Taking Flight

by Sheena Wilkinson

‘I am. It’s just, I thought you’d be in here for another few weeks.’ I look around the day room. Some of the women are familiar to me now – the fat one that sings, the really skinny one with the huge eyes who only looks about my age.

  ‘No need,’ she says. She’s in a totally different mood from last week. Her eyes are clear and bright and she’s lost that yellowy look she had when she first went in.

  ‘So you’re … you’re better?’

  ‘Haven’t touched a drop.’ She sounds dead proud.

  ‘But sure, in here, you wouldn’t be able to …’ I can’t keep the doubt out of my voice.

  She laughs. ‘Och, son, I haven’t even felt the need for it. Honestly. I’m fine. I just want to get home and get things back to normal.’

  ‘And the doctors and all – they don’t mind?’

  ‘Declan, anybody’d think you didn’t want me home!’ Her voice falters a bit and I rush in.

  ‘Course I do! It’s brilliant! It’s just a surprise.’

  I wonder if Colette’ll be as surprised as me, I wonder, walking out to the car. This is the first time I’ve gone in on my own since that Friday. And now – well, I suppose this is the last time I’ll be in here. I turn round and look at Croob before heading over to the car.

  ‘I thought things were heading that way,’ Colette says, starting up the engine. ‘She’s been phoning me a lot, saying how well she’s doing, how she wants home for Christmas.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s ready.’ I can tell by her voice.

  She sighs. ‘Declan, love, I hope she is. I’d just feel happier if she’d completed the programme.’

  Panic surges up in me. It’s too quick. I don’t want to go home yet. But how can you say that? ‘She’ll be fine,’ I hear myself say instead. ‘I’ll look after her.’

  ‘I know you will.’ She pats my knee. ‘And you know where I am if you need me.’

  We get home around eight and Colette says she’s got to be out again by half past. ‘So I’ll leave you to tell Vicky the good news,’ she says. ‘I’m off for a shower.’

  I plonk myself down at the kitchen table and pick up the English books I left there before Colette and I went up to the hospital. Vicky’s making a cup of tea but she’s been revising. Her books are spread out all over the table.

  ‘What good news?’ She swings round from where she’s waiting for the kettle to boil.

  ‘Mum’s getting home. I’ll be going at the weekend.’

  She’s probably delighted but she doesn’t let it show. She pours hot water into the teapot.

  What’ll Mum think about me going to the yard all day Saturday and Sunday? It’ll be harder to keep an eye on her. My stomach squeezes with nerves the way it always does when I let myself think about The Plan. All week Mr Dermott’s been hounding me about getting the work done and he keeps giving me stuff he’s downloaded about grants and career prospects. You’d think he was the one wanting to apply for the course.

  Seaneen’s noticed something’s going on. ‘You’re acting weird,’ she complained this afternoon. ‘I mean, more than usual. That’s the second time this week you’ve done your Maths homework. And why are you redrafting that Macbeth essay? Sykes said you only had to do it if you wanted to try and get a better mark for your coursework. You don’t have to.’

  I’d just shrugged. Now, looking at the essay, I think she had a point. Maybe I won’t bother after all. Then the picture from the prospectus Mr Dermott downloaded for me pops into my head – a boy and girl holding a bright chestnut racehorse – and I grit my teeth and get down to it.

  Opposite me, Vicky sighs and cups her hands round her mug. ‘What are you doing?’

  Macbeth coursework. Still.’

  ‘I’m doing History – the Nazis.’

  ‘We do them.’

  ‘Would you ask me this when I’ve learned it? Mum usually does but she’s going to see a film.’

  ‘OK. Then,’ I hate asking her for anything and she was a bit weird when she caught me on the computer the other night, ‘could I use your computer to type it up on?’

  ‘OK.’ She smiles. She’s been far nicer since she started hanging round with Rory.

  I look at the scribbled rubbish I handed in a couple of weeks ago. ‘Discuss the theme of guilt in Macbeth.’ I can think of far more to write now. Like your man Macduff – he feels crap about leaving his family to get murdered. I never thought of him before. I never usually bother to do a second draft. It’ll give the old cow a heart attack to see this tomorrow.

