Walking on Air

by Christina Jones

  Sylv and Isla busily rolled back the perimeter fence as Jonah started the Stearman. It gave Billie some scant satisfaction to notice that Amber and Sophie clapped their hands over their ears and screamed at the noise.

  ‘Good, aren’t they?’ Isla said, as Billie joined her and Sylvia on the edge of the airstrip and watched the Stearman rock and roll across the grass. ‘And Jonah’s asked me to make the costume for the new girl – just like yours – and with spares, so I’m going to be busy.’

  According to Sylv, who had wasted no time in drilling the hopefuls about their pasts, Nikki was an out-of-work actress and had apparently been a stunt double in a couple of minor films, Sophie was a dancer who’d once been on the shortlist for Gladiators, Amber taught aerobics to the rich and famous in a London health club, and Gaynor was a secretary with high-ranking qualifications in various martial arts. Billie again felt a swamp of self-doubt.

  ‘I’ll go and make some refreshments for when everyone’s finished,’ Sylvia said. ‘Just a few sarnies and maybe a cocktail or two. Come along, Isla. I could do with a hand.’ Nikki, Gaynor and Amber stood beside Billie and watched as Sophie was strapped into the rig. There was a flurry of excited giggles as the Stearman’s propeller rotated, the engine roared, and the plane hurtled across the grass.

  ‘God, but he’s gorgeous!’ Amber sighed, ‘I’d give my breast implants to be working with him.’

  ‘Me, too.’ Nikki rolled goo-goo eyes. She looked sideways at Billie. ‘Is he spoken for?’

  ‘Very,’ Billie said shortly. ‘His wife’s eight months pregnant.’

  ‘So what?’

  Billie resisted the urge to slap Nikki, and watched Sophie’s progress in the rig with a critical eye. She didn’t look as though she was enjoying it much. ‘Anyway, whichever one of you he chooses will be flying with Barnaby Molton-Kusak, not Jonah.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Amber pouted. ‘He said you were going to be wingwalking with the other guy. He’s having one of us.’

  Yes, he probably will be, Billie thought, grinding her teeth. Bastard. He could at least have told her she was being relegated. Did he dislike her that much, then? So much so, that he couldn’t even bear to have her strapped to his plane?

  Sophie returned, looking green, and said she didn’t think it was for her – no one had said things would stick to her face – and would Nikki like to have a go? One down, three left. Nikki went. Billie watched the operation again, clenching her fists every time Nikki’s arms snaked unnecessarily round Jonah’s neck to steady herself.

  Gaynor, who had been observing the whole thing without saying much, moved closer to Billie. ‘They’re pretty bitchy, Nikki and Amber, really. I mean, I know I only met them today, but they’re sure they’re going to be chosen. And they’re sure they’re going to get Jonah, too. And you really like him, don’t you?’

  God – was it that obvious? Billie shrugged. ‘We’ve been through a lot together, that’s all. Like I said, he’s just about to become a father, which puts him out of anyone’s reach.’

  ‘Not Amber and Nikki’s, I shouldn’t think,’ Gaynor said, watching as Sophie, still looking green, tottered away. ‘According to them, they’ve both been out with half of EastEnders, most of Trainspotting, and Leonardo diCaprio.’

  Billie giggled. ‘Haven’t we all?’

  Gaynor shook her head. ‘I turned Leonardo down, actually.’

  Nikki returned then, looking smug. Billie felt even smugger. Stunt double she might have been, but she’d looked about as elegant as a sack of potatoes when the plane was moving.

  ‘Your turn,’ Nikki said to Amber. ‘With the plane that is. Jonah Sullivan is going to be all mine.’

  Billie fought the urge to pummel Nikki to the ground and stamp on her face. She smiled sweetly. ‘Not as easy as it looks, is it?’

  ‘Piece of cake, actually.’ Nikki wriggled her specious shoulders. ‘No idea why everyone makes so much fuss.’ Billie and Gaynor exchanged covert grins. Nikki’s hair was plastered unflatteringly to her head, showing a good inch of dark regrowth. One eyelash was dangling, her teeth were smeared with lipstick and gnats, and her nose was running.

  ‘Oh no, neither can I,’ Billie agreed. ‘But you haven’t actually got off the ground yet, have you? That’s the real test – oh, and Amber doesn’t seem to be enjoying it too much, does she?’

  Pootling, Amber looked even more ungainly than Nikki, despite the aerobics training.

