Walking on Air

by Christina Jones

  Jonah touched her shoulder. ‘OK, Billie. Go.’

  She went. The whole routine that she’d practised religiously was a million times more difficult on the move; the bumpy motion of the plane and the rush of the wind made everything so much more complicated. She was concentrating so hard on getting from the seat to the wing and from the wing to the rig and fastening and unfastening the right straps, though, that there simply wasn’t any time to feel nervous.

  After what seemed like three hours, she’d finally made it. ‘There!’ She gulped in triumph, so tightly strapped that she felt like she was wearing one of Zi-Zi’s whalebone corsets. Gingerly, she leaned back against the comparative safety of the rig’s padded seat. ‘I’ve done it! I’ve bloody done it!’

  She had. She really had. The feeling of achievement, of fulfilment, was totally unbelievable. Clutching hold of the wire stays, she turned and grinned down at Jonah.

  He grinned back and stuck up his thumb, mouthing the words, ‘Wonderful. Now get back in and we’ll try it again.’

  She did. Very unsteadily. Climbing backwards down into the plane while it was bundling along the ground was actually easier than scrambling out onto the wing. Eventually, she sank down into the seat, feeling as though she’d conquered her own Everest.

  ‘Completely brilliant!’ Jonah yelled in her ear, swooping the Stearman back towards the warehouses. ‘Now let’s try it once more . . .’

  They tried it another six times. They’d got quite an audience by this time, but Billie didn’t really notice. She was just so exhilarated by her achievement, by overcoming her fear, by the fact that each time she became a little more adept, that everything paled into insignificance.

  ‘Do you feel up to flying?’ Jonah asked. ‘I mean, I’ll understand if you don’t, but I thought if we just took it slowly – starting off with you strapped to the rig, of course, then if you feel ready, we’ll try the cockpit to wing to rig transfer . . .’

  She nodded. She’d come this far. She climbed back onto the wing and fastened the rig’s harness.

  As Jonah kept the Stearman level, Billie felt the heady adrenaline rush again as they raced across the grass, gradually accelerating. The wind punched against her, pushing her neck backwards, and her stomach was left behind on the ground, but at the moment of takeoff she felt nothing but pure excitement.

  God! It was wonderful. She didn’t dare look down, but she knew they were flying. She clung onto the rig, not reckless enough to move, just savouring the feeling of being, literally, on top of the world. She was amazed that she wasn’t more frightened. But fear was out of place here. She had every faith in the plane and in Jonah, and, to be honest, swooping through the sky was such a blissful experience that she honestly couldn’t understand why she’d dreaded it before.

  There were still the earlier drawbacks, of course. Despite the sweat shirt, she was absolutely frozen. The wind stung her eyes, her fingers had turned to icicles, her ears were roaring and her nose was running. The noise was incredible. Next time, she promised herself, she’d have earplugs and nose plugs and wear Isla’s fluffy undersuit and the leather-lined silver gloves . . . Oooh! She felt her stomach slip away as the Stearman banked, then realised they were going into land. Bugger . . .

  ‘Just great! Ready to try again?’ Jonah shouted as soon as the throbbing had died away. ‘You still all right?’

  Right now, other things

  Billie nodded stiffly. She couldn’t speak. Her mouth, which she’d opened somewhere above the bypass, had been caught and frozen in time. She desperately needed to blow her nose and wipe her face. Everything hurt: her armpits, stomach, spine, and shins all felt as though they’d been pulverised. Tomorrow, she knew, she’d be black and blue. Tomorrow, she’d deal with it. Right now, other things took priority.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

  They repeated the performance for an hour. Each time, the sensations were heightened. Each time, Jonah coaxed the Stearman higher and into slightly more adventurous moves: steeper climbs, sharper dives, shorter turns. Billie, feeling brave, practised smiling and discovered that once she’d started she couldn’t stop. The wind solidified the rictus, and thrust all sorts of small airborne insects between her teeth. Not being able to spit, she swallowed.

  Waving was almost as bad. Even the muscle-building with the baked bean tins hadn’t prepared her for the powerful snatch of the wind. It took all her strength to lift her arms above her head and keep them there. Billie, by now desperate to go to the loo, jiggled about on the seat and found herself slipping sideways.

