Altitude

by Niel Bushnell

  Was it Abigail then? Was that why she had come here? Abigail loved the wood. This was her place. But Tam still had Abigail – she didn’t need to come here to think about her or remember her. She could pick up the phone, she could meet her.

  No, that wasn’t it. She had come here for herself. She had come here to grasp that bittersweet sensation that she loved so much, that intense feeling of freedom and joy, that desire to escape from worry, to lift off the ground.

  Tam had come here to fly.

  She let go of the bridge and closed her eyes, letting her senses reach out to the world around her. To the damp earth, cool and silent, hiding root and worm. To the stream, always moving, glistening and fresh, on its way to elsewhere. To the air around her, shifting and changing, dense then ethereal, connected to that vast sky above her. To the trees, the ever-watching trees, mute sentinels that seemed to be calling her to join them, to wrap herself in their roots and become one more silent watcher.

  She sensed the wood all around her and, without opening her eyes, she knew she was already rising through the branches, leaving the little bridge and the stream behind.

  She felt the air rushing over her face and Tam opened her eyes, looking up just as she broke through the tree canopy. She hovered there, studying the mass of leaves. All of the trees were separate, individual plants standing alone, yet their upper branches touched, mingled with each other, caressing, supporting, communicating. And their roots, hidden in the cool soil below, they intertwined, twisted around each other, melding, sensing, holding. The entire wood was a single entity, made whole by the individual trees amassed there.

  Tam looked at them and smiled, understanding. Then she turned her face to the grey clouds overhead, and she began to rise once more. Moving higher and higher, the sky-bound colours took on form and detail, and she saw that the clouds were vast. She rushed faster and faster towards them, higher than she’d ever dared before.

  Moisture dotted her face. The cloud became a fog around her and she stabbed into it. Far below, the landscape lost all colour and clarity. Everywhere she looked was cloud.

  As she ascended the air cooled and thinned. Tam looked up and saw the vague yellow glow of the sun beyond the grey-white wisps, and pushed herself towards it.

  The cloud was dense about her, tight currents of air that pushed her in all directions. She fought against it, determined to go higher. As she rose she felt the familiar feeling of release that she yearned for. Her thoughts became serene, uncluttered and full of purpose. This was where she belonged, at the heart of this cloud. She was the cloud. She could make it rain – all she had to do was think about it.

  The air seemed to obey her thoughts, contracting about her, pushing against her skin, then it expanded again and the rain came. She felt a rumble vibrate through her and the air cracked with lightning, so close that her hair stood on end.

  Tam laughed, feeling terrified and triumphant all at once. The rain grew stronger, becoming a torrent, but she pushed against it, rising still, and she realized that there was a vague familiarity to all of this.

  The dream! This was exactly like the dream. But there was no figure to chase. She was alone in the storm. Checking, Tam looked around her. Was that a shape above her in the cloud?

  She moved towards it, the rain forming lines over her face. The indistinct shadow became darker, standing out against the rest of the cloud. There was someone else in the cloud with her!

  ‘Hey!’ she cried, but her words had no strength here. She rushed towards the shape, trying to catch it, but it seemed to move with her, keeping its distance. Tam forced herself to fly faster, up, up, up, feeling the exhaustion growing in her muscles.

  The cloud shifted and the shape took on form and detail. It was another person, Tam was certain now. The grey of the storm gave way to cool yellows and oranges as the rain eased. But the figure was still too far away, too shrouded in mist to be certain. She had to know.

  Tam ignored the aches all over her body and forced herself to go faster, higher. She opened her mouth, trying to get enough air. It was as if her lungs weren’t working properly and she felt her head going dizzy. Every inch of her body wanted to give up, to turn back towards the ground, but she couldn’t stop, not until she knew for sure.

  With one last effort of will Tam felt her speed increase and the gap between her and the other figure closed. At the same instant she broke through the top of the cloud and the sun erupted onto her freezing body. The light dazzled her eyes, and for a moment she couldn’t see the other person. Had it been just a cloud after all?

