by Unknown
Jo sighed. ‘She’s worried about you.’
‘Oh,’ was all Ethan could manage, the guilt nagging at him again. The last time he’d seen his mum had been two days ago; somehow their paths hadn’t crossed – him getting home late after his last exam, her heading out for the night shift.
The microwave pinged. Jo got out a bowl of steaming pasta and handed it to him, then put in another bowl for herself.
She turned back to him. ‘She thinks you’re too much like Dad – you know that, don’t you?’
The words stung Ethan. ‘He’s a waster, Jo,’ he said, spitting bitterness with every word. ‘All he does is drink money away – or lose it at the bookies.’
‘Think I don’t know that?’ said Jo. ‘She’s worried you’re going the same way.’
Just talking about his dad made Ethan’s blood boil. He found it hard to stay calm. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘just because I’m not sure what I’m doing with my life doesn’t mean I’m going to end up like him. I’m not going to be a jobless alcoholic. I’ll have my A-levels. Dad’s got nothing.’
Jo didn’t answer. The microwave pinged. She took out her pasta.
‘Thanks for your support,’ said Ethan. ‘Really.’
Jo shrugged and started to eat.
Ethan stood there in silence. He hated his dad; always had. He was a bully. And now Ethan was seventeen his dad had started to really push him around. Ethan had nearly lost it with him more than once, but his mum had always stepped in, calmed things down.
‘Where did you go, anyway?’ asked Jo.
‘Out,’ said Ethan. ‘Trying to clear my head. Everyone I know seems to have a plan for what they’re doing, where they’re going, but I . . .’ His voice trailed off. Then he said, ‘I keep thinking about the Royal Marines.’
‘Dad would hate that,’ said Jo.
Ethan smiled. ‘Exactly.’
‘Look, I know you’re not like Dad. But Mum worries, Ethan, you know that.’
‘I know. And I promise I’ll never be like him. Ever.’
‘OK,’ said Jo. She patted him on the arm and headed for her bedroom.
Ethan went to his room. It was pretty bare except for a few posters from Kerrang!, the computer on the desk in the corner, and his bed. Clothes and magazines littered the floor like rubbish washed up on a beach.
He kicked a space between some magazines and put the pasta down on the worn carpet. Then he flicked on his computer. It was old and took a while to warm up, but soon the screen flared blue and he logged on.
The myspace page loaded and Ethan found himself staring at Johnny’s face. He clicked the MOST RECENT icon. The screen filled with a shaky image – a skyline he recognized as the one outside his window. Ethan realized this must’ve been what the bloke in the van had been filming: Johnny BASE jumping from the roof above his flat. The image blurred in a rush as a whoop and a yell burst from his speakers: the sound of Johnny leaping into nothing. The image changed again, slowed, and Ethan watched the view float by as Johnny glided to the ground in front of the flats.
In the next scene, Ethan saw himself standing next to Johnny, shock on his face, waving.
Flicking through Johnny’s myspace pages, Ethan surfed numerous films taken by Johnny and his friends. In all of them, Johnny was grinning and laughing as he jumped off things, or out of planes. Ethan lost track of time, clicking on picture after picture, movie after movie. And he saw something in Johnny’s face that he wanted for himself. Johnny looked so alive, like every minute mattered, counted for something. Ethan’s life had never really felt like that. It was almost as though he’d spent it in a waiting room with no idea what he was actually waiting for. But perhaps it was time to try and change that.
He went back to his pasta. It was cold but he ate it anyway. Mum’s food always tasted good, no matter what it was.
As Ethan finished off the pasta, he clicked a link from Johnny’s site. The screen jumped to an image of blue sky filled with skydivers. Underneath it were the words FREEFALL SKYDIVING CENTRE, followed by an address – it was the old army base just out of town. Ethan clicked through the site, drawn in by more images of people leaping from planes, faces alight with excitement.
Something caught his eye. It was a job ad: Help needed for summer season. Bad pay, insane customers, interesting hours. Discounted lessons available.