  Christ! The view was surprising, to say the least. Totally disorientated, with the bypass and the airport now tip-tilted, and the sky on a diagonal slant, she remembered to keep waving and point her toes, despite the wind trying to dismember her. She wanted to punch the air in triumph. She’d just – albeit by accident – executed her first acrobatic airborne manoeuvre!

  After they’d landed and Jonah had hugged her and she’d hugged him back, and he’d belted off to refill the Stearman with AVGAS, and she’d wobbled dizzily off to the loo, it was time for the real test. Climbing from the cockpit, out onto the wing, and into the rig. Much as she’d have been happier to delay the process, Billie knew, as they all did, that with merely weeks to go until she did it for real, it was now or never.

  Jonah hugged her again and Sylvia kissed her and everyone clapped, then she climbed into the cockpit, strapped herself in and waited for takeoff. She didn’t have to wait long. After climbing quickly, Jonah levelled the Stearman out at the prescribed thousand feet, and tapped her on the shoulder. With a hastily muttered prayer, Billie gripped the sides of the cockpit and levered herself out of her seat.

  It was all so different. All the practising in the world could not have prepared her for the force of the wind as she clung to the handholds on the wing and lodged her feet onto the back of the seat. She was going to fall – she knew she was . . . Taking a deep breath, she repeated the procedures over and over inside her head, all the while aware of the steady drone of the engine and the roar of the propeller.

  Pushing off with her feet, she launched into mid-air, scrambled, kneeled on the wing and, still fighting the wind, crawled towards the rig’s supports. She wasn’t aware of speed, just motion and the relentless nonstop force of the gale. Reaching upwards, grabbing the rig stanchions, she teetered upright and edged her way carefully between the wires, watching her feet all the time.

  There – now her feet were in the right place and – yes! – she backed into the rig. God, it felt great. Sturdy and safe. With one hand, she buckled herself into the harness, then leaned back. She’d done it!

  She raised her hands above her head and waved in triumph. Jonah and the Stearman gave the tiniest roll in salute and she laughed out loud. Then she stopped. She still had to get back in. Still, there was ages yet . . . Might as well make the most of the power-rush that was surging through her body.

  Confident in the harness, she twisted the seat a little, then a little more, then completely round . . . Wow! Now she was doing a handstand, upside down in mid-air, at ISO miles an hour . . . and it was the greatest feeling in the world. She swivelled back, dancing now on the rig, practising all the moves she’d practised on the sideboard. It was truly awesome . . .

  Jonah, obviously sensing her assurance, rolled the Stearman to one side. The sky looped the loop in the opposite direction to her stomach. Then the ground was where the sky should have been, and the plane was flipping over backwards and she was hanging suspended . . . She lost count of the loops and rolls, but gradually became accustomed to the motion. She had never, in her life, felt so high.

  When both she and the plane were the right way up, she glanced over her shoulder, and Jonah nodded, making a T with his hands. Oh shit, time to get back in . . .

  Undoing the harness with rigid fingers, she inched her feet carefully out of the rig, walking backwards, slowly – so slowly, – then, hanging onto the wire supports
and kneeling down, she reached back with one foot until it touched the windscreen. That was fine . . . She slid the foot down until it touched the back of the seat . . . Then the other one . . . Then she flopped down after it, and fastened her seat belt.

  Crying and laughing at the same time, she turned round to look at Jonah. He was shaking his head, smiling, biting back some sort of emotion.

  They landed to tumultuous applause. Billie, totally exhausted and not quite able to get her land legs, fumbled with the buckle of her harness. Jonah, having already opened his and shed his goggles, helmet and jacket, leaned across to help her.

  ‘You are a complete star . . .’ His voice was choked. ‘Christ, I can’t believe what we’ve got. We’ll take ’em by storm . . . God Almighty, Billie – how can I ever thank you?’

  ‘Just get me out of here and buy me a gin and tonic,’ she muttered, clinging onto him, her knees giving way.

  He laughed and lifted her down. ‘Did you mean that? About the drink?’