  Then she saw it clear against the ice blue sky. She flew towards him – she was sure it was a man now – and reached out with her hands. She could barely move any more; her body screamed for submission. She tensed her fingers – she was so close . . .

  The man held out his arm to her, their fingers almost touching.

  Relief coursed through her; she could see him now, dark against the sky, but she could see his face. Her fingers stretched, aching at the joints, hardly any air between her hand and the man’s.

  Then Tam began to fall.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Tam was enveloped in warmth, like she was submerged in a soothing bath. All around her was dark, devoid of detail, yet she felt safe and secure. Her heartbeat gave off a lazy rhythm, a gentle hammering deep inside her ears that separated the ambient flow of her blood through her veins. Then another sound made itself heard, an echo of her heartbeat, getting louder now, harder and high-pitched, overpowering the calming beat of her own body. The new sound grew stronger, more mechanical and shrill, until it was all she could hear.

  And with the sound came pain. It started in her left side and spread across her chest, finding her right, then down into her legs. She tried to move but the pain just got worse, flashing up into her head.

  Tam moaned. Her mouth was dry and tasted odd.

  ‘Are you awake, Tam?’ a voice asked from far away.

  The sound startled her and she jumped. Pain coursed through her body. The warmth ebbed away as the noises around her penetrated her rest. She could feel a soft mattress at her back, sheets over her chest. She was in bed, but not her own. It didn’t feel right – the smells were wrong, the scent of flowers and disinfectant and something else . . .

  Disinfectant and death. She recognized that odd mix. Was she in hospital?

  Tam tried to open her eyes. The lids were stuck together, parting under protest. Light flooded in, stinging her brain. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus. Everything was a blur of bleached colours.

  ‘Tam? Can you hear me?’

  She tried to respond. Her mouth was dry, her jaw loose.

  ‘It’s OK,’ the voice reassured her. ‘Just take it easy.’

  The colours began to take on form. She was in a small room, its walls a uniform light orange. At the side of the bed was a man, smiling at her with relief in his moist eyes. He was thin, his face angular and pale, his hair just a few uncombed wisps. This was a stranger’s face, yet there was something oddly familiar. The shape of the hesitant smile, the upturned wrinkles at the corners of the eyes. And those eyes. Pale blue with flecks of grey, just like her—

  ‘Dad?’ Tam slurred.

  The man laughed, half crying. ‘Yes, pet, it’s me. God, it’s good to see you awake.’

  ‘What . . . what happened? Where am I?’

  ‘Hospital. We’re both inmates now.’ Dad chuckled, stroking the back of her hand.

  ‘Water?’

  ‘Oh.’ Dad looked about the room. ‘Yeah, of course. Let me . . .’ He stood up, thinking. ‘I’ll get a nurse. Wait there.’ He looked at her and laughed. ‘Don’t suppose you’re going anywhere, are you?’ He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then, with a grin, he left her alone in the room.

  Tam took in her surroundings. She had so many questions but she was too tired to ask them. She closed her eyes, resting, sleeping in between the noise of nurses and doctors coming and going. Every time she opened her eyes
there was Dad, sitting guard at the side of the bed.

  ‘Mum’s on her way,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You . . . you look well,’ Tam managed.

  ‘Well? No, not yet. But I am better. A lot better.’ Dad grinned, raising his stick-thin arms in a defiant pose. ‘I’m going home soon, maybe tomorrow.’

  ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘Three days,’ Dad replied. ‘What do you remember?’

  Tam pictured the grey clouds and the storm. She saw herself high above it all, reaching for the sun. Then she remembered seeing the other figure – the man – and she saw his face.

  ‘Dad . . .’ She had to tell him. ‘I was flying, high up in the sky.’

  ‘A dream?’ Dad asked.

  ‘I was in the clouds, flying. It was . . . amazing. And I wasn’t alone. You were there too, Dad. You and me.’

  Dad smiled, cocking his head in the way he used to do. He looked more and more like the dad she remembered, before the cancer, and she realized she’d found him again.

  ‘Do you remember anything about what happened?’ Dad asked. ‘Do you know why you’re here?’

