Altitude

by Niel Bushnell

  Tam sat up, her eyes wide, staring at the TV, and she let out a tiny gasp. ‘Oh, shit.’

  The breakfast TV presenter was holding up a copy of a newspaper, showing off a blown-up photo of her flying.

  ‘Oh God, no.’

  It wasn’t the Herald; it was a national newspaper. The story had spread.

  The smiling presenter continued. ‘. . . let’s hear more from Rachel Vincent at the scene of the sighting. Rachel, what can you tell us about these remarkable pictures?’

  The scene cut to a reporter outside the wood. Tam’s world seemed to crumble around her. Her phone rang in her hand but she couldn’t take her eyes off the TV.

  ‘. . . somewhere close to here. In the pictures you can clearly see a young girl floating off the ground and up into the air. Of course, pictures like these are easy to fake nowadays, and as the source of the images has chosen to remain anonymous it’s difficult to verify their authenticity. So until the photographer comes forward we might not get to know the secret identity of this particular superhero any time soon. There’s some local speculation that this might be some sort of stunt to stop the development of new housing on this piece of woodland, but unless this mysterious Supergirl flies in to make another appearance we might never know if these pictures are real. Back to you in the studio.’

  Tam realized she was holding her breath. She gasped, taking in fresh air. Her heart hammered in her chest. Had she just dreamed that? She looked down at her phone and realized she hadn’t. Abigail was trying to ring her for the third time.

  ‘Did you see it?’ Tam asked rapidly as she answered the call. ‘God, did you see it? What the hell is happening?’

  ‘I saw it,’ Abigail replied. Her voice had lost her usual measured response; instead she spoke quickly, a tremble under her words. ‘It was on breakfast telly, Tam, breakfast telly! And it’s in the Sun and the Mirror and the Story. This is big. Scary big.’

  ‘I know, I know. Christ, this is serious. What should I do?’

  ‘Do?’ Abigail paused. ‘I don’t know . . . nothing, I suppose.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘They don’t know it’s you, do they? They think it’s probably a hoax . . .’

  ‘They said that.’

  ‘Exactly, so just sit tight and it’ll go away.’

  ‘But what if there’s more?’ Tam asked, her thoughts coming too quickly.

  ‘More?’

  ‘More pictures. We don’t know who took them. Maybe they saw my face. Maybe they followed me home. Maybe they know who I am. God, I feel sick.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll all blow over. Sure of it. Aren’t you?’

  ‘No!’ Tam bellowed. ‘You said that yesterday when it was in the Herald. Now it’s in the national papers and on the bloody telly. It’s not blowing over, is it?’

  Abigail fell silent.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m scared,’ Tam admitted.

  ‘Do you want to meet?’ Abigail asked.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Abigail had never seen the wood so busy.

  She had already spotted two reporters and camera crews, one at the perimeter fence, the other deeper into the trees. The reporters had attracted people from the estate who formed a loose circle of onlookers. There was an air of excitement around the unusual activity, people smiling and taking pictures as younger kids zipped about on their bicycles.

  Abigail avoided travelling along the path for fear of being accosted by one of the reporters. Instead she circled the wood, keeping out of sight as much as possible, until she got to the far side where she planned to meet Tam.

  At the boundary of the wood she saw a digger and three men in high-vis jackets, all idle, watching the spectacle. They looked like they were already preparing the land close by. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly. She really needed to talk to Tam.

  At first she couldn’t see her in amongst the onlookers, but then she spotted a girl with a hoodie pulled down low, hiding as much of the wearer’s face as possible.

  ‘Tam,’ Abigail said as she approached the hooded figure.

  Tam glanced up, acknowledging her as she took her arm and pulled her away from the spectators.

  ‘This is crazy,’ Tam whispered.

  Abigail nodded. ‘It’s like a circus.’

  Tam stared out at the people around the wood. ‘Look at them. TV, radio, newspapers – all for some stupid little story. How did this happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it’ll go away by tomorrow.’

