If I Could Fly

by Jill Hucklesby

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Round and round and round to the left. Round and round and round to the right. My eyes are mesmerised by the bundle of clothes and bedding curling over and over, like gymnasts performing a series of front and back flips.

  The motion of the machine and the heat are making me sleepy, even though night has turned into day. A launderette is a strange place to be at six thirty a.m., but with ice on the inside of the café windows this morning, and my washing stiff and wet on my indoor line, I had to do something. I can’t face spending another minute with my head on a damp pillow and my body shivering under covers growing mildew.

  I found just enough money in the slots of parking machines to pay for one cycle of the tumble dryer. I’m hoping that will be enough. It’s been worth the price to sit here, soaking up the warmth and letting my brain unfreeze its thoughts. There’s no one to disturb me, apart from a woman who works here, pottering in the back office, and the soothing voice of a male radio presenter, burbling between soft, morning music.

  ‘And the news headlines from two-one-oh FM,’ he announces. ‘Juan Belaval, the European president, is calling for a freeze on immigration and foreign travel and warns that a state of emergency is only days from being announced. He says the escalation of the virus in Europe means that hospitals in many major cities have no more beds available. Representatives from all EU countries are in Brussels today to debate the health crisis. In London, stock-market floors are silent as several hundred traders are quarantined. And five hundred schools throughout the UK are facing temporary closure due to staff shortages.’

  That’s several thousand kids who will have a smile on their faces, I’m thinking. Every cloud has a silver lining. I’m wondering if my school is closing and try to imagine the anticipation in Crease’s eyes as an empty day stretches ahead of him. I’m hoping that Alfie might not have school either and that his mum will be cool with the idea of him visiting a friend.

  ‘More news,’ I hear the DJ say. ‘The Association of Veterinary Surgeons has reported record numbers of owners requesting euthanasia for their pets, as more councils implement a programme of culling wild and domestic animals found on the streets after curfew. A decision on an escalation of the slaughter of farm animals is expected from the Department of Agriculture later this week.’

  ‘That really gets my goat,’ says the launderette assistant, standing in the doorway of the office, a plastic basket of washing in her hands. She has bright purple-red hair, a lined face like a scrunched crisp packet and a green apron over jeans and pink trainers. She reminds me of those puzzles where you put different heads and clothes on bodies and legs. ‘Why should the poor animals suffer? Seems to me it’s the politicians who should be rounded up. Them’s got us into this mess.’

  I have a fleeting image of Furball hopping happily in the grounds of the hospital. It will be a miracle if she escapes capture. I realise the woman is looking at me intently. I suppose it must look odd – a kid drying her washing at this time of day. I’ve got my alibi ready; how our machine at home is broken and I’m doing this for my disabled mum, blah blah.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ says the woman, smiling. ‘Stupid old Maisie is always talking to herself. Didn’t hear you come in, love. Sorry. Did you manage to sort yourself out?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I answer. My brain isn’t up for a full conversation.

  ‘Right you are,’ Maisie says, bundling her pile of washing into a machine, closing the door and pressing a button. There is a whirr and a chug, like the sound of a train pulling out of a station, as the load starts to turn.

  ‘Been here for thirty years and this is the worst nonsense I’ve ever heard,’ she continues, motioning at the radio. ‘Breaks your heart when you think about all them dear little creatures being put down for nothing. This bug could have been sent to us for all we know, from one of those funny countries in the East. They’re no friends of ours, mark my words.’

  She catches my reaction to this comment. ‘Sorry, love,’ she apologises. ‘No offence intended. Pretty little thing, aren’t you, under all those funny clothes? Got your own style. Apple of your dad’s eye, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  Yeah, right, if I were a greyhound or a race horse, I’m thinking, but I just smile back. I’m bending and stretching my bad leg too. The muscles keep threatening to go into spasm, now I’ve come in from the cold.

  ‘Gets my goat, cramp,’ Maisie sympathises. ‘Used to get it rotten of a morning.’ She whistles.

  ‘It’s OK now. Nearly,’ I tell her. ‘I hurt it, but it’s mending.’

  Maisie stops folding towels for a moment and gazes at me thoughtfully, like I’m an exhibit inside a glass case in a museum. I shift in my chair, uncomfortable.

  ‘Friends are what count in this life, that’s what I always think,’ she says, her voice lowered. ‘You got someone looking out for you, dear?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I answer, a bit hesitantly. Not that it’s any of her business. I’m not sure I like where this conversation is going.

  ‘Pleased to hear it,’ says Maisie, nodding. ‘Not much fun on your lonesome. I should know.’ She’s touching on the truth and it feels like we’re on the dangerous edge of something.

  ‘Don’t you have friends?’ I ask, to deflect the line of questions.

  ‘Had three husbands,’ she replies. ‘Put them all together and they didn’t even make one good one.’ She gives me a big smile. ‘Not so easy making friends these days. I meet lots of folks, but they’re passing through, mostly.’

  The timer on the drying machine gives three sharp beeps to indicate it has finished its cycle. I open the door and put my hand in. The sleeping bag and jeans are still very damp.

  ‘Don’t worry, love,’ says Maisie, behind me. ‘Another half hour should do it.’ She puts a pound coin from her apron pocket in the slot, sets the dial and the belly of the machine starts to tumble again.

  ‘I can’t pay you back,’ I say, embarrassed.

  ‘Doesn’t make no odds. What’s a little kindness between friends?’ Maisie winks at me and returns to folding towels and sheets at the counter. ‘We girls have to stick together.’

