Altitude

by Niel Bushnell

  ‘You can’t say it, can you?’ Abigail grinned.

  ‘Say what?’

  Abigail laughed, enjoying Tam’s discomfort.

  ‘OK, yesterday . . .’ Tam began, her voice full of hesitation. ‘When you saw me fly . . .’

  Abigail’s eyes widened. ‘Fly?’

  Tam saw her surprise and blushed. She must have imagined it after all. She looked away, feeling like a six-year-old. Then Abigail began to laugh.

  ‘Yeah, you flew all right,’ she replied excitedly. ‘What did you think had happened?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tam said, relief flooding through her. ‘I know I flew, but I couldn’t be sure. I mean, it’s not possible, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not, believe me I’ve done the research.’

  ‘Thanks for asking Miss Ronson!’

  ‘Sorry. But you did fly. I saw you.’ Abigail pulled out her phone and handed it to Tam. ‘And I took pictures, remember?’

  ‘Christ, I’d forgotten!’ Tam grinned as she flicked through the images. There she was, floating in the air, dark against the brooding sky. ‘It’s true . . . it did happen.’

  ‘I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it,’ Abigail said quickly, taking the phone back and putting it in her pocket.

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘It’s so weird, isn’t it?’

  ‘Totally.’

  Abigail brushed her hair from her face. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need to figure out how you did it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So you can do it again.’

  Tam shook her head. ‘I don’t want to do it again.’

  ‘Liar.’ Abigail grinned at Tam, her eyes wide.

  She was right. Tam had to know if she could do it again. The fear and terror were outweighed by the sense of exhilaration and freedom that Tam had experienced. A grin, slow but infectious, grew over her face.

  Abigail clapped her hands together and laughed again. Tam joined in, allowing herself a moment of joy. ‘Did you jump first? How did it start?’ Abigail asked as their laughter subsided.

  ‘I was running away. I slid and fell. I was terrified, I was falling. Then it happened.’

  Abigail nodded, pulling out a small notepad and scribbling on a clean page with a stubby pencil.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making notes. You were running away from me, after you’d hit me—’

  ‘I said sorry.’

  ‘And then you slipped on the path. Why were you running away?’

  ‘What?’ Tam stalled, surprised by the question.

  Abigail waited patiently, her pencil hovering above her notepad.

  ‘I told you before, I . . . I was angry . . . and I felt guilty for hitting you. I just wanted to get away.’

  ‘Away from what? From me?’

  ‘Yes . . .’ Tam tried to picture herself stood over Abigail, the rain falling about them, tried to recall what she was feeling. ‘No . . . I just wanted to get away . . . from everything.’

  Abigail stood up, and offered her hands to Tam.

  ‘What now?’

  Abigail pushed her hands closer and Tam took them. The two girls faced each other on the bridge, still holding hands.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Abigail said firmly.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Just do it.’

  ‘I feel stupid.’

  ‘So do I. All the time.’ Abigail gave Tam’s hands a squeeze.

  Tam smiled and closed her eyes.

  ‘Good. You wanted to get away . . .’

  ‘Mm-huh.’

  ‘Can you picture that feeling?’

  Tam opened an eye, laughing nervously. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Try to picture how you felt, just before you fell.’

  Tam closed her eye again. There didn’t seem much point in protesting. She replayed the memory, feeling her legs running along the wet track, her feet slipping in the mud, the wind and rain pitting her face, hiding her tears as she thought of home.

  Home.

  Tam felt a sensation deep within her, a primal urge to escape. She tried to focus on the feeling, to tap into its source. A picture came into her head, of her family, of Dad, and she felt light-headed.

  ‘Tam?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Don’t . . . don’t do anything. Just stay calm.’

  ‘What?’ She opened her eyes. Abigail looked smaller somehow, insignificant.

  ‘Tam . . . you’re floating.’

  Tam looked down at the ground. Her feet no longer touched the soil; they were at least ten centimetres in the air.

  NINE

  ‘Are you doing that?’ Tam gasped, half laughing.