  Tam turned on her. ‘You keep saying that. But you don’t know. You don’t know if it’ll go away. It might just get worse. They might name me on the ten o’clock news.’

  ‘That won’t happen.’

  ‘You don’t know that, do you?’

  Abigail took a step back. ‘No, I don’t’

  ‘So stop saying it’s going to be OK.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Abigail replied meekly.

  ‘This was meant to be something special, just for us two, not for the entire world to laugh at. This was our secret. That’s how I wanted it to stay.’

  For the first time Abigail understood how upsetting this was for Tam. She shuddered, recalling how she had been tempted to post her own pictures after the first incident in the quarry. Things could have been very different if she’d given in to that impulse.

  ‘I still don’t understand how someone else found out,’ Tam continued. She turned to look directly at Abigail. ‘Swear you didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I swear I didn’t,’ Abigail replied.

  Tam scrutinized her, uncertainty flashing over her face. ‘You took pictures, I remember.’

  ‘Just that first time, in the quarry. You had your school uniform on, remember.’ She took out her phone and showed them to Tam. ‘The pictures in the paper, they’re different.’

  ‘You didn’t take them?’

  ‘No!’ Abigail replied defensively. Tam’s accusation cut into her. ‘Christ, Tam, this didn’t come from me.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Do you think it was those men?’ Abigail gestured to the distant silhouettes next to the digger.

  ‘The builders?’ Tam pulled her hoodie down lower. ‘They saw me, didn’t they? Maybe they came back and waited for me.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Abigail said, unconvinced.

  ‘Then who?’ Tam asked, the anger returning to her voice.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Abigail replied firmly. ‘But I’m on your side, Tam, you know I am.’

  Tam sighed, looking away. ‘Yeah . . . sorry. It’s just so frustrating.’

  They watched as a reporter and cameraman went over to a small van and rested inside it. The crowd was also thinning, returning to their usual routines.

  ‘See, they’re moving on already,’ Abigail noted, trying to sound optimistic.

  Tam didn’t reply; she just observed.

  The reporter opened her window and lit a cigarette while she made a call. After a few moments she hung up and got back out of the car. She waited there, finishing her cigarette, glancing about her. Then she waved, smiling. Someone was approaching the van.

  ‘Oh, God!’ Tam said, sounding more desperate than before.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Can’t you see? Look who that is.’

  Abigail squinted at the lone figure that was talking to the reporter and the cameraman. ‘I can’t tell.’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Tam muttered. ‘She knows, she bloody well knows.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  Tam glared at Abigail. ‘It’s Becca.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  She still wasn’t sure about this. Knots tightened Becca’s stomach as she approached the van. It wasn’t too late to run home, she told herself. But she kept walking towards the woman with the tanned face and white teeth. She forced a confident smile into place, something to hide behind.

  ‘You must be Rebecca,’ the woman said, holding out her hand.

  ‘Hiya.’ Becca took her hand, feeling stupid.


  ‘I’m Rachel, and this is Chris.’ She pointed at a man in his twenties holding a camera. He smiled at her, a cute grin behind a scruffy beard. Becca felt herself blush and looked down. ‘So, you’re the mysterious photographer?’ Rachel continued. ‘Can you prove they’re your pictures?’

  Becca nodded as she pulled out her phone. ‘Here are the ones from the paper,’ she explained, ‘but I never sent in these.’ She played a short video clip of the flying girl, then scrolled through more pictures, stopping when she came to a selfie she’d taken in the bathroom. ‘Not that one,’ she laughed, flicking back to the last picture of the girl in the wood.

  ‘No,’ Rachel said, joining in with her laughter. Abruptly she stopped laughing, all business-like. ‘OK, great. So you can lead us to the spot where you took them?’

  ‘Y-yes.’

  Rachel turned to her cameraman. ‘Chris, you ready?’

  Chris nodded, his mouth full of chocolate.

  ‘Lead on, Rebecca.’

  Becca smiled, hesitating. The knots in her stomach remained. Was it too late to turn back? But this was TV. She would be on the news. She couldn’t turn away from this chance. Who knows where it might take her. She stepped onto the path, down towards the wood. Two panels of the metal fence had been prised apart, leaving a gap wide enough to walk though.

