We Own the Sky

by Luke Allnutt

  I drank my coffee and checked email on my phone. There were pitches for start-up investments, some paperwork from our accountant. I had been asked to speak at a tech-incubator event, something about nurturing a new way of thinking in virtual reality.

  Jack had come out of the ball pit and was now charging through a plastic tube with another boy, I thought someone he might know from school. The two women were still talking, about their depressed nannies and how it must be a Slavic thing, and I knew why Anna couldn’t stand it here. It was better if you were a man. They left you alone.

  My phone chirped. It was Scott.

  I thought you were sending me that code

  At play center can we talk later?

  A pause, a thinking pause. Then I could see that he was writing again.

  Rob please call me I’m getting pissed off now

  Will do later no probs.

  I wasn’t going to write that code. The Chinese company was huge, flush with cash, and would snap us up. They had their own people, their own infrastructure. Simtech would be dead as we knew it—and with it my chance of launching my drones.

  I looked for Jack. With another boy, he was trying to get inside a plastic car through the windows, Dukes of Hazzard-style. I put down my phone and watched him. Since he had been small, I loved to see him play with other children, his first fumbling efforts at making friends: how he would cautiously smile and raise his eyebrows, his attempt at an opening; how he would try to woo his suitor by showing them all of his things, his colored pencils, his toys, the picture on his T-shirt.

  I felt in my pocket for the shopping list Anna had given me. Her lists always made me laugh. Their neatness, their specificity, how she would state the particular brand of cherry tomatoes, her starred annotations, instructions on precisely which asparagus tips to choose. I used to keep her old shopping lists in my wallet and read them on the train, the bus, whenever I was sat somewhere waiting for her to arrive.

  “Please turn over,” she wrote once, “for the cheeses to buy if they don’t have Gruyère.” On the back of the paper, there was a neat numbered list of seven cheeses, with a parenthetical note to say that they were in descending order of importance.

  I looked up from the shopping list and suddenly couldn’t see Jack. I stood up, slopping my coffee on the table, but he wasn’t in the ball pit, or inside the Toytown car. Then I spotted him, in the corner on the edge of the mat, lying motionless on the floor.

  I ran over to him and he was still in the same position, lying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.

  “Jack, Jack, are you okay?”

  He looked at me, his eyes glazed. It was as if he had just woken up and didn’t know where he was.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “No,” Jack said, “I just fell over.”

  “Do you have any injuries?”

  Jack narrowed his eyes. “I feel... I feel funny...”

  “Funny how, beautiful? Like dizzy?”

  “What’s dizzy?” he asked.

  “You know when you’re on the roundabout in the playground?”

  “The big playground or little playground?”

  “The big playground.”

  Jack nodded.

  “So you know when you go really fast on the roundabout and then you jump off and you feel funny. That’s dizzy. Is that how you feel?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “And have you had it other times, when you’re at school?”

  Jack considered what I had said.

  “I was on the jumping pillow with Nathan, and it felt like spaceships flying through my head.”

  “And can you feel the spaceships now?”

  “No, Daddy, don’t be silly,” he said, sitting up, the color returning to his cheeks.

  Ever since he had fallen off his bike in the park, Anna was sure that Jack’s balance was off. I wasn’t convinced. It was just clumsiness or overexuberance, I told her. It was normal for kids to bang into things. But she was insistent. It wasn’t just when he was running around, she said. She noticed it when he was walking to the bathroom before bed.

  “Can I go and play with my friend again?”

  “Are you feeling okay now?”

  Jack tapped his head and patted down his stomach and legs. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Go on then, but be careful,” I said, looking him up and down.

  He ran off and found his friend. I watched him, as he navigated the tunnels and climbed inside the police car and then, with his new partner in crime, started to pelt the playhouse with rubber balls.

  * * *

  “How was your day?” Anna asked when she got home. She’d had a meeting with a client and ditched her laptop bag and sensible shoes for heels and makeup.

  “Was good. Pretty quiet,” I said, folding the risotto over itself.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, fine, just a bit tired.”

  “Where’s Jack?”

  “Upstairs in his room.”

  “Ah, okay. I’ll go up.”

  She filled her glass with some tap water, leaned back against the kitchen counter and kicked off her shoes. I knew she didn’t find it easy, to be working at the bank while I did the school runs and looked after Jack. Even though she had gone to a progressive school, where girls were taught to be independent and empowered, she still found it hard to come home and find me cooking Jack his dinner, joking with him about the things we had done that day—things that, deep down, she felt that she should be doing.

  Anna, though, was never one to allow a feeling to get the better of her. She found a way. When she came home, instead of putting her feet up, she spent all her time with Jack, doing his bath and his story, the little bits of homework he now had. After working all day, it was Anna who made sure that Jack’s water glass was filled, that his bedroom door was at the right angle, that Big Teddy and Little Teddy were standing guard.

  She put her arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck. “Are we having kids’ food or adults’ food tonight?”