  ‘Holding you up? Don’t be daft,’ Abigail replied. Their hands still touched but there was no tension there, the grip gentle.

  ‘I’m . . . flying?’

  ‘I’d say so, yeah.’

  The two girls laughed, looking at each other, then at Tam’s floating form.

  ‘I’m going to let go,’ Abigail said quietly.

  ‘No!’ Tam cried, her hands gripping Abigail’s, her nails digging into her skin.

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ Abigail reassured her. Slowly she released one hand.

  Tam’s heart beat faster, but she felt more in control than she had last time, her position above the ground seeming more stable.

  Abigail opened her fingers, leaving Tam to let go when she was ready. Slowly Tam slid her hand away until just her finger and thumb gripped Abigail’s index finger. She tested out the sensation, not yet ready to release her grip. She focused her mind on moving upwards and was surprised when her body responded.

  ‘D’you feel OK?’ Abigail asked, her arm stretched up above her head.

  Tam nodded, barely daring to speak for fear of breaking the spell. She concentrated on coming back down and her body glided towards the earth. Tam let out an excited giggle but she still didn’t dare let go of Abigail’s finger.

  ‘We should get some rope,’ Tam said quickly, ‘then I could go higher.’

  Abigail grinned, a glint catching her eyes. ‘You can go higher now.’

  Tam shook her head firmly. There was no way she was letting go.

  ‘OK, let’s try some movements instead. Can you float forwards?’

  ‘You’ll keep hold?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tam willed herself forwards and, with a juddering jolt, she lunged out beyond the bridge.

  Abigail leaned over the old railing, trying to keep hold but, for a fleeting second, Tam was untethered, floating free just a few metres off the ground. She gasped, half terrified, half ecstatic, then grabbed at Abigail’s hand again. Safely secured once more they both laughed, triumphant.

  Sweat coated Tam’s brow; the concentration was exhausting. She tilted her body, allowing herself to drift awkwardly back over the bridge, down towards Abigail. Her legs lowered to the ground and she landed clumsily. But it didn’t matter – she’d proved to herself that it was real, that she could do it again! She rolled onto her back, panting for air, still laughing. Abigail danced nearby, breaking from one pose to the next.

  ‘You look daft,’ Tam said between gasps.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Abigail replied as she carried on dancing.

  ‘Stop it, you’re embarrassing yourself.’

  Abigail grinned. ‘So what?’ But after a moment her dancing slowed, then stopped. ‘Look what you did. You spoilt the moment.’

  ‘You mean I saved you,’ Tam laughed.

  Abigail grinned and joined her on the moss-covered wood of the bridge, lying down close by. They both stared up at the canopy of leaves above, catching their breath.

  ‘That is . . . that’s just . . .’ Abigail faltered.

  ‘Amazing,’ Tam said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Abigail sighed. ‘Amazing.’

  Tam’s breathing eased and she began to cool down. She sat up, feeling dizzy again.

  Abigail put
a hand on her back. ‘Steady. Go slow.’

  Tam took hold of the rusty handrail and pulled herself up, taking a moment to study the view. The wood seemed more alive, vivid in a way it had never been to her before. The trickle of the stream was sharp and tuneful, a gentle chorus that harmonized with the birdsong in the branches above. And the colours seemed to buzz, tickling her eyes with their vibrancy.

  ‘It’s like a Disney movie,’ she muttered to herself, in awe.

  ‘What’s that?’ Abigail asked, standing at her side.

  Tam shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Want to try it again?’

  Exhaustion was already creeping into Tam’s limbs. The over-saturated colour was draining from her world, returning to its reassuring mundanity. The stream was just a stream once more. ‘Not today,’ she said, her voice fragile. ‘It really takes it out of me.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Abigail asked, sounding disappointed.

  ‘Tomorrow. We’ll try again tomorrow. I should really get back,’ Tam said, not wanting to leave.

  ‘You can’t stay longer?’