  ‘Is it far from here, Rebecca?’

  ‘Becca.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Everyone calls me Becca, except for my mum.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Rachel smiled politely. ‘So, Becca, this is where you saw it happen?’

  ‘Just a bit further ahead, yeah.’

  ‘It must have been thrilling for you.’

  Becca thought about how seeing Tam fly had made her feel. Thrilled? No. Fear, then anger and envy had been her first emotions.

  ‘Yeah, thrilling,’ Becca lied, trying to control her feelings. She couldn’t forgive Tam for keeping this a secret from her. Instead of sharing it with Becca Tam had turned to Long Bone, she was sure of it. The betrayal was like a dagger in her side.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Rachael asked.

  ‘Well, yeah. She was just floating in the air, so I took my phone and—’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel said, her smile fixed. ‘But what were you doing here? How did you come to find the flying girl?’

  ‘I . . .’ Becca fumbled over her words. It had been easy to lie to the journalist from the Herald – he seemed to be glad of the story and didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t even mind her keeping her anonymity. But this one was sharper, she could tell. She was prying between the words that fell from her mouth, looking for the gaps in her story. ‘I was just out walking. I often come through here for a walk, and that’s when I saw her.’

  ‘You walk here?’ Rachel’s question felt like barbed wire, waiting to snag her on its razor edges.

  Becca nodded, feeling less confident.

  ‘And you were alone?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you often come to this forest alone? Seems like quite a creepy place for a young girl to come by herself.’

  Becca pushed out her chest. ‘Nah, it’s fine. I just come here to walk. Alone.’

  ‘Just to walk?’ Rachel asked, inching closer. ‘Nothing more? It’s a good place to hide, isn’t it?’

  ‘Suppose.’

  ‘A good place to have some fun . . .’

  Becca laughed. ‘In the wood?’

  ‘Of course. No one would see you here, would they? You could drink or smoke or—’

  ‘No, I just came to walk. Like I said I was alone.’

  ‘Right,’ Rachel said, exchanging a glance with her cameraman. ‘So you just came across this girl, floating in the middle of the wood?’

  ‘Yeah. What’s so weird about that?’

  ‘Weird?’ Rachel was almost laughing. ‘It’s a flying girl. It is kind of weird, don’t you think?’ She turned to Chris again. ‘Have you ever seen a flying person before?’

  Chris shook his head.

  Rachel turned back to Becca. ‘Me neither.’

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Becca reddened. ‘Look, I don’t have to be here. If you don’t want the story I’ll just sod off home, all right?’

  ‘No, no, please, Becca,’ Rachel soothed, her voice like warm butter, ‘that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. We believe you, really.’

  Becca stopped walking. Her eyes darted between Rachel and Chris. ‘This is the place.’

  Rachel looked around the clearing. ‘Here?’

  Becca nodded, feeling trapped.

  Chris began to set his camera up as Rachel checked her makeup. ‘OK,’ she said as she applied fresh lipstick. ‘We’ll just do a really simple interview. Chris’ll film you, but you look to me, OK? It’s just you and me having a chat. Try to ignore him.’

  ‘Right, OK.’ Becca ran her fingers through her hair, rubbed her tongue over her teeth, her nerves jangling.

  Rachel smiled reassurance, but her sympathetic expression seemed barely skin-deep.

  ‘Just while Chris is setting up . . .’ Rachel leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘You know who it is, don’t you?’

  ‘Me? The flying girl? No . . . no, I didn’t see her face. Like I said.’

  ‘I think you know more than you’ve let on so far,’ Rachel said, her hands planted on her hips. ‘I don’t think you just stumbled upon this flying girl, did you? I think maybe – and I could be wrong – but maybe this girl is someone you know.’

  Becca’s lips tightened, as if she was trying to stop the words from blurting out.

  Rachel studied her, a sceptical frown on her face. ‘Where were you stood?’

