The majority of them said, ‘You’re mad!’
But they were all wrong. I was thrilled.
As you already know, my hero Ronan Shea in Just for the Holidays is a helicopter pilot recovering from a shoulder injury after a forced landing. During my research, I was lucky enough to be introduced to Martin Lovell who owns a helicopter maintenance company, SkyTech Helicopters, and is also the company’s test pilot.
If the engine begins to fail in a single-engine helicopter the pilot has to take prompt action because he can’t park in mid-air. When Martin offered to take me up and demonstrate how the pilot retains full control via the art of ‘autorotation’, bringing the aircraft down at such an angle that the air passing over the rotor keeps it going, I could not believe my luck. I love helicopters and had always wanted to be flown in one. That my first flight was a pretend crash deterred me not one whit.
I arrived at the airfield on a beautiful day. We walked through the hangar to the black Hughes 500 helicopter in need of a test flight. Martin performed the pre-flight checks and suddenly the door was opened and I was invited inside …
Martin strapped me into my seat and gave me a set of headphones before beginning a running commentary on the instrumentation and which switches he was flicking and why. The engine started and the whump whump whump as the rotor began to turn became faster and faster until the blades were a blur above us. A little hover, then we were turning, tiptoeing across the grass to the runway.
I don’t fully remember the take off. We just whooshed along and up and somehow we were above a village, above a reservoir, above the fields. The Hughes has great visibility, including what’s passing below your feet. Apart from this all-round vision and the fact that we were whizzing along at altitude, the cockpit felt a bit like a car – comfortable leather seats, a heater and a sat nav – but with a lot more banking and swooping.
Once up at 2000 feet Martin told me he would begin the autorotation. He wouldn’t actually switch off the engine (prudent of him), but would proceed as if he had. The RPM died, there was a fast initial drop then we swooped down on a diagonal flight path towards the ground.
It came up to meet us VERY quickly!
At the point where coming down to earth with a bump seemed almost inevitable, Martin ‘flared’ the aircraft and halted the momentum as surely as if he’d been able to apply brakes. In a real autorotation, he would then have performed a run-on landing and the helicopter should have sat down nicely on its skids (unless, as in Ronan’s case, a hidden land hazard was there to trip the helicopter up).
‘All right?’ Martin asked.
I gibbered something like, ‘Yes! That was fantastic! Amazing! Wow! That was fantastic-amazing-wow. That was really fantastic-amazing-wow.’
He turned us around again. ‘Now we’ll do it a bit more realistically, as if the engine’s cut without warning and the pilot has to act fast. That was just a gentle mock-up.’
Up we went again. And wheeeeeee! We swooped down to Earth a lot more rapidly this time. Someone in the cockpit went ‘WHOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’, and I don’t think it was Martin.
He pulled up at about ten feet and recreated the run-on landing this time. His accuracy was amazing because when we turned and flew back I could see the parallel lines where the skids had parted the longish grass but not touched hard ground.
Pretending to crash in a helicopter was truly awesome. I was exhilarated but never scared. I felt totally secure in the skill of the pilot.
I assumed that we’d pootle back to the hangar but instead we circled up again and flew on (ground speed about 100 knots, so not so much of a pootle), over the town where I went to senior school and over a supermarket my mum had texted me from an hour before, picking out churches and a golf course, ticking off the villages as we flew over them to the town where I now live. We circled over my house and then headed back to base.
I think it took about three minutes to get back to the airfield, a trip that had taken me twenty by car. We flew low-level along the runway so I could get an idea of what speed really feels like in a helicopter (rushy), then came back around and landed tidily outside the hangar.
Everything went quiet … apart from my heart, which was still whirring at full knots.
Pretend-crashing in a helicopter? Awesome.
Love Sue Moorcroft? Then read on for a sneak peak of her new book, Give Me Till Christmas…
Prologue
‘Are you serious?’ Ben stared at his mother.
Penny twisted a tissue in her hands. ‘I’m only telling you that Dad said if you hadn’t taken up with that girl then none of this would have happened. Lloyd wouldn’t be … where he is.’
Ben sank onto his parents’ floral sofa, the cotton cold beneath his sweating palms. ‘Her name’s Imogen.’
