Taking Flight

by Sheena Wilkinson

  ‘Oh.’ She sounds a bit uncertain. ‘I suppose – yes, we could go down to the Mournes.’ She grins at me. ‘OK, why not?’

  So an hour later we’re back in the car.

  ‘Look over there,’ says Colette, when the dark shadow of the mountains first hunches up ahead. ‘That’s where we’re going. We’ll be there in half an hour.’

  ‘I never knew they were so near.’

  ‘About thirty miles away. Have you really never been there?’

  I shake my head.

  Half an hour later we’re driving into a big forest. The mountains are so close you feel you could reach out and touch them. It’s like that Lord of the Rings film.

  At first it’s weird walking on my own with Colette because I keep thinking she’s going to start on about … well, any one of the long list of things I don’t want to talk about. Mum. Vicky. Last night. But she doesn’t. She just keeps looking round and saying how lovely it is and how long it is since she’s been out in the country. I only halflisten. The lower paths are busy with people. Lots of dogs splashing in the river. But soon it starts to get steeper and lonelier. Then we need all our breath just for getting up the path and I stop worrying about what Colette might say. The paths are covered in mushy leaves and the air has a damp leafy smell I never smelled before. Even though I’m sweating getting up the hill, I feel sort of clean.

  ‘Let’s stop for a rest at the end of this path,’ pants Colette. ‘Have some lunch.’

  I rush to get to the end of the path first. And gasp. ‘Jesus!’

  All the way up through the forest you could only catch the odd glimpse of the mountains. But suddenly here they are, huge and bare and grey-green. Nowhere to hide – sort of scary. Sheep turn their woolly heads and stare at me, then go back to eating the grass.

  I jump onto the low stone wall and wait for Colette. I try to imagine Mum here. Or anyone I know. Imagine Barry pushing his big belly up that hill.

  ‘Sandwiches and stuff in there,’ says Colette, dumping her wee rucksack on the ground. ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I struggle to say more. I mean, she’s driven all the way here. ‘I’ve never seen anywhere as … as wild as this. I mean, you can see mountains from Belfast, can’t you, but it’s not like this.’

  She smiles and hands me an apple. ‘Vicky’s dad and I used to come here before we were married. It’s nice having someone to come with.’

  I turn and rummage in the rucksack for a drink when the wall seems to shake.

  Thundering towards us are three horses, manes and tails flying, hooves ringing on the hard forest path. For a second it looks like they’re going to run over the top of us but they slow into what I now know is a trot and turn left up the stony path beside our wall. Their riders laugh and call to each other.

  I follow them with my eyes as far as I can.

  Colette sees me looking. ‘That’ll be you this time next week,’ she says.

  ‘Nah. I’ll just be shovelling the shit.’

  ‘Would you like to learn to ride?’

  I feel the slow burn of my cheeks. Is it so obvious? I shrug. ‘Not much point.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, you know –’ I wave the Coke bottle to show it’s no big deal. ‘I’ll be going home soon.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Not much riding round our way.’Cept joyriding.’ I laugh but it comes out wrong – a hard sort of sound.

  ‘You don’t have to stay there forever, Declan.’ She brushes crumbs off her jeans. ‘You’re leaving school this year, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, but – where else would I go?’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  I shrug again. ‘Haven’t thought about it.’ And definitely don’t want to talk about it.

  She doesn’t start into the usual stuff, though. Instead she starts going on about herself. Which is way better than me having to say anything.

  ‘God, I remember fifth year. Swotting every night for months to get good grades.’

  ‘Like Vicky?’

  Vicky’s always doing her homework. Every night.

  Colette laughs. ‘Vicky does nothing! Well, she does what she has to and nothing more. She’s not as … as hungry as I was. I was obsessed. Your mum thought I was mad.’

  It sounds mad. But then look at Colette now, in her nice house and all, and look at Mum. Not that I could start all that homework and stuff.

  ‘Vicky keeps changing her mind about what she wants to do,’ Colette goes on. ‘She used to say she wanted to be a vet but she’s not good enough at science. I think she might end up doing law like her dad.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Declan?’ She smiles. ‘People don’t have to end up doing the same as their parents, you know.’

