Walking on Air

by Christina Jones

  Billie, who still felt slightly guilty about inciting Sylvia to stand her ground and spend lonely nights on a Z-bed in the unit, eating boil-in-the-bags and drinking tequila slammers to the sound of Cy Grant, shrugged. ‘I don’t think I gave you anything that wasn’t already there. Look how well you’ve done with your brochures. Douglas should just learn to appreciate your achievements and not to take you for granted.’

  ‘Oh, he’s doing that all right, my dear.’ Sylvia chuckled as she turned away. ‘He’s cancelled the cruise and got in a daily for the housework and the cooking.’

  ‘Sylv! You never said! That’s wonderful. Why the hell haven’t you gone home, then?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to. I’m much happier here. Douglas, the doyen of the Rotary Club, is a bombastic, overbearing, bigoted old fool who farts in his sleep. I’m absolutely delighted to be a latter-day bolter. See you later, my dear.’

  Totally gobsmacked, Billie watched as Sylvia drifted back towards her unit, the turquoise pashmina floating in the spring sunshine.

  ‘Billie!’

  Jonah’s voice made her jump. She squinted up at him. ‘What? Oh, congratulations. You were amazing. Simply wonderful. How on earth do you get the plane to do all those things? Aren’t you scared? How does – Hey! What are you doing?’

  Jonah had gripped her arm just above the elbow. He turned her round and together they started hurrying towards the perimeter fence. He looked down at her, an angry muscle tensing in his cheek. Jesus! What the hell had she done?

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, still marching and stamping over to the fence, ‘I’m not kidnapping you. I just need a friend.’

  Christ – he’d got more friends than anyone she’d ever known – except perhaps Miranda. And how on earth did he docket her into ‘friend’ category, anyway? They’d only spent a few hours together and – ‘Why? Why me? Where are we going? What for?’

  ‘Because I’m probably going to kill someone. Because you’re the most normal, honest person I’ve ever met. To the plane. To talk. That enough answers?’

  ‘Not really.’ Billie wriggled away from him, still keeping in step. ‘I mean, they’re answers, but not any that I understand – and I’m not getting in that plane!’

  ‘Please.’ Jonah came to a halt beside the Stearman and pushed his dark hair away from his eyes. ‘Please, Billie. I need you to. Barnaby has disappeared to put champagne on ice for the celebration, Vinny has discovered that the hippie girl in the clothes place isn’t wearing a bra, Pam’s gone to get sandwiches, and I couldn’t find anyone else . . .’

  ‘But, I don’t understand –’

  ‘Just get in the plane. Like you did in the shed. We can talk then. I just need you to sit in the plane.’

  She looked at him doubtfully for a moment, completely at a loss. Then, sensing the urgency, scrambled onto the wing. What harm could it do?

  The Stearman seemed somehow less stable out in the open, and Billie felt the sweat prickling her palms. Carefully, she lowered herself into the seat. It was still warm; in fact the whole cockpit was cosy from the heat of the recently roaring engine, and she wriggled herself into position. She felt Jonah pull himself into the seat behind her, and for the second time watched as his long legs snaked on either side of hers amongst the cables that ran the length of the plane to the engine.

  ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘It’s also desperate.’ Jonah’s voice was again close in her ear. ‘Sorry to hijack you, but I thought you’d understand.’

  Billie, who understood less about what was going on than she did about the theory of relativity, snorted. ‘I’ve already said twenty times that I don’t.’

  ‘Estelle wanted me to take her up in the plane. I said I couldn’t because there wasn’t time, but the air-traffic controllers have now extended my air slot because no one’s flying from the Aeroclub today.’

  ‘Oh, right – and? You don’t want to take Estelle – er – up?’

  She felt him shake his head. ‘We’ve had a falling-out.’

  Goody, Billie thought. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I didn’t make love to her last night.’

  Christ, Billie blinked. Ten out of ten for pulling no punches. She was also irrational ally delighted to think that he hadn’t – and annoyed to know that he did. ‘And that’s it? You don’t want to fly with Estelle so you need someone to sit in the plane?’ She skewed round in her seat to look at him. ‘Why? It all sounds a bit iffy to me. Have I missed out on a vital ingredient?’

