Walking on Air

by Christina Jones

  At this time of year, the place was practically empty. They selected a window table, complete with ruched pink cloth and lace doilies, and ordered two cream teas.

  Billie, laboriously heaping clotted cream on top of strawberry jam and manfully trying to keep the whole lot balanced on her scone, didn’t even look up. ‘How did you find out about me and Kieran Squires?’

  Faith, having negotiated her scone to chin level, looked down at the jam and cream that had just tumbled onto her plate. Talk about sneaky! ‘What? I – I mean – who?’

  ‘Come off it, Mum.’ Billie was smiling. ‘I’ve seen Kieran. Talked to him. He was never the brightest pixie in the forest. Miranda knew nothing of course, it was bloody Reuben who eventually confirmed it. So, how did you do it? Go on, tell me. I’m fascinated.’

  Faith, feeling very hot and swamped with guilt, wondered fleetingly if denial was an option. It obviously wasn’t. She pleated the tablecloth. ‘I – oh, I – that is . . . Is that why you’ve come home? To find out?’

  ‘One of the reasons.’ Billie licked her fingers. ‘Not the main one, honestly. I really wanted to see you all, but I’d like to know.’

  Making a big show of scraping up the fallen jam and cream, and putting off the evil deed for as long as possible, Faith eventually took a deep breath. ‘Last year, when you came home for Maria and Ben’s wedding party, I was really worried about you. You seemed unhappy, rootless . . . I suspected you hadn’t been happy for a while and that it was all to do with why you’d left Devon as quickly as you had, so . .

  It took a long time, with a fair bit of backtracking and convoluted explanation, but eventually it was over. Billie, to give her credit, hadn’t interrupted at all – just looked alternatively amazed and astounded. Faith, now having given up all pretence of wanting a damn cream tea, wondered if her daughter would ever speak to her again.

  She didn’t have to wonder for long.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Billie looked almost admiring. ‘I can’t believe you did all that! You involved so many people and you actually went to the football ground? And Kieran believed you when you said about the boys’ football club – well, yes, maybe he would – and no one – no one – knew what you were up to?’

  Faith shook her head and tried to look modest. ‘I – um – seem to have a gift for plausibility. Maybe I just look honest, and anyway, I didn’t know what I was looking for, did I? I just thought someone had threatened you in some way. I had no idea that there was a man involved.’

  ‘And if you had, would you still have done the same thing?’

  ‘Probably not.’ Faith reached for Billie’s hand across the table. ‘I’m really sorry, love. I wasn’t prying. I was just so worried, then intrigued, then, as everything progressed, completely sucked into it. I really enjoyed having something to do that was mine – not the farm, or the kiddies, or the market stall, or anything. And I mean, once I’d started I couldn’t have left it. I’d have never slept again, not knowing.’

  ‘And you weren’t angry, or disgusted, or anything, when you found out?’

  ‘Good God, no! I was merely relieved that you weren’t in fear for your life. And I have been young, Billie. These things happen. I’m not prudish, for goodness’ sake! And Kieran was – is – an exceptionally attractive man. Not in Jonah Sullivan’s league, of course, but then few men are. No, I understood – and I’m so terribly sorry that he was married, and –’

  ‘Billie! As I live and breathe!’ The voice sliced into Faith’s conversation. ‘And it’s Faith, isn’t it? Billie’s mum?’

  ‘Craigie!’ Billie had leaped up and thrown her arms round Craigie MacGowan’s neck. ‘Oh, brilliant! Come and sit down.’

  Faith pulled her chair to one side to allow Craigie’s bulk to squeeze in. The editor of the Devon Argus looked absolutely delighted to see Billie, she had to admit, and he certainly couldn’t have appeared at a better time in the confessional.

  ‘It’s just like the good old days,’ Craigie beamed at Faith. ‘We all used to skive off for a cup of Tilly’s tea and a twenty-thousand-calorie snack, didn’t we, Billie?’

  Billie nodded happily, and was soon nose to nose with Craigie, discussing old friends, acquaintances, and enemies. Faith sat back in her chair, feeling totally vindicated. There may be more flak to come over the Kieran thing, but she knew it would be all right – and it was such a relief to have it all out in the open at last.

