Walking on Air

by Christina Jones

  On the fine autumnal days, Jonah had flown the Stearman at least half a dozen times since that momentous inaugural flight, but although she’d watched from the perimeter fence, Billie had never repeated her trip – despite Jonah’s cajoling invitations. The first time, unplanned, had been exciting and illuminating, but Billie was sure if she knew in advance that she was going to be leaving the ground she’d have a return of the aerophobic panic attacks, and certainly didn’t want to lose face.

  Instead, Estelle had taken her place, and each flight had meant that Jonah and Estelle, always looking annoyingly stunning in her designer overalls, had returned to the shed, discussing technicalities, and fine-tuned some part of the engine. Billie still found it irritating to watch someone who looked like a supermodel so completely at home with the scary intricacies of the Boeing’s innards. Especially as that someone was also sharing Jonah’s bed.

  Miranda’s plans for a double blind date with her unknown Joseph and the eligible Mr Molton-Kusak had failed to materialise. In fact, Miranda spoke of Joseph very rarely these days – and Mr Molton-Kusak even less. All her conversations centred on the developments at Caught Offside and were peppered with Reuben-references, and although she swore that they weren’t sleeping together, Billie was pretty sure it was only a matter of time.

  Sad really, she thought, heading through the warehouse for the office early one December morning. If Miranda was pretty serious about Slimeball Wainwright, she wouldn’t risk the relationship she was building with him, however distasteful, for a one-night stand with a total stranger – even if Joseph the Dreamboat was allegedly the most beautiful man ever to draw breath. So that was the end of that.

  Billie turned on the hot-air blowers, clicked on the kettle for the first caffeine kick of the day, and sighed. She could really do with some male company. The partnerships of Miranda and Reuben, Estelle and Jonah, Isla and Zia – even the thought of Claire and Aerobatic Archie – merely reinforced the feelings that had been growing of late. That it was all very well to hurl everything of yourself into a business venture, and to live your career twenty-four hours a day, but there came a point when you really needed to switch off and have someone to laugh with, to share the down sides, and just talk to. If it hadn’t been for Kieran bloody Squires, she thought, scrolling down the ever-growing list of ‘Custs Estab’, she might be brave enough to start looking.

  That’s why the blind-date foursome might have been a lot of fun. And Mr Molten-Lava sounded just what she could do with: someone older and decent and – she tapped furiously at the keyboard – what was the other word she was looking for? Oh, yeah – boring. No, she shouldn’t prejudge. He might be her ideal man, he probably wasn’t, but he just might be and now she was never likely to find out.

  It was just before midday when Estelle arrived. Billie, who had pulled her jumper down over her hands, poking her fingers through the loose stitches in the cuffs so that they looked like mittens, and wrapped two scarves round her neck and was still cold, shivered as the north wind rattled into the unit.

  ‘Goodness!’ Estelle flicked back her hair. ‘It’s like an oven in here! You must be stifling!’

  ‘I’ve been sitting still all morning,’ Billie muttered, trying to extricate her fingers from the sleeve holes and wondering why she always looked like a tramp whenever Estelle put in an appearance. ‘And it’s sub-zero outside and I – er – feel the cold.’

  Estelle, who, if her short skirt, cropped jacket and nil-denier stockings were anything to go by, obviously didn’t, shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Jonah?’

  ‘Not today. Not for ages, in fact. Not since the last time you were both here.’

  Estelle frowned. The last time they’d both been there, the atmosphere between them, Billie had thought, had been pretty chilly. In fact, there’d seemed to be a distinct freeze ever since the Stearman’s maiden voyage.

  Billie decided to stop speculating on the affair and remembered her manners. Estelle’s beauty and expertise still intimidated her, but she’d always be grateful to her for sorting out the business side of things. ‘Would you like coffee? Tea? I was just going to break for lunch.’

  ‘Nothing thanks. I’m not stopping.’ Estelle cast a cursory glance over the computer screen and the ledgers on the desk. ‘Things still going well?’

  ‘Very,’ Billie admitted. ‘Thanks to your suggestions. I might even have to register for VAT in the new year – always supposing we’re still here . . .’