  ‘Ah, yes . . .’ The muscle was still twitching in Jonah’s cheek. He wasn’t smiling. ‘Claire asked to be taken up, too.’

  Claire? Claire the ex? ‘God Almighty! Is she the stunning-looking woman in yellow? And the all-American dream with her – is he Aerobatic Archie?’

  ‘Got it in one. They just happened to be passing today, because they’d just happened to hear about the Stearman on the aviation grapevine.’ His voice was bitter. ‘They also thought it would be an ideal opportunity to tell me that they’d just made their offer to Whiteacres Aviation Inc. – who apparently were happy to accept . . .’

  Shit. Billie let all this filter through her brain. So it was Claire and her lover who were going to be the new owners of the units, then? She blew out her cheeks. This could put a whole new slant on it. They certainly wouldn’t want to hang on to a shabby row of warehousing. And someone who was almost a Red Arrow was bound to have an awful lot of influential chums, wasn’t he? It looked as though her campaign to hang on to her shed may need to nudge up a notch.

  Billie craned her neck to peer across Jonah’s shoulder towards the sheds. But God, Claire was beautiful! And simply oozing sex appeal. She could just see Estelle, all in black, and the bright yellow figure of Claire, obviously having some sort of head-to-head. They looked exactly like the prettier half of an Abba tribute band.

  ‘Don’t exactly see eye to eye, those two, then?’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Jonah sighed, and slumped down in his seat.

  Billie turned round to face the front again, feeling desperately sorry for him. He should be on a high all day. No one should be allowed to rob him of this moment of triumph. And his future – like hers – was suddenly in jeopardy. Oh, sure, he could probably move Sullivanair to another airfield but at a hell of a cost – in the same way that she and Sylvia and Zi-Zi’s and the rest could find other homes . . . But why should they? Why the hell should they?

  ‘There’s no chance that you and the other people on the airfield could form a consortium and outdo their offer, I suppose?’

  ‘Not a hope in hell. There’s no other airline actually based here – they just pick up and dump – and the Aeroclub is independent. I sank every penny I had left after my divorce settlement into Sullivanair. And I had to borrow as well to manage that. Any money I’ve accrued is set aside to buy a second Shorts to take on extra short-haul flights – and it certainly isn’t enough to buy an airfield.’

  ‘What about remortgaging?’ Billie plucked at words she’d heard her parents mention when the farm was going through a shaky patch. ‘Couldn’t you raise some money that way?’

  ‘Not a hope. I don’t even own my own flat.’

  Billie pulled a sympathetic face. They were in the same boat. Or plane. And it did seem doubly unfair that Claire should get two bites of the cherry. ‘What about Barnaby, then? He looks – um – well, rich.’

  Jonah laughed. ‘He owns a minor stately home that’s crumbling into disrepair, and a few good racehorses – both of which gobble up his inheritance with ease. Anyway, I don’t think he’d be interested in buying Whiteacres, even if he could afford it.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  ‘No – but –’

  ‘Ask him, then,’ Billie said. ‘He might be only too pleased to help. We’re getting together in the units to become a co-op – and we’re all broke. Sylv’s even cashing in her funeral plan.’

  Jonah sighed and shook his head. ‘I think we’ll have to
admit defeat on this one.’

  ‘Will we buggery! And don’t laugh at me!’

  ‘I’m not. Honestly. It just seems so funny hearing you curse like a navvy when you look so sweet.’

  ‘And don’t patronise me either – and oh, I think we’re having a visitation.’

  Claire and Estelle, both looking furious, lifting their legs high on the damp grass like liberty ponies, were each trying to outstride the other as they bore down on the Stearman.

  Billie could hear Jonah muttering – something to do with airspeed and clearance . . . ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Billie, fasten those straps over your shoulders – and buckle the one between your legs – no, go on, just do it. That’s right – there . . . No, I just need to move the plane. I’ve no intention of being a sitting target. OK?’ Billie’s fingers fumbled with the harness. ‘Yes, yes – I think so . . . But we’re not going far are we?’ She’d watched the Stearman bobbling across the grass earlier. It had looked pretty uncomfortable.

