The next day, Mrs Lewis had called his mum. Apparently she’d said Spencer had been ‘sullen’ and ‘lacking in focus’ lately in class. There was a long, tender hug from Mum after school that day.
Not long after that, the whole family went to see a counsellor at Relationships Australia, which was possibly the most embarrassing thing Spencer had ever had to do. But the counsellor was warm and kind and made sure everybody listened to one another, one at a time. They all had to say one thing they loved about another member of the family. Dad said he loved Mum’s calmness, and then went quiet. Mum choked up a bit and said she loved that Dad was an adventurer, and said without him she’d be stuck in her comfort zone and never push herself to do the hard stuff. Pippa said she liked Dad’s sausage sizzles. Everyone managed to hold in their laughter at that.
‘And what about you, Spencer?’ the counsellor asked. ‘What’s something that you really appreciate about one of the people in this room today?’
Spencer had never felt so awkward, and nearly had to put his hand over his eyes just to speak. ‘Um ... I guess I like that Mum and Dad are sort of ... two halves of an apple, if you know what I mean. It’s like they’re kind of opposites, but if you put them together they are just right.’
The counsellor had smiled and looked over at Mum and Dad, who were staring at their feet.
Mum and Dad had kept going to see her after that, but without Spencer and Pips. The mood in the house lifted like a cloudbank, slowly but surely.
Now, Spencer checked out the controls and dials around them.
‘They’re all the same flight controls as you’d have in most light aircraft,’ Dad said, pointing and reeling off the names: rudder pedals, control stick, air brakes.
‘Brakes?’ Spencer said. ‘What do you do with those? Slam them on, midair!’
‘No, it’s not a Road Runner cartoon, Spence. Applying the brakes in midair helps you to dump height, if you need to leave a thermal, say. The brakes are also for when you’re on the ground—you use them to slow and stop the aircraft on the runway, and sometimes for ground-turns.’
‘Now, these,’ his dad fondly tapped the dials and glass-covered needles in front of him, ‘are the instruments. They help you manage the controls—the flaps and stick and so forth. The instruments tell you things about the aircraft; the controls do things to the aircraft,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the airspeed indicator, the altimeter, and over here, the variometer.’
Leon will totally spew when I tell him all this, Spencer thought.
He wanted to know everything about those instruments. There were so many things to understand, to know how to use.
‘What’s that?’ he said, pointing to a yellow thing dangling from the console.
‘That’s the bung. You pull it to release the tow cable, to make you independent of the tow plane once it’s pulled you up high enough. I used it earlier, to separate us from Reg’s plane.’
Half an hour later, when Dad murmured lowering landing gear, Spencer felt a flood of adrenalin. He knew Dad knew what he was doing, but he wished Reg’s plane was still in front of them, towing them back down like he’d towed them up.
‘Relax,’ said Dad. ‘You’re clenching. And gripping.’
‘Are you really up for this, Dad?’
‘Put your headphones back on now. It makes it easier to talk when I’m having to concentrate.’
Spencer adjusted the mic. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Very well, mate. And you me?’
Dad gently pitched the aircraft downward, pushing on the stick.
‘I can hear you,’ Spencer squeaked. ‘Don’t worry about me, just ... focus on all that,’ he waved at the instruments.
His dad pulled his sunnies down over his eyes as he turned into the sun. He pushed the glider into the wind. Months ago, when he’d described to Spencer how it felt to be up in the sky, Dad’d said he ‘went into himself’ up here, like he was entering another world. He said it must be a bit like how a yachtie feels out on the ocean. He told Spencer that over the years he’d learned how to read the currents of the air, the eddies of wind coming off the land. Dad reckoned he knew the Drifter like he knew an old friend. He loved that plane. He loved how it felt to be up in the sky, like flying with your lungs full of helium, almost as if your body itself was the plane, your arms the wings.
‘We’ll be on the ground shortly, Spence,’ he said into his headset. ‘Thanks for coming up with me. Can’t imagine a better flight companion.’
Spencer grinned at him. ‘Don’t lose it now, Dad. Get this thing back on the ground safe and sound, okay?’
