Paper Airplanes

by Dawn O'Porter

  “You can if you want.”

  He doesn’t look up. I pick up the box.

  Our dead dad is in this box. Our dead dad. In this box. Burnt into little pieces of ash. His face, his hands, his legs, his feet—all of them—they are all in this box. It’s so weird. Weeks ago he was a human being, and now he is just a pile of ash in a little brown wooden box.

  “Julian?” I say.

  “WHAT, Flo?”

  For once he looks at me. A mean, hard stare that makes me feel as uncomfortable as he intends me to feel. If I were holding anything else in the entire world I’d throw it at him, but Dad deserves better than to be anywhere near him. I leave the room and take the box with me. I don’t want Dad to be around Julian or Mum, or that guy called Fred who now lives in my house who I hate.

  The next morning at school, I can tell that Renée is angry. Usually she does something to get Sally out of the way so she can pass me a note, like put her pencil case on the other side of the room when she goes to the loo, but today she does nothing. I love her notes, I’ll keep them forever. Renée says she will do the same, and that one day when we are older and live somewhere cool like London, we’ll read them all out to each other and laugh about how young and silly we were.

  She is being quiet. No notes, no cheeky grin. She keeps her head down during attendance, and she doesn’t sing the hymn really loudly in assembly to make everyone laugh like she usually does. I know I’ve upset her, and it’s horrible. My life has changed so much over the last month. I lost the most important person in my entire world, and when I thought that I would never survive it Renée was just there, distracting me from all of it. I don’t know what would have happened to me if the only person I had to talk to was Sally. My heart might have stopped, like Dad’s.

  As we sit waiting for Miss Anthony to arrive, Sally won’t stop talking. “Dad has a new colleague. His name’s Phil, he’s twenty-seven. I can tell he fancies me. Last night he came round for dinner, and when I went to bed he told my dad to make sure I gave him a kiss good night when I had my nightie on.”

  “What did your dad say?” I ask, thinking that the guy sounds a bit creepy.

  “He laughed. It was funny, but I know Phil wasn’t joking. I really think he fancies me.”

  The sound of her voice is having the same effect on me as Chinese water torture. I really need her to stop talking or go away. “You have something in your teeth,” I say, to which she is up and out of the classroom so quick that even I am shocked by her vanity. Apparently having something in your teeth is the worst thing imaginable. When she’s out of the way I scribble a note, fold it up, and lob it at Renée.

  I’m sorry. You are my best friend. Come to my house after school. Please. x

  She picks it up slowly and reluctantly unfolds it. After staring at it for ages, she refolds it and throws it into her desk. No cheeky looks, no smile. Does she hate me?

  “There is nothing there. Idiot.” Sally is back.

  “There was. A poppy seed or something. Or maybe it was just dirt.”

  “I do not have dirt in my mouth!”

  She spins around and stomps her way up to math class. I take three deep, long breaths and prepare myself to follow her. Just as I’m about to go, a note hits me on the back of the head.

  See you at the end of the lane. x

  RENÉE

  I couldn’t stay mad at Flo for long. Who am I to pretend that telling people how you feel is easy? I think Pop is hard to talk to, but Sally is a whole new level of crazy. I do understand that Flo telling Sally she has been pretty much having an affair with me for the past month or so might result in some high drama, so I can wait a bit longer. And I’ll try not to let it get to me. When I meet her after school, I don’t give her a hard time. I just hug her, tell her everything is fine, and walk with her to her house. It will all be OK in the end.

  Flo’s kitchen is gorgeous. It’s big with a long wooden table, and all the cupboards are white wood. It could probably do with being repainted, and the windows are a bit grubby, but still, it’s a real family kitchen—or at least it looks like one.

  “I’m really jealous of your house,” I tell her as I gorge on the banana and chocolate-spread sandwich she just made me. “Mine is so boring. Nana and Pop don’t ever buy anything new, and everything is functional, ya know? Plastic, so it’s easy to clean, and cheap, so it doesn’t matter if it breaks. Your parents at least have taste.” I stop eating, my mouth is full. “Shit, sorry. I mean they had . . . No, they did . . .” My brain is finding it as hard to find the right words as my mouth is finding it to say them while stuffed with food. Flo tells me to shut up, kindly stopping me from digging the hole I am falling into.

