Taking Flight

by Sheena Wilkinson

  No way could I go to the party now. Even if I cleaned my cut up and found a different top. But where could I go? Mum would be back in no time with Declan. I could phone Dad and ask him to come and get me. But then I’d have to explain. Dad might not be Declan’s biggest fan but he’d still be horrified at me. I’d have to go to the party. I stood up slowly and peered at the facecloth which was only faintly spotted with blood now.

  All my excitement about Niamh’s party had evaporated. It was just somewhere to pass the time until midnight when Dad picked me up. I repaired my make-up, changed into a nice but old black top and swung my rucksack over my shoulder.

  At the front door I paused. Should I leave Mum a note? Not that she’d be worried about me but I wanted her to know that I was … well, sorry. I explored the inside of my lip. It still felt raw but it was almost welcome, like I deserved to feel it. In the end I sent her a text as I walked down the street, head down against the rain. My hair would get frizzy but it didn’t seem as important as usual. I’M SORRY. I’VE GONE TO THE PARTY. I knew it wasn’t enough.

  It was a bit scary walking in the dark even though Niamh’s house was only about a mile away. I ignored an old man who walked past me with his dog. My heart was thumping against my ribs and when a car slowed down behind me I nearly had a fit. I put my head down and kept on walking.

  Then –

  ‘Vicky? Are you going to Niamh’s? D’you want a lift?’

  It was Rory in a small blue car. I looked in. Sitting in the driver’s seat, looking too big for the small space, his hands confident on the steering wheel, he looked even more gorgeous than usual. What was it about boys in cars? In the street light I could see that he was wearing a blue shirt which made his eyes look fantastically deep.

  ‘Um, yeah, great, thanks,’ I said. God, was I going to be so tongue-tied the whole way to Niamh’s?

  I could feel my cheeks burning, hotter than my sore mouth as I climbed in. Then I got my rucksack stuck at a weird angle and so I had to kind of rest my feet on it. I was all folded up and my legs looked huge. But I was in a car with Rory!

  ‘So, um, you’re at school with Niamh?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Her parties are legendary. Their parties, I should say – I suppose it’s Niall’s too. I don’t know if I’d like to be a twin and have to share everything, would you?’ I was babbling like a moron but he acted like I was a normal person.

  ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ he said. ‘There’s five of us, so I suppose I’m used to sharing.’ I remembered seeing his mum in the street with millions of kids. ‘You’re an only child, is that right?’

  ‘Yes – well, no, I suppose. I have a baby sister. Half-sister.’

  ‘Oh right.’ He sounded a bit embarrassed. ‘Do you mind?’

  If I told him the truth he would think I was selfish and jealous. And I wanted to make a good impression, so I just laughed and said, ‘Well, she’s still at the puking and screaming stage. But I suppose she’s quite cute. I like the car. Is it yours?’

  ‘I just bought it.’ He sounded really proud. ‘That’s what all those nights in the Rowan Tree were for. The car wasn’t that dear – I mean, it’s not exactly new, but the insurance is mad. If you’re young and a guy they just assume you’re a boy racer.’

  That made me think about Declan again. I’d never exactly liked thinking about him being at my house, being at the yard, but now it made me feel guilty as well. I sighed. Don’t spoil your night, Vicky, I told myself. You’re with Rory! OK, not with him, but it’s better than nothing. Better than you deserve, said a voice in my head – Mum’s probably, and I wondered where she was now, if she had found Declan, if he had said sorry, what she had said about me –

  ‘Vicky? I asked you if it was this one or the next one?’

  ‘Oh, sorry! Um, next left.’

  And then we were at Niamh’s. I’d been to her house thousands of times and it was just an ordinary semi like ours, but there were fairy lights strung up in all the trees on the drive and it looked really pretty. Walking in with Rory was amazing but he got claimed by some rugby players more or less at once, though he did say, ‘See you later,’ and gave my arm a sort of pat.

  ‘Vicky!’ Niamh ran up to hug me. You look gorgeous!’ she shrieked. ‘I love your top.’

  I looked down and shrugged. ‘Go and get yourself a drink,’ Niamh said. ‘Fliss and Becs aren’t here yet.’