9
‘So, talk to me, Spence. You flew?’
‘I flew. This arvo.’
Leon breathed out heavily. ‘Details— now. And don’t hold back. I can take it.’
Spencer tried, but there was no way to break it gently. ‘I wasn’t disappointed, put it that way.’
‘No. How could you be.’ Leon punched the pillow and then pretended to give Spencer a left-right to the jaw before falling back on the bed.
‘Did you get a turn on any of the controls—the throttle?’
‘Nah—it doesn’t actually have a throttle, ’cos it doesn’t have an engine, don’t forget.’
‘Yeah ... right. Of course.’
‘Dinner!’ Mum called from the kitchen. ‘Go wash your hands, kids.’
Spencer got up and pushed down his jeans so they covered his ankles. ‘Dad wants to take me over the Stirling Ranges next time.’
‘Next time? Is this gunna be a regular gig, is it? What: Stirling Ranges this week, the moon the next?’
‘Boys, it’s gnocchi! It’s ready!’
‘Man, you get well looked after in this house,’ Leon mumbled.
‘Do you wanna stay for dinner, Leon? I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind.’
‘Nah, no thanks. I’ll reheat last night’s gruel, it’s okay.’
As they walked to the front door, Spencer said, ‘Did you get the twin flick missiles on the Falcon done?’
‘Yep. And the minifigs. Gotta get started on the interior now. It’s got a detachable cockpit cover. Come by before school tomorrow and we can work on it if you want.’
‘Definitely,’ said Spencer. ‘I’ll see you at eight.’
‘You should skate over. Good practice, Spence. Bye Mrs Gray.’
‘See you, Leon. See you soon. Ask your mum if you can stay for dinner next time, okay? We can run you home afterwards.’
‘Oh, okay ... sounds good. Thanks.’
And Spencer turned towards the smells of dinner, part of him still flying over a patchwork earth, his ears roaring with sky and silence, his skin almost fizzy with adrenalin from the day.
At dinner, Pippa was dark. Spencer looked to Mum for an explanation, and she just shook her head, indicating that silence was the best option.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Pippa said, putting down her fork. ‘Can I get down?’
‘What’s the matter, Pips?’ Spencer couldn’t help himself.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Nothing.’
‘Doesn’t look like noth_____’
‘Spencer, just leave her.’
‘It’s not fair, Mum! Why does he get to go flying with Dad? I’ve been wanting to go with Dad for ages. For ever!’
‘It’s an age thing, sis.’
‘Well, I’m old enough!’
‘Pippa, stop it,’ Mum said, putting her hands flat on the table. ‘You know how this works. It’s the rule. It’s always been the rule. No, well, actually, the rule used to be thirteen, that’s how old we said you’d have to be before you could go up with Dad, but you two hassled us so much we brought it back a year, to twelve. But it’s twelve, and no earlier. You’ll be allowed to go up in the Drifter when you’re t-w-e-l-v-e. I know it doesn’t seem fair now, but when you’re older you’ll see that it is. Now go and have your bath.’
‘I don’t want to have a stupid bath!’
‘Well off to bed with you then!’
‘I don’t want to go to BED YET!’
Mum stood up. ‘Pippa Gray, hop in the bath or shower right now before I chuck you in!’
When her eyes welled up, Spencer said, ‘Do you want me to take you, sis? We can put some lavender oil in the tub if you like.’
Pippa nodded her wet face. Mum started to clean up from dinner. Between the loud chank chank of plates, Spencer was sure he could hear her mumbling something about ‘the bloody Drifter’.
10
They’d been to the Stirling Ranges before, a couple of times, in fact, even before they’d moved to Skippers Cove. Driven down from Perth for the weekend. Having climbed Bluff Knoll once, Dad of course raised the bar and led the way up the uneven rocky slopes of Mount Toolbrunup. It was more of a scramble than a walk, and Pippa ended up being piggybacked some of the way down. Mum had packed trail snacks—bags full of nuts, yoghurt-coated sultanas, soy crisps, dried apricots and mango strips—and they stopped often for breaks, slugging water and hoeing into trail-snack sustenance. Pippa reckoned those breaks were the highlight of the hike, but for Spencer it was that moment of standing at the peak, which was a tiny rocky point that only two or three people could perch on at once. He was knackered by the time they reached the top, and couldn’t believe he’d actually have to do the whole walk again, downwards. But he took a long moment, the wind making his eyes stream, to take in the incredible views from that high place. Below him, the circle of Stirling’s peaks looked like a crowd of rocks pushing up the vast green felt of a pool table.
