There was a missed call and three text messages from Becca. She quickly replied: a brief note promising to call her later. Even as she hit send she knew she wouldn’t.
Tam dropped the phone onto the bed and rubbed her eyes, her fingers sensing the crusty remains of tears coating her skin. She looked a mess, she was certain. After last night it didn’t seem to matter.
Last night had been a blur of phone calls, of rushed conversations with Mum while she drove too quickly, of difficult hours in the hospital.
Dad was ill. Really ill. They had rushed him to hospital and, after hours of tests and drugs, they had managed to stabilize him. Tam had had no choice but to see him there, crucified on an altar of wires and pipes and fluid bags. It had turned her stomach, to see her giant immortal dad reduced to half a man, a bed-ridden carcass fed by beeping machines.
Mum said he was lucky. He didn’t appear to be very lucky, lying there with his heavy eyes trying to reassure her. This was lucky? This was hell.
Tam did her best to wipe the memory from her mind. She thought of TV shows and food, even the wood. None of it worked. The images from last night were bleached into her head, permanent and immovable.
Hunger pulled at her stomach and she mustered the strength to get up. Then she heard movement downstairs and she decided to stay put, pulling the quilt back over her.
She wanted to call out, to know how Dad was now. Had he improved overnight? But what if he was worse? What if he was dead? She didn’t dare ask. She didn’t want to know.
The stairs creaked. Small feet. Mum.
‘Are you awake?’ Mum asked quietly from the door.
Tam opened her eyes. ‘Yeah,’ she said icily, terrified of the next few moments.
Mum sat on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on her shoulder under the quilt. Tam sighed and turned over, facing the window so Mum couldn’t see her.
‘How are you?’ Mum asked.
Tam said nothing, pulling the quilt tighter round her neck.
‘Last night was a bit . . .’ Mum faltered. ‘Look, I’m sorry, OK? I didn’t mean to shout at you – it’s just hard, you know?’
‘I know!’ Tam said, not meaning for it to sound as clipped as it did.
Mum took a breath. ‘I called the hospital this morning. Your dad’s slept well overnight. He’s still being monitored but at least he’s resting. They’re waiting for a doctor to see him later.’
Relief overwhelmed Tam. She tensed her stomach muscles, fighting the tears that were desperate to be out. She focused on the shifting patterns on the curtains, trying not to think of anything else. She’d had them for years. She used to love the repeating yellow flower print; now it just looked tired and old-fashioned. Dad kept promising to redecorate, to replace them with something more ‘grown up’ but he never got round to it. He was either too busy or he couldn’t afford it. And now he was ill.
Dad. Every thought, every memory led back to him eventually. There was no getting away from him.
‘Tam, are you listening to me?’ Mum asked, her voice still soft.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m going to see him soon. You want to come?’
Tam shook her head, not daring to look round at her.
‘Look, I really think you should come. It won’t be as bad as it was last night, really. He’d love to see you and—’
‘No.’ Tam was adamant.
Mum’s voice rose up in response. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want to.’
‘But he’s your dad and he needs you. Christ, Tam, I need you too.’ Mum’s voice broke into sobs.
Tam sat up and turned to look at her. Don’t you bloody crumble! One of them had to be strong. Tam wished it didn’t have to be her. ‘Mum . . .’
Mum leaned in. It was no good, Tam couldn’t help it; she wasn’t strong enough either. They took hold of each other in a tight embrace, neither wanting to let go, and Tam joined in her mother’s emotion.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mum said as she pulled away. ‘I’m not supposed to cry.’
Tam wiped her mum’s face with her hand. ‘Why not? You can cry, Mum. It’s OK.’
Mum shook her head, half laughing in her embarrassment. ‘I’m supposed to be looking after you, not the other way round.’
‘I suppose we’re looking after each other now.’
‘Fair enough.’ Mum pulled away from her, trying to compose herself. She took a deep breath and smiled. Her face looked tired and old today but her eyes were lost, like a little girl’s. ‘I’m going in the next hour . . .’ she said, almost in a whisper. ‘If you want to come, that’s fine. If not . . . well, there’s always tomorrow.’