  Tam shrugged, thinking of Mum and Dad at home. ‘You don’t need to get back?’

  Abigail looked away. ‘No rush.’

  There was more behind her words, but Tam couldn’t tell what. She knew nothing about this girl.

  ‘Where do you live?’ she asked.

  ‘Deerwater.’

  Tam glanced up, surprised. ‘In one of those big houses?’

  ‘It’s not that big. And it’s just the other end of the wood. It’s not so different.’

  ‘It’s the best part of town. I’d love to live there.’

  ‘Houses don’t matter.’

  Tam laughed. ‘Easy to say when you live in a big one.’

  ‘I don’t live in a big house!’ Abigail shouted, her face red with frustration. ‘Sorry, but it’s just a house. And we’ve only been there a year and . . . I’m probably moving again soon.’

  ‘Moving? Where to?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Why?’

  Abigail began to walk back along the path, away from the stream. Tam followed, watching her as she stroked the branches of the passing trees as if they were pets.

  ‘My mum and dad,’ Abigail said softly, ‘they’re splitting up.’

  ‘Oh shit, sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK. It’ll be better when it’s all sorted.’

  ‘Bad timing though, with GCSEs.’

  Abigail stopped. ‘It’s been going on for as long as I can remember, since I was little. They argue, they get back together, everything’s OK for a while, then Dad loses his temper again.’

  ‘Does he ever . . . is he . . . ?’ Tam stopped, feeling uncomfortable, prying into a stranger’s misery.

  ‘Does he ever get violent?’ Abigail said, voicing Tam’s question. ‘Sometimes.’

  They walked on in silence, Tam desperately trying to find the right words to respond, but it was Abigail who eventually spoke. ‘What about you?’

  ‘What about me?’ Tam replied defensively.

  ‘You came here to get away from something, didn’t you?’

  ‘Just needed space. You know how it is.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They came to the join in the path and Tam stopped. ‘My dad’s got cancer.’

  It was the first time she’d said it out loud, the first time she’d let that horrible word pass her lips since she’d found out about her dad.

  Abigail turned back towards her. She said nothing; instead she put her arms round Tam and hugged her. At first Tam resisted, but then she let herself be cocooned in Abigail’s warmth. It was different to when Mum hugged her; this wasn’t a hug to make up for an argument, or out of duty or habit. This was a gesture without any baggage. Tam began to cry, shocked by her outburst of emotion.

  ‘Get off me,’ she said as she retreated from Abigail’s touch, trying to compose herself.

  ‘It’s OK to be scared,’ Abigail said with a benevolent smile. She was so annoyingly mature, so level-headed and sensible it seemed to reignite Tam’s anger.

  ‘I’m not scared,’ she replied bitterly, bringing her emotions under control. She shouldered past Abigail and marched along the track.

  ‘Where’re you going?’ Abigail called after her.

  ‘Home.’

  ‘See you tomorrow?’

  Tam didn’t reply. She didn’t look back until she was out of the wood and on the edge of the estate. She knew Abigail wouldn’t have followed her but she was still disappointed to see that she was alone.

  TEN

  Abigail watched Tam leave, sensing she needed time alone. Perhaps if she knew her better, if they had been friends rather than just two people sharing a weird experience, she might have run after her. But it was easier this way. Leave Tam alone, don’t push it. The hug was a mistake, she concluded, feeling embarrassed.

  She returned to the bridge and sat in her favourite spot, thinking about what had just happened. It wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t a one-off. Tam had flown. Again! How the hell was she doing it?

  Abigail stood up, legs apart, arms at her side. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and thought about flying.

  Somewhere high above a bird cried out, like it was laughing at her.

  She ignored it and tried again. Fly!

  Nothing.

  ‘Christ, how hard can it be?’ she muttered. She shook her arms and tried once more. Eyes closed, breathing calmly, her heartbeat slowing, she tried to sense the wood about her. She thought about the sky, about lifting off the ground and joining the clouds above.

  She opened her eyes, disappointed to see that she was still stood on the bridge.