Towards the end of the climb, Mum had got a bit stressed about whether Pippa would make it and gave Dad a couple of teeth-gritting glares when Pips lay down on her back and sobbed that she wanted to go home. ‘You just push it too far sometimes, Rory,’ Mum whispered hard. ‘She’s still little.’
‘She is not that little, Suzie. Would you rather they were at home playing on their DSs?’
‘Of course not!’ she yelled at him, on the side of that mountain.
Mum was silent all the way down after that, but her silence spoke her thoughts loud and clear.
Afterwards, at the local caravan park, they had long hot showers, and lit a fire in one of the old-fashioned barbecues not far from the cabin they were staying in for the night. Dad cooked some snaggers and put them into buns with t-sauce. In appreciative, tired silence, they wolfed them down, and all went back for seconds. Then Mum pulled out a bag of marshmallows and Spencer and Pippa scooted off for sticks.
‘Get a longer stick, Pips,’ Spencer said, ‘So you don’t burn your fingers.’
She looked over at his, threw hers on the ground, and scuttled off to get another.
‘You guys were awesome today,’ Mum said, pushing three pink marshmallows onto her stick.
‘You really make us proud. Not all kids of your age could do what you two did today.’ She flamed up her marshmallows, and Spencer wasn’t sure whether she’d got smoke in her eye or if she was crying a bit.
Dad gathered Pippa into him and said, ‘I couldn’t think of any way I’d rather spend my weekend.’
Mum kept her head down, taking another three pinks and threading them onto her stick.
‘Mum, we wouldn’t mind some of those pink marshmallows either, you know.’
She looked down at her stick, ‘Oh, goodness, of course—sorry, kids.’
Dad opened a bottle of red wine, poured some into two plastic cups and handed one to Mum.
‘Cheers, guys,’ he said, raising his cup.
‘Where’s our drink?’ asked Pippa.
‘Rummage around in the esky, love,’ Mum said, sniffing lightly. ‘You’ll find some apple juice.’
‘Yummo!’ Pippa said, leaping up.
Mum murmured, ‘Marshmallows and wine—the perfect way to celebrate.’
And around the campfire the four of them clacked their plastic cups in celebration.
11
‘Orright everyone, listen up,’ Mr Petrich called. The kids shuffled into a scattergram group in the middle of the school oval. ‘We’ve got the cross-country in half an hour, for those of you willing to give it a go.’
There was 360-degree groaning and Leon pulled his cap right down so his eyes were covered.
‘Mate, you can’t block it out, you know,’ whispered Charlie through his hair.
‘Boys!’ Mr Petrich pointed at the three of them. ‘You three will all be running, I take it?’
Spencer and Charlie nodded.
‘Leon?’
‘Sir?’
‘Don’t “sir” me, Leon Wilkes, just pull your hat up and pay attention, okay? I’ll be looking to you today for a personal best.’
Spencer’s torso rocked with silent laughter as Mr Petrich described the course.
‘Shut up,’ Leon muttered.
‘A personal best, mate, you got that?’
Sunscreen was passed around and kids sucked down last drinks before moving towards the start of the course. Five or six kids headed back to the classroom for private study instead; the cross-country wasn’t compulsory.
Spencer really enjoyed the run, mainly because it didn’t involve sprinting, and it got them out of normal school grounds, into a bushy reserve that backed onto the school. Running around and around and around and around and around the oval till he couldn’t breathe just bored him. He loved the surprise elements that a cross-country offered: logs across the path, uneven ground, branches at eye-level.
‘All right everyone. On your marks. Set. GO!’