  Tam didn’t reply.

  ‘You’ve been lucky, love. You’ve got four broken ribs, and your left leg’s broken in two places. They had to operate . . .’

  Tam gasped, looking down at her defeated body.

  ‘They’ve put a bloody big metal plate in there,’ Dad continued proudly. ‘You’re stronger than a robot now.’

  He laughed, then his face darkened, his smiling mouth tightening. ‘What did you do, Tam? Did you . . . were you doing the same as Becca?’

  Tam turned away. There was a small window that looked out onto a brick wall. At the top was a thin sliver of blue sky.

  ‘No, Dad, I wasn’t trying to kill myself.’

  Dad took a breath, his shoulders relaxing. ‘Right, OK . . . good. You must have slipped, I suppose. Nasty fall down to the quarry. You’re lucky it wasn’t a lot worse – you could’ve been . . .’

  Tam smiled, saying nothing.

  ‘They need to get that fence sorted out. I’ll be on to that bloody council once I’m out of here. Bloody dangerous leaving it open like that, especially—’

  ‘Dad,’ Tam took his hand. ‘It’s OK. I’m OK.’

  Dad opened his mouth but said nothing. He thought for a moment then nodded, tapping her hand. He mustered his strength and stood up, bones creaking. ‘I’d better get back to my bed. They’ll be round to check on me soon. I’ll let you rest, but I’ll be back. And Mum’s on her way, did I say?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tam laughed feebly, ‘you said.’

  Dad stood in the door, his back straight. ‘Love you, Tam.’

  ‘Love you, Dad.’

  He saluted her, like he used to when she was little, when he had tucked her in for the night, then he was gone. Tam was alone. The pain filled the void, but it was bearable now. She smiled to herself as she drifted back into sleep.

  FORTY-SIX

  Tam stood at the edge of the estate, looking over the wood. The autumnal air was crisp and cool, the low sun picking out every detail of the landscape in pin-sharp clarity. Somewhere not too far away a worker’s radio broadcast tinny songs into the air, their barely audible lyrics lost on the gentle breeze. She watched as a digger trundled back and forth, pulling tree stumps out of the compacted earth and dragging them to a cluster of waiting men.

  She felt an uneasy sadness at the wood’s death. It was like she was saying goodbye to Becca all over again.

  Beside her Abigail sighed. ‘I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t try hard enough.’

  Tam turned to look at her. ‘You never could, Abigail. No one could. It didn’t matter what you did.’

  Abigail shrugged. ‘I suppose. But still . . .’

  Tam put her arm round her friend, shifting her weight onto her stick.

  ‘This was special,’ Abigail said quietly, her voice betraying her emotion. ‘This was our place.’

  Tam felt it as well. This was the passing of something important in their lives, something they might never find again. ‘At least we had it for a while.’ She let go, stretching her leg with a sigh.

  ‘Still hurting?’ Abigail asked.

  ‘It’s getting better. It just aches sometimes.’

  Abigail looked back towards the remains of the wood. A vast hole of cleared land marked its centre. The old bridge lay exposed, the little stream clogged with branches and sawdust.

  ‘Do you remember much?’ Abigail asked Tam without looking at her.

  ‘Bits,’ Tam replied, tensing. The fall had come back to her in nightmare snapshots, visions of the ground coming up towards her far too quickly, of her trying to slow her descent, desperate to regain control.

  Abigail glanced at her. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Tam smiled. ‘I’m getting there. How about you?’

  ‘Getting there. Mum’s found a new house . . .’

  Tam heard Abigail’s hesitation. ‘But . . .’

  ‘It’s in Ashbrooke.’

  Tam nodded, saying nothing, thinking. Ashbrooke was miles away.

  ‘What about college?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Suppose I’ll find another one there.’ Abigail lowered her head.

  ‘They have a good art college there,’ Tam offered.

  Abigail glanced sideways, a grin forming. ‘Yeah, they do.’ Then the grin melted away, leaving space for new doubts. ‘Tam, everything’s changing. Home, this place, everything.’

