Walking on Air

by Christina Jones

  Faith found this bit quite difficult. Everything Billie had said about Reuben had been so appalling that all her powers of imagination were going to be stretched to the limits to find any good bits. She opted for the taxi-driving – so kind of Reuben to employ Billie when she was new to the area and then petered out.

  Reuben, who was sipping an iced mineral water, nodded. ‘Especially under the circumstances, of course . . .’

  ‘Which circumstances were they?’ Faith knocked back the second half of the orange juice. ‘I’m not quite clear exactly how Billie did come to work for you in the first place.’

  Reuben told her. It really shouldn’t have come as a shock, but it did. Of course Kieran hadn’t told her any of this part because Kieran, the spineless toad, had done a runner by this time in the story, hadn’t he? All Reuben had done was slot the final piece of the jigsaw into place.

  Reuben finished his water. ‘We don’t speak about it any more, Billie and I. It’s over. She no longer works for my company, and she’s doing very nicely for herself – as I’m sure you’re aware. Oh,’ he looked at her, his eyes full of contrition, ‘I’m so sorry! I’ve just realised! I’ve just blurted out some of Billie’s darkest secrets and, of course, I assumed you knew. How terrible for you if this is all news . . .’

  Faith, having placed her empty glass on the bar, looked at him carefully. Was the remorse genuine? Did he really look like someone who had just blabbed a touch too much and instantly wished he hadn’t? She decided he did.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself, Mr Wainwright. I already knew all about it.’ She slid from the bar stool. ‘No doubt you have things to do, and I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time. It’s been very nice to meet you.’

  ‘And you too.’ Reuben was already on his feet, shaking her hand. ‘And I do so hope we’ll meet again during your stay in Amberley Hill.’

  Faith hurried outside, and sucked in a deep breath of hot June air. Now she was totally confused. Did Billie hate Reuben just because he knew? She hurried across the Spicer Centre, giving the eco warriors a wide berth, and decided that it was time she and Billie had a real heart-to-heart.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The morning of the air pageant was manic. Billie, who was feeling more nervous than she had ever done before in her life, screeched the Nova to a halt on the cracked concrete and gazed at the mayhem. She couldn’t speak or let go of the steering wheel. Her mouth was too dry and her palms were too damp. She wanted to turn round and go home.

  Faith, sitting beside her and scrabbling at her seat belt, had no such qualms. ‘Oh, my goodness! Look at all those people queuing! And that tailback of cars! And so early! This is going to be such fun, isn’t it?’

  Billie viewed Faith with suspicion. She’d been up to something – Billie knew it. Ever since Thursday, when Faith had shown up at the flat with the stunning new Follicles hairdo and a ‘mother knows best’ expression, she’d been having little digs about Reuben. Billie, whose nerves were shot to pieces, hadn’t wanted to talk about him. She guessed that her mother and Miranda had had a good old chinwag during the hair-styling, and could only surmise that Faith had come down heavily on Miranda’s side.

  And then yesterday, when she’d brought Faith here to Whiteacres for the day, and she’d oohed and aahed over the Stearman, and had been very impressed with Billie’s enterprise – and amazed at how businesslike she’d become – she’d then immediately formed a mutual appreciation society with Sylvia. Sylv, without knowing she shouldn’t, had informed Faith that Reuben now owned the warehouse leases. Furthermore, Faith seemed to have become fixated with Caught Offside and had hurled it into every other sentence.

  Billie, irritated that Reuben should still be the main topic of conversation when all she could think about was wingwalking, had become quite snappy – and had then felt awful – and spent ages explaining to Faith that it was Miranda who was involved with Reuben and Caught Offside, not her, and that she’d be happy never to set eyes on the place again, OK?

  Faith had visibly relaxed, and Billie assumed it was because her mother thought that nightclubs equated with drugs and men in white socks – neither of which she’d aspired to for her daughter. After biting her mother’s head off, Billie had felt even more awful, and hugged her and said sorry, and begged her just not to mention Reuben again – please.

  So Faith hadn’t, and instead spent the day – when she wasn’t with Sylv – helping with the filing and answering the phone in Billie’s warehouse, and Billie had been massively relived that no one from Sullivanair had put in an appearance to muddy the now calm waters of maternal curiosity.

