When We Have Wings

by Claire Corbett

  Peri didn’t say anything.

  Exasperated, I ran a hand through my hair. ‘Well, if there’s to be any chance that this will work, I have to give Chesshyre—Peter—a timeframe for Hugo’s return.’

  ‘A week,’ said Peri.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘They will not accept that. Two days. We’ll meet at my flat on Friday morning.’

  ‘I have to fly back,’ said Peri, sullen again. ‘I’ll try to get there on time but it’s not just up to me. There’s weather and—’

  ‘You have three days,’ I said. ‘That’s it. Today’s Tuesday. So, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday—that gives you till first thing Saturday. Get your advice but do it fast. Be there on time. I can’t answer for what will happen after that. Listen,’ I added impulsively, ‘I’ll try to help you. Come to me on time and I’ll do my best with the contacts I have. Okay?’ It’s not that easy playing good cop/bad cop all by yourself.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Janeane didn’t look impressed but Peri was looking at me. She believed me. Tough, innocent Peri. That young face. Could I even remember what it was like to be that young?

  ‘You need me,’ I said, ‘to prove to Chesshyre that Hugo’s safe and well.’ I stopped and pulled out my slick. ‘A picture.’

  Janeane raised an eyebrow but Peri lifted Hugo a little into the crook of her arm. I moved closer. ‘Let me just get his hair out of the way,’ I said, pushing Hugo’s lock of hair away from his eyes. By the time Peri flinched away from me, I’d already stepped back.

  I took the picture. ‘You’re only postponing the inevitable. Understand I want what’s best for Hugo.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Peri. ‘Believe me, so do I.’

  The pup skittered past us, then raced down another track branching to the left near the base of the hill.

  ‘I’ve ruined everything,’ said Peri so low I had to duck my head to hear her over the wind in the trees. ‘I won’t even be able to look after him. That’s all I wanted, that he’d have one person who loved him and that he’d know that. That there was one person who didn’t see him as a failure, one person who loved him as whole and perfect.’

  ‘Why, Peri?’ I said. ‘Why is that so important to you?’

  She looked away.

  I put my sunglasses back on. Fine, don’t tell me. Everyone has a sad story. Hers was not my business.

  Janeane jerked her head at the track the pup had taken. ‘Go back that way,’ she said to Peri. ‘I’ll meet you at the house, help you prepare for starting back tomorrow.’

  ‘I need to ask more questions about Luisa,’ I said. Peri’s revelation had sparked a whole new line of inquiry there but Janeane shook her head.

  ‘Time for all that when Peri returns Hugo.’

  ‘You need money.’ I pulled out a credit slick.

  ‘Don’t take it,’ said Janeane. ‘It’ll be used to track you.’

  I tried not to smile at that.

  ‘I’ve got money,’ said Janeane.

  I wrote my details on the only piece of paper I had, the receipt from the Naxos Cafe, and gave it to Peri.

  ‘I’ll tell my neighbour, Vittorio, to let you and Hugo into my flat if I’m not there.’

  I smiled at Peri, seeing how worried she looked. ‘Frisk will be there. That ought to cheer you two up. Peri, I’m not against you. Believe that.’

  ‘Come on,’ Janeane said.

  My little grail, my quest, my pot of gold if you wanted to put it like that, was right here; hard to believe I had to turn around and leave Hugo behind. I hastened after Janeane.

  Janeane’s ancient car ground forward and winched my sorry Taj backwards out of the stream. She sprayed his engine with something and started it, and to my unutterable relief it coughed a few times and came back to life. She turned it off.

  ‘Smart car,’ Janeane said. ‘Too bad it wasn’t smart enough to avoid the hole in the creek.’

  ‘Call me when Peri leaves tomorrow.’

  ‘We don’t have any services out here.’

  ‘I’m sure you’d like me to believe that. Do what you have to do.’

  Janeane didn’t respond.

  ‘Thanks for pulling me out of the creek. Watch out for other fliers. If you see one, it is not good news.’