  ‘Not far at all. And can I ask you one question? What petrifies you most about flying?’

  ‘Crashing.’

  ‘Fine, then. I promise not to crash. Hold on . . .’

  ‘Jonah – no!!!’

  But it was too late. The engine in front of her growled into life, deafening her, vibrating through every part of her body, and as Jonah’s feet moved on the pedals beside her, the propeller started to bite into the air. Jesus! She was going to die!

  The Stearman gathered speed, rocketing across the tufty grass, bouncing and pitching, getting ever faster, until Billie, clinging on to her seat, was unsure whether the scream in her head was from her or the engine or the wind or all three.

  For a split second it seemed as though they would race straight into the fence, but suddenly the motion changed and the bouncing stopped and there was nothing but a gentle rocking from side to side as the sky grew closer and the ground fell away.

  ‘Oh my God!’ She couldn’t open her mouth, so she muttered through her clenched teeth. ‘Oh my God! I’m flying!’

  Still only feet beneath, on the airstrip, Estelle and Claire’s upturned and incandescently furious faces almost took away Billie’s terror. Almost, but not quite. Flying in the Stearman was far noisier than she’d expected, but much warmer, burrowed down in the deep seat, and smoother. All she could see now was the pale blue and white speckled sky through the angle of the windscreen, and the struts and wires joining the two wings crisscrossing in front of her and all around her, and the huge nine-foot span of the propeller’s translucent rainbow circle. The sky seemed to be nearer now and she guessed they were climbing. She didn’t dare to look down.

  ‘I’ll just go up to four hundred feet and level out,’ Jonah roared in her ear. ‘We should have goggles and helmets, but I hadn’t planned this. You OK?’

  She jerked her head in an affirmative, still not able to move. Goggles and helmets were the least of her worries. She wanted a parachute and Valium. She wanted to kill him – and she would, but later. On terra firma. Always assuming they’d ever touch terra firma again.

  The Stearman, as steady now as a limousine, levelled out. Billie tentatively let go of her seat with one hand. The sun spiralled from the half-windscreen in front of her like lights on a leaded window, and the wind tugged through her hair. Summoning up her courage, she looked downwards. Whiteacres was stretched away in miniature, and she could see the bypass and the traffic and tiny dots of people. The motion was indescribable; nothing like being strapped into the confines of a 747 and waiting for the duty-frees. It was as much like dream flying as anything could ever get.

  She worked some saliva into her mouth and took deep breaths to steady her pulse rate. She’d die before she’d admit it, but the gentle tip-tilting motion wasn’t that scary at all. It was exciting and exhilarating and totally liberating.

  ‘Want to try a stall-turn?’ Jonah yelled in her ear. ‘Or a loop?’

  Billie shook her head. She was almost sure he was joking. Instinctively she trusted him not to frighten her. ‘I’m all right . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, I’m OK.’ Still holding on with one hand, she allowed herself the luxury of turning round. Jonah grinned at her reassuringly. She grinned back.

  Settling back into her seat, convinced now that even if the engine died in front of her, Jonah would somehow land the plane in one piece, Billie smiled to herself. God – she couldn’t wait to ring home and tell her parents about this. They’d never believe her. And Miranda would be pea-green with jealousy. She wanted to tell the world what she’d done.

  Her ears were cold and her hair would never untangle and her nose was running, but these small inconveniences were wiped away by the sheer fun of it all. And, of course, the superb knowledge that both Estelle and Claire wanted to be in her place. Everything seemed so insignificant somehow up here: the future of the industrial units, and Miranda and Reuben, and all that awfulness with Kieran Squires. If only she could stay up here for ever, floating along with the birds, away from the real world.

  She sighed. This must be how Jonah felt all the time. No wonder the thought of losing it all – and to his deadliest rival – was so painful. She understood now. She really understood. There had to be something they could do. All of them together. They must be able to fight off Undulating Claire and Aerobatic Archie, mustn’t they?

  The engine note changed. Billie was suddenly jolted out of her complacency. She’d always listened to the engines’ noise on her holiday flights, and also watched the stewardesses. She reckoned that they’d know before the passengers if there was a problem, and as long as they were sashaying along the aisle on her 747, smiling sweetly and doling out miniature gins, she always felt there was no need to panic.

