Walking on Air

by Christina Jones

  Jonah sucked in his breath. Poor Barnaby. What the hell had inspired him to propose to Miranda? He’d only taken her out a few times, after all. He liked her and enjoyed her company, that much Jonah knew, and probably loneliness and too much Guinness had overcome the fear of a rebuff that strange night at Caught Offside. However, if – just if – his new scheme worked out, he would have not just the answer to his prayers and Sullivanair’s future, but also to Barnaby s eremitic existence.

  Claire was still drifting, still smiling, still touching. She was OK like this, if extremely irritating for those not in the same state. The black gloom wouldn’t descend until later. Jonah decided to make the most of her good mood and ignore her.

  He looked back at Estelle. He couldn’t put it off. You’re leaving, aren’t you?’

  ‘That obvious, is it?’

  ‘Fairly,’ he nodded, feeling sad. It could have been so very different. Estelle had put up with a lot more than most women. ‘Is it irrevocable?’

  ‘Definitely. Sorry, Jonah. It’s not just us, although you’d drive a saint to sinning, but it’s mainly Sullivanair being so – well – small-time. I knew when you started to fight to save Whiteacres that it was time for me to quit. I really don’t want to be a glamorous front for a two-bit outfit, you know, typing and filing and making coffee . . . I’ve loved it – it’s been a blast – but I want to use my qualifications . . . be appreciated . . .’

  Jonah understood. If he’d fallen in love with her she would have probably stayed and helped him work Sullivanair up into the middle rankings. As it was he wouldn’t even tell her about the new developments. ‘We’re doing all right now, though. The figures –’

  ‘The figures are great. We’re making a profit. Even if you do go ahead and lease the other planes we’ll still be in profit. The bank manager is a happy bunny.’ She smiled. ‘Which helped my decision a lot. I don’t feel that I’m a rat leaving the proverbial. Sullivanair is at last in the black and getting blacker. But I’m still not staying.’

  ‘You’ve got somewhere else to go, then?’

  ‘EasyJet. On the maintenance side. I won’t be just a pretty face there. In fact, my looks won’t come into it. They want my shit-hot brain and a pair of oily but dexterous hands.’ She tossed her hair over her shoulder. You had very little need of those – the oily but dexterous hands – didn’t you?’

  ‘Personally or professionally?’

  Both.’ She looked down at her desk and took a deep breath. ‘Now bugger off and take that sad cow with you. EasyJet want me to start in July, so I’ll still be around to add a touch of corporate glamour to your air display, and work my notice – and it should give you plenty of time to find a replacement.’

  Jonah crossed the office and hugged her. It was the sort of hug he would have given Pam or even Sylvia. ‘Replacing you will be impossible. And I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Yeah, sure you will. Now, like I said, clear off before I cry.’

  He moved awkwardly away from her, knowing that he could have persuaded her to change her mind. Knowing that he wouldn’t even try.

  ‘Jonah! Darling!’ Claire crashed across the office towards him. ‘When did you arrive? I’ve been waiting for ages. I’ve left Antony! I’ve come back to you!’

  ‘Christ,’ Estelle muttered. ‘Get her out of here. You sure know how to pick ’em, Jonah, don’t you? The junkie, the sad clinger-on, and the trainee dyke . . .’

  He’d bundled Claire into his car and was heading for the flat before Estelle’s parting shot really hit home. She’d been a bit caustic: well, Claire was only a part-time addict, Estelle would have made any normal man’s dreams come true, but Billie . . . ? God! Surely Estelle didn’t have some female sixth sense about Billie’s sexuality, did she? Estelle and Billie had become pretty pally over the last few months. Had Billie confided in her? He’d never thought that Billie might be gay. He was pretty sure there was no man in her life, but as he rarely thought about her life away from Whiteacres, he may have got it spectacularly wrong.

  ‘Are we going straight to bed again?’ Claire snuggled up against him, practically knocking the steering wheel out of his hands. ‘Antony’s crap in bed.’

  Jonah pushed her away. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want her close to him, or fuelled up on amphetamines, or disturbing his senses with her scent. ‘Pig,’ she giggled, sliding down in the passenger seat and kicking her feet up onto the dashboard. ‘Still, it’s lovely to be back together, isn’t it? We’re going to have such a lovely time, Jo.’

