Altitude

by Niel Bushnell

  Maybe she’d feel differently in the morning. Yes, that’s what she would do. She’d sleep on it, see how she felt tomorrow. Perhaps, somewhere between now and then, she’d find the courage to hit send.

  FOUR

  Tam was flying.

  She was high up, above the clouds, gliding effortlessly over the tiny landscape. A fine rain pelted her, hard needles against her face as she raced into them, her speed increasing with every second. She shifted her weight, knowing instinctively how to move through the air, and dived into the cloud layer towards the fields below.

  It was dusk, the sun already retreating behind the hills. Lights filled the windows of the houses she passed by, little dots of humanity oblivious to her passing. She twisted to face the sky and her body followed, a gentle rotation as she coursed over the earth. In the dark blue night she saw the brightest stars begin to chase her. She felt full of joy, completely in control, not a care in her mind. Tam had the vast sky all to herself.

  Ahead was a column of thicker clouds, shadowy purple, heavy rain falling in long pencil-thin lines. Tam arced, glided, turned, and she was below the cloud, the rain drenching her clothes. She laughed, feeling the moisture hit her tongue as she followed the line of the motorway, just metres from the ground. The cars lagged behind as she dived under a bridge then shot upwards into the dark, thick sky, dragging empty fast-food cartons from their hiding places, lifting them off the ground only for them to tumble back again. They couldn’t follow her; nothing could.

  The light faded away until there was just rain and cloud, the air thinning, getting cooler and cooler.

  Ahead in the haze she saw something: a shape, indistinct and small. She turned to find it and realized it was someone else – another person – flying in the cloud. She followed, racing to catch them, but the figure moved away from her.

  Tam flew higher, chasing the shadow, getting closer and closer until she felt she could reach out and touch it. But the figure turned away again, its silhouette consumed by the storm.

  Tam cried after it but her voice was lost in the rain. She flew harder but the flickering shape became tiny again, distant and vague.

  Exhaustion overcame her; it was too hard to keep up. She slowed to catch her breath and –

  She was falling!

  Tam was tumbling back down through the cloud. She couldn’t see the figure any more; it was obscured behind layers of haze and mist. She tensed her body, desperately trying to slow her descent, but nothing worked.

  The lights of the motorway came into view, a red and yellow striped snake that clung to the dark landscape. She could make out cars and lorries thundering along the road, never slowing, never stopping, their engines rumbling under the persistent drum of the rain.

  Oh God! She couldn’t stop herself.

  She was falling towards the cars.

  She was going to die.

  Tam screamed, helpless as the road flew up to meet her.

  Blackness.

  A moment of nothing.

  Then she took in a breath, and felt the reassuring warmth of her bedsheets.

  Already the details were fading from her mind, leaving behind the primordial images of the dream to fester just out of reach, waiting for another night.

  Tam stretched. Every part of her body ached like she’d done the mother of all workouts. Legs, arms, back, stomach – they all hurt when she moved. It was best not to move at all.

  She snoozed the alarm for the fourth time. It was already ten past eight but she just couldn’t bring herself to get up. School would have to wait today. She turned over, trying to find a position that hurt the least, and pulled the quilt over her head.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t!’ Mum said as she yanked the quilt off the bed. ‘I’m sick of shouting for you. Like I haven’t got enough on my plate already, Tamsin. I need you to pull your weight round here, now more than ever.’ She tugged the curtains apart, letting the hot light of summer into Tam’s bedroom.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Don’t Mum me, Tamsin. After the state of your uniform yesterday you’re lucky you’re not grounded. What were you doing? Playing rugby with a hippo?’

  Her uniform. Tam had tried to blank out the memory of yesterday. It had been easy to convince herself she’d just imagined it all. People don’t fly, they just don’t. But mention of her uniform brought it all back into sharp clarity. It had happened. No amount of fooling herself would take that away.

  ‘I won’t tell you again. Get up, now.’

  ‘Mum, I’m not well,’ Tam said, trying to sound ill.