  Janeane surprised me by handing back my gun and cartridge. ‘I pulled you out of the creek because I don’t want you on my property one minute longer than you have to be. Looks like you’ll have to get yourself a new car,’ she added as I waded across the stream to Taj. ‘They’re never the same, somehow, once a creek’s been through ’em.’ I guess she enjoyed saying that but her tone was so dry it was hard to tell.

  The first thing wrong, besides the wet and the smell inside Taj, was the fact I had to turn on the engine myself. And that was it. The engine was running, the car was moving but there was no Taj. It was just a car. Driving away from the Owls was a miserable experience.

  After we left the Upper Trunk Road, my slick vibrated, signalling communication service coverage. I felt as if I’d travelled much further that day than the few hours’ drive to Pandanus. Not only were the people of the Venice an underclass living outside the law, they seemed to be living in another country altogether, and by the time I’d reached the Owls, I’d journeyed back in time, as if Janeane, with her ancient car and ancient rifle and isolation, had contrived a way to live in the past.

  These gulfs of time and place made Peri’s leap to the City all the more remarkable. After seeing the Venice I could understand why Peri had sacrificed herself for a footing in Chesshyre’s world. From what I’d seen of her file, with her father, at least, being a flier, it seemed she’d originally been one of the City elite, even before her treatments. Her height, her athletic frame, her smooth hair and flawless skin, all made her resemble Chesshyre much more than she resembled Janeane or the people in the Venice, even if I disregarded her wings.

  When I was still hours away from the City, I rang Chesshyre, steeling myself for talking to him without losing my temper.

  ‘Hugo’s with you?’ he said when he heard my voice.

  ‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘He’s safe. She’s returning him.’

  ‘What? Where did you find them?’

  Fair question but I didn’t want to give his Raptor directions if I hadn’t already led him directly to Peri.

  ‘Before I answer that, I need to clarify something. I’ve done the best I can and now we need to trust the girl. You did the right thing, hiring me, but of course there’s one thing I lack: wings. I couldn’t grab her.’ Arresting ordinary people was one thing; I’d done my share of running down alleys and hauling myself over fences. Arresting a flier, well, I could sure see why the force needed Raptors for that. ‘You were wise not to send a flier after her, Mr Chesshyre. Two fliers grappling in mid-air over a baby would be incalculably dangerous.’

  Chesshyre didn’t say anything. Shit.

  ‘You wouldn’t have a back-up plan, by any chance?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Look, Mr Chesshyre, I saw the Raptor at your place.’

  Of course I hadn’t seen him, but Taj had.

  ‘Private security,’ said Chesshyre. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Okay, you don’t have a Raptor. I’m just emphasising that if anything happens to Peri or Hugo because of this non-existent Raptor, it’s on your head. Your best bet for getting Hugo back safely is not to frighten Peri. She’s scared enough as it is.’ Yes and I couldn’t tell him why. If this friend of hers, Luisa, really was killed, then I had to tread carefully. I was starting to see how tight the flier world was and didn’t want anyone tipped off, even by accident.

  ‘I could see Hugo was well cared for,’ I assured him. You knew all along she wouldn’t hurt him. ‘Things have gone well. Considering.’ Considering you haven’t to
ld me the truth about anything to do with this case. ‘We both know she has no choice but to come back, give up baby Hugo. But she’s so young.’ Too young to have your baby for you, you callous bastard. ‘The very young don’t always comprehend the forces against them in this world, how very bad the odds can be. That makes them dangerous. Our main leverage with her is that you aren’t going to prosecute.’

  ‘We just want Hugo back safely.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. Why don’t you ask me why Peri took Hugo on the run with her? Anyone else would. Because you know the answer, that’s why. You were going to send him away and she’s the surrogate mother. She’s over-attached. You hired me precisely to avoid having that conversation.

  The storm that had hung over me all the way back from the Owls and Pandanus decided it was finally time to break. Wind rattled the car. Rain slammed into it like someone aiming a firehose. Water poured a solid silver sheet over the windscreen. I didn’t think I could be any more sorry than I already was about not having Taj for the drive back but I slowed to a crawl and finally pulled over to finish my conversation with Chesshyre.