  ‘Yeah. Can we go on up to the top of that hill?’

  * * *

  We end the day with fish suppers in a dead old-fashioned café in Newcastle, facing each other across one of those shiny old tables. Every time the door opens, a whip of cold, mountainy air lashes into the warm greasy café fug. Locals queue up for takeaway but we’re the only ones sitting in.

  ‘God, these are lovely,’ says Colette, dipping a big fat salty chip into tomato ketchup. ‘I haven’t had fish and chips for years. We used to get them every Friday night for a treat when I was wee. From the chippie round the corner.’

  ‘The Golden Fry?’

  ‘Yes! Don’t tell me it’s still there?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I make a chip buttie and squash the two halves together. Butter oozes out and I lick it off my fingers.

  ‘Can you still get mushy pea fritters?’

  ‘Yuck, I don’t think so! That sounds gross.’ I look at Colette, all neat and clean, though her short hair’s a bit ruffled by the wind, and try to link her with something as minging as a mushy pea fritter.

  She laughs. ‘Frankie never needed to ask me what I wanted; it was always the same.’

  ‘Fat Frankie? Was he there in those days?’

  ‘It wasn’t that long ago. Is he any slimmer these days?’

  ‘He’s huge. No-one knows how he fits his belly behind the counter.’

  ‘That’s what we always used to say!’

  ‘Too many sausage suppers!’ I spear a chip and we both laugh.

  ‘I’d forgotten all about Fat Frankie till now,’ says Colette. ‘Me and your mum and dad used to go there. When we were too young to get into the pubs and didn’t have anywhere to go, there was always the chippie. We used to put our money together and share a chip. That’s when we were about fourteen or so. After your mum and dad started going out together I didn’t really hang round with them.’

  ‘Did they not want you?’

  ‘Partly.’ She takes a sip of tea. ‘Mainly it was because I was always studying. All I thought about was exams and doing well and getting away from home. I was the odd one out.’

  I try to imagine Mum being fourteen and sharing a chip in Fat Frankie’s with her boyfriend. ‘I don’t remember my dad,’ I hear myself saying.

  ‘No. Well.’ Colette looks as if she doesn’t want to talk about my dad. Then her face kind of softens. ‘You’re very like him, Declan. I don’t just mean to look at – though you do look like him. I mean – you know.’

  I don’t know. Not really. Just a few stupid facts. He played the guitar. He never had a job. He got killed in a car crash when I was one. How had having a laugh about Fat Frankie led us here?

  Colette says, ‘OK, I’ll go up and pay.’ Just as she stands up her mobile rings, making me jump. It’s sitting on the table and I see the display flashing: VICKY CALLING. She grabs it and I hear half a conversation – pretty quiet, because Colette’s the kind of person who thinks it’s rude to yell into your phone in public.

  ‘Oh right. Yes, that should be fine.’ She sounds a bit cold. Normally she talks to Vicky like she really loves her. Thinking about Vicky coming back home tomorrow night is enough to make my last couple of chips turn to cold rubber in my m
outh.

  Tomorrow I have to apologise.

  Dear Vicky. I am sorry that I hit you. Declan Kelly.

  Only this time, that won’t be enough.

  Chapter 18

  VICKY

  The horses arched their necks and pranced at the entrance to the farm trail. Even Joy, normally quiet and sweet, was all bizz, ears pricked and nostrils flared. It was that kind of afternoon that made you feel you could run up a mountain or gallop for miles – all gold and blue and sharp. The cold air scratched my eyes – I’d hardly slept last night. One minute I was over the moon about Rory; the next I’d remember what I’d said to Declan.

  ‘God, I’ve missed this,’ Fiona said, stroking Joy’s grey freckled neck. ‘I hadn’t realised how much.’

  ‘I’m never having babies,’ I stated. ‘Not if it means not being able to ride for months.’

  Fiona laughed. ‘I used to say that. But things change – mind you, I hope you won’t even think about it for at least another ten years. Fifteen would be better.’

  ‘Mum was only nineteen when she had me.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ You could tell she didn’t want to say anything nasty about Mum. She changed the subject. ‘Mossbrook again next Saturday?’

  ‘Yes. Can’t wait. We so want to qualify for Dublin.’