‘Mum, I want to . . .’ Tam pictured her dad in hospital, connected to tubes and machines, and she felt physically sick. ‘I just can’t, not today. But tell him I said hi.’ She shook her head, angry with herself. ‘Tell him I love him.’
Mum nodded, standing to leave. ‘Breakfast?’
‘I’ll sort something out later, thanks.’
‘I’ve got washing on the line. Keep an eye on it, will you? The forecast is for rain later.’
Tam nodded, watching Mum pause at the door, as if she was about to say something else. Mum smiled, tight-lipped, but the rest of her face looked afraid; then she left Tam alone.
Guilt-ridden, Tam pulled the quilt over her head, keeping still until she heard Mum leave.
The house was empty without her, silent and sinister, even in the glare of sunshine. Tam got up and showered. She stood under the pelting water for almost half an hour, still caught by the sharp fragments of her dream and the images from the hospital. She thought of Abigail, of what she’d said at the edge of the wood, about being afraid.
Abigail was right. I give up, she told herself. I always give up.
She dressed and found herself in the kitchen. Routinely she foraged in the fridge, finding some left-over chicken to eat. She stood by the window, looking out at their tiny garden with its rusted swing, a forgotten fossil from a distant childhood.
Her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, making her jump. It was Becca again, wanting to FaceTime.
Tam let it connect.
‘You been out of the country?’ Becca said immediately, even before her face appeared.
‘Hi, Becca,’ Tam said, forcing a smile. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Dunno, there’s nothing to do, is there?’ As she spoke Becca moved around inside her home, the image struggling to keep up with her. ‘And I’m totally skint. Mum refuses to give me money unless I do all these jobs she keeps telling me to do. I said, I’m no slave, but she won’t give me anything. She’s such a bitch. And there’s nothing to eat. So what’s been happening? I’ve not heard from you for, like, for ever. You’ve not been avoiding me, have you?’ Becca laughed as she asked, but it lacked warmth.
‘No, no, course not, just been busy,’ Tam said without conviction. She was too tired for this.
‘Busy with what?’
‘The usual,’ Tam said, not revealing anything.
‘No more school, babes,’ Becca said from off screen. Only her shoulder was in shot as she rummaged in a cupboard. ‘We should be doing stuff together.’
‘Yeah,’ Tam replied.
Becca stopped searching and looked straight at Tam as if she’d just remembered something important. ‘Hey, is your dad OK?’
Tam felt sick. She hadn’t said anything to Becca about him. ‘What?’
‘My mum, she works with Angie Dodson – you know, her with that weird fringe? Well, she went to school with your dad, I think, and she saw him at the doctor’s last week. Said he looked like shit. Is everyth—’
‘He’s fine,’ Tam babbled over her. ‘He’s got some stomach bug. Been chucking up rotten. Something he ate at work, I think, bad chicken or something. He’s got some antibiotics for it. He’s fine.’
‘Oh, right,’ Becca replied, sounding unconvinced. She paused, thinking, then added, ‘She said he had cancer.’
Tam froze, her brain unable to respond.
‘You still there?’ Becca prompted.
‘It’s a stomach bug, that’s all,’ Tam said eventually. ‘He’s fine. Look, I’ve got to go, Mum’s calling me.’
‘But what about the—’
‘I’ll call you back,’ Tam said, cutting the call. She put her phone on the kitchen workshop and stepped away from it. Almost immediately the screen glowed again, the device vibrating as Becca tried to reconnect. Tam stared at it until Becca gave up.
She wanted to get away, to the one place she knew Becca couldn’t contact her. To the wood. She picked up her phone again and dialled Abigail’s number. After a few rings the answerphone clicked in.