It was late, but Ethan phoned anyway, and left a message. He put down the phone and sat back in his chair. Something about what he’d just done fizzed through him. He didn’t know why but it seemed important, like he’d made a move that mattered, changed something. OK, so it was just a job, but what else was he going to do with his summer?
3
‘Stand over there and smile at the birdie.’
The security guard at the entrance to the old army base was pointing at an X on the wall, bullet-to-the-brain high. Ethan did as he was told and walked over to it, resting his head against the X and turning to face a webcam. He smiled at the stuffed parrot sitting on top of it.
The security guard took Ethan’s picture, and a few moments later handed him his pass. It was a terrible photo, but then Ethan never liked pictures of himself.
‘The jump centre’s first left at the mini-roundabout,’ said the security guard. ‘Follow the road round, take the second right. If you get lost, look for people falling out of the sky and listen for the screams.’
Ethan didn’t know whether to smile or not, so he just nodded and headed back to his bike. He still couldn’t believe he’d got an interview for the job at FreeFall. Someone called Sam had phoned and told him to come in as soon as possible, preferably that day. So Ethan had done just that, gobbling his breakfast and racing out into the morning.
He jumped back on his bike, clicking through the gears as he followed the guard’s instructions. The guy was right – people were literally falling from the sky.
Ethan watched as parachutes exploded into life above him. Reds and yellows and blues studded the sky as skydivers drifted downwards. Some people, riding parachutes no bigger than large kites, swooped down to earth, spiralling fast, banking hard, slamming through the air at an impossible speed. Others, with much larger chutes, glided along, gentle as eagles. Ethan noticed how some chutes were carrying two people strapped together. All those arms and legs made them look like huge black spiders.
As he stared, Ethan wondered what it felt like to jump out of a plane. He remembered the BASE jumper, Johnny, and how his eyes had seemed wildly alive. As parachutes floated down, he imagined being up there himself, leaping from a plane, plummeting to earth.
His stomach somersaulted. Would he do it? Hell, yeah – you bet he would.
He’d never be able to afford it, though.
And with that thought suddenly dulling everything, Ethan pedalled on.
Leaving his bike in the car park, Ethan walked past a cabin that contained both the reception and shop, and found himself on an area of tarmac between some old aircraft hangars and a large green field where the skydivers were landing. He turned to watch a few more come in, the hangars now behind him, then turned back to get his bearings. The place was Saturday-morning busy. Everywhere he looked, people were either walking with nervous purpose and even more nervous smiles, or gazing anxiously up into the sky as skydivers continued to fall out of it. Ethan made his way through the crowds towards a building to the right of the hangars with the word CAFÉ written on the door. Beyond it he spotted a number of skydivers on a patch of grass. They were wrestling with their parachutes – laying them out on the grass, sorting and untangling the lines, then packing them into what looked like daysacks.
As Ethan pushed on through, a motorbike pulled up in front of him. The rider pulled off his helmet, grinned at Ethan and slid off the bike.
It was Johnny.
Ethan waved and nodded a smile.
Johnny propped up his bike and came over. ‘Knew I’d see you at the DZ,’ he said.
‘DZ?’ asked Ethan.
‘The dropzone
,’ said Johnny. ‘If you want the full definition, then it’s a column of airspace around a central point on the ground where you land when skydiving.’ He winked. ‘Landing area to you and me.’
‘Right,’ said Ethan, and turned to watch as a skydiver flew in.
‘Looks easy from the ground,’ said Johnny. ‘Doing it at a hundred and twenty mph is a little more difficult.’
He quickly pulled off his biking overalls. Underneath he was wearing some kind of boiler suit, albeit one that looked a lot more cool than something you’d wear to fix your car. It was black and red, with slim silver pads stitched at elbow and knee, stretching up and down the outside of each arm and leg. Johnny turned to a bag strapped on the back of his bike, and pulled out a black helmet, visor down, and what looked like an enormous watch.
‘I checked out your MySpace page,’ said Ethan. ‘It was awesome.’
Now there was a word he never used, and it sat in his mouth like a sour gobstopper.