  Fortunately, Sylvia and the other warehousers had kept Billie’s wingwalking a secret from her mother. Billie had impressed upon them that it had to be a surprise. So far, no one had breathed a word. Not, she thought irritably, shrugging out of her seat belt, that she’d count on them remaining silent for much longer. Sylvia, especially, seemed to think it was Faith’s right to know.

  ‘And you’re sure I won’t be in the way?’ Faith, looking jaunty in Lesley Caron pedal pushers and a matelot T-shirt, scrambled from the Nova. ‘Everyone seems so busy.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m sure Sylvia and the rest will more than welcome an extra pair of hands.’

  ‘And what about you, though? All the others seem to be offering something in their – um – sheds. What exactly are you going to be doing? You didn’t tell me yesterday. In fact you were very secretive.’

  ‘Oh – er – it’s no secret. I’m – um – just doing things with the Stearman.’

  Faith wrinkled her nose. ‘What? Showing people round it? Like a curator? Not very exciting for you, then, love. And I thought it was going to fly.’

  Mercifully, Sylvia appeared in the door of her unit at that moment and waved towards them. ‘Yoo-hoo! Faith! If you’ve got a minute – I’m having the devil’s own job with this blasted crocodile! Can’t get its bloody jaws to stay open!’

  ‘You go and help out,’ Billie said with relief. ‘And I’ll see you later.’

  She tugged open the doors of the warehouse, feeling a mixture of guilt and relief. Hopefully the recalcitrant mandibles of the crocodile – which was one of the main clues in Sylvia’s treasure hunt – would keep her mother occupied for most of the morning.

  It was clear that Jonah, and possibly Estelle, and maybe Barnaby – if he’d got back from America – had spent the night in the warehouse cleaning the Stearman. Every inch of the paintwork gleamed, the propeller was spotless, and the zigzagged Sullivanair logo stood out in three-dimensional glory. Billie stared at the plane, her eyes travelling up to the rig, and felt her stomach disappear. God! It was no time to be having second thoughts. She should have had those – and thirds and fourths – months ago. Too many people were depending on her today for her to bottle out now.

  She turned her back on the plane, and taking deep, steadying breaths, retraced her steps to the doorway. The sun spiralled from a cloudless sky, the cropped airfield grass was bleached and golden, and the lack of wind made the morning temperature feel more like midday. Billie, who had glued herself to the weather channel all week and screamed each time a low pressure system had been mentioned, basked in the scorch of the June sun, and knew she shouldn’t have worried.

  Well, at least, not about the weather. That was going to be perfect. And everything else could be worried about later, when the show was over. She didn’t know if Miranda was going to turn up or not today, but if it was going to be with Reuben in tow, then she’d far prefer it to be not.

  She smiled sadly, watching as a dozen tiny planes shimmied overhead, looking like a dragonfly swarm as they practised their manoeuvres. Bloody Reuben. Just when she thought she’d be free of him, he’d not only bought up the warehouses, but was now living with her best friend. It was as if he was determined to worm his "ay into her life by fair means or foul – but why? After all this time she still didn’t understand.

  She gave herself a severe mental
shaking, remembering Granny Pascoe’s disaster theory. She mustn’t worry. Not when everything else had gone so well. She peered across the airfield. It seemed that the entire populations of Whiteacres and Amberley Hill, and all the overspill districts in between, were turning out early. The slip road from the bypass was gridlocked, according to the radio, the car park was filling rapidly, and as Faith had pointed out, the queues were snaking back behind the airport buildings. The warehousers’ advertising had certainly worked. A whole raft of market traders had been called in to provide food, and already the smell of AVGAS was only slightly overlaid by the pungent scent of spun sugar and frying onions.

  ‘Looking good, isn’t it?’ Estelle drifted towards Billie from the perimeter fence, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a string bikini top, her arms full of the programmes put together by Mike and his Gusper cronies. She raised her voice over the drone of the aero engines in the sky. ‘Is Jonah pleased?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Billie unpeeled herself from the nubbly breeze blocks. ‘I haven’t seen him yet. I suppose he’s really busy getting Vinny and the Shorts sorted. What about Barnaby?’