  “Adults’ food.”

  “Really?”

  “You want fish fingers and beans again, don’t you? No, I’ve made a risotto.”

  “Ooooo, fancy.”

  “Are you disappointed?”

  “No, risotto sounds great,” she said. “How was playtime by the way?”

  “It was good. Jack loved it, made some friend. Oh, and I think I saw one of Lola’s friends there.”

  “Who?”

  “The snooty one.”

  “Well, that’s a big help.”

  “I don’t know. With a scarf. Big Mommy trousers.”

  Anna shook her head. “You’ve just described all of her friends.”

  I started to chop up some chives, wondering how to broach it. “Nothing to worry about, but he did fall over again.”

  “Really,” Anna said, turning to face me. “Was he okay?”

  “Yeah, absolutely fine. He fell over and then said he was feeling dizzy.”

  Anna turned pale and started scrunching her fingers into her palm. “I knew it, I knew something was wrong.”

  “Sweetheart, you always do this,” I said, putting my arm around her.

  “Will you take him to the doctor tomorrow?” Anna said, pulling away from me.

  “Of course I will, but do you really think it’s nec—”

  “Yes. It’s necessary, Rob. This has gone on long enough.”

  “All right, I’ll take him. They have a walk-in clinic after school. It’s probably just a little ear infection or something. Do you remember he used to get them when he was little?”

  “So you think it is something?” she said.

  “Jesus, Anna. No, not at all. I’m just saying that I really don’t think you should worry...”

 
As we were speaking, we watched Jack climb onto the back of the sofa and then do a tightrope maneuver along one arm.

  “Look at him,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”

  “I hope so,” Anna said. “He does get quite tired, doesn’t he, with school.”

  Jack had now climbed down from the sofa and was attempting to do a headstand on the floor.

  “Seriously, sweetheart. He’ll be absolutely fine.”

  6

  “Now, I don’t want you to worry, but there is something here I think we should have a little look into,” the doctor said, regarding the report. Next to me, I could feel Anna wince and then lean forward in her seat.

  Two weeks ago, I had been here in this same doctor’s office with Jack. The doctor watched him walk in a straight line, shone lights in his eyes, tested his reflexes with a rubber hammer. He was fine, the doctor said, absolutely fine. But what Jack was experiencing did sound a little like epilepsy, so as a precaution they would need to do some blood tests and a CT scan.

  We all went together for Jack’s scan. We told him there wouldn’t be any pain, and they were just going to take a picture of his head. We promised him that if he managed to lie very, very still—as still as a statue, Jack—then we would all go to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal and ice cream.

  “So,” the doctor said, “the scan does show a little something on Jack’s brain. Now, we don’t know exactly what this is yet, but just to be extra cautious, we do need to get you an appointment with a specialist.”

  “A little something. What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Well, first of all, don’t panic. These things almost always turn out to be nothing. It could be several things—some kind of growth, a cyst. And, in a very small number of cases, a tumor. But even if it was that, they mostly turn out to be benign.”

  Tumor. I thought of Jack, outside in the playroom.

  “And there’s nothing more you can tell us?” Anna asked.

  The doctor looked at his screen, moving his lips as he read. “No, nothing more I’m afraid. Just that there is a lesion, and it requires further investigation.”

  Anna took a deep breath, and I could see her pinching the skin on her hand.

  “So what happens now?” I said. “Will he need an operation?”

  The doctor pressed his hands together. “Goodness, let’s not talk about that yet, Mr. Coates. We don’t even know what it is yet. It’s probably absolutely nothing. But, to be on the safe side, I have referred Jack to a specialist, so we don’t lose any time.”

  “Is it possible to see them this week?” Anna asked.

  The doctor took a deep breath and looked down at his calendar. “I can get you in on Wednesday, if that suits.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  A specialist? Why did Jack have to see a specialist, when there was probably nothing wrong? It didn’t make any sense. “And you really can’t tell us any more?” I asked the doctor.

  “I’m sorry, I really can’t. Dr. Kennety will be infinitely more qualified to make a judgment on the scan.”

  “Right,” I said, “I understand that. But surely you can say something from your experience...”

  There was a photo on the doctor’s desk, facing away from us, and I wondered if it was his children.

  “If it is a tumor,” the doctor said, “then at Jack’s age, he would certainly need an operation. But we just don’t know, and it would be unethical and unfair of me to speculate. As I said, if it is a tumor—and that’s a big, big if—mostly they turn out to be benign. So I know it’s difficult, but please try not to worry.”

  Benign. Mostly benign. My legs felt shaky as we left, and I was just about to confer with Anna, when Jack charged toward us wearing some sort of cape.

  “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

  “Of course we can,” I said, ruffling his hair, smoothing down his cape.

  In McDonald’s, while I nabbed a table, Jack walked to the counter with Anna. He was wearing his Angry Birds sweatshirt and blue jeans. His hair was a little too long, his blond curls looping behind his ears. He came triumphantly back from the counter holding his Happy Meal box.