  Estelle tossed back her hair again, looking a bit peeved. ‘I’m sure you’ll still be here. I’m sure Sullivanair will still be here. In fact, even if Claire and Antony are behind the takeover then I honestly can’t see things changing at all.’

  ‘But surely Jonah wouldn’t want to be beholden to his ex-wife and her lover, would he? He wouldn’t want to stay here and be owned by them?’

  Estelle laughed. Her eyes didn’t. ‘Oh, I’m sure Jonah would absolutely adore to be owned by Claire! He’s still totally besotted by the woman! He’ll never be able to get it together with anyone else while she’s around.’ She walked towards the door, then paused. ‘Oh, and if you do see him, tell him I’m away for the rest of the day. I’ve left him a note, but as he was supposed to be back from Southampton ages ago and hasn’t shown up in the office, I haven’t got a clue where he’s gone.’

  Billie, her brain still reeling from the dual complexities of Jonah’s relationship with Estelle and his feelings for Claire, tried to concentrate. ‘God – he hasn’t had an accident, has he?’

  Estelle shook her head, holding the door open and allowing the wind to howl into the unit and play havoc with the paperwork. ‘No, of course he hasn’t. The Shorts is back in its hanger and Vinny’s in the Aeroclub bar. He said Jonah was coming straight over here. He’s probably got sidetracked by someone selling a heap of junk.’

  Billie blinked. ‘But you love the Stearman, surely? You’ve spent so long on it, and –’

  ‘Oh, he’s not looking at another Stearman. He wants to buy a second passenger Shorts to bulk up Sullivanair – and possibly a Skyvan. Archaic, outmoded, totally prehistoric! That’s why I’m–’ She stopped and smiled. ‘Oh, well – I suppose it all means nothing to you anyway.’

  ‘Not a thing,’ Billie said quickly, trying to catch the nuances and failing. ‘So, are you going anywhere nice?’

  ‘Luton,’ Estelle said, swinging out of the door. ‘And nice or not depends on the outcome.’

  After she’d left, Billie made a Cup a Soup and some toast, and wished Sylvia was around so that they could mull over the Estelle–Jonah–Claire triangle together. But Sylvia had gone home for another discussion with Douglas. This time about Christmas. Billie, who was trying hard not to think about the festive season at all, was pretty sure that Douglas would be celebrating alone while Sylv holed up in the shed with copious measures of rum punch, a Marks and Spencer gourmet meal for one, and Johnny Mathis and ‘Mary’s Boy Child’ on constant replay.

  Telephoning a new customer who had written in, and arranging to collect in the van some much-fought-over carved Victorian commode – apparently a bequest from Great-aunt Edith’s will, and which now wouldn’t go through the front door of a one-bedroom starter home on the Badger’s Fart Estate, or some such place – Billie drained the dregs of the soup and picked up her keys. She thought maybe she should leave a note for Jonah and was just searching for a Post-it when the doors slid open.

  ‘Great,’ she beamed. ‘I was just going to write to you. Estelle says – Oh shit!’

  Reuben, looking even more dark and dangerous than ever in a long black Crombie overcoat, raised his eyebrows. ‘Still using cabby language, I’m glad to hear. And do I take it you’re alone?’

  ‘Er – yes – that is . . . no.’

  Reuben laughed harshly. ‘I’m not going to pounce on you, sweetheart, so don’t look so frightened. I just wanted to have a little talk. Just the two of us. Without Miranda.’

  Billie backed away towards
the safety of the office. This was appalling. Reuben’s snide remarks over the last three years, the subtle and not-so-subtle hints that he’d got a permanent hold over her – all came back to her in one great scary rush. ‘Go away. I’ve got nothing to say to you. You’ve got no right to be here.’

  ‘I’ve got every right,’ Reuben’s eyes trawled round the shed, took in the stacked shelves, and finally came to rest on the Stearman. He whistled. ‘You’re doing very nicely, sweetheart. Very nicely indeed. And I suppose you want it to stay that way?’

  ‘What? Of course I do.’ She stopped. ‘What the hell are you threatening?’

  Reuben looked pained. ‘Threatening? I’m not threatening you at all. It was merely an innocent question from a concerned friend.’

  ‘Crap,’ Billie spat at him. ‘Total crap. Don’t think you can come here and threaten me with – with – well, anything! I’ve served my sentence for . . .’