  ‘I was saying to Billie,’ Craigie leaned towards Faith, ‘that I’d pack in smoking, eating and drinking if she’d come back to work on the Argus but apparently what with running a string of depositories and being a wingwalker – which we’re going to do a feature on – she’s far too settled in her new life.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ Faith said happily, and meaning it. ‘Do you have a vacancy, then?’

  ‘Not for a full-time journo as such. We’re just looking for someone local who could write us a weekly column – “Devon Diggings” or “Willowbridge Whispers” – you know, a touch of humour, ferreting out the stories behind the stories, that sort of thing.’

  Faith and Billie looked at each other and grinned. Craigie finished up Faith’s scone and mumbled through the crumbs. ‘Why are you two smirking? Do you know of someone who might be interested?’

  ‘Yes,’ Faith nodded, trying to ignore Billie’s giggles. ‘I think I do. When could I come and see you to discuss it?’

  ‘You?’ Craigie gulped on a strawberry. ‘You’d really be interested?’

  ‘Very,’ Faith said briskly. ‘I’ve always maintained that Billie inherited her writing skills from me. So – shall we make an appointment so that you can interview me properly?’

  ‘No time like the present.’ Craigie was feverishly dabbing up crumbs with a dampened forefinger. ‘Billie, get another lot of teas all round and let’s get down to business.’ He leaned closer to Faith. ‘The job’s yours if you want it, but are you sure you’d be OK with scrabbling around in the murky background of people’s lives?’

  ‘Oh, believe me,’ Billie said, standing up and heading for the counter, ‘there’s no one better qualified to do that than my mum.’

  Craigie beamed, wiped his fingers on his jacket and held out his hand to Faith. ‘Well, that’s the best reference I’ve ever heard. It’ll do for me. Welcome to the Devon Argus, Faith . . .’

  Chapter Forty-five

  Billie sat on Vee’s desk in the Sullivanair office and pulled a face. ‘Go on, then! You can’t stop there.’

  ‘Hold your horses.’ Vee took another drag on her cigarette. ‘Right, so in she swans at about nine o’clock this morning, young Claire, carrying her suitcase.’

  Billie stopped playing castanets with the stapler and the hole punch and looked hopeful. ‘Her suitcase? Has she left him, then?’

  ‘No, listen.’ Vee cleared her throat. ‘She’s in here saying that her contractions have started and she thinks she better get herself off to hospital and will I call her a cab.’

  Gaynor, who was leaning against the filing cabinet, gazing at the corporate Sullivanair photograph with Jonah, Vinny and Barnaby all looking mouthwatering in their uniforms, looked askance. ‘That’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I mean, for someone just about to give birth to their first baby? Surely, you’d panic a lot and rush around and want your mum? I know I would.’

  Billie, who thought she probably would too, grinned, despite being disappointed that Claire wasn’t doing a runner. ‘I hope you didn’t ring Reuben’s for a taxi.’

  ‘As if!’ Vee inhaled joyously. ‘Nah, I got that dodgy outfit from the Whiteacres estate, the ones that say they’re minicabs and don’t even have tax discs and won’t give receipts.’

  ‘Good.’ Billie nodded her approval. ‘So, what did Jonah say when you told him? Did he belt off after her, or what?’

  Vee looked blasé and blew a smoke ring. ‘Couldn’t, could he? He’s not here, is he? He’s up in the air. He’s probably three-quarters of the way back from Glasgow with Vinny and Barnaby an
d the two new planes right this minute. Anyway, Claire didn’t seem too fussed about Jonah being with her or not, to be honest. She was as cool as the proverbial cucumber. She said she’d had twinges in the flat this morning, after Jonah had left, and then they’d turned into bigger twinges, and then into the real thing, so, not knowing anyone else in the area, she’d walked over here to see if that speeded things up a bit.’

  ‘God!’ Billie looked scandalised, is that what you’re supposed to do? I thought you were supposed to rest?’

  ‘They never rest on the soaps,’ Vee said with authority. ‘They always have a bath or go down the pub. I’d’ve tucked her up in bed and boiled a kettle, myself. Still, what do I know, eh? I’ve never had a baby. Maybe your hormones kick in and you come over all calm and serene and you need to walk about.’