  Mum frowned, pausing at the end of the bed. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Achy all over.’

  Mum raised her eyebrows.

  Tam coughed.

  ‘You’ll live. Up.’ Mum gathered clothes off the bedroom floor and disappeared into the hall, saying, ‘You’ll need to clean your shoes before school as well.’

  Tam stretched, testing the floor with one foot. What if she took off again? What if she flew up into the air at school, with everyone watching? She’d die of embarrassment at the very least. She might as well stay in her room for the rest of her life.

  Her toes gripped the carpet. She took the edge of the bed in her hand and sat upright.

  No taking off, no flying. So far so good.

  She stood up, tensing her aching legs. Her head still felt dizzy but she didn’t fall, and she didn’t fly. She felt . . . normal, whatever that meant. And she was starving.

  Tam washed and dressed quickly. Usually she skipped breakfast, but today she ate four slices of toast with butter and jam. She could have managed more but she was running out of time. She cleaned her shoes, just enough to get Mum off her back, and headed for the hall.

  ‘I need you home straight after school tonight,’ Mum said as Tam opened the door to leave. ‘We need to talk about your dad’s treat—’

  ‘Bye, Mum,’ Tam called, slamming the door behind her.

  Standing with her back against the door, breathing hard, Tam looked down: the doorstep felt like the edge of a cliff. It was a five-minute walk to school, not far on a normal day. But this wasn’t a normal day, was it?

  She looked up at the morning sky, clear and cobalt blue. She’d never taken much notice of it before. Now it felt like a giant open door to nothing. Its vastness was terrifying. What if she fell off the world on the way to school? What if she drifted skywards, higher and higher until she suffocated at the edge of space, her body orbiting where no one would ever find it? They’d think she’d been abducted, or run away to become a drug-fuelled junkie begging on the streets of London. She imagined her parents making tearful appeals on TV for her to come home. Her Facebook profile picture would be on the front page of all the newspapers, the police would ask for clues, search the nearby fields, dredge the river, but they’d never find a body. No one would ever know what had happened to her . . .

  She should really find a better profile picture, she concluded with a shudder.

  Tam looked down at the step again. It might as well be Mount Everest. She stood there, breathing deeply through her mouth, thinking of everything that could go wrong, her heart pacing faster and faster.

  She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, dragging her away from her plummeting thoughts. She took it out and looked at the screen, then flicked past five or six texts from Becca to read the new arrival; a message from an unknown number:

  Want to talk about yesterday? Abigail

  Tam cursed, thinking about what had happened in the wood, thinking about Abigail Long Bone. She’d never given the other girl a second thought before. She was just another one of those background faces that filled up the school: barely a real person, just a face to taunt, a name to call. But of course she was real. Tam had hurt her, and not just yesterday, apparently. Guilt forced her to break her line of thought. She wasn’t a bully. They were just having fun, larking about. Everyone did it. She wasn’t a bully, was she?

  Tam swore again and shoved her phone away.


  She looked up; she’d walked four or five steps from the house without realizing it. She was out in the open, just empty sky above her. She looked down, filling her view with solid ground and continued walking, trying to keep calm.

  ‘You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine,’ she said to herself through gritted teeth.

  She grabbed at every lamppost as she passed them, trying her best to look casual. Even the bushes that lined the footpath gave some small comfort as she gripped their fine branches and leaves.

  Finally she came to the main gate into the school and the long path to the entrance. To one side was the vast playing field, to the other a wide paved area and the car park. There was nothing to hold onto along the length of the path. Tam stood on the threshold, her hand on the gate as other pupils passed her by. She willed herself to let go and took a tentative step forwards. She felt instantly dizzy. It was no good; her hand was back on the gate again.

