If I Could Fly

by Jill Hucklesby

  ‘My name’s Dair. Dair McFarlane,’ he replies, giving me a little salute as an afterthought.

  ‘Cool,’ I say, which sounds a bit ridiculous in the circumstances. Neither of us moves. There is an awkward silence. ‘So, rule number two?’ I prompt. Dair looks confused for a moment, as if telling me his name has let the cat out of the bag.

  ‘Ay, rule number two,’ he nods. ‘I live in Willows Ward next door, but ma chair needs space around it, so you can have that half of Wonderland Ward,’ he tells me, waving a finger at the space at the end of the room.

  ‘Why can’t you just move the chair next door?’ I ask logically.

  ‘Look, Little Miss Clever Chopsticks – the chair stays exactly where it is. You don’t touch it, you don’t move it, you don’t put your person in it, you don’t take any kind of liberty with it at all, ever. Do you understand me?’ His voice is harsh suddenly and he’s pacing up and down in front of me, like an army major reprimanding his troops.

  I nod, observing him, recalculating my escape plan, in case things go bad in the next few moments. I’m not fully focused, though. There’s a distraction. That sweet, surprising aroma again. My brain won’t connect with the clues my nose is giving it.

  ‘Rule three,’ he continues, speaking faster than before. ‘Everything is to be neat and tidy at all times. Including the bathroom. No clothes left draped or dripping. No food containers or remains – or the rats will be your bedfellows and feed on your eyeballs. Above all, no hair on the floor or in the plughole of the sink.’ I can see his shoulders shudder. ‘There will be regular inspections and anyone, that means you, breaking these rules will be disciplined by the judge, that means me, and punished.’

  That’s it. Crazy or not, he’s got it coming.

  ‘You’re not in charge of me,’ I point out boldly. ‘You can’t order me about, just because I’m a kid. We don’t need to have anything to do with each other. We don’t even have to speak. This isn’t your pad. It’s a derelict hospital. You’ve broken in, just like me. We’re the same: outlaws. There are three floors and about a dozen rooms to choose from. I don’t even need to be in the same place as your precious chair. I’m going to sleep downstairs, as far away from you as possible. Tomorrow I’ll probably be gone, because this isn’t what I planned. It’s not what I came here for. I wanted nurses, the kind doctor and some painkillers. I’ve got to get better, so I can remember. I have to, do you get me? Because otherwise, I can’t –’

  ‘Here y’are,’ Dair is saying, motioning me to approach him. ‘No, come on, I won’t bite – grrrrrrr – no, really, I’m joking you.’ Something in his manner is persuasive. I’m about to burst into tears. I want to respond. Tentatively, I move towards him. He puts his hands lightly on my shoulders and swivels me gently, easing me down into the chair.

  ‘Rest your heed,’ he says, crouching close by and staring at me with a worried expression. ‘I didna mean all those things I said. Except about the chair, OK?’ I make a motion to rise but Dair shakes his head. ‘I’m making an exception,’ he explains, ‘this once, mind.’

  ‘It’s a nice chair,’ I say, all fight spent.

  ‘It is, that’s a fact,’ Dair agrees, stroking the velvet arm. ‘Can ye keep a secret?’ he whispers, gazing into my eyes.

  ‘Um, yeah,’ I shrug.

  He motions for me to lean closer. ‘I’m a wanted man.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  ‘Bonny Calypso, mate, it’s not that hard. Look at me. What do you see?’ Dair stands up in front of me and struts about.

  I’m searching for words that won’t offend him.

  ‘Yes, I can see what your wee brain is thinking. I’m dangerous, me. I’m an anarchist, at war with the System. I’m gonna bring it down and set the people free!’ Dair punches the air with his fist.

  ‘That’s your secret?’ I’m not totally impressed.

  ‘Noooo. I’m really the president of Asia. Of course it’s my secret. And now it’s yours too.’ He is pointing a dirty finger at me. ‘Do ye want to be a freedom fighter wi’ me?’

  I shrug again.

  ‘Well, you cannot. Not without training. And there’s no time for that.’ Dair begins to walk towards the open doorway.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask.