  He rushed her into the flat. Even if his neighbours were strangers, he still didn’t want them watching. He’d had to take Claire there. There really wasn’t anywhere else for her to go. She was still twitchy, unable to stay still. She moved restlessly round the living room, picking things up and casually dropping them again.

  He made coffee and pushed a mug into her hands. It was very hot and most of the contents slopped over her fingers but she didn’t seem to notice. She just laughed.

  ‘Claire, slow down for a sec. Have you and Antony really split up?’

  She nodded. ‘Yesterday. I left him in Eastbourne after a display. He’s becoming so boring. The season’s getting underway and he’s ignoring me – like you did. And anyway, once he’s out of the team at the end of this year, what on earth are we going to do?’

  Jonah shrugged. ‘Well, as far as I knew, you were going to buy Whiteacres and put me out of business.’

  ‘Naughty!’ She put the coffee mug down unsteadily and danced across the room. ‘I never said that! It was his idea, and I thought it sounded great, but now . . .’

  ‘Now you think that being grounded in Hampshire might not be quite so much fun?’

  Claire entwined her arms round his neck. The cloudy curls brushed his face and Obsession filled his senses, Jo, sweetheart, please can we stop talking about boring business? Please can we go to bed?’

  He held her because he’d loved her. He cradled her against him because he felt guilty. If he’d paid more attention to her she wouldn’t be like this, would she? They would still be married. She wriggled closer. Their bodies fitted together so well. It was so familiar . . . so right . . .

  ‘We’re not going to bed.’

  ‘Floor, then. Or the sofa. Or the bathroom. Or –’

  ‘Nowhere. I’m not sleeping with you. I don’t want to make love to you. Never, ever again. Understand?’ He stopped, looking down at the disbelief on her face. ‘I think we should ring Antony and get him to come and collect you and –’

  ‘No!’ The surprised expression had puckered into hurt. She looked like a child. ‘He doesn’t love me like you do.’

  ‘I don’t love you at all. Not any more. And I’m not bothered about what you and Antony think you can do to my business. God, you’d never understand, will you? You left me because I was obsessed with flying and couldn’t give you what you wanted. Antony can give you everything that I couldn’t. Antony can go on giving you that. Maybe not touring with the team, but money and excitement and -’ He stopped again. He wasn’t going to say speed, even if it would sway the argument.

  She pulled away from him, the impending tears turning to wide smiles. ‘If he buys Whiteacres, you mean? You mean he wouldn’t actually have to be there running it all the time? You mean it would bring in loads of money and we could still go travelling for most of the year, and –’ He stopped listening. Once she started talking, this high, she’d talk for ever. And very little of it would make sense. And shit, anyway! He hadn’t meant to try to persuade her back to bloody Aerobatic Archie because buying Whiteacres would be a good idea!

  He left her, still chattering animatedly, and dialled Antony’s mobile.

  ‘Antony? Jonah. Claire’s here. What? No, at my flat. She’s fine – yeah – buzzing . . . What? No, I haven’t got a clue where she was last night . . . Can you – What? Why? Yes . . . OK, I’ll tell her . . .’

  Claire was dancing the salsa with one of the flat sofa
cushions as he switched off the phone. ‘Antony’s coming to collect you. It’ll take him an hour or so – will you be OK?’

  She stopped dancing. ‘I don’t want to leave you.’

  Jonah felt a punch of sadness deep in his stomach. Estelle was leaving. Claire had left. Was there ever going to be a time when he felt truly happy?

  ‘You’ve already left me. Antony loves you. He’s been worried sick. He’s going to come and fetch you and then we’re all going to talk.’

  ‘Are we?’ Claire wrinkled her nose. ‘OK, that’ll be nice. Have we got time to go to bed before he gets here, then?’

  ‘No, sweetheart, we haven’t.’ Jonah swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Now be a good girl and try to get some sleep before Antony arrives.’

  Claire looked at him with sorrowful little-girl eyes, then obediently trotted into the bedroom. Alone.

  Two hours later, the three of them perched on the edges of the hard oatmeal furniture and looked at each other. To give him his due, Jonah thought, Aerobatic Archie looked bloody awful. He obviously hadn’t slept; he really must have been frantic about Claire.