Johnny grinned. ‘Of course it was – it’s about me! Here to have a go yourself?’
Ethan shook his head, amazed at Johnny’s impressive self-confidence. ‘I’d love to, but I’m here about the job,’ he said. ‘You know where Sam is?’
‘Through that door,’ said Johnny, pointing at a flat-roofed building attached to the side of the old hangar. ‘Just follow the signs for the office. You’ll find it easily enough.’
‘Cheers,’ said Ethan, and made to walk away, but Johnny called after him. He turned to see Johnny pointing upwards as a skydiver howled past, terrifyingly close to the ground.
‘It’s only a matter of time, you know,’ Johnny said.
Ethan watched the skydiver land almost silently, then looked back at Johnny, who grinned.
‘Life’s too short not to,’ he told Ethan.
Following Johnny’s instructions, Ethan headed for the door. It slid open across a worn carpet with a half-moon scratched into it. The room was basic and a little shabby, Ethan thought as he stepped inside, but it was unbelievably well ordered. A pair of filing cabinets stood against one wall, a well-stocked bookcase against another. A TV was fixed to one wall, streaming Sky News. The other walls were covered with skydiving pictures and photographs rather than wallpaper. Some of them were military: soldiers in places Ethan had only ever seen on posters in the windows of adventure travel shops.
But Ethan only noticed these details later, because in front of him, sitting at a large, organized desk, was one of the most imposing men he had ever seen. His hair was shaved close to his head – slightly longer on top – and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing tattoos. His shoulders were broad, his face hard and stern. Small scars criss-crossed the skin around his left eye; a bigger one extended under his right ear and part way across his throat.
So this must be Sam, thought Ethan. Holy shit.
The man saw him, stood up and reached out with his right hand. Ethan took it and found it was like being held by a vice lined with sandpaper; the skin was rough and calloused, the grip ferociously strong.
‘I’m Ethan Blake,’ said Ethan. ‘I’m here about—’
‘The job?’ said the man. ‘Yes. Sit.’
Ethan sat on the only other chair in the room.
‘CV?’
Ethan handed it over.
‘Experience?’
Ethan remembered what the career adviser at school had said – something about using buzz words, key phrases that employers pick up on, that make you stand out above the rest.
‘I’ve got my food hygiene certificate,’ he said, trying to sound confident. ‘And I’ve worked in a number of high street retailers. Lots of customer-facing work. I was promoted to—’
The man cut in: ‘Why aren’t you working there now?’
Ethan spluttered an answer – something about needing a change, wanting to do something different. It wasn’t the whole truth, just some of it. He didn’t think now was the time to admit that the jobs had bored him to tears.
The man was silent for a moment and Ethan realized he still hadn’t introduced himself. Perhaps it wasn’t Sam? It could be anyone. Who was he talking to?
‘Why do you want this job?’
Ethan was silent for a moment, thinking.
‘This is a skydiving centre,’ the man went on. ‘People only come here if they’ve got a sense of purpose, even if that purpose is simply to jump. I don’t do layabouts or slackers. You want to waste your time, then you leave right now. So, do you have a purpose, Ethan? Well?’
For a few seconds Ethan didn’t know what to say. Then a picture of his dad lying passed out on the sofa flashed into his mind – along with a reason for being there. It made total sense. ‘I don’t want to waste my summer,’ he said at last, almost with relief, as though hearing the words made him realize just how true they were. ‘And I’m thinking of joining the Royal Marines. I figured working here I’d meet some interesting people, learn some relevant skills . . .’
The man wrote something down, then looked up again. Ethan could feel his eyes drilling into him like they were searching for something. ‘Where did you find out about the job?’
‘Your website.’
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘You skydive?’
Ethan shook his head. ‘No. I bumped into someone who does. His MySpace site had a link.’
‘Johnny?’
Ethan nodded.
‘Hmmm . . .’
Silence.
‘When can you start?’
Ethan looked up, surprised. ‘Pardon?’
‘Ignoring the fact that the deadline for applications expired a week ago,’ said the man, ‘when can you start? I need someone immediately.’