  Billie wasn’t sure. And as she and Gaynor had never been pregnant either, and she’d never been on the scene for her sisters-in-law’s deliveries, they were all whistling in the dark. But it meant that she’d been wrong, and that Claire’s baby was being born on time, and that probably before the day was over Jonah would be a father, and she’d really have to forget all about him, even as a friend. There were going to be no halfway measures: she’d work with him on the Flying Circus, but that was it. There was no way she’d ever fall into the Kieran trap again. Married men with families were strictly no-go areas.

  ‘So where’s she gone?’ Gaynor asked. ‘The local hospital?’

  Vee shook her head. ‘Blessed if I know. They’ve closed maternity at Amberley Hill General, so she’s probably booked into Whiteacres. Do you think we should ring and find out what’s happening?’

  Billie shrugged. ‘I suppose we should. I mean, Jonah will obviously want to know . . . and we could possibly get a message to him in the air over the radio, from air-traffic control, couldn’t we?’

  ‘We could give it a try,’ Gaynor said. ‘Shall I pop across to the control tower and find out? After all, there’s not much else either of us can do until Jonah and Barnaby get back, is there?’

  Gaynor had taken three days’ leave from her secretarial job to practise the wingwalking routines. She and Billie had been climbing in and out of the rigs and synchronising their movements on the two grounded Stearmans in unit six since first light. They were due to try their first dual airborne manoeuvres that afternoon.

  Billie sighed. That would be cancelled now, no doubt, while Jonah sat at Claire’s bedside, or kneeled beside her birthing pool, or whatever it was they’d opted for, and soothed her brow and held her hand and played her taped Fairport Convention music to ease her through the contractions. She tried really hard not to mind.

  ‘She’s a nice girl, isn’t she?’ Vee said after Gaynor had left the office and was heading across the tarmac towards air-traffic control. ‘Are you getting on well?’

  ‘Very,’ Billie said. ‘Although it seems really strange sharing the flat with her after Miranda. Miranda was just so scuzzy and noisy and well, we talked about everything. Gaynor is much quieter, and she’s far neater and more domesticated. She even likes washing up.’

  ‘Christ.’ Vee lit another cigarette. ‘Chalk and cheese, then. And the wingwalking thing’s going well, too, I gather. You know, I still can’t get my head round it. Life’s a funny bugger. Here we are working together again, well almost, and things have changed so much. I mean, look at you – you’ve done so well for yourself.’

  ‘So have you. Jonah’s a much better boss than Reuben.’

  ‘And a hell of a man.’ Vee sucked wistfully on her cork tip. ‘That Claire’s a lucky baggage. And you know what you were saving before, about it being strange that Jonah didn’t make the connection between me and you and bloody Reuben’s Cabs? Well, I asked him, and he said he didn’t even know that’s where I’d worked. He said that Pam had all the dealings with the applications and the CVs and the references for this job. He didn’t even know I’d worked for Reuben until I told him.’

  ‘Oh, well that helps a bit.’ Billie slid from the desk. At least it meant that Jonah hadn’t deliberately not told her that Vee had joined the company. He just wouldn’t have known there was a connection between them. Still, what the hell did it matter now? None of it mattered when right at this minute Claire was giving birth to Jonah’s baby.

  Billie stared out of the window. Things were moving quickly at Whiteacres. Since Aerobatic Archie had backed out of the takeover, and Jonah and Barnaby had been accepted as Incs, the promised expansion was racing ahead. The JCBs were in, digging huge swathes through the grass to produce two new runways, and the Arrivals and Departures lounge and the ramshackle airport terminal were already surrounded by red and white barricades. Towards the end of the year, when things were quieter, the demolition would begin, and by the spring a new, bigger, brighter, shinier Whiteacres Airport would surge from the debris.

  By then too Sullivanair would almost be a fleet – she knew Jonah was advertising for pilots – and the flying circus would be a reality, and her warehouse ownership would be almost two years old. And now Miranda was happy with Reuben, and Reuben had left Billie herself alone for ages, and Faith was going to be the next Lynda Lee-Potter, and the Kieran thing was well and truly over.

