Flying Without Wings

by Paula Wynne

  ‘He came to me asking if he could work to clock up some credit to pay for lessons for Matt. Personally, I think he still feels shitty about that stupid dare all those years ago that put Matt in the hospital. I think he still feels he has to mend things between them.’

  Matt sunk onto the top step. Although he had just got out of the shower, perspiration was suddenly prickling in his armpits. His heart seemed to freeze and then boil.

  Luke was doing all this for him.

  So he could learn to fly. And his brother had kept it completely to himself.

  Bomber’s words kept bludgeoning their way into Matt’s thoughts. ‘It started out as a surprise for Matt, but now Luke also wants to learn.’

  ‘I can’t pay―’

  ‘No!’ Bomber ran his hand through his hair. ‘That’s not what this is about. I will teach them; I don’t need to be paid. Jesus, it’s the least I can do!’

  Mum dropped her head. Matt stiffened. Should he go down and help Mum out?

  ‘I want to do this,’ Bomber stepped closer to Mum. ‘Please, he was my best friend. I ache every time I see those boys. I ache because I know John should be here.’

  ‘But he’s not!’ Mum fired her words at him. ‘You’re here and he’s not!’ She suddenly charged at him with her fists flying in the air. She pummelled his chest and hammered his biceps until she finally subsided and just fell into his arms and sobbed.

  Matt bit down on the lump in his throat and used the corner of the towel to wipe away his tears.

  Mum’s tears gradually subsided and the house was silent for a long moment. Only Bomber’s heavy breathing rose up from downstairs. And Matt’s heartbeat in his eardrums.

  He dropped his head into his hands, wishing Dad could be here. Wishing he hadn’t gone on that mission with Bomber. Wishing…life was different.

  Dad would have known what to do. He always had. Like the day Matt had fallen off the high ropes in the Greenpeace camp. Dad had insisted on getting his son’s foot rebuilt, even though it took years of painful surgery. Dad had paid for the extra physiotherapy so he could learn to walk again.

  Eventually, Bomber whispered, ‘What’s it to be?

  Matt strained to pick out their conversation as it became more hushed. He couldn’t. And didn’t hear his Mum’s final word.

  A moment later, Bomber let himself out of the house.

  47

  Matt didn’t have the chance to talk to Luke when he arrived at the airfield, and he needed the time to work out what to say, anyway. It was a hard thing to admit about your little brother, but he really respected Luke. Yes, for punching his weight around the house and then rushing off to the airfield job, and all that for his brother, not himself. Mostly, though, he admired Luke’s ability to put the past behind him and move on.

  Matt was struggling with that. Even now, after hearing Bomber telling Mum he wanted to teach him and Luke to fly. Confusion trickled through his brain. Should he accept the offer? It might be his only chance to realise his dreams. But then he would be accepting what Bomber had done.

  He clenched his jaw. That was something he could never forgive. Nor forget.

  Huffing heavily, he went back to his job of tidying and clearing, glancing across to where Luke was washing down the small planes, so they sparkled for the air show.

  Matt grumbled as he threw the last of the clutter into yet another empty oil drum. Why couldn’t he get the fun jobs? He’d much prefer cleaning the planes to this smelly hangar.

  Turning to survey his handiwork, his elbow knocked a tin of WD-40 off the big metal stack shelves that were behind him. As it crashed to the floor it took a shiny looking bolt with it. The bolt hit the floor with a dull tinkle and then skittered away across the ground and under the lowest shelf. Muttering to himself, Matt dropped to his knees and peered underneath. He could see the bolt over on the other side. Crawling across the floor, he grimaced as he spotted yet more oil stains. If he ever became a pilot he would actually consider the people who did the cleaning and not just leave oily stuff everywhere.

  Still on his knees, he reached under to grab the bolt, but his arms wouldn’t reach. He waggled his fingers. They were close, but just couldn’t touch it. Lying down on his back gave him a longer stretch so he tried again.

  Still the bolt lay out of reach.