  ‘Being a silly tart?’ Reuben chuckled. ‘Yes, well that’s a matter of opinion. And these nice people here in the warehouses? Do they know the truth about you?’

  ‘What truth? That I was foolish enough to have an affair with a married man? Of course not – and neither would they be interested. Oh, I know you keep dropping hints to Miranda, but even if she did know about – er – about me and Kieran, why should she care? Why the hell would anyone be remotely bothered?’

  ‘I’ve told you, that’s not why I’m here.’ Reuben ran his hand along the Stearman’s fuselage. ‘And this is a very exciting piece of kit, sweetheart. Miranda said you’d got a plane, but she made it sound like one of those models. I had no idea that it was something as spectacular as this.’

  Billie, deciding that it was about time to take control, dangled her van keys in front of his nose. ‘And what goes on here is no concern of yours, so if you’ll excuse me, I was just leaving to see a customer.’

  Reuben didn’t move. Billie held herself in and edged round him. ‘Come on, shift yourself. I have no idea why you’re here anyway.’

  ‘Like I said, because I wanted to have a little chat – just to satisfy myself that you were OK. I happened to be passing and I thought I’d pop in. We never seem to bump into each other these days, do we?’

  Billie stood her ground, still clenching the van keys. ‘Reuben, please go. You can take out a full-page advert about me and Kieran Squires in every national newspaper on the planet and it won’t bother me – so bugger off.’

  Reuben laughed. ‘I’m on my way. I’ve satisfied myself that you’re all right – and doing nicely – and the plane is very interesting. Very interesting indeed . . .’ He drew the Crombie closer to him as he headed for the door. ‘And I’m so glad that you have no qualms about the Kieran thing going public, Billie, love. Extremely glad . . .’

  He closed the door behind him. Billie hurled her van keys at it. ‘Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!’

  The door opened again and she cringed. ‘Sod off! Now! Or I’ll call the police and have you – Oh, hi . . .’

  Jonah, in the Sullivanair uniform, scooped up her keys from the floor. ‘I take it the man who’s just driven away wasn’t your favourite customer?’

  ‘My ex-boss.’ She took the keys, trying not to drool over Jonah in the gorgeous navy-blue jacket with the gold braid because of Estelle – oh, and Claire. It was proving difficult. ‘We don’t – um – exactly see eye to eye.’

  ‘So I gathered.’ He grinned at her. ‘You’ve got quite a temper. I must remember not to get on the wrong side of you. Were you just leaving?’

  ‘Trying to. I’ve got a collection to make. Oh, and Estelle –’

  ‘I know. I’ve just been into the office and found her note.’ He hurled his peaked cap into the Stearman’s cockpit. ‘Could you just hang on for a second. There’s something I wanted to show you.’

  Billie, still fuming from Reuben’s visit, and really wanting to drive to Badger’s Fart to collect the commode and mull over the implications of why Reuben had been there and what he was trying to achieve, nodded. ‘As long as it doesn’t take very long. I’m running late as it is.’

  ‘It won’t take a moment. Barnaby’s outside sorting it out. I ran into him just after I got in from Southampton . . .’

  Barnaby suddenly appeared in the doorway, his knees buckling under the weight of a metal contraption. He placed it carefully on the floor and smiled at them both. ‘Hello, my dear. How lovely to see you again. There – now – Jonah, what do you think?’

  Jonah shook his head. ‘It looks a bit Miss Whiplash to me. Straight out of the torture chamber. Are you sure it’s legal? Is this what you get up to in that stately home? No wonder you keep heading off up there so often.’

  ‘Good Lord, dear boy – I wish.’ Barnaby tapped the top of the metal frame. ‘This is just what we need to make our little enterprise go with a bang. You gave me the idea the other night when we were talking about Waldo Pepper, and I called in a favour or two on my way up country and asked around – and hey presto!’

  Jonah walked slowly round the contraption. ‘It’s a frame and a sort of a harness and –’

  ‘It’s an Art Scholl rigid rig, Jo! The genuine article. Bolt it on to the top of the Stearman – and what have you got?’

  Jonah gazed at Barnaby with dawning delight. ‘The answer to our prayers?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Billie shook her head, ‘what the hell is it?’