Mr Petrich really got into the athletics season. Towards the end of races he could be heard shouting himself hoarse at his students. Apparently he’d been a pretty good runner in his day. The kids thought he was a bit of a legend ’cos he drove a lime-green Charger with black GT stripes. He actually drove it as his car—to work, to the shops, wherever. It was awesome to see it in the staff carpark, in between the white Camrys and the banana-coloured Getzes. Spencer’s dad used to call micro cars like Getzes ‘lunch boxes’ when he got stuck behind them on the freeway, and would overtake, mumbling grumpily about being able to go faster on a ride-on lawnmower.
Spencer watched his feet now as they landed strongly after each stride. He leapt over fallen branches and crunched over sticks. He could see Charlie just up ahead, and he didn’t need to look back to know that, taking his own sweet time, very near the back of the group was Leon. Priceless.
‘Pick it up, Spencer,’ Mr Petrich yelled from the first of two drink stops. ‘Stay close to the leaders.’
Spencer pushed harder against the ground. He adjusted his breathing, and pulled air in through his nose. He could finish in the top five if he paced himself; if he pushed himself.
He imagined he was in the Drifter, ascending. The pain in Spencer’s legs was just thermal power; it wasn’t pain at all. He thought of all the flights he and Dad had done in the last few months, joyrides around Skippers Cove, taking in the views, flying the blue-yellow divide of the coast before swinging back and lining up the tarmac. He was almost getting used to it, the feeling. But you didn’t get tired of it, ever.
He was tired now; tired, but fired up too. Run, Spencer, run!
12
‘Second in the cross-country?’ Dad’s eyes widened and he turned to Spencer.
‘Yup.’
‘Well done, Spence. That’s an excellent effort.’
‘It’s fantastic,’ Mum said.
‘He didn’t come first though,’ Pippa piped up.
‘Pippa!’
‘It’s all right, Mum. She’s right, I wasn’t first. That’s cool.’ He turned to his little sister. ‘You’ll be doing your first cross-country in a couple of years, Pips. We’ll see how you go, hey?’
‘I’ll come first.’
‘Well, congratulations in advance.’
‘Okay, you lot, that’s enough. Listen, I’m off to tennis in a minute, so can I leave you with dinner?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Dad. ‘My talents as a cook are well documented. As
you know.’
‘But rather less well practised,’ Mum said. ‘As I also know.’
Mum’s three-stripe Adidas legs and tennis racquet moved quickly towards the door. ‘Bye!’ she called out, not turning to look back.
Once Pippa had finished her dinner and asked to be excused, Spencer said, ‘When can we go out in the Drifter next, Dad?’
‘You’re really enjoying the flying, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, yeah, it’s awesome. Some nights when I’m trying to get to sleep I just can’t get it out of my mind—that feeling. Going into clouds. And then out the other side. Even the pre-flight safety check stuff is awesome.’
‘You might be hooked, champ.’
Spencer nodded and grinned. ‘So, when?’
‘Well ... I’d been wondering about the Stirlings, hadn’t I? The views are incredible.’
‘Sounds great. Soon?’
‘I’ll talk to Mum. Maybe this weekend?’
‘I’m there, Dad. Let’s do it.’
‘You’re a chip off the old block, you are, Spence.’ Dad smiled. ‘Okay. I’ll see what I can do.’
Spencer keyed non-motorised fixed-wing glider into Google and hit search. He and Pippa shared a computer that was set up on a desk near the kitchen. Mum and Dad were really strict about The Computer Rules: he and Pips were allowed to use it for study and emailing, but weren’t allowed to go onto Facebook or any other social networking sites, or be on the computer for longer than an hour at a time.
Wikipedia was first in line and Spencer clicked on the link:
A fixed-wing aircraft is an aircraft capable of flight using forward motion that generates lift as the wing moves through the air.
A powered fixed-wing aircraft that is propelled forward by thrust from a jet engine or propeller is typically called an aeroplane, airplane, or simply plane. Unpowered fixed-wing aircraft, including gliders, paragliders, hang-gliders and kites, can use rising air to gain height.
Most fixed-wing aircraft are flown by a pilot on board the aircraft, but some are designed to be remotely-or computer-controlled.
The Amazing Spencer Gray Page 3