  ‘She wants to come back to you.’ Antony Archibald’s cut-glass accent rang through the flat’s functional dross. She wants to leave me.’

  ‘Not really, I don’t,’ Claire giggled. ‘Oh, I don’t know it was just yesterday and the show and you talking to those foreign people and not me, and I thought being with Jo was so uncomplicated . . .’

  ‘Those foreign people,’ Antony said wearily, ‘were canvassing me regarding forming another display team. To be based in Chantilly.’

  Claire was clearly turning the word over in her head. Her eyes flicked wide. ‘Chantilly? Near Paris, you mean? With horse racing and glamour? And all those shops? Ooh, Paris!’ She jumped up from the sofa and plonked herself onto Jonah’s lap. ‘Paris, Jo? Doesn’t that sound great?’

  ‘I won’t be coming with you.’ He pushed her gently away, it’ll just be you and Antony.’

  Antony coughed. ‘Not necessarily. I’ll – er – be looking for flyers. And you’re good, Jonah – much as I hate to say it. And, of course, you’re very pally with Molton-Kusak, aren’t you? And he’s one of the best.’

  Jesus! Jonah stared at him. Him? Flying in a stunt display team? With Barnaby? Travelling the world, being paid megabucks for doing what he loved most?

  ‘We’ll have the brand-new Hawks,’ Antony said matter-of-factly. ‘And a five-year deal. We’ll be on the international circuit, as well as the domestic one. It’ll be a lot of hard work, but the money should make up for it.’

  Claire stood up again, and danced a few more salsa steps between them. ‘Oh, yes! Think about it! And both of you – I’ll have both of you!’

  Jonah felt as though someone had just skewered out his brain. ‘And – um – if you accept this Chantilly deal? Where will that leave the Whiteacres takeover?’

  Antony winced as Claire landed on his lap. ‘Not altogether sure, to be honest. Nice to have two strings to the bow, though. Whiteacres would be a super little pension plan . . .’

  ‘Oooh, yes!’ Claire gurgled with laughter. ‘We could have both! And even if Jo didn’t come and fly your Hawks, Antony darling, he could still work at Whiteacres, couldn’t he? Because you’d be ever so kind and let him stay there, wouldn’t you?’

  The skewer ratcheted up a bit. Jonah felt that everything he’d fought for, everything he’d achieved, was being snatched away. Whichever way he jumped now, he’d merely be a marionette and Aerobatic Archie would be pulling the bloody strings.

  ‘No need to let me have your answer straight away.’ Antony spoke gruffly, standing up and taking Claire’s hand. ‘Mull it over – and have a chat to Molton-Kusak. I know you’re getting this little air pageant together, so you’re probably busy like I am. I’ll give you a week or so after your show to decide.’ He looked down at Claire. ‘Now, honey – which is it to be? Stay here with Jonah, or fly out to Chantilly for a bit of a recce with me?’

  ‘Silly!’ Claire pouted and threw her arms round Antony’s neck. ‘Why would I want to stay here in all this dismal gloom when I could have such a lovely time shopping in Paris?’

  Jonah drove back to Whiteacres and the warehouses on autopilot. Estelle . . . Claire . . . Aerobatic Archie . . . In the last few hours they’d managed to kick his Glasgow expansion dreams into oblivion. Without Estelle, the behind-the-scenes running of Sullivanair would grind to a halt. He’d never find a replacement as feisty and knowledgeable. And Antony Archibald would have even more money from this new deal and be able to pick up Whiteacres like a mere frippery to play with. He’d never agree to an extended Sullivanair taking over the main slots – even if Jonah wanted to stay. And did he want to stay? Would any pilot in his right mind turn down an opportunity like the one Aerobatic Archie had just offered him?

  He groaned out loud. Even Billie and the triumphal wingwalking seemed to belong to another lifetime.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ Sylvia waved from the crowd of warehousers crowded round a trestle table as Jonah parked the car on the weedy concrete. ‘Come to check up on us, have you?’

  Jonah shook his head, noticing with dismay that Billie’s van wasn’t there and she wasn’t among the warehousers. ‘No, the posters and everything were wonderful. You’ve all worked very hard . . . The show will be a sell-out.’