  The doorbell rings.

  “Wait here. That’ll be the childminder with Abi.” She goes out to open the door, and I hear them chatting in the hallway. I move over to the counter and start scooping out the chocolate spread with my finger. Just as I dip my finger deep into the pot, the back door swings open. I jump and drop the jar of spread on the floor. I stick my finger covered in chocolate into my mouth and crouch down to pick up the jar. I look up, my finger still deep in my mouth. It’s him.

  “Always greet men on your knees, do you?”

  I suck my finger as hard as I can and pull it out of my mouth. Why am I on the floor? Oh yes, the jar. I pick it up and pull myself up to standing. He is surprisingly close to me. His face has smears of black on it, and his hair is a mess. His T-shirt is ripped in places, and his jeans are filthy.

  He is gorgeous.

  “What are you sucking?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your finger. What are you sucking off your finger?”

  I feel disgusting. I am stealing his chocolate spread and then dipping my licked finger back into the pot. Why am I so gross?

  He takes my hand. My arm is like a deadweight, my face tight from the horror of being caught. He holds my hand up to his nose. “Mmmm, Nutella.” His hand wraps around my fist like a bear’s paw. I swallow the lump of chocolate that is still in my mouth as his tongue slides out and licks the full length of my finger. Then he closes his mouth around it and sucks slowly before he lets my arm drop back toward my body like a broken pendulum in a grandfather clock. “I love chocolate spread,” he says, his eyes still burning a hole in my brain.

  He taps his finger on the end of my nose and carries on walking through the kitchen. The spot where he touched me feels heavy, and my tongue instinctively tries to reach it, without much success. I pinch my arm hard. Yup, that really happened.

  “Come on, Abi. Come and meet Renée.” Flo is back.

  There is now a child in front of me. Cute as she is, she’s a lot less exciting than Julian. I haven’t moved.

  “What’s wrong? You look like you just got hit on the head with a brick,” says Flo.

  Oddly, that is exactly how I feel. Minus the pain, but definitely as disoriented. I shake my head.

  “Sorry, I was miles away. Thinking about the exams.”

  Flo gives me an understandable look of confusion. Me saying I am thinking about exams is as unlikely as her saying she is joining the army.

  “OK, well, exams aside for a minute. This is Abi, my little sister. Say hello to Renée, Abi.”

  “Hello, Renée,” she says, her sweet face beaming up at me like a Disney princess. She’s the most perfect little girl I have ever seen, with her short brown hair, olive skin, and tiny button nose.

  “Hello, Abi. Lovely to meet you.” I extend my hand so she can shake it, but instead she charges at my legs and throws her arms around them, hugging me so tight I nearly fall over. I reach down to cuddle her back.

  “Nice being adored, isn’t it?” says Flo.

  It really is.

  Up in Flo’s room I’m snooping through all her drawers and scanning her wardrobe while she and Abi look at books on the bed.

  “You’re very nosy, Renée,” Flo says as I yank open her underwear drawer and have a look inside.
<
br />   “You’re so tidy. Everything is all folded and neat. Does your mum do that?”

  “No, I do it. Mess stresses me out. I spend so much time clearing up after this little monkey that I automatically keep my own stuff tidy. Get out of my knicker drawer,” Flo orders.

  I close it. Its contents aren’t hugely insightful.

  “Do you ever wear thongs?” I ask casually.

  “What, the ones that go up your bum? No way. Do we have to talk about this in front of Abi?”

  “Sorry.” I carry on puttering around. Flo has lots of little tins full of things like hair clips and safety pins. At her dressing table there is a drawer full of makeup, none of which I can imagine her wearing. Red lipsticks and blushes, that sort of thing.

  “Most of that is Mum’s. She dumps the stuff she can’t fit in her own room in here. Just one more way to invade my space,” Flo says, smiling, as if Abi won’t know that she is complaining about her mother if she grins as she says it.

  “Do you ever get on with her?” I ask, intrigued by their relationship.