  ‘Oh, he still hasn’t shown. It looks like I might take over the Slingsby slot.’

  ‘What? You? Do aerobatics?’

  Estelle eased the programmes under one arm and looked at her watch. ‘Yes. Why not?’

  ‘But surely you need a licence or something?’

  Estelle laughed. ‘I’ve had a PPL since I was eighteen. I’ve kept up my hours, and I’ve done quite a bit of stunt flying. I do enjoy it, but to be honest, the real thrill of aviation for me is the hands-on stuff. The design of a plane, the actual workings that get it off the ground and keep it there. I’d far rather tinker with the engines than tug on the joystick. That’s why I leaped at the EasyJet offer.’

  Billie blinked. She’d never even thought about Estelle being a pilot! Why on earth had Jonah decided to let her go? Again she felt the futility sweep over her. Estelle, with her beauty, her brains, her expertise, and her skill as a flyer, still wasn’t enough for Jonah. What hope did she have?

  ‘Oh yes, I’m – um – glad that you’re leaving . . . No, I mean, I’m pleased about your new job.’

  Estelle laughed. ‘It’s OK, I get your drift. And I’m mostly pleased to be leaving too. Jonah is a great boss, and a gorgeous man, but now he’s decided to stay put at Whiteacres he’s just reinforced my opinion of him.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That anyone who can chuck up five years in Paris flying in a display team with Antony Archibald, even if it would have meant seeing that sad wife of his all the time, for a few thousand square metres of Hampshire turf – albeit smothered in aeroplanes – needs his head examined.’

  ‘It was the business, though,’ Billie protested. ‘All his expansion plans for Sullivanair. And getting onto the Aviation Incs board. The new planes, new routes, Bamabv possibly buying another Stearman . . .’

  ‘Pie in the sky! He’ll have to work his guts out to get it to succeed. Any airline company with fewer than ten planes is courting financial disaster.’

  ‘Yes, maybe, but with the stunt flying and the Stearman and everything, he’ll be diversifying and –’

  Estelle laughed. The bikini top jiggled alarmingly. A whole host of men in baggy shorts and socks and sandals stopped and stared. ‘Spoken like a true anorak! Actually, I hope you’re right. Of course I hope Sullivanair goes on to rival the best in the business. And I’m glad you didn’t include yourself in the reasons for Jonah staying at Whiteacres.’

  ‘Well no, I wouldn’t . . .’

  ‘Because if you did,’ Estelle said, hitching up her landslide of programmes again, ‘you’d only be disappointed. Jonah Sullivan’s just like a meringue. Absolutely delicious to look at, but break open that lovely exterior, and there’s nothing at all.’

  ‘That’s hardly fair. He’s a great pilot, and good at business, and –’

  ‘I’m talking about sex, sweetie,’ Estelle said gently. ‘Sexually, Jonah Sullivan has about as much oomph as a castrated amoeba.’

  Billie winced. ‘Well, he might not fancy either of us too much, but he seemed to manage all right with Claire.’

  Estelle laughed. ‘Ouch! Yeah, he did, didn’t he? God, it makes you wonder how men work, doesn’t it? Give me a plane any time.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Do you know, I’m going to miss you. We’ve become good mates, haven’t we?’

  Billie nodded. ‘We have, and I’ll miss you, too. And I hated you to start with.’

  ‘I wasn’t too struck on you either. I thought you were pathetically wimpy – not liking planes.’ Estelle grinned. ‘I especially disliked you when I knew about the wingwalking. I was bloody jealous. Not only was I amazed by your bravery, but it was something I’d never tried.’

  ‘There’s probably still a vacancy the way my stomach’s feeling.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You’ll be astounding. You know you’re good – and I know I’m the wrong size, wrong shape, wrong everything. Anyway, I’ll be too busy in the Slingsby to harbour any jealousy, won’t I? We’ll both be working ourselves to a frazzle and risking our lives for Jonah Sullivan – and probably for the same reason.’

  They laughed together. It was true. Billie shrugged. ‘Well, at least you’ve had a crack at him. I didn’t even get off the runway.’