  She took a deep breath. Vee was right. Things had all changed for the better. It was just something she’d have to keep reminding herself of every time she and Jonah were together . . .

  ‘Reuben told me he’d given you glowing references, so have you still got no idea why he sacked you?’

  Vee shook her head. ‘Not really. I see some of the cabbies in town sometimes, and they just say he said I yakked too much. Which is a bit of a bloody cheek, to be honest. I never spoke out of turn – well, except when it was about you.’

  Billie turned round. ‘What about me?’

  ‘Well, you know, he was never off your back, was he? I always stuck up for you. Asked him what his problem was. To be honest, at first I thought – like most of the lads – it was because he fancied you, and you always gave him the cold shoulder. Then I realised that it wasn’t. He was just sort of watchful . . . like he wanted to control everything you did, you know, like a whatsisname – Svengali? It didn’t seem healthy to me, and I said so. I told him more than once that he was turning into a serious weirdo.’

  Billie exhaled. ‘Brave of you, considering. Thanks, Vee. I used to feel the same myself, actually.’

  ‘Still,’ Vee clattered the coffee cups together and switched on the computer, ‘you don’t have to worry about him any more, do you? That part of your life is all over.’

  Billie nodded. She really hoped it was. But she had a nasty feeling it wasn’t . . .

  ‘Hey, guess what!’ Gaynor threw open the door. ‘I actually spoke to Jonah! In the plane!’

  Billie tried not to look impressed. Aviation technology was all rocket science to her.

  ‘And?’ Vee immediately ignored her screen. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Well, not a lot. They’ve got the new – er – Shorts, is it? And the Skyvan, and they’re flying in convoy. They’ll be landing in about half an hour, apparently. Oh, and he seems to think Claire is booked into some private nursing home for the birth.’

  Billie wrinkled her nose. ‘You mean he doesn’t know where?’

  ‘Nope. All he said was he’d come straight up here as soon as they’d landed, and if we heard any more before that could we let him know.’

  ‘Did he sound excited?’

  ‘Couldn’t tell. Not really. More sort of crackly.’

  The phone trilled through the speculative silence. They all stared at it for a split second, then Billie, thinking it might be Claire, picked it up. ‘Hello? Sullivanair.’

  It was the organiser of the Winchester Harvest Carnival. They’d engaged a helicopter display team for their show on the last weekend of September and had just that minute been informed that it was a double booking and they’d have to cancel. Please, please, please could Sullivanair come up with an aerial alternative?
They’d heard, on the grapevine, about the wingwalking at the Whiteacres air pageant, and wondered if maybe, just maybe . . .

  Billie cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Vee, what’s Jonah got in the diary for the last weekend of September?’

  Vee flicked through the pages. ‘Nothing, why?’

  ‘Good.’ She raised her eyebrows at Gaynor. ‘Do you reckon we’ll be ready to go public in two and half weeks?’

  ‘The flying circus, you mean? No problem.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ She uncovered the phone. ‘Hello, sorry to keep you. Yes, I’m sure we can help. Sullivanair now have a wingwalking team . . . What? . . . Yes, exactly like the Utterly Butterly Barnstormers. Yes, we’re free that weekend . . . What? . . . How much? God alive! I mean, of course, yes, that sounds fine . . . Yes, we’ll get everything to you in writing,’ Billie scribbled down the address. ‘. . . If you could do the same to the Sullivanair office? . . . Wonderful – yes, we’ll see you at the show. Bye!’

  She replaced the receiver and grinned. ‘Jonah should be chuffed to bits. Winchester Harvest Carnival have hired the flying circus – and they’re paying mega bucks! Vee, get it in the diary and send them a letter of confirmation – and while we’re waiting for the new Sullivanair planes to arrive, I’ll nose round and try to find out where Claire is.’

  There was no one in the Sullivanair office when Billie got back to Whiteacres. Vee had stuck her ‘gone to lunch’ Post-it note on the door, and Billie presumed everyone else had disappeared to admire the new planes. Where Jonah was, was anyone’s guess.