  ‘On a mission. Wait.’ He hurries back and presses a small metal object into my hand. ‘Look after this. Guard it.’

  ‘It’s a bottle top,’ I say.

  ‘Shh. What are ye thinking, even saying its name?’ Dair has a finger to his lips. ‘This is the key to everything.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I tell him.

  ‘It opens the security door to the Hive, the government computer centre. It’s where all the information on every citizen is stored, where all the CCTV cameras are linked up to, where all the young offenders’ microchips are programmed.’ Dair is rubbing his left temple thoughtfully.

  ‘Why do you want me to look after it?’ I ask him.

  ‘Ye are a blitherer, do you know that?’ he sighs. ‘I can’t take it on ma mission, can I?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because if they find it they will know, and the whole operation will be blown.’ He raises his eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘The FISTS,’ replies Dair. ‘I’ve been fighting them since I was fifteen. Since they took ma –’ He strides away quickly, leaving the word unsaid. ‘So, what’s it to be, Chop Suey?’ he calls from the landing.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply.

  ‘Whaddya mean?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll keep your secret.’

  ‘That wasne what I was asking ye,’ says Dair, exasperated. ‘Will ye be wanting fish, or a pie, with chips? Does no one in this place know their own mind?’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ I tell him. The pain in my thigh is suddenly throbbing like a hammer on a molten horseshoe.

  ‘Suit yerself. I won’t be long. There’ll be three knocks when I’m back so you know it’s me and you can open the door.’ And with that he is gone. I can hear the thud of feet descending the stairs and a deep clunk as the heavy door closes behind him.

  My heart is still racing. Now I am alone again, none of the events of the past few minutes seem real. Is Dair a figment of my imagination? Have I conjured him up because I’m so tired my brain is out of control? The bottle top in my hand answers both questions.

  The things Dair said don’t add up. This metal disc is clearly not a key. But the stuff about the Hive – I’ve heard that name before, from Crease. And it makes a shiver travel down my spine.

  ‘The FISTS don’t like sit-u-a-shuns they can’t control, Paper Clip,’ he told me. ‘And kids who climb like monkeys and leap like cats spook them. The Phoenix Feathers is not on the official list of running clubs, you get me? It’s on another list – freedom fighters. They think free runners are enemies of the System. There are a hundred eyes in the Hive watching me, watching you. Watching your family. They can zoom right in. Identify you. So cover your face and move like the wind.’

  Suddenly I see myself sprinting down the passage which links my street to the trading estate at the back of our house. It is dark and hard to see. Even so, my feet are almost flying over the ground. It’s just a flash of memory. My body shudders in response and it feels like fire is licking at my thigh.

  Nothing else, brain? No other clue? Just a cold sensation in my stomach, the realisation that I’m not just a runaway, but an enemy of the System. A MISYO – Missing Young Offender. So it’s not just me the FISTS will be trying to capture and recondition. It could be my family too. I must warn Little Bird somehow, but right now the thought of going back makes my mind freeze with fear.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Keep it straight, mate, or I’ll look like a pair o’ blackout curtains.’

  Dair is sitting in his chair with his back to me, staring at himself in the mirror I found this morning. It is cracked in two places, but only in the corners. He said it was ‘a perfect find’. His dark eyes seem su
rprised by what they see. He keeps turning his head left then right to look at his profile. My scissors are poised and I’m already regretting offering to cut his unruly locks.

  ‘Well, are ye going to hairdress or nay?’ he’s asking.

  ‘I am,’ I reply. I mean, how hard can it be? A straight line across the back is all it needs. He doesn’t want me messing with the front or putting layers in, thank goodness. I’ve brushed it out ready and it’s still damp after being washed, so here goes.

  Snip. The first tuft falls to the floor. It’s not a clean cut. The scissors I found in Dair’s tool collection are quite blunt.

  ‘That’s half ma heed, you blitherer,’ he complains.