  “Never. She isn’t interested in me; I’m not interested in her. We’ve both given up trying. But as long as this one is happy”—she lifts Abi’s chin with her fingers and kisses her forehead—“then who cares really. WAIT, what are you doing with that?”

  Her shift of tone makes me jump, and I almost drop the wooden box I am holding. “B-b-blast!” I say, trying not to swear in front of Abi. “What was that about?”

  Her eyebrows meet her hairline, and making sure Abi is looking away she mouths, “DAD.”

  I feel like I’m holding a bomb. A bomb made of dead people. I lean backward as I extend my arms and hand it to her. She takes it and puts it on the bed.

  “It’s OK, you are allowed to be freaked out,” Flo reassures me.

  “Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God.” I rub my hands on my thighs. “I am so sorry. I didn’t think that he . . . it . . . they would be in your bedroom. Why are they . . . is he . . . it . . . in your bedroom?”

  “Because no one else in this house cares about them, and Da—” She stops herself when she realizes Abi is trying to work out what we’re talking about. “He deserves better than that.”

  “Well, what are you going to do with them? You can’t just leave them in here. Is your mum going to scatter them somewhere?” I ask, hoping she has some sort of plan.

  Her face drops, in the way that it does sometimes. It goes from normal to heartbroken in under a second, reminding me that even though she tries to hide it, she is really sad.

  “No, and neither is Julian. They don’t think it’s important. As far as they are concerned, he’s gone, and that is that.”

  “What’s in that box?” asks Abi.

  “Nothing, it’s just my bits and pieces,” Flo says with a fake smile.

  “Then why did Renée scream?”

  “I am just very silly,” I tell her, and I join them on the bed. Flo and I both pretend to read Abi’s books. The silence is awkward.

  “Do you think your dad would ever have jumped off the wall?” I ask as my mind fills with ideas.

  “WHAT? No, he would never have done that to us.” She puts her hands over Abi’s ears. “Renée, what the hell? My dad didn’t and wouldn’t kill himself. He was better than that.”

  “No, I don’t mean to kill himself,” I say quickly. “I mean for fun. Do you think he would have been the type of person to jump off the wall at Havelet, like we did? Did he ever do that?”

  She looks sorry for thinking the worst of me.

  “No, he never did it. But back in the day, when he was happy, he would have loved to have done it, I’m sure. He was that kind of person.”

  “Then I think he should do it. Now, with us. We can take Abi. We don’t have to jump, but we can let him do it. What do you think?” I ask.

  “You mean throw . . . the box off the wall? Scatter his ashes in the sea? Now?” She takes a moment to think. “Will you really come with me?”

  “Of course I will. Right now. Let’s do it before it gets too late. Do you want to come on an adventure with us, Abi?”

  “Yaaaayy! An adventure!” Abi says as she jumps off the bed.

  We put on some warm clothes and go downstairs. Before we leave I see Julian’s feet in the living room, resting on the coffee table. Next to them, a girl’s feet. I feel a pang of jealousy but bury it. We have something important to go and do.

  FLO

  By the time we’ve walked through town and reached the wall, the sky is well and truly black. An almost full moon with the Christmas lights from nearby restaurants gives us enough light to see clearly, but the air is freezing. Abi seems happy to be tagging along, but I get a sudden sense that what we are doing is wrong.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this. I know Mum and Julian are what they are, but this doesn’t feel right.”

  “Look, you say neither of them cared about him when he was alive, and that neither of them cares about him now, so what’s the problem? He’s your dad, yours and Abi’s. You two are the only people who loved him enough to do this properly,” Renée says as she decides which part of the wall to sit on.

  I think back to the funeral. The chapel full of people who meant so little to me, Mum and Julian’s indifference, Aunty Ada’s short-lived attention to his life. Those colleagues who were there because they felt obliged. Renée is right. Abi and I are the two people who love him most.

  “But should she be with us?” I say, nodding my head toward my little sister. We stop walking, and Renée turns to me. She looks serious.

