse under my breath.
‘Did you knock?’ Harry asks.
I turn around.
‘I’m really sorry, I forgot about the money I owe you. Things have been a bit hectic.’
I hand over the cash. This must be one of the few times he’s seen me sober. How embarrassing is that?
‘You got to Surrey okay then?’
‘Oh, yes and I got back okay too.’
Well, clearly you got back okay Phoebe, or else you wouldn’t be standing at his front door making a total tit of yourself. I had forgotten that I’d said I would let him know when I arrived home. The whole flying and near death experience kind of threw everything out of the window.
‘Do you want to come in?’
‘Oh no, I don’t want to interrupt you and Jilly.’
‘Jilly isn’t here. It’s just me and quite honestly you could help me out,’ he smiles.
‘Help you out?’
I can’t imagine for one minute how I could help out Harry Bloom.
‘I’ve cooked a Sunday roast. I got a bit carried away. There’s far too much for one person.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
The truth is I’m starving and I haven’t cooked a thing.
‘I’m a pretty good cook,’ he grins.
He’s modest too, NOT.
‘Well …’ I hesitate.
It really doesn’t seem right to have lunch with Harry Bloom somehow.
‘Great,’ he says opening the door wider.
His dog runs out and wags its tail madly at me.
I really feel like I’m letting the side down, not to mention the committee, by having lunch with Harry Bloom.
‘Bella, in,’ Harry instructs and the dog runs back into the flat. I wonder if all females respond to Harry Bloom in that way. Huh, he won’t get me jumping at his command. I don’t even know what I’m doing having Sunday lunch with him, aside from the fact that I’m starving. Note to self: cook good hearty meals for self in the future and stop eating Besties pork pies.
I grab my phone, well, you never know. I wouldn’t want to miss a great Tinder date for the Guildhall would I? I walk hesitantly into Harry’s flat. A pile of music books lie in one corner alongside a guitar. I presume the empty space at the side of them was where his drum kit once lived. The Sunday Times and Sunday Telegraph are scattered across the couch. Stevie Wonder plays from his CD player. I can’t help wishing I was wearing something a bit nicer. I’d just thrown on a baggy jumper and jeans. Well, it is Sunday after all and at least my Christmas bulge can’t be seen. Harry’s wearing a designer jumper. I know these things. I can spot designer a mile away. He drops the money on to the kitchen counter.
‘Sorry I took so long to pay you back,’ I apologise. ‘I forgot I’m afraid.’
I don’t want him thinking I’m broke, although the truth is, I am. But then what’s new? If only that managerial position would come up that Brian is always talking about.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says dismissively.
Easy for him to say, he’s got loads of money. Mind you, you’d never believe it from the flat. It’s not exactly decorated with the most expensive furniture in the world. In fact, I do believe the couch and coffee table are Ikea. I stand awkwardly in the kitchen doorway.
‘Can I do something?’ I ask.
‘You can drain the vegetables, that would be good,’ he smiles handing me a sieve.
Heat bellows from the oven as he takes out the roast potatoes and sliced meat. He’s organised, I’ll give him that.
It’s cosy and warm in his flat, unlike mine. I do have the heating on but as sparingly as possible. Dad says there is no such thing as bad weather just bad clothing. Quite right too, after all, all one needs in the winter is plenty of socks and thick jumpers. Anyway, I can’t afford to have the heating on all the time. I’d be warm but starving. I’d much rather spend those few extra pennies on Besties pork pies, to be honest.
Dinner is lovely. I can’t deny that Harry is a good cook. He’s also good company. I can’t help thinking there is a motive behind his friendliness. Everyone knows his father has his sights on this block of flats and he must know that would affect me. No, I must be wary of Harry Bloom.
‘Do your family live in Surrey?’ he asks.
My phone trills and I glance down at it. Ooh it’s a message on Tinder.
‘Erm, no. I went microlight flying actually.’
Huh, that will impress him. I can tell by his face it does.
‘Wow, lucky you.’
He’s surely not serious.
‘Yes,’ I nod.
‘Do you fly much?’
Once was enough thank you very much.
‘Not really. A friend of mine owns one and I sometimes go.’
‘Must be fun.’
He’s clearly never been.
‘I have a friend with a Cessna plane,’ he says, slicing more meat. ‘I’ve been a few times but a microlight must be even better.’
He places the meat on to my plate and pours more wine into my glass. I must not get tipsy, especially with Harry Bloom. I don’t want to compromise myself in any way at all.
‘Where do you work?’ I ask.
He looks taken aback.
‘In the city, I work for my father. I thought you knew that.’
/>
He gives an uncertain smile and says, ‘How did the protest go the other week?’
Oh, now he’s just trying to rattle me.
‘You know very well it didn’t go as we’d planned.’
‘Sorry to hear that. Can I offer you more potatoes?’
I bet he’s not in the least sorry.
‘It’s nice of you to take Imogen to the Christmas party,’ I say to change the subject.
‘It’ll be fun, who are you going with?’
He really is despicable. He must surely know I don’t have a date, otherwise why would I have needed to hire someone for Elizabeth Snograss’ engagement party?
‘Oh, with someone I met recently, actually.’
Or at least hope to meet in the near future.
‘Cool, I look forward to meeting him.’
‘I hope Jilly is okay about you going with Imogen?’ I say, trying to stir it up with him too.
‘Oh, Jilly won’t have a problem.’
Oh, it’s that kind of relationship is it? I suppose it would be. People with money have totally different values to us paupers don’t they?
‘Thanks for dinner,’ I say standing up.
I should offer to clean up but I figure he’ll pay someone to come in and do that for him.
‘Won’t you stay for coffee?’ he asks, looking surprised.
‘I really should get back, loads to do.’
‘Surely one coffee won’t make much difference.’
‘Well, maybe just one.’
Honestly, talk about famous last words. An hour, two coffees and another wine later and I’m still in Harry Bloom’s flat. I glance at the time on my phone and realise I’ve been here for almost three hours. I hope Jenny never finds out.