  ‘Too right. But not straight away.’ She dashed her hand across her face, smearing all sorts of detritus into the crevices and not caring. Still wobbling she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll catch you later. And, Jonah, thank you . . .’

  SUMMER

  Chapter Thirty-six

  ;With a week to go before the air pageant, Jonah drove towards Whiteacres on his one day off for ages, and tried not to panic. He was growing increasingly worried about the lack of dedication of his partners.

  Barnaby, bruised and stoically silent about Miranda’s rejection, had flown off to Kentucky to view more horses at the Keenland sales and was last heard muttering about four legs being more faithful than two, and that maybe he’d settle in Derbyshire on a permanent basis and forget that Whiteacres ever existed. Vinny and Pam were still sceptical about the small-scale pageant managing to attract any attention from a public already sated with festivals, and rock concerts, and huge organised outdoor events. Estelle, who had suddenly announced that wingwalking was definitely not for her and that Billie was welcome to the limelight, wasn’t even pretending to have any interest – either in the air display, Sullivanair, or Jonah personally.

  It was only Billie who, like him, was throwing herself wholeheartedly into the preparations.

  Jonah pulled onto the airport road and bumped his car none too gently over the speed humps. The sky was the colour of flax flowers, the breeze slight, and there was not a trace of nimbus or cumulus. He hoped the perfect June weather would last for the next seven days at least. The success or failure of the air pageant, he felt, would mirror the triumph or otherwise of his further expansion. He grinned to himself as, with crossed fingers, he yanked the car into a parking space beside the Sullivanair office. It was a good job that his passengers didn’t realise that they were being flown by a man who never walked under ladders, refused to look at the new moon through glass, and always chucked a few grains of spilled salt over his left shoulder.

  He was still grinning, reliving for the millionth time that amazing trial run with the Stearman, as he opened the office door.

  After the success of the wingwalking, Jonah had watched Billie go, swaying a little as she crossed the grass, skipping with elation as she hauled herself into her van, and had felt the urge to run after her. He hadn’t wanted to let her out of his sight. He’d known exactly how she felt. The Stearman had bonded them together with ties far stronger than words; the experience they’d just shared had been so momentous that he’d felt totally incapable of even trying to explain it to anyone else.

  It was only after the van had rattled away across the dusty concrete that he’d realised he hadn’t told her about his breakthrough. The previous night he’d only gone along with Barnaby’s suggestion to visit Caught Offside in the hope of seeing Billie. He’d wanted to tell her then about the Sullivanair expansion developments. Which, he’d thought, was pretty stupid, given that she hated all things aeronautical. It was just that he valued Billie’s opinion.

  He’d flown the Shorts to Renfrew on a charter, and in the two hours before returning, he’d met up with his ex RAF colleague and moved a step closer to making the fleet dream a reality. He’d viewed the second Shorts and the Skyvan at Glasgow, inspected their CAA certificates, discussed the lease-buy terms, and after a bit of haggling had agreed a price on having them liveried in the silver, emerald and purple of Sullivanair. He’d then proffered his banker’s draft, signed the paperwork, and agreed on a possible September delivery.

  He hadn’t mentioned any of this to Barnaby or Estelle. Twitching with excitement, he’d toyed with the idea of discussing it with Vinny on the return flight, but decided that Vinny would have probably laughed and dismissed it as yet another impossible dream. Jonah really hadn’t wanted to hear Vinny put his most feared thoughts into words – that what the hell was the point in spending all the company profits on two more planes to be delivered in September when the possibility of Sullivanair still running out of Whiteacres in the autumn was pretty slim indeed.

  Billie, he’d felt, would at least have given it some consideration. Billie, he’d been sure, would have said great and go for it, and made him feel a bit better about the amount of money he may well have just chucked away. Anyway, he valued Billie’s opinion as a businesswoman; after all, she’d been as smart as paint in getting her warehouse up and running from nothing, hadn’t she?

  He’d missed her at Caught Offside, and then, amidst all the euphoria of the wingwalking, he’d completely forgotten to mention it.

  Sylvia had then broken loose from the cluster of onlooking warehousers that morning, and had swayed towards him, carrying a tray of cocktails complete with impaled cherries and gaily coloured umbrellas.