  ‘Any advice, then?’ Gaynor whispered. ‘So that I don t make a real prat of myself?’

  ‘Listen to what Jonah says – and do it even if it sounds stupid. Relax, smile, wave, and enjoy it. Don’t try to be clever, and if you hate it, say so. Jonah is very kind – he’ll stop if you want to.’

  ‘Thanks . . . Gaynor took a deep breath as Amber practically fell off the plane and staggered drunkenly across the grass strip. ‘Wish me luck . . .’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Billie held up crossed fingers. ‘If I can do it, anyone can.’

  Amber and Nikki went into a screeching conspiratorial huddle as Gaynor climbed onto the wing. Billie, still with her fingers crossed, prayed that she’d be OK. She knew she could work with Gaynor; she just hoped Jonah felt the same way.

  After a rather shaky start, Gaynor seemed to be doing fine. Shorter than Nikki or Amber, and as slim as Billie, she fitted into the rig easily, slid one leg up the support as Billie had said, and smiled and waved all the way along the grass strip. Nikki and Amber, who were still discussing the relative bedroom merits of someone who’d had a bit part in The Full Monty, took no notice.

  Cows, Billie thought. She wished she could think of something derisive to say. Estelle would have been great at cutting them down to size.

  The Stearman returned, and Gaynor, fizzing with excitement, bounced across the grass. ‘God – that was brilliant! I mean, I don’t know if I was any good, but what a whizz!’

  ‘You were great,’ Billie assured her. ‘And you really looked as if you enjoyed it.’

  Jonah had stepped out of the cockpit. Nikki and Amber tried to untangle their hair. He nodded toward them. ‘That was wonderful. Now, we’ll do the same thing again, only this time we’ll take off and fly round the airfield. Who’s going to be first?’

  Nikki and Amber nearly garrotted each other in the rush.

  ‘Billie!’ Sylvia bustled across the concrete. ‘Sorry to interrupt, dear, but there’s someone hanging around your shed. I couldn’t see who it was, so I don’t know if it’s a customer or not.’

  Billie nodded and touched Gaynor’s shoulder. ‘It’ll feel really odd when you take off. But really it’s as safe as houses. Just relax and behave exactly as you did on the ground. You’ll be freezing and it’s probably better to keep your mouth shut else you’ll end up like a Venus flytrap. The wind is a million times stronger than you’d ever dream, so be prepared for your arms to disappear. Good luck – and I’ll see you later . . .’

  She hurried across the grass towards the units. She couldn’t do any more. If Jonah chose either Nikki or Amber she’d resign from the team even before it got started. If Jonah couldn’t see that Gaynor was streets ahead of the other two then – She stopped.

  Claire was standing in the doorway of unit three.

  Billie smiled warily. ‘Oh, hi. Jonah’s still busy with the Stearman. Do you want to wait for him?’

  ‘Please . . .’ Claire pushed her hand into the small of her back and waddled towards the office. ‘I hate this hot weather.’ Billie pulled out one of the wonky armchairs. ‘Would you like a drink? He’ll probably be ages yet.’

  Claire nodded, lowering herself into the chair and stroking her stomach. She looked beautifully pregnant; glowing, plump, and radiant. ‘Thank you. I can’t wait until this baby is born. Only a couple of weeks to go, thank goodness.’

  Billie walked slowly through to the kitchenette, her brain turning somersaults. She was no expert, of course, but after her sisters-in-law’s multiple production line, she’
d been around enough expectant mothers to know something about foetal development.

  And if Claire Sullivan was eight and a half months pregnant, then Billie was Amelia Earhart, Amy Johnson, and Sheila Scott all rolled into one!

  AUTUMN

  Chapter Forty-four

  Faith drove away from the hospital, dreading having to face Stan. How could she possibly tell him? She’d known it was going to be bad, but hadn’t dreamed it would be anywhere near as bad as this.

  She steered the Land Rover away from the humming town and its mid-morning traffic, and headed towards the Willowbridge road, only vaguely registering that there was a slight change in the air. September was already casting long dappled shadows through the hazy Devon valleys, and the chestnut leaves were just starting to lose the edge of their brilliant green to smudged tinges of orange and gold and amber. Autumn. Always her favourite time of year. A time to take stock and enjoy the mellowness; a few months in which to draw breath before the rigours of a family Christmas and the start of the new farming year.