  Becca walked back into the trees. ‘Around about here, I think.’

  Rachel joined her there. ‘And the girl was floating over there?’ She pointed back into the opening.

  Becca nodded.

  ‘Quite close,’ Rachel noted. ‘And you didn’t see her face?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure you didn’t recognize her?’

  Becca bit her bottom lip. Her eyes couldn’t meet Rachel’s. ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a small estate where you live, isn’t it?’

  Becca shrugged.

  ‘Everyone knows everyone else?’ Rachael said.

  ‘Suppose so.’

  Rachael didn’t move, her smile locked on Becca’s hesitant face. ‘Thing is,’ she said slowly, ‘it’d make the story much more exciting if we could put a name to those pictures. The video you showed me is great – it’ll help sell the story – but we really do need a name. We could probably get you in the studio to talk about it then. I bet we could get you on all the news channels. Doors open . . . you meet people . . . who knows where it might go from there.’

  Becca said nothing. She could taste blood in her mouth.

  ‘All we’d need is a name,’ Rachel continued.

  Becca chewed the edge of her tongue, holding her breath.

  Rachel watched her for a moment then she went over to Chris’s bag and came back with a wallet. She opened it and counted out a handful of notes and showed them to Becca. ‘This could just be the start, Becca. Like I said, doors open . . . and sometimes they just need a little kick.’ She inched closer, her eyes glinting. ‘If you can give me a name, I’d be very grateful.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  ‘What’s Becca doing talking to a reporter?’ Abigail asked Tam.

  ‘Oh Christ, this is all going to shit,’ Tam muttered to herself.

  They watched as Becca and the reporter spoke. Tam wanted to rush over, to pull them apart, but she couldn’t move. It was like she was paralysed, just a bystander watching as her life unravelled before her eyes.

  ‘They’re going into the wood,’ Abigail noted.

  ‘She knows. She must do. She’s gonna tell them everything.’

  Abigail pulled at her sleeve. ‘C’mon. We should follow them.
’

  ‘Should we?’

  ‘Yes. C’mon,’ Abigail encouraged.

  They trailed after Becca and the reporter into the wood, making sure they kept their distance. The foliage was dense with summer growth, helping to hide them from their prey.

  ‘Can you hear them?’ Abigail whispered.

  Tam listened intently, catching snippets of the conversation ahead. ‘I think they’re talking about her walking in the wood alone.’

  They hunched down in the bushes to the side of the path, watching as Becca and the others made their way to the clearing up ahead.

  ‘This is the place,’ Tam said expectantly. ‘This is where I flew.’

  ‘How could Becca know?’ Abigail asked.

  A knot of dread grew in Tam’s gut. She knew the answer to that question but she didn’t want to believe it.

  ‘Shit,’ Tam gasped. ‘She’s coming this way.’

  Becca walked towards them. Tam was about to run when Abigail grabbed her arm.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Abigail hissed.

  Becca stopped just a few metres in front of them. The reporter joined her. Tam hardly dared to breathe. She was certain if they looked in their direction they’d see them hiding in the bushes.

  The reporter gestured back towards where the cameraman was working. ‘And the girl was floating over there?’

  Becca nodded.

  Abigail’s hand was still on Tam’s arm, her fingers so tight they began to hurt.

  The reporter turned back to Becca. For a second Tam thought she looked in their direction.

  ‘. . . and you didn’t see her face?’

  ‘No,’ Becca replied. She sounded nervous; her voice had lost all of its usual bluster.

  The reporter looked doubtful. ‘You’re sure you didn’t recognize her?’

  Becca shook her head quickly. ‘No.’

  ‘She’s gonna tell,’ Tam whispered to Abigail. ‘I’ve got to stop her.’

  Abigail’s hand pulled her back. ‘Keep still.’

  The reporter continued talking to Becca. ‘. . . it’ll help sell the story, but we really do need a name. We could probably get you in the studio to talk about it then.’

  Abigail flinched, rattling the bushes. Tam was certain they must have heard but Becca and the reporter continued to talk.