  I drifted into the kitchen. Niall was serving punch to some girls but I didn’t know anyone else there. I wondered where Rory had gone. I probably wouldn’t see him again for the whole evening; I was probably just this boring girl who lived on his street who he’d felt obliged to give a lift to.

  My mouth started to throb. I thought people were giving me funny looks. Had my lip swollen up? Was I grotesque? I went to the downstairs loo a couple of times to check that my camouflage make-up was surviving the action.

  ‘Hi, Vicky, there you are.’ It was Rory. Oh. My. God. Had he been looking for me? If only I hadn’t been coming out of the loo when he met me. Had he noticed that it was the second time I’d gone in? Oh God, what if he thought I had the runs or something?

  Then Fliss and Becca were there, screaming, ‘Vicky!’ like they hadn’t just seen me in double Maths five hours ago.

  Fliss was all jittery and kept looking round, to see if she could spy Niall, I guessed, and left Becca to do all the talking for once. And Becca, who was usually so shy with boys, was able to talk to Rory totally normally. I suppose because she didn’t fancy him, incredible as that was. I wondered if he fancied her. Her Diet Coke diet had worked. Every button on her new top was done up except a few to show just the right amount of black bra and the impressive cleavage which Becca was apparently famous for at the boys’ grammar. I looked at my own pathetic chest. Would Rory fancy me if I had boobs like Becca’s? Somehow, despite Rory being here, I was depressed.

  ‘So, Rory, have you seen Vicky’s secret cousin?’

  ‘What?’

  I sighed. There was no getting away from the subject. ‘It’s just my cousin is staying with us while his mum’s in hospital,’ I muttered.

  ‘She was keeping him secret till we, like, forced her to spill the beans the other day. She won’t let us see him. Fliss got this fleeting glance of him and says he’s gorgeous. So I reckon she wants to keep him to herself. You can marry your cousin, can’t you? So, Rory, tell all! Is he gorgeous?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Rory in a Graham Norton voice and we all laughed. Mine was pretty forced.

  ‘You tried the punch yet?’ Fliss asked.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go and get some,’ Rory said. It was sort of an invitation and he must have meant it to me because they both had full glasses and he was drinking Coke as he was driving. Yes! I followed him into the kitchen and my depression lifted. ‘So, um, yeah,’ he said, handing me a glass, ‘it looks like Mansfield are going to be our biggest rivals this season. They have two Ireland players, never mind a handful of Ulsters. And then you can never really rule out the country schools.’ He took a swig of Coke and I watched the lovely smooth skin on his throat. He looked like he had just shaved. My fingers ached to touch his face. Or any part of him.

  I fixed my mouth into what I hoped was an interested smile. Rugby.

  ‘For us it’s the country schools that have the edge,’ I said. ‘Though actually we came second to Mansfield in the last competition.’

  ‘Hockey?’

  ‘No!’ I dismissed boring hockey. ‘Showjumping.’

  ‘Showjumping? That always looks pretty hard to me. On TV, I mean. I’ve never seen it in real life.’ He smiled, showing straight, strong-looking white teeth. ‘That big red wall thing – scary stuff.’

  Scary. Good. That meant he would think I was brave.

  I shrugged. ‘I’ve been doing it for years now.’ I didn’t add that the puissance wall he was talking about was at least twice as high as any fences Flight and I would ever jump in our lives.

>   Fliss and Becca drifted in and Fliss raised her eyebrows when she saw us standing together.

  ‘You should go and watch Vicky jumping some time, Rory,’ she said. ‘It’s really good.’

  ‘Yeah, we’re going next Saturday, aren’t we, Vic? You could come with us. It’s great craic,’ Becca said.

  ‘Since when?’ I couldn’t help asking, but Fliss shot me a trust me! I know what I’m doing! look.

  ‘I have a match in the morning,’ Rory began and I rushed in, desperate to make up for my pushy, unsubtle friends.

  ‘Yeah, you don’t want to go standing around watching showjumping all afternoon in the cold.’ I frowned at Fliss and Becca and they gave me identical what sort of an ungrateful cow are you? looks.