‘In a way, I can see Dad’s point. Everybody in Didbury knows her family. The Goodbodys breed like rabbits, live off benefits and their garden looks like a scrap yard. They’re like something from a reality TV show.’
‘Imogen’s never claimed a benefit in her life. She’s put in long hours in a demanding sales environment, in spite of her background and in spite of people badmouthing her.’ Ben wasn’t sure whether he was more outraged by his parents’ prejudice or by being put in the position of defending Imogen.
His mother didn’t let his dig deter her. ‘The Goodbody men are chancers and the women are slu—’ She flicked Ben a glance and chose a primmer adjective. ‘The women are man-eaters. If she was supposed to be on a spa weekend with an old uni friend, why was she with Lloyd? Dad warned you you’d never have a quiet mind if you married her so why did you work away so much? You’re such a decent straightforward man, but didn’t you see that it was like throwing petrol and a match together? At least Lloyd’s single. Imogen was married to you—’
Ben leapt to his feet. ‘He’s my brother!’ He ought to have been used to being the second child in all senses but he couldn’t get his head around his own mother holding him in any way responsible for this mess.
Penny buried her face in her hands. ‘And those aunties of Imogen are going round painting her as an innocent victim and you as a callous husband!’
‘Do you think I don’t know? The Auntie Mafia never pass me in the supermarket without asking what happened to “For better, for worse”.’
And his petition for divorce had goaded them to literally hiss at him in the street. He hadn’t wasted his breath defending himself because he understood Imogen’s family’s loyalty lay with their own. They’d never heard Imogen’s words: I don’t think we’re going to get past this, Ben. If you can’t forgive me then divorce me. The shock on her face when he’d demanded to know how he could forgive what she wasn’t telling him had been too deeply personal and painful a moment to share with anyone but her.
Penny gulped. ‘And now the Goodbodys are giving you a hard time and you’re leaving.’
Her words reminded Ben of the depressing task that had been interrupted by this conversation: dismantling their home. Stilted phone calls to Imogen about what she wanted packing into her brothers’ vans, his heart convulsing as he imagined her, white-faced, trying to be brave.
The very same heart that couldn’t forgive.
He turned wearily for the door. ‘I’m not leaving because of Imogen’s family, Mum. I’m leaving because of mine.’
Chapter One
THE MIDDLEDIP COMMUMITY WRECKING PARTY
Help us strip out The Angel pub
ready for its transformation into
THE ANGEL COMMUNITY CAFÉ
and we’ll give you …
BEER AND BBQ
Saturday 9th September
TONIGHT!
Over the course of the wrecking party enthusiastic villagers had shifted the rubbish of decades from the once-splendid Angel Public House to the skips outside. Most of the Victorian building’s period features had been stored.
Alexia clambered up on a stepladder in what used to be the ‘Bar Parlour’
of The Angel to announce above the hubbub, ‘I declare the “wrecking” over! Now let’s party!’ Jumping down amidst cheers, she ignored the surge of people towards the cool boxes of beer to gaze around the long-neglected room. The lovely old door with its etched glass had been moved to storage along with the once polished Victorian bar. Dozens of flickering tea lights had been lit in place of the industrial lights rigged for the stripping-out.
Someone had brought a docking station for their iPod and music began to echo off plaster freshly stripped of red flock wallpaper and nicotine stains. Dusty people chattered around the mood boards depicting Alexia’s vision of the pub’s transformation to The Angel Community Café.
Jodie appeared at Alexia’s side, her long dark hair overlaid with a cobweb, and pushed a cold can into her hand. ‘Here. You deserve a drink.’
Alexia pulled the ring tab with satisfaction. ‘We all do. I love this village. Forty people have given up their Saturday to help us.’
‘They want a community café and they wanted to get to the free beer!’ Jodie raised her voice to match the increasing noise. ‘Shane says he’s stowed the mirrors, tiles and etched glass screens so there’s nothing to damage if folk let off steam. He’s gone to fetch the burgers and sausages from your fridge. Shall we find someone to help us set the barbecues up? Seb’s around somewhere.’