‘Abigail, it’s me . . .’ Would she know her voice? Would she know who she was? ‘. . . Tam,’ she added, feeling stupid. ‘Look, can we talk about yesterday? I—’ She stopped, realizing she was apologizing again. ‘I’m always saying sorry to you. Please, give me a ring.’
Tam put the phone on the worktop and stepped back from it. She stared at it, arms folded, waiting for it to do something.
‘Come on,’ she urged.
Outside the sky turned a dark grey. Heavy drops of water bounced off the window, slow at first then rapid like gunfire. The pensive rumble of thunder vibrated through the house as the downpour intensified. Then, as quickly as it had started, the rain ceased and the clouds retreated, leaving the blue sky to the sun.
Tam noticed Mum’s washing, dripping on the line.
The phone rang. She picked it up, staring at its glowing screen: Unknown number.
‘Abigail?’ Tam asked as she put the phone to her ear.
‘Tam, can you hear me?’ The line crackled but she recognized the voice immediately.
‘Mum? Is everything all right?’ Her heart fluttered.
‘I’m at the hospital, my phone’s dead, forgot to charge it. What am I like? I’m using the phone on your dad’s bed. Save the number, then you can ring him when you want.’
There was a pause. Tam said, ‘OK.’
Another pause.
‘You want to speak to Dad?’
Tam tensed. She couldn’t avoid it. ‘Yeah, OK.’
There was a muffled conversation, then Dad said, ‘Hello, Tam. Are you out of bed?’
He was trying to sound jokey, but his voice was feeble. She wanted to throw the phone away from her ear. Dad was sick, she knew that. But not in her head. The dad in her head was the same as ever: rough, loud, funny, annoying, larger than life. But his voice was in her ear now. Reality was infecting her memories, killing the dad she remembered.
‘Hi, Dad. How’re you doing?’
‘Oh, I’m fine. They’re just keeping an eye on me. Nothing to worry about really.’
‘Good . . . good.’
‘Maybe . . . I thought you might want to pop in some time?’ Dad said. It was like his voice had been slowed down, drained of power. ‘No rush, just if you’re free.’
‘I will,’ Tam replied, wanting this to end. ‘Soon, I promise.’
‘Later today? Tomorrow?’
Tam was cornered. ‘Yeah, probably.’
‘Good. OK then, I’ll let you get sorted . . .’ There was a pause, muffled voices talking to each other. ‘Oh, your mum’s asking if the washing is OK. It’s raining here.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Great. Well, OK then. See you soon, Tam. Love you.’
‘Love you, Dad.’
Tam ended the call, feeling like she was saying goodbye to him for ever. Stupid, he’s not dying, she told herself. But she didn’t believe it.
She left the house and walked to the wood. There was a metal fence lining its edge. Further up she saw two vans and a Portakabin. She followed the fence away from them until she found a gap between the metal panels, big enough for her to escape into the embrace of the trees. Just being there calmed her mind. She sat in the shade of the branches close to the bridge, listening to the stream, hoping that Abigail might appear.
The water ran under her feet, relentless, calming, marking time. She realized how much she needed this place now, how much she needed Abigail, and it frightened her. She was retreating from everything else.
She stayed there until the shadows lengthened and the light began to shift to oranges and browns.
Tired, hungry, full of uncertainties, Tam left the wood and returned home.
TWENTY-SIX
Tam wandered the streets of the estate, circling her house, not wanting to get too close. She looked at the red brick boxes of humanity as she passed them by, painting pictures in her mind of what might lie inside. Each one appeared perfect in its own modest way, a snapshot of family life that was easy to envy. At this distance the problems were hidden behind social niceties and lies, behind the masks we show to others. She hoped that’s what people saw when they looked at her house: a normal family with normal day-to-day problems, nothing more.
Problems got smaller with distance, she concluded. Was that why she so desperately wanted to fly away? The urge was almost too strong to fight. She thought about going back to the wood, of flying into the sky and never returning, going higher and higher until there were no problems left to worry about any more. But she just kept walking, peering into the little red boxes and imagining a better life for herself.