  Faith changed gear, snapped off the radio, which had just started issuing forth something morbid by Roy Orbison, and headed for home.

  Driving through the village, she ducked her head down as she passed the lay-by that housed the post office and the corner shop. Wednesday morning was W1 market stall day and the whole community would notice she was missing and want to know why. She couldn’t bear it if Miriam or Pat or one of her other friends should emerge from the bring-and-buy fray, all agog, and flag her down to ask how things had gone at the hospital. She had to tell Stan first.

  The farmhouse was empty. Hurling her coat and handbag onto the hall table, Faith forged a path through the dogs and cats and headed for the kitchen. Maybe if she made Stan a liver and onion casserole for tonight, with one of her apple sponges and custard to follow, then sat him down with a mug of tea and talked quietly and calmly . . . Maybe it would be OK – and then again, maybe not . . .

  Yanking the kettle from the top of the Aga, she went through the coffee-making motions, then leaning against the draining board, she stared out of the window. Across the yard she could see her grandchildren playing, as they always did; climbing on the bulky hessian feed sacks, jumping from the dusty hay bales, swinging from the rope ladder which Stan and the boys had fitted to the lowest branch of the farm’s last remaining oak tree, hounding any of the hens which were stupid enough to stray into their paths.

  Thad and Mungo, always bossy, were bellowing orders at Delphi and Lilac, while Otis and Sapphire sat plumply on the dry red ground and made muddy patterns with stones and twigs and cups of water.

  It was like watching her own children all over again, she thought, sipping the coffee, and no doubt it would be like this for generations of Pascoes to come. Practically guaranteed immortality. It was a comforting thought.

  ‘Faith!’

  She winced. Watching for Stan to arrive in the yard from the moors, he’d completely wrong-footed her by coming in through the front door.

  ‘Er – I’m in the kitchen, love!’

  He kissed her, smelling, as always, of the familiar cocktail of warmth and diesel and animals. ‘Well? How did it go?’

  ‘Fine. Have you got time for coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. Alex and Tom are waiting for me outside. We’re going over to Ottery to see those ewes. So, how are things? What is it?’

  Faith clutched her coffee mug. She couldn’t put it off. He had to be told.

  ‘Aphrodite.’

  ‘God Almighty!’ Stan shook his head. ‘And I thought they were going to have Arthur or Brenda, after Maria’s parents.’

  ‘They’ve chosen Brenda as a second name, and Faith as a third.’

  ‘Small sodding comfort!’ Stan thumped his fist on the draining board. ‘Poor little bugger! I’d had such huge hopes that they’d see sense this time. Especially Ben. What’s wrong with them, eh? No, don’t answer that.’ He kissed her briefly on the cheek. ‘Well, at least I know now. The speculation’s over. Oh, I’ll be gone all afternoon – are you going to stock up the stall for half a day or what?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Most of the serious market buyers will have gone home by midday, and then we’ll only get the last few grockles, and they’re in B-and-Bs, so they don’t really want eggs or cheese. I need to pop into Willowbridge to do a bit of shopping – oh, and I thought I’d do liver and onions tonight.’

  ‘Great.’ Stan grinned from the doorway. ‘Then we’ll go and do our maternity ward visiting, and I’ll pretend I love the damn name, and then we’ll have a pint or two afterwards at the Spread Eagle, shall we? To wet the baby’s head? Aphrodite! Bloody Aphrodite! I’ll have to tell everyone it’s a Brenda. We’re getting to be a laughing stock . . . !’

  He was still muttering as he slammed out of the front door. Faith heaved a sigh. Not as bad as she’d feared, then. Aphrodite Brenda Faith Pascoe, their seventh grandchild, now twenty-four hours old, was actually quite lucky. If she’d been a boy, Ben and Maria had chosen St Lucia Arthur Stanford.

  The casserole was glugging fragrantly in the bottom oven, the potatoes were peeled, and the cabbage and carrots chopped and sliced respectively. Even the apple sponge was already rising slowly. Faith, feeling virtuous, wondered if it would be considered too self-indulgent to run a bath before she went shopping. Having a bath in the middle of the day was on a par with reading a book in the morning as far as she was concerned: a splurge of pampering only afforded by those with far too much time on their hands.

  She had just finished running the water and swooshing in a gloop of herbal Radox when she heard a car pull up in the yard, followed by screams of excitement from the children. Botheration! It was probably Pat or Miriam, or both, having been dispatched from the rank and file of the WI to find out about the baby.