  God – what else could he say to them? He couldn’t tell them that they could be wasting their time, could he? That no matter how hard they worked, how wonderful their publicity for the pageant, that it might not even matter, because Antony Archibald and Claire would simply blow them out of the water financially, wouldn’t they? Oh sure, the warehousers would probably stay where they were, but Aerobatic Archie could close down the link road, refuse access, all manner of things to put this tiny industrial estate out of business.

  ‘Come and see the costumes, then.’ Sylvia grabbed his arm. ‘Zia and Isla have been simply brilliant. We’re all going to dress up – even just to sell programmes. Wonderful, aren’t they? Fred ’n’ Dick are going to be astronauts, and Zia’s going to be Fidel Castro. Isla’s got a real Romany outfit for her tarot readings and goodness, it’s so exciting!’ She flipped through the piles of clothes. ‘Look – this is my Captain Hook suit for the treasure hunt, and these are the outfits for the Guspers’ films – gangsters, and flappers, and Star Wars and Star Trek, and Wild West, and – ooh – these skimpy ones are a bit risque, don’t you think? And here’s –’

  Jonah really wanted to cry. They’d made so much effort.

  Billie’s van rattled across the concrete at that moment, and she slammed out of the door. God, Jonah thought, she looks pretty murderous too.

  Billie pursed her lips as she walked towards him, her eyes fixed on the costumes. ‘Hi. What’s going on here?’

  ‘Show preparations. Can I talk to you about ten million other things?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Have you heard from Barnaby?’

  ‘Not a word. The Slingsby’s just waiting for him to come back.’ Jonah sighed. ‘Maybe he’ll take a break in his Kentucky horse-buying and get roaring drunk and decide to replace Miranda with a Stearman or something.’

  ‘Much like you did?’

  He grinned at her. She made him feel normal. Stable. OK. As though none of the other problems were anything more than minor glitches. He took a deep breath. ‘Life’s just become slightly more complicated . . .’

  After he’d told her – all of it – she looked about as shell-shocked as he felt.

  ‘And I thought I had problems . . . I still can’t find Reuben – or Miranda. They’ve been missing for ages now. They’ve probably run off to get married. Oh, sorry, we’re talking about your troubles, not mine. And you haven’t got a clue what you want to do? Which way you want to jump?’

  ‘Yes, I have. Seeing this – and you – has made me realise that Whiteacres means more to me than any bloody feted aerobatic display team. But it’ll mean putting my proposals to the Aviation
Incs as quickly as possible.’

  Billie nodded. ‘OK then, let’s do it. Now. They should be in their office, shouldn’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but you need an appointment. They don’t see anyone without an appointment.’

  ‘So, we’ll pop over and wait until we get one. God, Jonah, I’ve had such a buzz with the Stearman. You’ll never know how much you’ve helped me. Now it’s my turn to repay the favour. Hang on for about five minutes. I’ve just got to do something in the shed . . .’

  Three and a half minutes later, Billie re-emerged dressed in the wingwalking outfit. Everyone round the table stopped and stared, their jaws dropping. Zia, ignoring Isla’s glares, even whistled.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Jonah said, gazing at her. ‘The old farts will have a heart attack! Are you trying to seduce them into saying yes?’

  Billie looked affronted. ‘Goodness, no. It’s just what we in the journalistic trade used to refer to as a honey trap.’

  Chapter thirty-seven

  They’d started to walk across the airstrip. Jonah stopped so abruptly that Billie almost cannoned into him. He peered at her in disbelief. ‘You mean you were a journalist?’

  ‘Before I was a taxi-driver, and a warehouse proprietor, and a wingwalker, yes.’

  ‘Good God, I had no idea.’

  Billie looked at him for a long time, then smiled. ‘Why should you have? Apart from families and immediate stuff, we don’t know very much about each other at all, really, do we?’

  ‘And are there any more secrets that you’re going to share with me?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet. One day – who knows? What about you?’

  ‘A soul-bearing session at fifteen hundred feet, you mean? OK – it’s a date.’

  Billie started to jog towards the Whiteacres tarmac. ‘I was thinking more of somewhere cosy with a gallon of gin and tonic, actually, like you promised me ages ago for being the best wingwalker you’ve ever had, and never delivered.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘And yes, mentioning dates, there is something else you might like to know, just to cheer you up.’