  Barnaby tapped the frame. ‘It’s an Art Scholl rig.’

  ‘Of course it is! Silly me! Who the hell is Art Scholl? I think my mum wears his sandals.’

  ‘He was a stunt pilot in the States – in the good old days. He devised this frame and harness, my dear. It’s for the Stearman.’

  Billie frowned at it. ‘Fascinating – if a little scary. But what does it do?’

  Jonah took a deep breath. ‘It stops wingwalkers falling off.’

  ‘Wingwalkers?’ Billie’s frown increased. ‘Wingwalkers? You mean – on top of the plane? In the air? When it’s moving? Bloody hell! You’d have to be completely mad to – Hey, why are you looking at me like that?’

  Jonah dropped his gaze to the ground. ‘Well, like Barnaby says, the Stearman and the rig go together like – um – biscuits and cheese or – er – fish and chips. But to put on a barnstorming display, of course, it would need – um – someone in it . . .’

  ‘It sounds great,’ Billie said, still looking puzzled. ‘Maybe, come the summer, you could put on a show or something.’

  ‘Just what I was thinking!’ Jonah looked very animated. ‘We’ve got the perfect opportunity here to do something completely different. Something Whiteacres and Amberley Hill has never seen before. Think of the crowds we’d pull in with a barnstorming display. The Stearman was made for it, and with Barnaby doing flips in the Slingsby, and Vinny doing something with the Shorts, and the small planes giving joyrides, it’d be sensational.’

  Billie nodded. ‘Sounds wonderful – and I’m sure everyone would love it. But this barnstorming thing, then? Don’t you need a professional idiot – oh, sorry – wingwalker?’

  ‘In an ideal world, of course that would be the answer. But we simply don’t have the cash to engage someone just for a possible one-off – even if we could find one . . . ’ He moved his eyes from the Stearman to the rigid rig and finally to her. ‘Of course, I have no doubt that both Estelle and Claire would jump at the chance – but Estelle’s too tall and Claire’s too heavy . . . Come on, Billie, think about you could do it. You loved the flight in the Stearman, didn’t you? You’re game for anything, and as tough as old boots. Please say you’ll at least try it – just for me?’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  This whole idea had been a big mistake. Faith, keeping the Land Rover chugging along the inside lane of the M5 at just over forty, glanced in her rear-view mirror. Thad, Mungo, Lilac and Delphi, all strapped into their kiddie seats, were demolishing packets of crisps with the studied aplomb of past masters of the art. At least, she thought, with their mouths f
ull of monosodium glutamate they couldn’t scream. Visiting Declan and Maeve Squires just before Christmas was a pretty crazy thing to be doing anyway – but to be doing it in the company of four hyperactive vandals, was, she knew, total insanity.

  Oh, brilliant. The large green exit sign for the A38 and Taunton loomed ahead. Indicating thankfully and pulling onto the slip road, Faith prayed that this would be the end of her quest. She’d had to grab this opportunity as soon as it arose. Ever since the visit to Rustique she’d racked her brains for some plausible reason to be heading north into Somerset for the day, on her own, and failed to find one. It would have been easy if she was one of those gad-about women who were always ‘popping up to town’ or ‘lunching out’, but she never had been. There had always been far too much work to do on the farm. Days out were planned and discussed and savoured.

  So when she’d casually mentioned during a family supper that it might be a good idea for her to take the four eldest children out for the day to enable Katy and Ann to do their Christmas shopping in peace, she’d expected the Spanish Inquisition at least. Surprisingly, everyone had greeted the news with a fervour bordering on rapture. Faith glanced again at her grandchildren in the rear seats and could now understand why.

  Her daughters-in-law had been delighted to have a toddler-free shopping day and hadn’t asked any questions at all, and Stan and the boys were all working flat out and were too exhausted to care. Faith knew she’d never find a better occasion.

  Maeve and Declan Squires, not knowing her from Adam, had been very pleasant during the telephone conversation under the circumstances. Oh yes, they’d said – we know who you are. Of course we do . . . Oh, yes if you’re going to be in Taunton on Wednesday you must pop in for a few minutes and have a cup of tea. Nice to see the old Willowbridge faces again . . . Bit cut off up here to be truthful . . . Looking forward to it . . .