  A bird flew out of the hedge and Flight skittered sideways, bumping into Joy who laid back her ears and made a face at him. Fiona laughed. ‘Lucky for me Sally’s been riding her. She’d have been too fresh for me today otherwise.’

  ‘Flight’s a bit full of himself,’ I admitted, as he nearly pulled my arms out of their sockets. ‘He could do with more exercise during the week.’Specially if I’m going to keep him fit enough for showjumping.’ I had a horrible image of myself next week at Mossbrook, storming round the arena, out of control, letting the team down. In front of Rory. ‘D’you think Dad would pay for a few extra lessons? Like, one a week?’

  I’d meant to ask him last night but as soon as we’d got home he and Fiona had given me this gorgeous French perfume so it didn’t seem the moment to ask for more.

  Fiona considered. ‘What does Cam charge for private lessons?’

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  ‘Hmm. That’s a fair bit on top of what he pays for your livery.’

  ‘Oh Fiona!’ I couldn’t believe she was being so negative. ‘It’s only for a few weeks, till the league’s over. He can afford it.’

  ‘It’s not that. But he might think you should pay half or something.’

  ‘But that’d be half my pocket money!’ I bet if Molly needed an extra twenty-five pounds’ worth of nappies every week he wouldn’t think twice, I gloomed, biting at my glove. ‘What’s the point in buying me a showjumper and not letting me have proper lessons?’

  Fiona laughed. ‘Vicky, he hasn’t said no yet! Look, sweetheart, it’s nothing to do with me.’ She could always cop out of things by saying they weren’t her business. ‘I tell you what,’ she said, ‘I’ll put in a word for you.’

  ‘OK.’ I smiled at her. She looked easy and relaxed on Joy, even if it was a year since she’d been in the saddle. But then Fiona had been riding since she was four. We turned on to a grassy path and Flight gave a high-spirited buck and snatched at the bit.

  ‘Soon,’ I told him, looking round for logs to jump.

  ‘Oh yes, Cam said your cousin was coming up to help next week,’ said Fiona, as if she had just remembered. ‘Work experience or something?’

  ‘Hmm.’ I felt my good mood evaporate. I twisted a bit of Flight’s red mane. I licked the inside of my mouth, feeling again the raw, sore flesh. Imagining it red and open. You cow. You nasty, vindictive cow. ‘Are you up for a canter? Race you to the top of that hill.’

  * * *

  Dad lounged in his favourite armchair, rugby on the TV, Molly at his feet on her activity mat. She kept rolling onto her side and grabbing Dad’s feet and gurgling.

  ‘Aww,’ said Fiona. ‘Are you playing rugby with your daddy’s foot? Are you? Are you?’

  Puke, I thought. Talking of which, there was a distinct whiff of shit in the air. Had everyone else lost their sense of smell?

  ‘I don’t know why you say she’s so exhausting to look after all day, Fi,’ said Dad with a smug air. ‘We’ve had a great time together. She’s been as happy as Larry all afternoon. Who was Larry, anyway?’

  ‘No idea. But I bet whoever he was he wouldn’t have been so happy if he’d had a dirty nappy,’ said Fiona, swooping down and bearing Molly off to change her.

  I plonked myself down on the sofa, shifting Tigger from down the side of the cushion. Molly was obsessed with him. I hardly ever let her touch him but that morning I’d let her have him for a while. I wriggled my toes. We’d ended up riding round the farm trail for two hours and my legs were aching.

  On screen the rugby looked muddy and primeval. There was a clique of girls at school whose boyfriends played on various teams. They were always getting up early on Saturdays and watching them in the rain. If if if anything happened with Rory would I be one of them? I imagined him coming off the pitch, sweaty and muddy, hugging me. I found the idea strangely exciting. And he was coming to watch me jump! This time next week! I imagined myself trotting out of the arena, bending down and kissing him on the way past. What would he think of my legs in white jodhpurs? I stretched them out on the sofa. There was no getting away from it – they were pretty sturdy.

  ‘Here, darling, go to your big sister.’ I started out of my Rory-dream as Fiona plopped Molly – now thankfully smelling of baby powder – in my lap. ‘Keep her occupied while I make dinner?’