  I still had one ace up my sleeve. It’s always prudent to keep something in reserve but now it was more important to keep Chesshyre on the straight and narrow.

  ‘The thing is,’ I told him, ‘I planted a tracking device on Hugo. We’ll keep tabs on where he is at all times and make sure Peri keeps her part of the bargain.’

  ‘Oh. Good,’ Chesshyre said. I didn’t tell him I couldn’t pick up any signals until Peri reached airspace under networked coverage. I wanted Chesshyre to think I knew where Peri was as much for her protection as for Hugo’s.

  I was hopeful I could wrap this case up quickly. By late Saturday morning Hugo would be home and by Saturday evening I’d finish my final report and submit my final invoice. Chesshyre’s life would resume its smooth, perfect course. I told myself that if I worked only on morally clear-cut cases I wouldn’t eat very often.

  By the time I was able to reach Henryk the storm had lessened a bit and I was well into the Red Zone. ‘I’ve got something for you, mate,’ I said, staring at the darkening road awash ahead of me.

  ‘Ah,’ said Henryk, ‘so you’re handing the case over?’

  ‘No need,’ I said. ‘I found Peri. The baby’s fine and she’s returning him. But she’s really scared; says she found the body of another nanny, Luisa Perros, at Salt Grass Bay the morning she ran away. Of course that’s not proof of anything, she might just have fallen. Still, worth a look. I reckon we need to see the Little Angels records, there’s definitely something not right there and—’

  ‘We?’ exclaimed Henryk. ‘We don’t have to do anything of the kind.’

  ‘But Peri’s a witness—’

  ‘Fantastic. Bring her in. She can make a statement. We’ll take a look at Salt Grass Bay when we get a chance. Now don’t waste my time asking me to do your work for you.’

  A glow brightened ahead of us, a wash of light thrown up against the dark screen of sky. The car beeped. We’d left the darkness of RaRA-land behind. We’d re-entered the City.

  I was late picking up Thomas, not helped by the fact I was stopped and questioned at the entrance to Silver Palms, the gated estate where Lily and Richard lived—not surprising given that both the car and I were wet, plastered in mud and dust, and looking thoroughly disreputable. When Lily, who had descended the steps at the front of her swank townhouse to buckle Thomas into his car seat, saw the state Taj was in, she tried to cancel the visit. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw the scratches on my cheek, the blood stiffening my hair and the filth staining my clothes and shoes from the Venice and my encounters with creeks and rivers at the Owls. I got round Lily by explaining I’d made an appointment with Dr Ruokonen and was considering her ‘view’—as I put it—that Thomas should be a flier.

  As soon as I said these words I knew they were true. My trip to RaRA-land had rattled me badly and I’d begun to think maybe Lily was right and we should put as much distance between Thomas and the underclass as we could. But I wouldn’t allow myself to be crushed by her juggernaut; I’d find out from Ruokonen what the treatments involved and then decide what to do.

  I was far more exhausted than I’d hoped to be for Thomas’s visit. I’d had an early start but what had worn me out was the drive home. I hadn’t realised how much wear and tear Taj usually saved me. Once I was back in the City I was almost beside myself with exasperation trying to work out a route on the still-passable roads.

  At Ventura, I ran Tom’s bath and gratefully peeled off my wet, smelly clothes and showered and changed while Thomas, captivated by Frisk as I’d hoped, stroked his fur the wrong way. Frisk removed himself to my closet.

  Thomas settled into his bath, making circles through the water with his favourite toy, a purple jellyfish which lit up. When he let it go it pulsed slowly through the water over to the side of the bath and hung there, a violet moon shining on its domestic sea. I watched Tom in the bathroom mirror while I had another try at fixing up my cuts and grazes.

  ‘I had enough,’ Thomas announced. I leaned over to pull the plug.

  ‘I can do it!’ he shrieked, his three-and-a-half-year-old self-respect outraged. ‘I do it! Myself!’

  ‘Come on, Tom,’ I said, hoping to cut short his howls of rage. ‘You pull the plug then. Come on, mate.’