  ‘It’s an inch, like you asked for. Stop complaining or go to a salon.’ My face is hot with tension. The sweet smell my nose now associates with Dair – the smell I’d noticed that first day – wafts into my nostrils. Whoever thought of putting mangoes into shampoo was a genius. My eyes sting a little as my head is bombarded with memories of Little Bird slicing a juicy fruit in half in our kitchen at home, turning the skin inside out and cutting away the chunks of fruit. I’ll be glad when Dair finishes his supply and starts the Ocean Silk instead.

  He washes his hair every day. It’s a kind of obsession. The floor in his bathroom is lined with plastic containers – every kind of brand name – and each one is about half full. There are conditioners too. Dair takes them from wheelie bins before the bags are collected and then tops them up with water.

  The heavy mass I’m trying to tame is shoulder length and black as ink, with a gentle wave. It hasn’t been cut for a long time and there are lots of split ends.

  ‘I’m watching paint dry here,’ Dair sighs. From time to time, he takes the special bottle top from his coat pocket, just to check it’s there, then puts it back.

  ‘You try creating an edge with wallpaper scissors,’ I snap. When I glance in the mirror, Dair is smiling. That’s the first time since we’ve met. I pretend not to have noticed. I don’t feel like being chummy, even though I sense he is beginning to like me a little.

  He’s still got his stupid rules. I’m not allowed in his bathroom, which is along the corridor from Wonderland, and is much nearer than the other one he’s allocated me. I’ve been keeping clear of his precious chair, natch. I like my own space anyway, and it’s starting to look like home. It’s amazing what you can find in skips and bins around the town. Every day, on my hunting expeditions, I’ve come back with books, clothes, small tables, a flower vase, a chair, cushions, a yoga mat, even a mattress. I have to help myself to things when there’s no one around to see me and wonder what I’m doing.

  I’m piling the books up to create makeshift rooms in my half of the ward, and so far I’ve got two pillars of paperbacks for a front door, half a bedroom and the foundations for a lounge. I’m trying to stick to a theme for each area – cookery books for the kitchen, interior design manuals for the sitting room and novels for my sleep space, which is looking quite cosy with a purple throw over the mattress and the cushions on top. Most of the books that people throw out are about gardening, but I don’t really need those. They might be good fillers, like the mortar between the bricks, if I get desperate.

  There’s a scare about growing flowers and vegetables. The government says the virus might be in the soil. Every day there are queues outside the supermarkets that stock produce from other countries. No one wants home-grown food now, just in case. Farmers are going out of business and letting their cows and sheep loose to roam through towns. Dair said he saw a bull trotting through a graveyard yesterday, but it was probably one of his tall stories. He also said cows roam around everywhere in India, because they are sacred. I asked him how he knew that – had he been there and seen the Taj Mahal? Did he think it was one of the Seven Wonders of the World? He told me to keep ‘my piggy nose’ out of his business.

  I’m working things out about Dair, now I’ve been here nearly a week. I know that his bark is worse than his bite, that he has nightmares that make him cry out in the night and that he has a child. I’ve watched him sleeping, seen him hold out his arms and whisper over and over, ‘Ma little flower.’ I also know better than to ask him about this. Questions make him sullen and silent. He disappeared for a whole day after I mentioned the tattoo of a rose on his arm. So I probably shouldn’t say anything about the small white scar on his left temple.

  ‘Do you want to hear something interesting?’ Dair asks, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘Yeah, if you stop flinching every time I cut,’ I reply.

  ‘I know where the new children’s hospital is.’

  I stop what I’m doing and look at him squarely in the mirror. ‘How long have you known?’

  He is counting on his fingers. I open and shut the scissor blades pointedly.

  ‘Ten,’ he says.

  ‘Days, hours, minutes?’ I press him.

  ‘Months. And you shouldn’t go there.’

  ‘You knew I was looking for it. Why didn’t you tell me before?’ My voice has risen at least an octave.

  ‘Lots of reasons. Because you’d have gone charging off there and you were in no fit condition,’ Dair replies, equally loudly.

  ‘It wasn’t up to YOU!’ I shriek, throwing down the scissors and storming off towards my house of books. I run inside and throw myself on my mattress. Dair has followed me and is standing outside my front door.