‘Not Seb,’ Alexia protested. ‘I don’t need my ex breathing down my neck. There must be someone else mug enough to sacrifice drinking time in favour of carting more heavy stuff.’ Alexia’s gaze shifted to the only person in the room she wasn’t familiar with, a man with tousled corn-coloured hair. She’d watched him help take up the black and white tiles to be stacked in the back of Shane’s truck. Most people had joked and chatted as they worked but the fair man had offered only the occasional reply if a remark was tossed in his direction. Now, T-shirt and jeans dusty, he was alone, leaning on a wall. ‘Him,’ she suggested.
Jodie followed her gaze. ‘Two minutes single and you’ve got your eye on the brooding stranger?’
Alexia grinned. ‘It’s four weeks. And what’s the point of being single if you can’t show interest? Come on.’ She cleared the dust from her throat with a swig of beer before threading her way towards the man, who was idly watching a group of four laughing women trying to dance on the mortar where the floor tiles had been. His gaze focused in on Alexia only once she was standing in front of him.
She introduced herself and gave him the benefit of her best smile. ‘I’m project-managing the refurbishment of The Angel. And this is Jodie, who’ll run The Angel Community Café when it opens.’
‘Ben,’ he replied.
Alexia disregarded the economy of his reply. It was probably overwhelming to be the only person here who didn’t know every other person here. ‘Thanks for helping. Aren’t you Gabe Piercy’s nephew?’ Gabe had been uncharacteristically reticent about why his nephew had turned up on the edges of Middledip village and then kept almost entirely to himself.
‘That’s me.’ His hair hung over one eye.
‘Gabe’s probably told you that he’s bought The Angel because the village can’t sustain a coffee shop unless it has some community value—’
Ben finished for her. ‘So he’s set the rent low to make the café viable and the book club and all the other local groups are going to bring business in.’
Alexia took a step back. There was ‘brooding’ and there was ‘abrupt’ and in her eyes Ben had just crossed from one to the other. ‘Sorry if I’m being boring but this is such an amazing building I’m excited to see it brought back to life. And,’ she added tartly, ‘in case you’re worried that your uncle’s being ripped off, the village has raised money towards the refurb. Gabe will end up with a sympathetic restoration, a share of the profits from the café, and rent that’s far in excess of what he’d earn if he kept his money safe in the bank.’
She prepared to turn on her heel and find someone friendlier to haul barbecues around for her but Ben put out a hand, looking rueful. ‘No, I’m sorry. Like Gabe, I’m a bit of an oddball and, worse, I’m an oddball having a bad day. My mind was on something else when you came up.’ He managed a faint smile. ‘Let’s begin again. It’s a great community effort and Gabe tells me you’re not charging for managing the project.’
Before Alexia could protest about Gabe being termed an oddball or explain why she was working gratis, Jodie jumped in to claim a vicarious share of the accolades. ‘And my boyfriend’s doing the building work for “mates’ rates” because I’m in partnership with Gabe for the business side of the café. Aren’t you the guy who’s been taming the jungle at the front so we can actually see The Angel from the road for the first time in decades?’
At this reminder, Alexia forgave Ben his earlier instant of gracelessness. Twice on site visits she’d enjoyed watching him dangling from a harness, not above wondering what his face was like without his hardhat and visor. ‘In that case you’re practically one of us boring community volunteers so I don’t feel so bad about hitting on you to help drag barbecues about.’
A brief pause as he stared at her. Then, ‘Hit on me? Lead the way.’
‘Great.’ Blushing, sure he knew it had been accidentally-on-purpose that she’d said ‘hit on you’ rather than ‘hit you up’, Alexia led him through groups of chatting villagers to one of the doors to what had once been the kitchen, evidenced by a pair of white pot sinks, both cracked. The borrowed barbecues were lined up in the middle of the floor as if waiting to be invited to the party. ‘That big green one’s on wheels. The other two have to be carried.’
‘You wheel, I’ll carry.’ Ben wrapped his arms around the sphere of a battered steel kettle barbecue and heaved it from the floor while Alexia and Jodie began dragging the green barbecue into the hall and over the steps of the side door. Ben had fetched the second barbecue in the time it took for them to manhandle it across the weeds that heaved up the aged tarmac.