As soon as she’d left the safety of the wood her phone had buzzed back into life. She’d checked it quickly, hoping to see a message from Abigail, but it was just Becca and Mum. She’d responded to Mum’s text, reassuring her she wasn’t dead or missing, then she’d pushed her phone deep into her pocket and tried to ignore it.
Tam found herself in front of the school, a silent monument to missed opportunities. She counted the windows she’d broken that time with Becca when they were in Year Seven. She remembered the fear she’d felt back then, clutching a stone in her little hand in the crisp darkness of winter. Becca had smashed the first one, taunting Tam to do the same. Eventually she’d crumbled, throwing the stone just to make the teasing end. She was glad when it was over, ready to be shouted at by Dad. But no one had ever caught them, no punishment ever came.
That’s when it had begun. Their friendship had started there, in amongst the broken glass. Since then they had led each other along a precarious path, neither a good influence on the other. They would have been better apart, Tam concluded. She wondered what things would be like now if not for their constricting friendship. Would she have had friends like Abigail instead? Would she have done better in her coursework? In her exams? Would she be happier? No, probably not. She couldn’t blame anyone else for how things had turned out – just herself.
Tam turned away from that big old building, full of the dead dreams of people like her. She didn’t miss that school.
Hours passed. Tam continued to walk, no destination in mind. She walked along the edge of the main road, following it to the bigger houses of Deerwater. She saw Abigail’s home and her step quickened. But she didn’t live there any more, she remembered. Abigail’s dad was outside, washing his car while his tinny radio polluted the air with heavy guitars. Tam put her head down and crossed the road, avoiding him.
She stopped on a bench, her feet throbbing. After a moment’s rest she began to walk for home, avoiding the temptation of the wood between here and there.
The houses became smaller and closer together again. Smaller cars parked in front of smaller gardens. Smaller houses with smaller dreams.
She turned onto her road and her phone began to buzz once more. It was a text from Becca:
Did you just walk past my house? x
Shit.
Tam tried to replay her path in her mind but the truth was she hadn’t been paying attention. She put her phone away and began to run, faster and faster, sprinting on instinct. She was an animal being hunted. She ran straight past her home; it didn’t feel safe there now.
Breathless, her legs aching, she came to the edge of the wood once more. Her destination was inevitable, resistance futi
le. She broke through the fence again and dropped onto the long grass, feeling light-headed.
Tam rested until her breathing settled then she entered the wood. Almost immediately she felt the familiar tug of the sky, the urge to be above her problems. She ran further, until she was certain she was alone, and stopped in a clearing. Then she centred her mind, focusing on her desire to be free . . . and she lifted into the air. The transition was almost effortless, so much easier than it had been before.
She elevated through the trees and up into the clear sky, exulting in the joy of escape.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Becca stood at the window, watching Tam go up the street. She’d walked past without stopping.
Where the hell was she going?
As she watched her friend walk away doubts crept in. Maybe it wasn’t Tam. She wouldn’t just go by without saying hello, would she?
Becca texted her, watching as the figure turned the corner at the top of the street. She was out of sight now. Becca waited at the window, like a daft little dog with its nose pushed up against the glass. She waited with her phone in hand, expecting a reply from Tam any second now. She would come back down the street, smiling, and they’d hang out for a while, laughing and joking like they used to before . . .
Becca looked down at her phone. Nothing. No reply. Tam wasn’t coming back. Becca swore as she found her trainers and pulled them on.
‘Goin’ out, Mum,’ she called as she went to the front door, not bothering to wait for a reply. Not that it mattered; the old cow didn’t care. She wouldn’t even notice she was gone.
It was hot outside as Becca marched up the street. She turned into Simmons Road and spotted Tam at the far end. She was stood still, looking down at her phone.
Becca froze as well. Should she catch up with her? Or wait for her to reply. But Tam didn’t reply; she began to run. Becca ran as well, trying to keep up as Tam twisted through the estate. Did she know she was following her?
Altitude Page 11