  ‘Can you ask me these two pages?’

  ‘OK.’ I take her file. Her writing is dead neat and she uses loads of highlighters. Yellow and pink and green. Very girly. I don’t mind asking her the questions because it’s the same stuff we do. Maybe History’s one of the things I could get a C in. Vicky knows most of the answers and she pronounces the German words in a dead showy-off way.

  ‘Oh lovely! You’re helping each other.’ Colette dashes in, all perfume and smiles, and grabs her keys from the top of the fridge. ‘Vicky, love, I may be a bit late. Don’t wait up.’

  ‘Mum! It’s Thursday!’

  Colette laughs. She’s wearing a skirt and her eyes are all sparkly. ‘You sound like my mother,’ she says, planting a kiss on the top of Vicky’s hair. ‘Bye – be good.’

  ‘Declan! You haven’t asked me about Lebensraum,’ Vicky says.

  ‘Sorry.’ I look down the page but just then her mobile starts singing and vibrating.

  She grabs it and takes a deep breath. ‘Hi! How did it go?’

  I lift the book with my essay in it and head up to the computer room. I’m a crap typist. I keep getting those wiggly green and red lines under everything even when I can’t see what’s wrong. But it looks great when I’ve printed it off.

  I only know it’s late because when I stand up to get the paper out of the printer I realise my hands are stiff with cold. I touch the radiator – it’s cooling, which means it must be after ten. This is the longest I’ve ever spent on schoolwork. No wonder people at smart schools don’t hang round the streets at night getting into trouble – they mustn’t have time.

  When I open the kitchen door Vicky still has her History book open. There’s a pile of plastic folders beside her stuff. My essay would look class in one of them. Shame to get it crumpled in my bag after working so hard. Only I don’t want to ask her. Maybe I could just slip one into my bag tomorrow. She’ll hardly notice. But no. I make myself ask.

  ‘Yeah, no worries.’ She didn’t look up when I came in but she does now. ‘That your Macbeth essay?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I can’t keep the pride out of my voice.

  ‘Let’s see.’

  I hand it over. She skims it and starts to laugh.

  ‘Here, give it back!’ I snatch for it.

  She holds on. ‘Declan – you can’t hand this in as a final draft.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Hot rage floods my face.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not being mean. You just mustn’t have spellchecked it. Look, this is all one sentence. And you need to take a new paragraph every time –’

  I bite my lip. ‘It’s only a stupid bit of coursework. I don’t care about it.’

  ‘I was going to say,’ – she sounds quite kind – ‘d’you want me to fix it up a bit for you? Just the spelling and that.’

  ‘Oh. Would you?’

  She shrugs. ‘Yeah, I don’t mind. It’ll only take ten minutes, as long as you saved it. You did? Well, then, you make us some toast and I’ll fix your essay. OK?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  When it comes back it’s still my essay but it’s all in paragraphs with loads of full stops and all. I can’t help smiling at it. Sykes will cream herself when I hand this in.

  Chapter 24

  VICKY

  ‘I love Pizza Express,’ I said as we sat down at a table in the window. The restaurant was all lit up for Christmas.

  ‘Me too.’ Rory grinned. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt
and baggy jeans and looked gorgeous. I had finally decided on black trousers and a pink top. I saw Rory sort of checking me out when I took my coat off, while trying to look as if he wasn’t – exactly the same as me. I hoped he wouldn’t know that it wasn’t only our first date – it was my first date ever.

  I thought I’d be too nervous to eat in front of him, but when the pizzas came they looked and smelled so yummy that it was no problem. I would catch his eye and think, yes! Here I am on my first date with this lovely boy.

  ‘So when will you hear about Cambridge?’ I asked between mouthfuls.

  ‘January.’ He gave a little grimace. ‘I hate waiting.’

  ‘But you got on OK?’

  He shrugged. ‘I didn’t make a fool of myself. But that doesn’t mean I’m what they’re looking for.’

  I couldn’t see how he could not be what they wanted but of course I couldn’t say that without sounding totally sad so I just said, ‘But, being head boy and everything – bet they loved that.’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t do any harm. Oh!’ He sounded like he’d just remembered something. ‘Tell Declan I did manage to get it in – about the horse show.’