  ‘Oh, that’s probably because I told him you were gay. Estelle managed to look a bit shamefaced. ‘Sorry . . .’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘Said you were gay – or might be. I was feeling totally pissed off with him at the time.’ Estelle bit her lip. See, I’m not a nice person.’

  Billie didn’t speak. It had been a pretty bitchy thing to do, but honestly, would it have made any difference to the way Jonah treated her? She knew it wouldn’t. He treated her like a colleague, a friend, a sister. She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ll just have to let him know that I’m not, then, won’t I?’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother.’ Estelle shifted her programmes a bit higher against the string bikini, pushing her golden breasts under her chin. ‘You’ll only end up being hurt, and you’re too lovely for that. Go and set your sights and someone nice and uncomplicated – and ground-based. Flyers are the pits. See you later.’

  Billie watched her go, then wandered back into the unit. It was far too early to change into the wingwalking suit, and far too late to volunteer to do anything else. She felt too sick to eat, and too jittery to risk coffee. What she could really do with was a double gin and tonic and someone to take her away from this quickly. At least before one o’clock, which was – she looked at the clock and groaned – only two hours away.

  The office phone was ringing merrily. Billie ignored it. Despite Sylv’s dire warnings, she had no desire to canvas customers today. Anyway, she’d left the answerphone on. She listened to her own voice crackling out the message, then to the beeping tone, then – ‘Hello, Billie. It’s Barnaby. Pick this up if you’re there, please. I’ve tried all Jonah’s numbers and can’t reach him.’

  Billie snatched at the handset. ‘Barnaby, hello. Jonah’s not here, either. Can I help? Where are you?’

  ‘Orly Airport. Paris.’

  ‘Paris? You’re supposed to be here! You’re flying in an hour’s time!’

  Barnaby groaned. ‘I know, my dear. I know. I’d intended to come in a spectacular fashion, with all guns blazing, so to speak, but my journey has taken far longer than I’d anticipated.’

  Billie frowned. She’d was pretty sure she’d lost the thread. ‘So does that mean you won’t be here for the pageant?’

  ‘I’m rather afraid it does, yes. Look, please explain to Jo, and tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can make it. In the meantime, I guess Estelle can throw the Slingsby through its routine, can’t she?’

  ‘God knows. I mean, yes she can, because she’s just been telling me she can, but what about Jonah?’

  ‘Jo will be fine, my dear. Trust me. Just tell him I’ll be there before nightfall
– oh, and have a super pageant, won’t you? And the very best of luck with the barnstorming. You’ll be wonderful.’

  The phone crackled a bit and went dead. Billie, sighing heavily, replaced the handset. Jonah was going to go mad. Still, at least Barnaby sounded cheerful again. He must have got over Miranda’s perfidy.

  ‘Excuse me, duck.’ A portly man in a boiler suit was leaning into the warehouse. ‘We OK to shift the plane?’

  ‘What?’ Billie frowned. ‘Sorry, I mean. Shift the plane where?’

  ‘Out onto the runway, Mr Sullivan said. Ready for his display. He wanted it out before twelve and we’re a bit pressed, so –’

  ‘Yes . . . yes, of course.’ Billie realised her voice was getting squeaky with agitation. She swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths. ‘You’re not on your own, are you? Do you want me to find someone to help?’

  ‘Nah, we’ve got a full airport crew.’

  The man put two fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. A small battalion of men in dung-coloured overalls scampered obediently into the shed and with obvious expertise started to move the Stearman out on to the concrete.

  Billie watched, her mouth even drier now. Followed by an interested crowd, the ground crew had rolled back the perimeter fence, and the Stearman, looking sensational in the sunshine, bounced across the sun-scorched grass.

  Billie clapped her hand to her mouth. Oh shit. She’d never be able to do it. Not in front of all these people. Feeling very sick, she turned back into the warehouse. How empty it looked without the plane. How huge. How lonely.

  Wishing that there was someone there to talk to, and then irrationally glad that there wasn’t, she decided the only way to be sure that she wouldn’t run away and hide in a corner until it was all over was to get dressed. At least with the suit on, she’d look the part. Of course, there’d be the added problem of umpteen nervy visits to the loo to contend with before the first display, and each one of those would mean peeling off the layers, but still . . . Taking a deep breath, Billie strode purposefully into the office and closed the door.