Ethan felt a smile spreading across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.
‘You busy today?’
‘No,’ said Ethan.
‘You are now,’ the man told him. He stood up and offered Ethan his hand once again. ‘I’m Sam,’ he said. ‘I run FreeFall. Welcome aboard.’
Unable to find anything to say, Ethan grinned and shook Sam’s hand. Once again he noticed the strength of the grip. But there was something else that struck him. It was the way Sam had said, ‘Welcome aboard.’ It was as though he really meant it, like it was one of the most important things he could say to anyone.
‘Wait in the café and I’ll sort out the paperwork,’ said Sam.
At last Ethan managed a ‘Thanks, that’s great.’
Sam turned. He wasn’t smiling. ‘Survive your first week, and I’ll believe you.’
Sam wasted no time in getting Ethan known around the centre, introducing him to far too many people for Ethan to remember all their faces, never mind their names. The job, Sam explained, required Ethan to be available across the centre to help out whenever and wherever necessary. And no sooner had he learned the ropes in one area than he was whisked off to another. By the end of the day Ethan had taken bookings, sorted out DVDs of people’s first skydives and static line jumps, guided groups from the hangars to the DZ, watched the training for a tandem skydive, manned the tills in the shop, sold a couple of skydiving rigs, called groups to their jump over the tannoy system, and washed dishes for Nancy, who ran the café. Everyone had been friendly from the off, particularly Nancy, who was plump, but wore it proudly, like it was an advert for her food.
It was soon early evening and Ethan was sweeping the yard area in front of the hangar when Sam came over. He stood, arms folded, looking at Ethan.
‘Well?’
Ethan stopped sweeping. ‘It’s cool,’ he said, and meant it. ‘It’s an amazing place. Thanks for giving me the job.’
‘Don’t get all Hollywood on me,’ said Sam. ‘No one else applied. I’ll see you tomorrow. Eight o’clock.’
That night Ethan drifted off to sleep with his mind full of the dozens of faces, young and old, he’d seen happily throwing themselves out of planes.
Whatever it was about skydiving, about Sam’s freefall centre – about Sam – that
made them do it, he wanted some of it for himself.
He spent the next six hours and eight minutes dreaming of falling through the sky.
4
‘It’s for my birthday,’ said the middle-aged man at the counter. Ethan was taking bookings at the FreeFall reception. It was early in the morning and people were flooding in to head off into the sky. He wished he was one of them.
Ethan had had a busy few days since taking the job and, with the week drawing to a close, was only now beginning to settle into the place, get a feel for how to do things – and for how to not sound like a total tit when anyone asked him what skydiving was all about. He could now tell people what happened, what the training involved, what the equipment was. Even his mum and his sister had been impressed – not just because he had a decent summer job, but because it was something out of the ordinary; something he really enjoyed.
Ethan looked up and saw that the man’s smile refused to let go of his face. There were three other younger men standing behind him. The guy gestured to them. ‘They thought it’d be fun to throw their dad out of a plane for his sixtieth.’
Ethan smiled as the man handed over a voucher for a tandem skydive, then turned back to his family. As Ethan logged the details into the computer, he listened to the guy chatting with his sons and a well-dressed woman – presumably his wife. They were all laughing and joking, as if jumping out of a plane to celebrate a birthday was a normal thing to do.
He typed in the man’s occupation. And paused. ‘You’re a vicar?’
The man nodded.
During his first few crazy days at FreeFall, Ethan had seen plenty of people from all walks of life sign up to jump out of a plane, but never a man of God.
The vicar winked at him. ‘At least I know where I’m headed if something goes wrong.’
It was lunch time before Ethan had a break. He sat down on a tired picnic bench and pulled a magazine he’d found in the FreeFall shop out of his pocket. The cover showed a skydiver upside down and smiling.
He flicked through, staring, between mouthfuls of bacon and bread, at the pictures. OK, so he didn’t really understand everything that was in the mag, but he was still fascinated by it. And with all the time he’d spent at FreeFall, he was beginning to wonder whether he could ever find the money to have a go himself.