  ‘OK, let’s just say you could have evaded the security men with machine guns. Or mebbe navigated through the crowd outside, and climbed the wall in all the commotion of flying bottles and gas spray.’ He is pacing up and down now, but not crossing my threshold. ‘The virus is causing a lot of panic, Calypso. There aren’t enough anti-viral drugs for everyone so people are fighting for them at the hospitals and distribution centres. It’s getting ugly. And you wanted me to let you, in your sad state, get mixed up in that?’

  ‘Yes. No. I don’t know. You’re nothing to do with me. Nobody. A crazy, hair-mad hobo who talks to a kid in his sleep. You don’t know anything about me. And I’m not sad,’ I spit.

  Dair is staring at me, wounded. He looks ridiculous, with the right side of his hair shorter than the left.

  ‘I know plenty about ye, as a matter o’ fact. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be at all. I tell you the way it is. Then you should say, “OK, Dair, pal, agreed.” But no. You have to be lairy. I’m trying to look out for ye, and this is the thanks I get.’

  My mouth starts to open in protest, but he is turning and walking away, out of Wonderland and down the stairs, three at a time.

  I rush to one of the long windows and try in vain to force the catch back so I can open it and call out to him. It won’t budge. A flash of blue tells me that Dair has already reached the overgrown gardens and done his vanishing act. Holy kumquats, that man is annoying!

  But what if those things he said were true? How do I know he isn’t just making it up?

  See with your own eyes, Paper Clip. Yeah, Crease, I’ll have to check it out myself. I need medical help. The goo from the aloe vera leaves Dair made into a poultice hasn’t really stopped the pain. There’s a bruise the size of Alaska right across my thigh and down my leg. It seems to be getting bigger, not smaller. I try not to look at it. I can’t forget it, though. The pain is too intense.

  I’m drawing a rose in the dust on the window pane, wondering where Dair has sloped off to, hoping he’s not too mad at me. It’s the first time I’ve noticed the block of flats opposite and I realise its upper-floor windows look directly down into ours. I’ve got to hand it to Dair – he’s vigilant about our privacy and the ‘no candles or torches after dark’ rule doesn’t seem so completely lame now.

  I’m not sure if it’s the sun’s reflection or my eyes straining through the dust, but I get the feeling that I am not the only one surveying this ’hood. A movement in the shadows behind the flats’ glass and brick façade makes me blink. I rub the glass with my elbow and look again, more intently. Nothing. But t
he view is different. There was something there before that isn’t there now. And the more I think about it the more I am sure it was a face. A face that was staring at me.

  Chapter Eleven

  I found a diary in a bin in the park this week, so now I can keep track of the day and date. Its last owner had torn out some pages before throwing it away. Apart from the ragged remains of the missing paper, it’s in very nice condition. The front cover has some velvety swirls in black and pink and there’s a ribbon to keep your place. The spine even has a pocket with a slim pen tucked inside.

  I’m folding down the page corners each time I see the Face – there are four so far. It’s there every evening, as the light fades. I can’t see its expressions, but from its stillness I’m guessing it belongs to someone who is sad, or bored, or just plain nosy. It’s a big head on a small body, which is another clue. So maybe it’s a kid, a dwarf, or a life-size doll some joker is trying to scare me with.

  I’m not frightened of it, though. In a strange way, I like it. It makes me feel less alone.

  Whoever it is doesn’t seem to want to get us evicted, but Dair and I have stopped using the front door just in case. Dair has smashed out some panes on the ground floor at the side of the building furthest from the street so we can climb in and out without being seen. He told me to stay inside my house and away from the windows too. The curfew on the streets has been extended and begins at eight o’clock at night now, so there are more patrols driving around the neighbourhood and he says I must be extra careful.

  I’ve put blinds up so that there’s no way I can be spotted from outside. One is actually made out of a woven cotton mat, wrapped round a piece of wood which is balanced between paperback copies of Pride and Prejudice and Vampire Vacation. I found them with about twenty other stories in a box in the hospital library at the end of this corridor. It was the only thing left in the room, apart from two wax crayons and a beanbag with a big split in it. I mended the tear so now I have a chair of my own.