  She padded downstairs, fixing her welcoming smile, and almost died of shock in the hall.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ Billie grinned. ‘Surprise surprise . . .’

  Faltering only slightly, Faith skittered across the tiles and hugged her daughter. ‘Dear God! You’re the last person on earth I expected to see! Have you come to see the baby? She’s absolutely gorgeous! Nearly nine pounds! Maria’s fine – only six hours in labour. Ben didn’t take it so well, mind you. Are you stopping? Who’s looking after the warehouse? You’ve lost weight, haven’t you? Oh, Billie, it’s so good to see you!’

  The bath water went cold upstairs as they caught up on the gossip over several cups of coffee and two helpings of the apple sponge. Billie looked tanned and fit and contented, Faith noticed with motherly concern. And if she hadn’t mentioned any upturn in her love life, then so be it. Every other area of Billie’s existence seemed to be doing very nicely.

  The new warehouse was a big step forward, Faith agreed, and Ethel sounded exactly the sort of person to be a right-hand man – especially if she was anything like Sylvia – and the plans for the wingwalking team were very exciting. Faith hoped she might be able to contact someone to have Sullivan’s Flying Circus added to the list of events for the Devon carnival season next year. Gaynor sounded a lovely girl, and it was great that she was going to share Billie’s flat until she found somewhere of her own.

  ‘I was just going to drive into Willowbridge for a few bits and pieces,’ she said in a conversational lull. ‘Are you too tired to come with me? Perhaps you’d prefer to stay here with Ann and Katy and the children?’

  Billie grinned, ‘I’d probably prefer to have cosmetic surgery without an anaesthetic than spend an afternoon with the junior Mafia. Anyway, I haven’t been to Willowbridge for years. It’ll be nice to see some of the old places again. Who’s going to drive, then?’

  ‘I will.’ Faith stood up and bundled the mugs and bowls into the dishwasher, ‘I can get more stuff into the Land Rover than you can in the Nova. And it’s wonderful that you can stay for three whole days! I can’t wait to see your dad’s face tonight! We’re going to have a whale of a time!’

  So far, so good
, Faith thought, parking the Land Rover outside Willowbridge’s only convenience store. Billie hadn’t yet mentioned Jonah or Reuben or – most importantly – Kieran Squires. Faith had known she’d sailed very close to the wind with that one, especially when she’d been at the air pageant. Billie had sussed out something – she was sure of it – and it had only been the unexpected arrival of Stan and the ensuing excitement of the wingwalking displays that had probably prevented Billie tackling her on the subject.

  ‘How’s Miranda?’ Faith asked as they bustled round the tiny aisles with their shopping trolley. ‘I really liked her, and she certainly cut my hair better than Valda has ever done. I might have to make bimonthly visits to Follicles and Cuticles just for a trim.’

  ‘She’d be delighted to see you.’ Billie lobbed a king-size packet of chocolate biscuits into the trolley. ‘I think it was a bit of a mutual admiration society. And she’s doing fine. She and Reuben seem to be very happy.’

  Faith glanced up. Was there just the smidgen of a hesitation over the word Reuben? Maybe not. Maybe things were getting better all round. She decided to go for double top. ‘Good. Good. And – um – Jonah and his ex-wife? They’re still together, are they?’

  ‘Mmm . . . Billie nodded, studying the freezer section with what seemed an undue amount of consideration. ‘She says her baby’s due next week.’

  Faith frowned. ‘That’s an odd way of putting it.’

  Billie shrugged. ‘It’s a pretty odd pregnancy – and an even odder relationship . . . Hey, when we’ve finished here, why don’t we go to Tilly’s for a cream tea?’

  Faith, who was pretty stuffed with apple sponge but delighted that Billie had such a good appetite, nodded gamely. ‘That’s a good idea. Right? So, what’s next on the list?’

  The shopping completed and stashed into the Land Rover, they headed for Matilda’s Genuine Devon Tea Rooms. Tilly Mathieson was originally from Glasgow, and doled out scones and jam and clotted cream like a production line to the ever-eager tourists. Faith knew it was one of Billie’s favourite haunts, and that she and her brothers had always made a beeline for it ever since they were children, mainly because Tilly swore like a trooper, had a seventies Afro mop of springy overhennaed hair, the only juke box in Willowbridge, and wasn’t averse to sharing her Players No. 6 with her underage clientele.