  I paused with a forkful of pizza halfway to my mouth. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He said I should try and put in about giving first aid to that boy. They were quite interested. Oh God, I don’t even like thinking about it. You know – tempting fate.’ He poured out some water and I wondered what it would be like saying goodbye to him if he did get into Cambridge. All the gorgeous, clever girls he would meet there … Then I wised up. It was December. If he went to Cambridge it would be next October, ten months away.

  ‘Declan’s going home on Sunday,’ I told Rory. ‘He and my mum have gone up to his house to give it a bit of a clean up for his mum getting out of hospital.’

  ‘What was wrong with her? Sorry – that’s very rude. I have a prurient interest in medical stuff.’

  I wasn’t sure what ‘prurient’ meant but I supposed it was something to do with wanting to be a doctor. I told him.

  ‘That’s pretty tough,’ he said. ‘My granda was an alcoholic.’

  ‘Your granda?’ I was shocked.

  ‘Yeah, why not? Is this the first time she’s been to rehab?’

  I shrugged. ‘I think so.’ I didn’t want it to sound like I was interested in her, but neither did I want it to sound like I wasn’t interested in what Rory was asking me.

  My granda used to be OK for years. Then – wham! He’d go on a huge bender. Is your aunt like that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hardly know her.’ I could hear the frost in my voice.

  Rory poured us both more water. ‘You really don’t like Declan, do you?’ he asked.

  ‘Weeeell …’ I remembered my row with Fliss and Becca. We still weren’t talking. I couldn’t forget the things they’d accused me of. Poisonous. Jealous. I couldn’t let Rory think stuff like that about me – I mean, it wasn’t true, but I couldn’t take the risk of him misunderstanding the same way they had. This week I’d made a massive effort to be nice to Declan. I’d even fixed up that weird essay for him. I couldn’t decide if it was brilliant or crap: it was full of mistakes, but he’d thought of all this stuff I’d never even considered – like he’d really thought about the characters as people.

  ‘I think he’s dead on,’ Rory said.

  Join the fan club, I felt like saying, but I just smiled and changed the subject instead. ‘We have exams next week.’ Exams – not a brilliant topic for a first date.

  ‘You’re lucky to get them over with. Ours are in January, which kind of mucks up the Christmas holidays. Then we have our Upper Sixth formal the week after.’

  He suddenly looked down at his half-eaten pizza and started forking up bits of spinach. Oh God, I thought. I wonder if he’s already asked some girl to the formal, long before he met me. It was six weeks away. Maybe we wouldn’t still be going out then. Were we even going out? I thought we were – I mean, he’d kissed me and taken me out for dinner but nothing had been said. No one I knew had ever been to the boys’ school formal but it was everyone’s ambition to be asked. I didn’t want him to think I was fishing for an invite so I changed the subject.

  ‘Are you looking forward to Christmas?’ God, another clanger! What a primary-school thing to say. I might as well have asked him what Santa was bringing him. Christmas! Would we still be going out then? What would I get him? How much were you meant to spend? God, this was all so much more fraught than I had ever realised.

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Rory, not seeming to notice that I kept saying ridiculous things. ‘Apart from revising and waiting to hear from Cambridge. It’s always quite good fun, though, with there being so many of us. What about you – do you stay at your mum’s?’

  This was much safer territory. ‘Yes, but I have a sort of second Christmas at my dad’s on Boxing Day.’

  ‘Double presents?’

  ‘Isn’t that the point of divorce?’ I made my voice bright.

  ‘So you don’t really mind? Them being divorced, I mean?’

  I frowned and took of gulp of water. ‘Well, I was upset at first. I kept wishing Dad would come back. But then he married Fiona and she’s actually lovely. So no, I don’t really mind, not now. Anyway, that’s enough about my family. What about yours? I saw your mum today with your wee baby sister.’

  He laughed. ‘She’s cute, isn’t she? It’s quite an ego-boost having a baby sister. I mean, you have a crap day at school, your team loses, you get rejected by Cambridge – well, let’s hope not – but she always thinks we’re all amazing.’