  Rory went on, ‘No, I would like to come. I was going to say, it’s a home game so I’ll be back around twelve.’

  My stomach started doing a bit of showjumping of its own. What do I really look like in my white jodhs? What if I fall off? What if I get three refusals at the first jump?

  ‘OK, we’ll sort that out,’ said Fliss. ‘Hey, come on, Becs, Niamh is waiting for us.’

  They left us alone again and somehow the conversation got easier, and even though people came and went, we kind of stuck together.

  ‘Would you like a lift home?’ he asked around eleven. I looked at him in surprise. ‘I mean – whenever. Not now, obviously.’

  ‘It’s OK, my dad’s picking me up.’

  ‘Oh right.’ He looked at his Coke. ‘So – are you always at your dad’s at weekends?’

  I didn’t catch on at first. ‘Pretty much,’ I said and then I thought that made me sound like I was never around or playing hard to get or something. ‘I mean, it’s only in Drumbo, not far.’

  His face got a bit pink. ‘I just wondered if you’d like to go out some time?’

  ‘Oh!’ I hadn’t thought it would be so easy! ‘Um – ye-yes, I would. Thanks.’

  ‘Good. Maybe we can sort it out when I come to see you jumping?’

  ‘Um, yes, that would be great.’ OK, that meant we wouldn’t even be making a date for another week. Still, things had moved faster tonight than I had ever dared to hope. I just wished I could get rid of that niggling voice that said, you don’t deserve this.

  He didn’t kiss me goodnight but he did give my shoulder a sort of squeeze when I was going. I caught sight of myself in the cloakroom mirror as I lifted my rucksack. My mouth looked definitely swollen now. Not hideous, but definitely, well, enhanced, like I’d had collagen injections or something.

  As I walked down the drive in the cold November midnight I noticed that the rain had stopped and the sky was pricked with stars. Dad’s car was waiting, warm and welcoming, on the street. I felt a rush of joy. There was a whole weekend ahead and Fiona had said she might ride out with me on the farm tomorrow. And I was going to practise jumping in the school. And then on Sunday night when I had to see Declan again … I swallowed.

  I would apologise.

  I gave Dad as good a hug as I could manage in the car. It felt like much more than two weeks since I had seen him.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ he said. ‘Good party?’

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said.

  He gave me a funny look. ‘Vicky, your mouth! What on earth have you done?’

  For maybe half a second I considered the truth. Then, buckling up my seatbelt with my face half-turned away I said, ‘Oh that. I got hit in the mouth in PE. It’s no big deal.’

  Chapter 17

  DECLAN

  Bitch. My feet pound it out on the wet footpath. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.

  By the end of the street I’m out of breath. Why bother to run? No one’s after me. I glance over my shoulder just in case. Nope. The street’s empty except for a wee old man walking a small dog in a tartan coat. He gives me a funny look. I look down at myself and see I’m only in my school shirt and it’s soaked already, clinging and slapping against my body.

  I slow to a jog, then a walk. My heart’s hammering. Don’t know if it’s from running or anger.

  It’s dark. All the houses have their curtains shut tight. I get to the Lisburn Road. Cars. Lights. People. I stop. Where am I going? I put my hand into the pocket of my school trousers. Locker key, broken pencil, coins: fifty, ten, two. Great.

  I cross the road and turn left. This is the way home. To my house I mean. I put my head down and trudge on. Try and stamp out those words. But the footsteps turn into the words and there’s no getting away from them. No. Wonder. She. Tried. To. Kill. Herself. Like I need bloody Vicky to tell me.

  I go under the bridge. There’s this dead long, straight, boring road ahead. I start trying to think, forcing my mind to blot out those words. I imagine getting to my house, breaking in and just hiding out there. But it’s a stupid idea. It’s the first place she’ll look. And when she finds me she’ll get social services in. Colette is the kind of person who does things by the book. And there’s no way they’ll let me stay on my own. Maybe I’ll get sent to a foster home or something. No more Princess Vicky. Good.

  Yeah, but no more horses either. Shit. Like Mum said, all I do is wreck things. Why did I hit her? Because she deserved it. No. Wonder. She. Tried. To. Kill. Herself. I’m back where I started.