  ‘Shit.’

  She raised an arm above her and jumped up, stretching her body skywards then landing back on the wooden boards.

  Maybe if she prayed? Abigail shook her head and laughed. ‘Idiot.’

  She sat down again, found her notebook and leafed through it. She’d almost filled it, page after page of sketches: trees, leaves, rocks, flowers. As she reviewed her work she noted she was improving, but it was never quite good enough. Every sketch left her with the feeling that it was better in her head than it was on the page.

  Abigail re-read the notes she’d made about Tam; it didn’t tell her anything new. She turned over to the next clean page and picked up her pencil, letting it guide her across the paper until she’d rendered a scene of two ancient-looking trees, their bark shaded in detail. And in between the giant towers was a tiny floating silhouette of a girl against a brooding sky.

  ELEVEN

  Tam lay on her bed, enveloped in the softness of the handful of cushions that Mum had put there. She didn’t see the point – they always ended up on the floor – but Mum thought they looked pretty. Like a show home, she said.

  The muffled bass tones of Dad’s voice vibrated up from the living room below. He was talking to Mum. They’d been talking for ages and, apart from the odd phrase or sentence, their discussion was indecipherable. From time to time Tam heard her own name mentioned, her ears straining to make out more, but their discussion remained impenetrable.

  She could have gone downstairs, of course – she could have joined them in the living room, become part of the discussion rather than trying to decode it from a distance. But she couldn’t drag herself off the bed. As long as she stayed up here her world wouldn’t change. There’d be no discussions about treatment schedules, side effects and the odds of survival. It would all stay down there, in the living room, just a dull distant noise.

  Her phone vibrated again. Bloody Becca wouldn’t leave her alone. Tam didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even Becca. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her what was happening. Dad’s treatment, the flying thing, they were just too big to bring up in conversation, especially over text or Snapchat or Twitter. But she could talk to a stranger in the wood; she had shared everything with Abigail there. It had been liberating, it had made her feel better. R
eplying to Becca would just churn it all up again.

  ‘Tamsin?’ Mum called from the bottom of the stairs.

  Tam pretended not to hear.

  ‘Tamsin? Can you come down?’

  No putting it off any longer. Her stomach fluttered. The desire to escape, to fly into the wood, was almost overwhelming. Tam inhaled and dragged herself off her bed.

  Mum was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, smiling in that way she did when she wanted to have a ‘grown-up’ conversation. She led her into the living room like an executioner taking a prisoner to the gallows.

  Dad was waiting for her there, sitting in his usual armchair, trying to look relaxed, fooling no one. Tam avoided his eyes as she sat on the sofa. Mum followed, sitting next to her.

  ‘You OK?’ Dad asked, his eyebrows arched unnaturally.

  ‘Yeah,’ she replied, adding, ‘are you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ Mum countered, her voice betraying her emotions. She took Tam’s hand, the gesture surprising her. Tam felt even more awkward than she had already. ‘Your dad’s treatment,’ Mum continued, ‘is going to make him sick for a while.’

  ‘I know,’ Tam cut in, her voice small but firm. She looked down, focusing on the chipped pattern of her nail varnish. The red colour was flaking, showing the scratched surface beneath, a hastily applied veneer betraying its secrets.

  ‘He’s got his first treatment this week, then five more after that.’

  Mum stopped talking, obviously waiting for some sort of reaction. Tam didn’t look up, her thumb scratching at her other fingernails.

  Mum’s hand tensed. ‘Do you . . . do you want to ask any questions?’

  Tam shook her head. Flakes of nail polish dotted her dark skirt with islands of crimson. She flicked them onto the floor, then began to work on the next nail.

  ‘Are you even listening?’ Mum asked bitterly.

  Dad raised his hand. ‘It’s OK,’ he soothed. ‘You probably just need some time to let it all sink in. If you’ve got questions later we’ll try to answer them.’

  ‘She’s had time,’ Mum scolded.

  Dad glared at her, shutting her down. Mum’s face tightened but she said no more.