  ‘Hmm.’ For the first time I wondered what Molly thought of me. She always squealed and kicked when she saw me on Fridays even though, I admitted, I never gave her much encouragement. I supposed she wouldn’t always be a screaming baby and wondered if she might like having a big sister when she was big enough to know what that was. I imagined teaching her to ride, taking her shopping, reading her the stories I had loved. Maybe it would be OK.

  * * *

  Rory’s hand tightened a little in mine and I smiled, though I didn’t suppose he could see me in the dark. It was a cold, clear night, all the shops along the Lisburn Road lit up for Christmas. I usually hated walking but now I wished that the mile or so between Pizza Express and Sandringham Park was more like ten. I stroked his hand.

  ‘Would you consider doing this again?’ Rory stopped walking and swung me round to face him. Instead of speaking I tilted my face up and, without any conscious thoughts at all, kissed him. I couldn’t believe I, Vicky Moore, who’d never had a boyfriend, was standing snogging in the middle of the Lisburn Road. Rory’s mouth was warm and firm and tasted of mint and pizza. His fingers played in my hair. His body pressed against mine felt solid and warm. I shivered deliciously and buried my hands in his soft wool scarf.

  Finally he pulled away and smiled down at me. ‘So you don’t mind going out with the boy next door? Not too much of cliché?’

  I laughed. ‘Not if you don’t mind going out with the girl next door.’ My voice came out really normal but inside I was singing. Going out! He’d said it, so he must mean it.

  ‘Ah, but you’re only the girl next door sometimes.’

  Far too quickly, we were at my house. Mum’s car was in the drive and there was a light in the living-room window. I pulled Rory back behind the hedge.

  ‘Showjumping tomorrow?’ he asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Cam’s giving me a lesson, which she won’t usually do at the weekend. But if we win the final in two weeks we qualify for Dublin!’ I realised I was babbling, but he looked as if everything I said was fascinating.

  ‘And are you likely to win?’

  I gave a little shiver. ‘It’s like you not wanting to think too much about Cambridge. Don’t tempt fate. But Flight’s on top form. I had a lesson on Wednesday night and he felt like he could jump a house.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to see that,�
�� Rory said, bending down to kiss me again. ‘Far too scary.’

  It was another ten minutes before I finally walked up the drive, all swollen with joy. Everything was so brilliant – Dublin looking likely, Declan going home and best of all, Rory, Rory, Rory! I thought of him walking up his identical drive three doors up. Did he feel like this too?

  Childishly, I was looking forward to telling Mum about my evening – not everything of course. I flung my bag over the banister rail and put my hand on the living-room door handle. Mum’s voice drifted out and I paused.

  ‘…welcome here any time. I don’t want us to lose touch.’

  I held my breath, waiting for Declan to reply but there was just a murmur.

  ‘I hope so, love. But if she isn’t – well, you know where I am. I mean it – any time.’

  Murmur murmur.

  I yanked at the handle and crashed into the room. The two dark heads on the sofa looked so alike. Mum put her hand on Declan’s and gave it a quick squeeze and the gesture seemed to squeeze out all my happiness.

  Mum glanced up with a wide, bright smile and said, ‘Hello, love, good evening?’

  Such a big part of me wanted to flump down beside her and go over it all – how happy I was and how lovely Rory was and how he was coming round on Sunday evening to help me with my Chemistry revision. But I could see that she wasn’t really interested. So I just said, ‘Fine, thanks,’ and backed out of the room to get ready for bed.

  Chapter 25

  DECLAN

  I’m on my way to the muck heap with a wheelbarrow full of wet shavings and shit; it’s heavy and stinky and the handles dig into my hands. I’d love to stop for a breather and watch Flight jumping but I don’t want Cam to regret giving me the job.

  ‘Well done, Vicky!’ shouts Cam from the middle of the school. ‘Do that again in the real thing and it should be next stop Dublin!’

  The wheel hits a stone and a doughnut of dung drops off. I straighten my back for a moment and can’t help glancing over at the school. Flight looks better than I’ve ever seen him – soaring over every jump with Vicky moving like she’s part of him. It’s split-second timing; I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do that.