  Jack sat at the table, carefully deconstructing his hamburger. We watched him as he methodically removed the gherkins, scraped off the sauce and then ate in a dignified silence. When he finished, he smiled, dabs of sauce around his mouth, and asked if he could have another one. There was nothing wrong with him. There couldn’t be. Just look at him!

  * * *

  “I don’t want to go, Rob.”

  “I know, but it will take your mind off things.”

  “Right,” Anna said, looking away. “And why you do want to go so much? You normally hate this kind of thing.”

  It was a launch party for Lola’s Raw Food Mamma recipe book. “Admittedly, it’s not my favorite thing in the world,” I said, “but if we don’t go, we’re just going to sit and worry.”

  Anna looked at me from across the kitchen table. “I just...just, God, I can’t, I don’t even want to think about it...”

  “Sweetheart,” I said, reaching across the table and putting my hand on her arm, “I know what you’re doing, but you can’t think like that. Remember what the doctor said. Only in a very small number of cases, it would be a tumor. And even then, it would most likely be benign. They’re just being careful, that’s all.”

  Anna didn’t respond, and I could see that she was grinding her teeth. “C’mon, we should go. Jack’s looking forward to seeing India.”

  “You’re right,” Anna said after a pause. “It will take my mind off it.”

  * * *

  “Hello, poppets,” Lola said, as we walked into the converted warehouse in Hackney Wick. We were standing under a wrought iron staircase that didn’t lead anywhere. Next to us, two men wearing pipe-cleaner glasses were sitting on a sofa that looked as if it had been rescued from a dumpster.

  Lola was wearing a jungle-print onesie. “Oh, wonderful, you brought Jack. India will be delighted.”

  “Hello, Auntie Lola,” Jack said.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite boy,” Lola said. She bent down to kiss Jack’s head and next to me I could feel Anna flinch. “You all look so well. Right, let me show you through. Now, you won’t be surprised to hear that everything on offer tonight is all my own creations. It’s all raw, all organic—of course—and there are absolutely no chemicals in anything.”

  I smiled, wondering whether I should interject with my standard response that everything was a chemical. Our bodies, Lola, your onesie, your amber necklace, your free-range apples, your tarragon orange sliders, are all made of chemicals.

  “Thanks for coming, Rob,” Lola said, squeezing my arm. “I know it’s not exactly your thing.”

  “I don’t know, Lola. Maybe it might be. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it and all that, right.” Lola looked pleased, still holding on to my arm. “And besides,” I said, taking a chipped antique glass of champagne from a wallpaper table, “we can always stop at McDonald’s on the way home.”

  “Don’t you bloody dare,” Lola said, but she was already looking over my shoulder, ready to greet the next guest.

  Jack ran off to play with India, and Anna and I stood next to a table loaded with food and drink.

  “You okay?” I said.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Can you stop asking if I’m okay?” Anna snapped.

  “Sorry, I just...”

  She turned away and took something from the table that looked like a patty made from compressed oats.

  “Do you want a drink?” I said.

  “I’m driving, Rob.”

  “You don’t have to drive. We can get a taxi back and leave the car.”

  “I’m not so desperate to have a drink that I’m goi
ng to leave the car in Hackney.”

  “Okay.” I went over to look at a painting on the wall. There was nothing I could do when she was like this. When I came back, Anna was still eating. The patty was falling apart, crumbling into little bits in her hand.

  “Is it good?”

  “No,” she whispered, moving closer to me. “It’s horrible, like eating sawdust.”

  I sniggered, spluttering my champagne a little.

  “I want to get rid of it, but I don’t know how.”

  “Isn’t there...”

  “No, I’ve looked. There’s nothing, no trash cans, dirty plates, anything. How can they have no plates?”

  Anna was still looking for somewhere to put her patty and her face was taut, a deathly pale, and I remembered that face from the days after the miscarriages. The tightened skin on her forehead; the slight movement of her cheeks as she ground her teeth.

  “I’m going to check to see if Jack’s okay,” Anna said.

  I stood for a while next to the table, not really knowing anyone and not knowing what to do.

  “Ah, and I thought you were trying to avoid me,” I heard as I was getting another glass of champagne. I turned to see Scott, standing with a tall woman with brown hair.

  “Hello, mate. I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said, smiling at him and his friend. “I was going to call you tonight.”

  “Right,” Scott said.

  “Didn’t know this was your sort of thing,” I said brightly. “Raw food...”

  “I get out and about, Rob...” I hadn’t seen him like this before. He was openly hostile. He had called and emailed a few times about the code I was supposed to be writing, the little script that he hoped would seal the deal with the Chinese company and end his money troubles. But I had ignored him, fobbed him off, bought time—and now with everything with Jack, I hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.

  “Well, seems like a good party...” I said, trying to break the silence.

  “This is Karolina by the way,” Scott said, nodding at her.