  Jonah! We’re having a little celebration! I’ve never seen anything so incredible in my life! Billie couldn’t stay – but you’ll have a piña colada with us, won’t you, dear? Just to be matey?’

  Jonah had groaned, suddenly feeling the restirring of the dregs of the Mulligan’s Guinness and Caught Offside’s Bobby Charlton Slammer. He’d smiled bravely. ‘I’ll certainly try.’

  ‘Good-oh,’ Sylvia had said. ‘We want to show you all the posters and flyers and press releases and things that Zia and Isla and Mike have done for the airshow before we start distributing them tomorrow.’

  And he’d spent the rest of the morning admiring the amount of work the warehousers had put into their ground- level part of the pageant, and courageously – considering the parlous state of his liver – test-driving some of the most dubious cocktails he’d ever encountered in his life.

  He stopped daydreaming, stepped inside the office and walked into immediate reality.

  ‘Good morning.’ Estelle didn’t look up from her keyboard. ‘Or at least it was. Sadly there’s been a bit of a blip.’

  The blip was Claire. Dressed in tight jeans and a cropped T-shirt, she was undulating round the far end of the Sullivanair office, stroking things and smiling.

  ‘She’s been here for ages and she’s stoned out of her brain!’ Estelle hissed. ‘Stupid cow says she’s jacked in Aerobatic Archie.’

  ‘Christ!’ Had she told Antony about their stupid emotionless sexual reunion? Jonah sincerely hoped not. It hadn’t meant anything to either of them. ‘What does she want?

  ‘You, of course.’ Estelle concentrated on a spreadsheet. ‘Like everyone else. No, sorry. I mustn’t be bitchy. Yes, she wants you – but she also still thinks she’s going to be a wingwalker.’ She looked at him for the first time, I’ve told her the position is already filled.’

  Despite the atmosphere, Jonah couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. ‘Yeah, well, I somehow can’t see Claire doing the full barnstorming stunt at a thousand feet.’

  ‘Neither can I.’ Estelle pushed her chair away from her desk. ‘If I can’t compete with Billie Pascoe, Claire hasn’t got a dog’s chance, has she?’

  ‘Not really. God, I wish you could have seen Billie. She was stupendous! Out of this wor
ld! Took to it like a real trouper. You should have seen –’ He stopped. ‘No, sorry. Tactless of me . . .’

  ‘Not really.’ Estelle looked away. ‘I do know my limitations. I was being a bit pathetic, really, earlier on, clinging onto the hope . . .’

  Jonah felt terrible. He’d been unfair and selfish. Again. Was he ever anything else when it came to a choice between planes and women? ‘Shit – sorry. You’ve been brilliant at helping with the Stearman’s rebuild and everything. It’s just –’

  ‘That she’s five foot nothing and made of fresh air, while I’m –’ Estelle flexed her incredible body – ‘constructed more solidly, shall we say?’

  Jonah grinned. It wasn’t quite how Vinny described her. At that moment Claire clattered a pile of books from the windowsill and laughed. They both stared at her in dismay as she ignored them and started opening cupboards, singing loudly.

  Jonah turned away from the travesty that he’d once sworn he loved enough to die for, and touched Estelle’s shoulder. ‘You’ve had more than enough to put up with from the Sullivans, haven’t you? And why are you working, anyway? We’ve got a free day today – and we’re fully booked until mid-July. You could have taken the day off and just left the answerphone on.’

  Still singing, Claire turned round from the cupboard, beamed beatifically at them both, and swept a pile of files to the floor.

  Estelle half rose, then sank back into her seat. ‘Bitch. Still, she’s your responsibility. You can clear up after her. And I’m not really working, I’m just tidying a few things.’

  Jonah walked to the window. The Shorts was hangared, but he could see the silver, green and purple colours of the Slingsby parked alongside the Aeroclub planes. Hopefully it meant that when Barnaby returned from the States he would abandon his threatened suicide missions after his rejected proposal, and concentrate on flipping the Slingsby through the air at next week’s show. That was, of course, if Barnaby came back at all.