  She had no such barometer today. She jerked her head round. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jonah smiled. ‘We’re going in to land, that’s all.’

  Billie felt a thump of disappointment. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want this blissful experience to end. ‘Already?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he shouted, beaming at her. ‘And do I take it that I’ve just made a convert?’

  She looked down at the floor. His legs were brushing hers. ‘No! Yes, well, sort of . . .’

  She heard him laugh above the Boeing’s roar as they began to circle the airstrip. ‘And perhaps you’ve also changed your mind about plane-fanatics all being sad old anoraks?’

  Billie shook her head as the Stearman rock’n’rolled its way gently towards the ground. ‘Nah. No chance. I’ll never change my mind on that one.’ She clutched the seat as Jonah pushed the plane into a nose dive. ‘Jesus! Oh, yeah – OK, then – maybe I will . . .’

  The plane resumed a more normal descent, and the landing, although bumpy, was far less daunting than anything she and Miranda had ridden on last summer at Alton Towers. She pressed her head back into the seat as the propeller blade stopped whirling, and exhaled. The roar of the engine was still drumming in her ears and she wanted to stay cocooned there for ever, but Jonah had already extricated his legs and jumped down on to the grass.

  Her fingers were trembling as she undid the buckles of her harness, and as she stood up her legs wobbled. Jonah reached out to her. ‘Just take it easy. You’re bound to feel a bit strange. Put your foot there, and I’ll catch you . . .’

  No way, Billie thought. No bloody way. Then she teetered and stumbled and Jonah’s arms were round her waist, swinging her to the floor.

  ‘Jonah!’ Estelle’s strident voice cut through the silence and the birdsong. ‘Jonah! I think we need to talk!’

  Jonah let Billie go. She beamed towards Estelle, who was still goose-stepping across the airstrip, followed by Claire, whose bosoms were bouncing uncomfortably. ‘Please don’t let me stop you. I’ve got work to do.’ Billie smiled up at Jonah. ‘Good luck – and thanks a lot. It was lovely . . .’

  And skipping off across the airstrip, her feet scarcely touchi
ng the ground, she felt exactly as though she was walking on air.

  WINTER

  Chapter Twenty

  The balminess of October had spread through much of November, and Billie had hoped that the Indian summer would last for ever. She and Sylvia, Zia and Isla, Fred ’n’ Dick, and the Guspers all met up for coffee outside the units, basking in the low golden sunshine, watching the colours change on the trees, relishing the gentle warmth, and not giving voice to their fears. However, as the autumn rolled into December, Billie was aware that Whiteacres’ new owners might well end these halcyon days with a vengeance.

  Jonah, to give him his due, had kept her updated with the Claire and Aerobatic Archie developments. They had been, to say the least, disappointing. Claire, who seemed to have a very selective memory, had apparently been irritatingly vague about their plans– but insisted that their bid for Whiteacres wasn’t going to take place until the spring,. Billie knew she was lying: all the warehousers knew from Maynard and Pollock that their leases would be under new ownership in January. Jonah had shrugged and said Claire was always unreliable, and Aerobatic bloody Archie was devious, and he wouldn’t put it past them to announce their ownership of the airfield and the industrial estate immediately the final chimes of the year died away.

  All in all, it was most frustrating, but in the meantime Billie had bought the van and had it liveried, invested in long- running adverts in the Amberley Hill Echo and the Whiteacres Courier, and followed Estelle’s business plan instructions to the letter. Billie hated to admit it, but Estelle’s methods worked, and the warehouse, by the beginning of December, was starting to show a small but healthy profit.

  Almost on cue, as if to signify the end of the year and also the end of the warehousers’ fragile peace of mind, the December weather had turned bitterly cold. Sylvia had taken to wearing black opaque tights beneath her shorts, and Zia and Isla were snuggling into twin yak-hair ponchos. Billie added a further layer beneath her fleece and wore an extra pair of socks with her Timberlands. The frosty mornings and grey, wind-chilled gloom did very little to raise the airfield’s ambience.