  Matt sighed and got to his feet. He took a stance to give him a good grip and tried to ease the shelf forward. It wouldn’t budge. He gripped his hands around the back and grunted as he heaved with all his strength.

  The shelf squealed as the metal frame moved an inch.

  ‘God, what’s this made of? Gold bars or something?’

  Matt dropped to his knees again and reached behind. The shelf hadn’t really moved enough, so he lay back on the floor and resigned himself to taking the awkward position with his cheek on the oil-stained floor that would give him the crucial extra little bit of reach.

  His fingers scrambled about blindly under the shelf. Then they latched onto the bolt and he sang out, ‘Yes!’

  As he pulled back his arm, his overall caught on something. He jerked his arm and the overall came free. Curious, he peered back under the shelf.

  Something strange rose out of the floor.

  Matt peered at it and frowned. Then realised what it was.

  A door handle. Sticking out of the floor.

  48

  As Matt reached back under the shelf, curious to see if the door handle turned, he heard footsteps behind him.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Matt staggered to his feet, knocking a jar off the shelf. He reached out and wobbled sideways to grab it.

  A spanner clattered onto the floor.

  ‘Um, nothing.’

  ‘Why did you move that shelf?’

  Matt held up the shiny bolt and stammered, ‘This…this bolt went under and I couldn’t reach, so I had to move it.’

  ‘Here.’ Bomber yanked Matt’s hand and placed it on the one side of the shelf. ‘Help me push it back into place.’

  Together they heaved the heavy shelf back into position. Then, Bomber tossed a cloth at him and jerked his head at the Provost.

  Matt’s jaw dropped. ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s only cleaning, lad.’ Bomber shook his head and strolled away.

  For the next hour Matt lovingly polished the vintage plane’s leather seats. He sprayed the windscreen and pulled a face as he wiped bugs off the glass.

  The air buzzed as a plane landed, taxiing to a halt just behind Matt.

  Walking out from the hangar, Bomber grabbed the chocks and dragged them towards the plane that had just landed. Matt ambled clumsily over and started helping him to shunt the chocks up against the wheels.

  While Bomber chatted to the pilot, Matt tidied a hose and coiled it beside the compressor that sat nearby.

  The pilot headed into the office and Bomber gestured Matt over to the plane. He picked at a piece of dirt on the wing and helped Matt to clean the undercarriage. There was a comfortable moment of mutual silence as they worked side by side.

  After a long silence, Bomber said, ‘You and me...we’re on different journeys.’ He polished under the wing. ‘Yet we have the same destination.’

  Matt turned his head and stared at Bomber. For the first time he saw the way the pilot looked at the vintage plane. A smile tugged at Matt’s lips as awareness lit his eyes.

  Then, Bomber took him by surprise when he said, ‘What are you doing here, lad? What are you really doing here?’ He stared at Matt through narrowed eyes that were almost slits. ‘So, you dream of flying...is that all you’re capable of, dreaming?’

  Matt was taken aback, ‘It’s got nothing to do with you!’

  Bomber pointed towards Luke outside cleaning the last of the aeroplanes, ‘That lad has been here for months, working his arse off to make your dream come true.’

  Matt gaped at him. After a moment he muttered, ‘What do you know about my dreams?’

  Bomber’s voice wa
s low but hard as nails. ‘I know that they mean enough to your kid brother that he was working to make them real. I doubt he’s told you, but he has been saving to buy you flying lessons.’

  Matt gulped but said nothing. He couldn’t own up to overhearing Bomber telling Mum, and the truth was he still hadn’t worked out how to react to this revelation.

  Bomber stared at him hard for a minute, then pulled up his trouser leg.

  Matt gawked at his burnt, mangled leg, then looked up into Bomber’s eyes.

  ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself!’ He glanced at Matt’s foot, and muttered, ‘Get a grip! We all have our scars.’

  Matt swung around, his gaze fixed on the vintage plane. One half of him wanted to race away, but the other half fought equally hard against the temptation to take flight, and ultimately it won.

  Matt turned back. Bomber’s head was buried in the engine. Only the clunking of tools against metal disturbed the silence flying in on the breeze.