  His mouth squared with indignation, his green eyes about to spill over, he reached down and condescended to pull the plug.

  I stood up and grabbed Tom’s special hooded towel from the towel rack.

  One of the hardest things about not living with Thomas was keeping up with him, not only with the spurts of development in his abilities but with the ever-evolving ceremonial of each moment of his day. The rituals of daily life with a small child are as intricate, inflexible and ramified as those of a religious cult, and as with the law, ignorance is no excuse. I was always behind, on the seventh level of the ziggurat when daily life had in fact attained the eighth level.

  ‘There’s a lot of work for you, Dad, in this world,’ Thomas observed sagely, as I lifted him out of the bath. He put his hand up to the cut on my head. I sat on the edge of my bed with Thomas between my knees as I towelled him dry. He giggled as I poked him gently here and there. I kissed him as I dried him, his cheek softer than cream against my skin. How much longer would I be able to hug and kiss my son this freely? How I would miss the sheer delight of holding him, the thrill his dry biscuity smell gave me. These were the pleasures parents never talked about, not because they’re illicit but because they’re so intense they’re private. Other parents understand, you don’t need to say anything, but non-parents never will; they still think passionate joy in the perfection of another body is simply about sex.

  ‘You have a rough face, Dad,’ chirped Thomas, patting my bristled chin.

  When I sat down to eat with Thomas that night, Peri’s situation appeared even crueller. I was used to feeling bad about Thomas, about shuttling him back and forth between me and Lily and Richard. But at least he was wanted; he was the centre of two households.

  ‘Talk the trees, Dad,’ insisted Thomas.

  This was a drama I’d unwisely created to get Thomas to eat broccoli. I had to do the voices of the trees, worried the great giant Thomas was about to eat them. Nah, I’d say, as one tree to another, he won’t eat us, he’s forgotten about us, he’s eating his fish. See? He’s looking over there—oh no, he’s turning around, no, please don’t eat us, aarrrghhh!, as Thomas, giggling so hard I worried he’d choke, would grab a piece of broccoli and slowly, gloating over the tree’s impassioned pleas to be spared, raise it to his mouth.

  ‘Look, Dad! I ated the tree.’

  Dinner took a while.

  After I’d read Thomas his story—Hansel and Gretel, at least twice—and brushed his teeth, I put him into bed in his cloud pyjamas, kissed his ha
ir and told him he was snug as a bug in a rug. Thomas wanted to know if the bug was a ladybug. I said I expected so. He then wanted to know, with the inexhaustible precision I associated with his mother, the colour and material of the rug. Red bamboo. Your favourite. Now goodnight.

  He called me back. ‘What if I get scared, Dad?’

  I sat on Tom’s bed and took his hand. ‘Brave Thomas. We’re not scared. Right?’

  I grabbed a beer from the kitchen, then sat at the dining table, pushed aside a stack of papers in front of my desk slick and prepared to draft my report for Chesshyre. After setting the beer bottle on the table I wrapped my hands around it, not wanting to move or think for a moment.

  There was deep pleasure in just sitting, in becoming aware of an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of my stomach, as of a knot untying itself. I let out a long slow breath. For the first time since leaving my flat on Sunday, the clock in my mind wasn’t running through the hours since the abduction, the dread of time slipping away forming the backdrop of every thought. I breathed in and out again, thinking about Peri and Hugo.

  Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? What had been an irrefutable argument for the power of God, fate, nature, was now as flimsy as a blade of grass bending in the wind. Now we could. We could take thought and add cubits. Or wings. Or anything we could imagine.

  And was the consequence petulant rage when we didn’t get our way? Was this the cost of our ever-increasing power? Ever-diminishing acceptance of what is? Send the kid back, he’s not what we ordered. The Chesshyres wanted to get what they’d paid for. And they hadn’t. That had driven Peri’s fear for Hugo. Her crime a crime of passion, really. Not the usual deal; strange to think that’s what it was, though. Understandable. She’d lived her life as a child who could be returned to sender at any time. And this mess that I was now sorting out, this was what resulted when life itself was a transaction.