They were selecting the most even ground when Shane drew up with the food Alexia and Jodie had shopped for yesterday.
‘Shane!’ cooed Jodie, throwing open her arms to take up a familiar position, these days – wound around her boyfriend.
Shane was good-looking, Alexia acknowledged. His short hair and square jaw went with the kind of body that reflected his physical job. He wasn’t the stable influence Alexia would have chosen for her lifelong friend, though.
‘No Tim?’ Alexia enquired.
‘Nah, he’s gone off somewhere. C’m’ere, gorgeous.’ Shane swung Jodie from her feet, making her squeal.
Alexia could imagine stolid Tim preferring to go home than come to a party. Shane chattered enough for both of them, anyway. ‘Right. This is Gabe’s nephew, Ben, who—’
Shane pumped Ben’s hand without waiting for the rest of Alexia’s introduction. ‘All right, mate?’ Brimming with bonhomie he joined Ben in hooking up gas bottles and dragging a battered table out of a skip to bear the food.
Seeing Shane opening another beer for Jodie, though she was still drinking the last, Alexia glanced from the packs of food to Ben, who hadn’t vanished at the first opportunity, as she’d thought he might. ‘Fancy manning a grill?’
He shrugged. ‘OK.’
As soon as the grills were hot enough, they took up their stations flipping burgers. Ben looked after the grill to Alexia’s left while Jodie cooked on her other side, when she wasn’t giggling tipsily with Shane.
Alexia frowned to see Shane passing Jodie yet another beer. ‘Do you want some water to go with that?’ She tried to sound jokey rather than judgy but Jodie was trying to play Jenga with sausages.
Shane used his beer can to wave Alexia’s concern away. ‘She’s fine, aren’t you, darlin’? She’s grand. She’s lovely.’ He nibbled Jodie’s neck, prompting an explosion of giggles.
Jodie allowed herself to be smooched off into the shadows and Alexia rearranged the Jenga sausages so they could actually cook. She sighed. ‘Jodie’s going to have a sore head t
omorrow.’
Ben kept his eyes on his grill. ‘It’s her head. People make their choices about drinking and have to put up with the consequences.’
Alexia wasn’t sure if the slight edge to his voice was disapproval of Jodie’s tipsiness or of Alexia’s grumble. But as she was now landed with Jodie’s grill as well as her own, she felt justified in lifting her voice in a mild protest. ‘Hey, Jodes, I thought you were the cook around here? Shane, any chance you could start slicing bread rolls? This food’s going to be ready soon.’
Reluctantly, Jodie swayed back to her post. Shane sent Alexia a look but reached for the bread.
Gabe stepped out of the porch. Behind him, the once-impressive front door, currently beribboned with peeling varnish, squeaked on its hinges. Gabe sniffed the air. ‘I smell sausages and my belly’s rumbling.’ Known for his mismatching sartorial choices, along with his silver ponytail, today was no exception and he emerged wearing a button-down shirt tucked into jogging bottoms, wellingtons, and a hungry expression.
Alexia grinned. ‘We’re just about ready with the first lot of food.’
Gabe turned with alacrity. ‘I’ll call everyone out.’
In seconds, hungry villagers were pouring out to grab paper plates to heap with carbohydrates and cholesterol. Fat sizzled and Alexia’s eyes began to sting as the press of bodies left the smoke nowhere to go. ‘Ouch.’ She tried to wipe her face on her sleeve.
‘Here.’ Ben passed her a sheet of kitchen roll with a smile that flashed so briefly she almost missed it.
It chased away his frown lines and almost made her forget the waiting queue. ‘Thanks.’ She smiled back. Maybe Ben simply took a while to relax around people and warm to them. Maybe—
But then a familiar voice claimed her attention. ‘Alexia, you’re looking good.’
Alexia jumped. She hadn’t noticed who’d come to stand in front of her barbecue – her ex. ‘Seb! But I look as if I’ve been living in one of the skips.’ She tried not to feel guilty at laughing his compliment off. ‘Burger?’
Just for the Holidays Page 32