  Matt stepped forward and hung his head. ‘So, what happened?’

  Bomber didn’t look up, but said, ‘I got on...and embraced life.’ He straightened and his eyes pointed at Matt’s foot. ‘That’s only an obstacle. Find a way around it!’

  Matt handed Bomber a clean cloth.

  Bomber wiped his oily fingers on it, instantly staining it black. ‘I taught a young man to fly once...he was just like you.’

  Matt waited expectantly for Bomber to continue, irritated by a sudden, nervous twitch that throbbed under his eyes.

  Bomber said, ‘But he would never have accepted people who didn’t respect him hanging around him.’

  ‘I just don’t avoid them ‘cause…I can’t be arsed to fight back.’

  Silence.

  Bomber said, ‘You know, sometimes life is about risking everything for a dream that no one can see…only you.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Those bullies calling you names. Forget them. They don’t know about life. I doubt they’ll achieve much in theirs. If you have a dream, you have to risk everything, even the abuse of people who are only good at handing out abuse, to grab hold of it.’

  ‘I can never fly,’ Matt looked away so Bomber didn’t see the tears well up in his eyes. ‘The RAF will never take me with this foot. I can’t run a few yards without falling over, never mind two miles in eleven minutes.’

  ‘Not being able to pass the RAF physical doesn’t mean you can’t fly.’

  ‘But I want to fly for them.’

  ‘What’s the big deal about the RAF?’

  Matt wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. ‘How can you say that?! You and my Dad lived that dream. You only left because―’

  ‘Because I was shot down and couldn’t fly anymore. Like you, I didn’t pass the bar after that.’ He waved his hand. ‘But look, I’m still flying.’

  ‘Dusting crops or whatever it is that you do. Where’s the fun in that?’

  Bomber pointed to a framed card hanging lopsided on the wall. It had the words “Zen Dog” above a drawing of what looked like a sunbathing dog afloat on the ocean with more words scrawled underneath. ‘Last year I got suckered into going to a student art fair. I’m glad I did though, because I found this. It’s by a young lad called Giles, only about your age, I think. It says all that needs saying. I told him he should make a book out of it, and I reckon he’ll be famous one day.’ Bomber shook his head. ’It’s just brilliant!’

  Not sure where this was going and why Bomber seemed to have lost touch with his normal dour self for the moment, Matt just stared ahead.

  ‘Read it.’

  ‘What?’ Matt looked from Bomber to the picture frame and back to Bomber.

  ‘Go on. Read it out loud. I want to hear you say those words.’

  Matt exhaled in agitation and read out loud, ‘He knows not where he’s going, for the ocean will decide. It’s not the destination. It’s the glory of the ride.’

  A smile lit Bomber’s eyes and tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was the first time Matt had seen any sign of fun or happiness in the pilot.

  After a moment he said, ‘Get it?’

  ‘Um.…’ Matt read the words again in silence.

  Bomber’s eyes bored into him, but he didn’t say a word.

  Eventually Matt said, ‘I think it means that…um…that it’s telling you to enjoy the moment.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So it says don't focus on the end, focus on the present and relish it instead of worrying about what will happen in the end in life.’

  ‘In a way, yes. Like you, many people think only about the big prize in life. Yours is flying for the RAF, yes?’

  Matt nodded, listening and trying to make sense of Bomber’s words.

  ‘But if I said to you right now that we could get into one of these planes and go dust crops, the fact is that you’d be flying, and you’d love that so much it’d…make your heart sing. Right?’

  Matt felt somewhere between ashamed and elated. It was like flying through cloud and then emerging into the clear, sunlit sky above. He hardly trusted himself to speak. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Even though your big prize at the end of the road is saying you fly for the RAF, you know you can’t get in. So instead, focus your energy and dreams on simply just flying. That’s a whole journey of exploration and discovery. You’ll make mistakes while you’re learning. It’s not about ending up flying for anyone in particular, whether the RAF, a commercial airline, or just as a jobbing pilot with a small Cessna. It’s about how much you enjoy yourself along the way. Therefore―’

  Matt cried out, ‘I get it! It’s about finding a way to fly if you really want to fly.’