  Tam took Abigail’s hand. ‘Change is good.’

  ‘But I won’t see you any more.’ Tears formed in Abigail’s large eyes.

  ‘Christ, it’s only down the road. What is it? Fifteen, twenty minutes in the car? An hour on the bus. It’s not Australia, is it? I’ll still see you.’

  ‘Will you?’

  Tam laughed, reassuring her. ‘Of course I will.’

  But even as she said it, Tam acknowledged the slow inevitable death of their friendship. They’d stay in touch but their lives would not be intertwined in the way they had been these last few weeks. They’d drift away from each other, finding new things to fill the holes left behind. Maybe that was the way of it, maybe that was always what happened with friendship. Nothing lasted for ever, not even the wood.

  ‘How’s your mum?’ Tam asked, keen to end her train of thought.

  ‘She’s good. She’s moving on, as she keeps saying.’ Abigail laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘But I think she means it this time.’

  ‘Good,’ Tam replied.

  Another load of cut wood was dropped onto the back of a waiting truck. It revved its engine, pushing black smoke into the air, and jerked away from the building site.

  ‘Do you miss him?’ Tam turned to view Abigail’s face. ‘Your dad.’

  Abigail thought for a moment. ‘Sometimes. I suppose I miss Good Dad. I don’t miss Red-faced Angry Dad, that’s for sure.’ She laughed, hiding her sadness. ‘I’m gonna see him, once things are settled. I don’t want to lose touch. But I don’t want him living with us again. So we’ll do the coffee shop thing, once or twice a month. That should be fine.’ She wiped her face on the sleeve of her coat. ‘How’s your dad doing?’

  ‘Great, thanks.’ Tam grinned, unable to hide her relief. ‘He’s putting weight on. He’s so bored though. He keeps watching stupid daytime TV shows and shouting at the telly. Mum can’t wait for him to go back to work. They actually had an argument the other day.’

  ‘Really?’ Abigail’s face showed concern.

  Tam laughed. ‘That’s a good thing, really. They argued all the time before, but never in a serious way. It’s just how they’ve always been, teasing each other. They haven’t done that in for ever. It’s nice.’

  The girls laughed together, then turned back to the wood.

  Abigail rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a small bottle. She unscrewed the top and held it up. ‘To the wood.’

  Tam stared at her, astonished. ‘What the hell is that?’


  ‘Mum’s vodka.’ Abigail laughed.

  ‘You? Drinking?’

  ‘Just this once. Special occasion.’

  Tam laughed too. It still hurt around her ribs. ‘I’ve corrupted you.’

  ‘Maybe just a bit.’ Abigail took a swig from the bottle and offered it to Tam.

  Tam leaned on her stick and took the drink. She raised her arm up. ‘To Becca.’

  Abigail nodded. ‘To Becca.’

  Tam took a mouthful, swallowed, tried not to cough, and then handed the bottle back to Abigail.

  ‘To friendship,’ Abigail said, raising the drink once more. She took a small sip, offering it again to Tam.

  Tam shook her head. ‘Painkillers and voddy don’t mix.’

  Abigail screwed the lid on and returned it to her coat. ‘And what about you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Abigail’s eyes bore into her. ‘No bullshit, wood or no wood.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Tam laughed. ‘My results were crap so as a first step I’m resitting what I can at sixth form college. Hopefully I can make up for lost time.’

  ‘And then what?’

  Tam looked out over the disappearing wood. ‘Me and Becca . . . we held each other back, I think. We’d have stayed here all our lives, I’m sure of it.’ Tam pictured that possible life. It wasn’t terrible, it wasn’t wasted, just different.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now . . . I want more,’ Tam replied honestly. ‘This place, it’s not where the world ends. I’ve been up there,’ she gestured to the clear sky. ‘I’ve seen the edges and there’s more I want to see.’

  Abigail chuckled. ‘You’ve broadened your horizons.’

  ‘I suppose I have, yeah,’ Tam admitted.

  ‘And the flying?’ Abigail asked, sounding uncertain. ‘Can you still do it?’