  “I wasn’t allowed to go to my mum’s funeral, and one day Nana and Pop put on fancy outfits and came back a few hours later saying that the ashes had been spread, and that she was completely gone. Done. Not to be mentioned again. The last time I saw my mum I was pulled out of the room by Pop because she was coughing so hard she was sick. Pop told me she needed some space, and I never saw her again. I used to sit with her all day long and make her laugh, then someone decided that me being there was wrong and dragged me away when she needed me there the most. She didn’t even notice me leaving.” Renée swallows hard. I can see that she is trying not to cry. She takes a breath, blows it out quickly, and carries on. “Now I’m old enough to understand everything, and the fact that I didn’t get to hold her ashes, or say good-bye to her, makes me so angry. Angry with Pop for taking over and not letting me say good-bye properly, and angry with Nana for not being stronger and making spreading her ashes about all of us and not just them. Abi might not understand what is going on now, but one day she will thank you for letting her be here for this. She will, I promise.” She holds the box up so it is level with our faces. “Your dad is in here—he’s still in here. You guys have to say good-bye to him now.”

  She hands me the box. I feel so sad. Renée had never told me about what happened to her mum in such detail. It’s all so heartbreaking.

  “I’m so sorry about your mum. I don’t know what it feels like to watch someone get so ill.”

  “Don’t worry about me. We’re here for your dad tonight. I’m fine,” Renée says in a really grown-up voice.

  “You don’t have to tell me you’re fine. I’m not fine. You’re not fine either. We can be honest with each other about that, can’t we?” I say. The sides of her face tense as she tries to stop herself from crying, but she can’t.

  There is something about her grief that makes mine less exclusive. Less like my world is the only one falling apart. Sally doesn’t know about grief, so she has no sympathy for it, and other girls in our class, like Carla and Gem for instance, have no idea what it feels like for families to be broken, but Renée and I do. We both know how it feels to have the worst thing imaginable happen. I know it now—scattering Dad’s ashes with Renée and Abi is absolutely the right thing to do.

  We go and sit on the wall. The tide is in, so the fall isn’t high, but still Renée keeps Abi on her lap and holds on to her as tightly as she ca
n. I have the box, along with some last-minute nerves.

  “Just imagine him standing here like we did, and how much he would love to have jumped in,” says Renée as she puts her hand on my back.

  Warm tears slide down my cold face. I hold the box in both hands and bring it to my lips. I kiss it.

  “You might not really understand this now, Abi. And you might not remember this at all when you grow up, but remember that Dad loved you more than anything. And even after I do this, he still always will,” I tell her.

  She seems to know what the box represents, even if she doesn’t know exactly why.

  I look at Renée. Her tears are coming more heavily than mine. “Go on,” she says. “Please just do it.”

  I hold the box up to my face.

  “Thank you for being my dad,” I whisper. “You were the best.”

  I turn the box to face the sea. As I open it, a gust of wind comes from behind us and takes its contents with it. The gray dust is lit up by the night sky as it falls onto the sea below us, and I throw the box in after it. It floats in the moonlight like risen treasure from a sunken ship. We watch as the tide carries it out to sea. The impulse to scream takes over me.

  “I LOVE YOU, DAD. I LOVE YOU.”

  Abi reaches her arms out and carefully moves onto my lap. I wrap my arms around her to keep her warm. Renée drops her head onto my left shoulder. We stay like this until the box is swept out of sight.

  Dad is gone.

  RENÉE

  Hey babe, want to come over to Gem’s tonight for a bit of Christmas love? Just us. What’s on your list this year? We have asked for loads of clothes. Fingers crossed!!!

  Come tonight?

  Carla and Gem x

  I don’t know why they bother with the “fingers crossed” bit. There hasn’t been a Christmas in history that they haven’t gotten everything they asked for. I’m like a homeless kid in a movie at Christmas, walking the streets and watching families through windows being all happy and celebrating with tables and tables of gorgeous food. Our Christmas Day is quite different. We get one present, and it’s really just a Sunday lunch with party hats—instead of chicken we have turkey, which is literally the most boring meat ever and always so dry that I need a swig of water with every mouthful to get it down my throat. I’d much rather have a can of chicken in white wine sauce instead. No one wants to do anything other than watch the TV in our house, so that is pretty much all we do all day long. Unlike Carla’s and Gem’s families, who play games and take hours opening all their amazing presents. I have to block their voices out when they tell me about it because it makes me really sad.