  ‘Are you drunk?’ It was Becca, laughing at her. ‘Been texting you all morning.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve not been looking at my phone,’ Tam said, straightening. Usually she was glad of the company of her friend but today she hesitated, staring at Becca’s overly tanned face with uncertainty. They shared everything: secrets, confessions, gossip, their hopes and fears. Becca knew Tam inside out. She would listen to her story, and she would know what to do. Tam opened her mouth, wanting to blurt out every detail about last night, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  ‘Did you do your maths?’ Becca asked as she absent-mindedly studied her nails. ‘I did the first question; it took me ages and I don’t even think it’s right. I gave up on the rest after that,’ she added quickly as she began to walk down the path towards school. ‘Did you do yours? Can I check what you put? Mr Sherwood will kill me if I don’t . . .’ Becca turned back to face Tam, her makeup-laden eyebrows furrowing. ‘Are you OK?’

  Tam nodded. ‘I’m fine.’

  Becca tutted doubtfully.

  ‘OK, I’m not fine,’ Tam admitted. ‘I feel a bit odd. Give me a hand.’

  Becca walked back and took Tam’s arm. ‘You’re not gonna be sick, are you? I hate sick.’

  ‘Everyone hates sick,’ Tam said as she let go of the gate.

  ‘Yeah, but I really hate sick. It makes me wanna puke, y’know? It’s like one of those responses, what are they called? Pavlova?’

  ‘Pavlovian response,’ Tam corrected her wearily.

  ‘Yeah, that. I feel sick just talking about it.’

  ‘So don’t.’

  ‘Did you do the maths then or not?’

  The school entrance was just ahead. Tam reached out and took hold of the door frame, relieved to be under the canopy. ‘Better,’ she laughed.

  Becca stared at her friend. ‘You don’t look right.’ Her eyes widened as an idea erupted onto her face. ‘Hey, maybe we could both be ill today and go back to yours. House is empty, right?’

  Tam shook her head. ‘I’m here now. I’m staying.’

  ‘Oh,’ Becca replied, deflated. ‘So, that maths homework, can I copy yours?’

  FIVE

  Abigail watched Tam at the school gate, arm in arm with Becca Norwood. Tam looked unwell, walking slowly, leaning on the shorter girl for support. Even so there was something elegant in the way Tam held herself, especially compared to Becca’s aggressive gestures.

  Why was she unwell? Was it something to do with last night? Perhaps she should go to her, check she was OK.

  Abigail held back, keeping her distance, uncertain what to do, waiting until they’d entered the school.

  It had been a mistake to text Tam. She must have read it by now but she hadn’t bothered to reply. Abigail felt stupid, angry with herself. She grimaced, sensing the tightness around her cheek. The bruise wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, easily hidden under her makeup. There would be no awkward questions today.

  Abigail sighed, feeling alone as she walked along the school path and entered the school, her mind still back in the wood.

  Had it really happened? Since last night her doubts had grown. Flying, floating, levitating – it was all impossible, she knew that. Even so she’d spent over an hour searching to see if anyone had ever done it before. She’d found some grainy videos of people who claimed they could levitate using meditation but they barely left the ground. It was all faking magicians, hidden wires and weird religious nuts in long robes.

  Next she had read through various forums, blogs and websites, trying to find anything that sounded similar to Tam’s experience. It was a disheartening wallow in the weirder parts of the internet and she’d come up with a big fat zero.

  For the first time in ages she’d turned to her worn copy of the Bible, thumbing through it until she found the part where Jesus came back from the dead. She reread the verse about the Ascension, where He floated up to Heaven. The description was similar to what had happened to Tam. Similar, but not the same. Doubts clouded her thoughts, playing tricks with her memory.

  But she’d seen it happen – and she had pictures to prove it. She wasn’t imagining it. Tamsin Edwards had really flown. Abigail had to speak to her about it, today.

  SIX

  Tam drifted through the day, only half aware of her classes. She had exams soon, GCSEs that needed her full attention, but she just could not focus. Her mind returned again and again to the surreal events of yesterday. It was only in biology, when she saw Abigail, that her concentration fully returned.

  Abigail smiled at her, desperate to get her attention. Tam did her best to avoid her gaze.

  ‘Is she looking at you?’ Becca asked in a whisper.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Her. Long Bone.’