  ‘OK,’ I mumbled. I joggled her about a bit.

  ‘Dah!’ she said, grabbing at my pony-tail. I prised her hands away. Delighted at this game, she shrieked, ‘Dah!’ again and yanked harder.

  ‘Ouch! That hurt!’ I released my hair. ‘Bad girl, Molly.’

  She roared with laughter. Her cheeks were big red balloons.

  Dad turned round. ‘Vicky! Can you not keep her a bit quieter? This is the last ten minutes. Honestly, you girls. You just get her all excited. She was as good as gold for me.’

  I laid her down on her activity mat but she grizzled and arched her back.

  ‘I know.’ I pulled out Tigger. She crowed and made a grab for him. Seconds later all was peaceful. Dad beamed at the screen – Ireland was winning; Molly beamed at Tigger and stuck his ear in her mouth. She did look quite cute. I sighed and picked up Macbeth. We had a test on Monday. I tried not to mind Molly slobbering all over Tigger’s ears and wondered if he would survive going into the washing machine.

  * * *

  ‘Hey, Mum, where are you?’ I could hear cutlery and talking in the background.

  Mum laughed. ‘In a chip shop in Newcastle.’ She said it as if this was a perfectly normal place for her to be on a Saturday evening in November.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re always telling me to get out more.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  So he was getting a reward for hitting me! Suddenly I felt really confused. Mum’s voice was low and furtive. ‘Look, Vic, when you get back tomorrow night Declan will apologise to you. Naturally.’

  ‘Hmm.’ I picked at a loose thread on my jodhpurs.

  ‘And you, naturally, will apologise to him.’

  I sighed. ‘I know.’ I pulled the thread out.

  ‘OK, just wanted to make that clear.’

  I ended the call and pushed open the living-room door. Fiona was leaning over Dad’s chair.

  ‘So you see, Peter darling, she really does need those lessons. I mean, this could be her big chance.’ She sounded very earnest. They both turned and smiled when they heard me.

  Dad stretched out his hand to me. ‘What’s all this, princess? Letting your wicked stepmother get round me? You’ll have me ruined between the pair of you.’

  I shot Fiona a grateful glance. ‘So I can have the lessons?’

  ‘You can have the lessons. On on
e condition.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You make sure you qualify for Dublin!’

  I hugged them both. ‘I’ll do my best!’

  * * *

  A low drone of conversation came from behind the kitchen door. When I pushed it open the talking died. There was Declan at the table just as he’d been that first night – was it only two weeks ago? Mum was ironing. The air was steamy and linen-scented. My school uniform hung over the back of a chair.

  ‘Hello, love.’ She folded the T-shirt she was ironing and added it to a pile of clothes. I saw at once that it was his T-shirt; his clothes. My chest contracted.

  ‘OK.’ Mum switched off the iron at the wall. ‘Just going to take these upstairs.’ She closed the door on her way out. Nought out of ten for subtlety, Mum.

  I picked some grapes out of the fruit bowl.

  Declan picked at a rough bit on the table.

  He stared at me, his eyes like burnt matches. I stared back. He was looking at my mouth. There was nothing to see now, from the outside. He slid his eyes away first. ‘Vicky.’ He’d hardly ever said my name before. ‘I’m sorry I hit you.’

  I seemed to see everything with hyper-clarity. A muscle twitched in his jaw. There was a tiny mole I’d never noticed before on his left cheek. He bit the side of his finger and I saw for the first time a strange round scar on the back of his hand.

  Something tight and hard uncurled inside me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. It was easier than I thought. ‘I mean, really sorry.’

  His dark eyes widened. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Thanks. And,’ in a rush, ‘your book –’

  I’d almost forgotten. ‘Oh yeah. Well, you can just get it next week. Whatever.’

  He nodded. The room was heavy with that awful mixture of embarrassment and goodwill that follows an apology. Fliss and Becca and I used to fall out all the time when we were younger. But we’d cry and hug each other. It’s easier when you’re girls. It’s easier when you actually like each other.

  Chapter 19

  DECLAN

  Cam looks in the wheelbarrow. ‘Hmm.’ She grins at me. ‘Don’t worry, it gets easier.’