  Getting over the roundabout’s pretty hairy. I run for it. Cars blare. I don’t care. Up the hill. My breathing’s funny. Some bastard splashes my legs and a car slows. Stops. I keep going. Then I hear the swish of an electric window.

  ‘Get in.’ It’s Colette.

  I get in.

  ‘Seatbelt,’ she says. I don’t look at her face. She pulls off and heads on up the hill. At the roundabout at the top she indicates right, goes all the way round, and straight down again towards home. Her home. I don’t know I’ve been holding my breath till I feel it releasing.

  ‘Where did you think we were going?’ she says.

  I shift in the seat. ‘Thought you might –’

  She turns to me for the first time. ‘You’re soaking.’

  ‘Yeah.’ My school shirt’s sticking to me. Mostly rain but as she turns the heating up I catch the sour reek of sweat.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ For a second I don’t recognise my own voice. ‘I didn’t mean to hit her. But she –’

  ‘I know. It was a terrible thing to say. But Declan, you can’t go round hitting everyone who says something you don’t like. Especially not girls.’

  ‘I know.’ My voice is small.

  She won’t let up, though. ‘I mean, is that the sort of man you want to be? One who settles things with his fists?’

  Like Barry. I can’t answer.

  ‘Come on, is it?’

  ‘No,’ I say. Something swells up and chokes me and next thing I’m crying.

  Colette says something and I flinch away and try to look out the window. The lights of cars blur and dazzle. I scrunch my eyes shut but the tears force their way out anyway. I bite my lip and choke on a massive sob.

  The car slides to a stop though we’re not back at Colette’s house yet. I feel her hand on the back of my neck. ‘It’s OK,’ she says, dead soft and nice. I give up. I turn and sort of fall against her and she puts her arms round me and I know I’ll never be able to stop.

  A long time later I sit up, shivering, and blot my burning face with tissues. My breath shudders but I’ve got hold of myself. My face feels swollen and raw. There’s a banging in my head and I feel sort of outside myself. Spaced out and knackered, like I’ve been awake for days.

  Colette hands me another tissue. ‘Better?’ The front of her jumper is all soggy with tears. I hope there isn’t any snot.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Your mum upset you, didn’t she? That’s what started this?’

  I suppose it is in a way. I nod.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’

  ‘What about Vicky?’

  ‘She went to the party. You won’t have to see her until Sunday. When naturally she will apologise, and –�
��

  I swallow. ‘Me too.’

  ‘That’s OK then.’ She says it like it’s not a big deal. She starts the engine. When the dashboard clock lights up it says twenty to nine but it feels like the middle of the night.

  We’re at her house in a few minutes. Half an hour ago I thought I’d never be back here again. The light’s on in the hall. No Vicky for two days. I can hardly drag myself out of the car.

  Colette seems to know how I feel. ‘Go on,’ she says. ‘Get those wet clothes off and I’ll run you a bath. Are you hungry? You haven’t had any tea.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Well, I’ll heat up some soup anyway. You’ll probably feel like it in a bit.’

  I move in a blur of tiredness and relief. Let her take control. Have a bath. Eat soup. She hands me two paracetemol and a glass of water. ‘Go on, take those and go on up to bed. You look exhausted.’

  There’s a hot water bottle in my bed. I hug it. Don’t think. Sleep.

  * * *

  I wander into the living-room with my cornflakes, flick through the TV channels. Saturday morning crap. Then I hear Colette getting out of the shower upstairs and my stomach dips. Oh God. Last night. My face burns at the memory. I decide to make her a cup of tea and hope she won’t mention it.

  ‘So what do you normally do on Saturdays, Declan?’ she asks when we’re both drinking our tea.

  I shrug. ‘Just hang around and that.’

  ‘D’you miss your friends?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Look, it’s a lovely day. What do you say to going out somewhere?’ She has this sort of hopeful look on her face and I suddenly wonder what she normally does on Saturdays – is she glad to get Princess Vicky out of the way or does she miss her?

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Any ideas where you’d like to go?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Then for some reason I remember the houses at the loony bin. ‘Mountains?’