  ‘She's called Abigail,’ Tam mumbled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Tam buried her head into her arms.

  ‘She's doing it again, look.’

  Tam glanced up and saw Abigail's open face. She groaned to herself and looked out of the window, watching as the clouds drifted by. She pictured herself amongst them – touching them – and she felt free. The classroom dissolved away. For a moment she wallowed in her thoughts, reliving the odd sensations she’d had yesterday, high above the earth.

  Her seat felt far away, her body light. She gripped the table, feeling anxious, and avoided staring at the inviting sky.

  ‘. . . but is it possible, miss? Could a human fly?’

  Tam's mind returned to the room in a flash. Who was talking? Becca rolled her eyes towards Abigail and Tam felt her world collapse.

  Miss Ronson smiled. ‘Fly? Like a bird? No, we don't have the muscle mass to lift us off the ground.’ She addressed the entire class. ‘Question six, the evolution of human—’

  ‘But, miss,’ Abigail interrupted, ‘I don't mean flapping arms. I mean, could a person just float off the ground and fly?’

  Miss Ronson sighed tolerantly. ‘No, Abigail, that's not possible.’

  ‘But if it was—’

  Losing her patience Miss Ronson cut in, ‘It's not, Abigail. It goes against everything we know about biology, not to mention physics. Outside of comic books and Hollywood movies it's just not possible. Now, question six on the exam sheet refers to figure seven and the estimated brain volume of different species of human.’

  Tam touched her cheeks; she was blushing. Did the others know Abigail was talking about her? She buried her head again.

  ‘She's weird, isn't she?’ Becca moaned. ‘Freak.’

  Freak. That's how Tam felt right now. Like some inhuman mutant. The ceiling seemed to be pressing down on her, the walls crushing her. She was too hot; she could barely breathe.

  ‘She's always been a freak,’ Becca said to no one. ‘Gets it from her dad. You know Zack? His dad goes to the same gym as her dad, says he smokes a bit of weed, that he's a bit handy, y’know? Christ, if your own dad hates you that much I guess you must be really weird.’

  Tam loosened her tie and stood up, stumbling towards the door. She fell against a chair �
�� it would be bloody James Pinchin’s. Why did it have to be his? His hands caught her, holding her for too long, overly familiar. He looked up at her, smiling that odd smile of his. She could never tell if he was being friendly or sarcastic. Tam pushed him away, ignoring his laughter as she continued towards the exit.

  ‘Tamsin?’ Miss Ronson called after her. ‘Are you—’

  ‘Gonna be sick,’ Tam managed as she staggered towards the toilets down the hall.

  She made it just in time. So much for the toast.

  Tam rested there, letting her face cool, wallowing in the silence. Then she heard the door open.

  ‘Tam?’ Becca called. ‘Tam, babes, are you OK?’

  ‘I'm in here,’ Tam called. She flushed the chain and opened the cubicle door.

  ‘Christ, Tam, I told you we should have gone home. It doesn’t matter, it's just school.’

  Tam splashed cold water over her face while Becca checked her makeup in the mirror.

  ‘It does matter, it's GCSEs,’ Tam said, her voice tiny. ‘And I'm fine now.’

  ‘Not worth sticking it out, is it? Not if you're, you know . . . ?’

  Tam looked up at Becca's excited face in the mirror. Her eyes kept gazing down at Tam’s belly.

  ‘Christ, Becca! I'm not pregnant.’

  ‘You can tell me,’ Becca said with a grin. ‘Whose is it? Is it James’s? What was he like? I didn’t think you—’

  ‘I didn’t sleep with him and I am not pregnant! I'm just ill, OK?’

  ‘If you like, but it'd get you out of exams if you were. Remember Jessica Grinnock from last year? She popped one out in the middle of the exam hall and—’

  ‘It wasn't in the exam hall, it was in hospital a week after the exams had finished.’

  ‘– and now she's got her own council house. Two bedrooms, Sky TV, the lot.’

  The door opened again and Abigail entered. Tam groaned.