  ‘Yes. Don’t centre your life around one option, especially one that’s closed to you. You can fly without RAF wings,’ Bomber tapped the picture frame. ‘In a sense, it’s also telling you to follow your heart. You may never reach your destination, but along the way your heart will always know if it’s getting what it needs.’

  Matt swallowed hard.

  Ever since his accident, and through all the teasing and doubt thereafter, he’d lacked courage to accept his flaws and failings. He’d tried to hold onto something he could no longer be, and in doing so he’d ignored who he was.

  ‘That lad I told you about who I taught to fly. He was your dad.’ Bomber chuckled.

  Matt’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You taught Dad?’

  ‘I was his commanding officer, so I watched over him every step of the way.’

  ‘But you were the same age. You were friends at school, weren’t you?’

  Bomber eyed him, comprehending. ‘My family connections enabled me to go straight into officer training. All I had to do was say what career I wanted. Your father, on the other hand, had to fight every step of the way to make the same journey. But he did, and he made it. He and I were like this, you know.’ Bomber twisted two of his fingers around each other.

  A sudden burst of humility filled Matt’s chest.

  ‘I owe him so much,’ Bomber murmured. ‘He was there for me. Always, ever since we were kids.’ His normally deep voice broke and seemed barely able to force the words out. ‘I would’ve swapped places any day. It should’ve been me.’

  Matt stared at him in silence, a lump in his throat. He knew Bomber meant the day their plane was shot down. As so many times before, an ache engulfed him. Sadness and sorrow, for what had happened to his father and for the ragged hole torn in all their lives that he’d left behind.

  They both sat in silence for a long moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Bomber suddenly shook his head, like a dog drying itself. ‘Let’s take a bet.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your dad and I used to do it all the time. Like the day he took my little red aeroplane off me. It was one of those stupid arguments that starts off as a trivial disagreement between best friends and then ramps up into something far bigger than it should ever have been. I won’t go into details because it�
��s rather embarrassing, never mind stupid and fairly dangerous, but basically there was this thing all the kids in the area were too scared to do. John said he could do it, I said no way, and it turned into this huge fight. I was so angry at him that I said I would bet my aeroplane that he couldn’t. It was my prize possession, a gift from my uncle, no one had anything like it and it wasn’t like you could just buy another one to replace it. And then blow me if he didn’t walk right out the door and go and win the bet, fair and square! So of course I had to pay out.’ Bomber chuckled.

  ‘That toy aeroplane on our mantelpiece!’ Matt exclaimed.

  Bomber grinned. ‘That’s the one. John rubbed it in. Oh, boy, did he! He left it proudly on the mantelpiece of every place he lived for the next thirty years, so I could see it each time I came over. First in his parents’ home, after that in the flat we rented when we were qualified, and then in his home with your Mum and you boys.’

  Matt was grinning too, but suddenly stopped as he realised. ‘It’s gone now, you know.’

  ‘What?!’ Bomber’s face looked as if he’d been slapped.

  ‘Yeah, Mum is pretty pissed off.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The house was ransacked just the other day. Not much was taken, so we thought it was because of the fuss my cousin has been stirring up in the village. Except now he seems to have gone AWOL as well, called back to London for something and hasn’t even phoned Mum to say when he’ll be back.’

  Bomber muttered something under his breath.

  For a long time, they stared out through the hangar door. A couple of planes took off and landed. Local pilots fussed around their planes, but Bomber didn’t take much notice.

  Matt could see something weighed heavily on his mind.

  After a while, Bomber cleared his throat and flicked a hand past his face as if shooing away a fly. ‘Anyway. About that bet―’

  ‘I’ll take it, whatever it is. But then I want something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell me about this place,’ he waved his arm around, ‘the airfield. I want to know its history.’ Matt stood rigid, fearing how Bomber would react to what he said next, so he softened his voice. ‘I’ve grown up here, but only ever heard the rumours. I’d really like to know the truth. Dad would’ve told me, only he never got the chance.’