  I get the feeling she knows more about me than I’ve told her and I’m scanning the street outside in case there is a screech of cop cars or the sudden arrival of a van load of FISTS. Maisie could have called someone when she was in the office. But it’s just getting light outside and nothing is moving, not even any traffic.

  I’m on my guard, though, and I’m not reassured by Maisie’s cheery humming as she goes about her work. I keep my head in a magazine and my ears on red alert until the timer beeps again.

  Then I’m up and stuffing the warm and dry belongings into two carrier bags before you can say laiw jer gan – see ya. I feel bad that I’ve been suspicious of Maisie after her kindness. Rude kids probably get her goat, so I go up to the counter where she’s busy sorting a pile of dirty washing into darks and whites.

  ‘Thanks again.’ I meet her deep green eyes.

  ‘Don’t mention it, love. I do go on a bit. Don’t often get the chance to chat – you know how it is. You take care, now.’ With that, she disappears into the back office. And I leave the cosy warmth of the launderette for the ice-cold world outside.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Bam, bam, bam, bam. We’re running up a flight of steps, our feet moving fast over the concrete. It’s hard to race and laugh at the same time. Alfie is yodelling and it’s cracking me up. I’m only just ahead of him. We reach the top of the car park together and – thud bang! – we push through the fire door, which crashes back against a wall, and – waay! – we’re out into the early morning air. We’re on the eighth floor. There are no cars parked. It’s just a huge space with railings and walkways. Perfect!

  ‘You have to make your moves as fluid as you can, like running water,’ I explain, when we get our breath back.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ says Alfie.

  He was waiting for me when I got back to the hospita
l with my laundry, and said we should do something fun before the world woke up. His school is closed for staff training so we can have the whole day together.

  ‘So, what’s he like, your friend?’ Alfie is doing some strange air punching moves and running on the spot.

  ‘Crease? Mega cool,’ I reply. ‘He could leap from here to that roof over there, no trouble.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘He says you can do anything if you let your spirit and your body work as one.’ I’m bending my legs in turn and stretching out, warming my muscles ready for action. I’ll need to be extra careful with my bad leg. ‘The only real obstacles are in your head. If you look at everything around you – streets, steps, buildings – everything can be a playground.’

  ‘With no safety net,’ Alfie points out.

  ‘You’ll be fine. Loosen your hamstrings and your shoulders.’ I show Alfie what to do. He copies me, but exaggerates the moves. I start to giggle but his expression is serious.

  ‘Fluid, like water, that’s what you said.’ He is trying to focus like an athlete. It makes me giggle even more.

  ‘Yeah. But there’s something else you have to do before we start.’ I point at his trainers.

  ‘Not bare feet?’ He pulls a face.

  I shake my head. ‘Laces.’

  Alfie bends over to tie them. ‘Yeah, yeah, double knots, I know. You’re as bad as my mum.’

  We’re all set. My heart is starting to race with excitement. We set off at a jog round the perimeter. We run forwards, backwards. We hang from railings, drop down and do body rolls.

  Start slow, stay low. That’s right, isn’t it, Crease?

  I show Alfie some special moves: a precision jump with no run-up, a monkey vault over some railings, a cat leap on to the roof of the pedestrian exit. My action isn’t smooth, more like a tap spluttering into life, but it feels great to be moving after so many hours of each day cooped up at the hospital. It’s like reconnecting with myself, the Caly Summer who wasn’t a MISYO.

  I don’t want to stop now.

  ‘Let’s just go for it, Alfie. There are no rules. Just do it however you want.’

  ‘OK,’ he answers, flipping himself up into a handstand on railings and staying there.

  ‘Whoooah! Pretty good for a beginner.’ I give him a round of applause. He wobbles and lands in a heap on the ground.

  ‘I’ve got a good teacher,’ he grins. I remember saying the same thing to Crease. It didn’t please him.

  Use your body to say things your way, Paper Clip. Make art, make a statement, make a protest. It’s up to you. It’s your right. You might run with the Feathers, but you are an individual, you get me? An’ when you put all that cre-a-tivity together, you get somethin’ more powerful than a river. It’s tidal wave. An’ the System can’t stop it.

  ‘C’mon, Alfie,’ I shout, taking off at speed and using as many different moves as possible to get me to the floor below. In a moment, Alfie is next to me. We balance on concrete blocks, then leap the big gap to the next level, rolling on impact. Alfie has picked this up really fast. He’s a natural. And he’s adding some twists to his jumps and turns. He sees me staring at him, quizzically.

  ‘I went to gym club until I was nine. My pre-muffin phase,’ he grins, squidging his belly between two fingers.

  ‘You should still do it. You’re really good.’

  ‘Nah. Parallel bars or chocolate bars – it’s a no-brainer.’

  Alfie’s moving ahead of me now. I get the feeling the topic of his gym club days is closed.

  We’re on the last ramp near the entrance, running at full speed, but there’s a blue sports car accelerating towards us, taking no notice of the five-mile-an-hour speed-limit sign. I cling to the side of the concrete wall but the crazy male driver doesn’t slow down.

  ‘Alfie!’ I yell, and in a split second he leaps and clears the top of the car, landing on both feet. The car’s brakes screech at the top of the ramp and the vehicle stops with its engine running. The driver gets out.

  ‘You should get off the ramp,’ he says in a loud voice. His words are slightly slurred. I notice his tie is loose round his neck and his suit is rumpled.

  ‘And you shouldn’t drive like a banana head,’ I shout back. He looks as if he’s about to stride towards us, but then he seems to stumble and change his mind. He gets back in the car, slamming the door. The car moves off, the roar of its engine echoing through the building.

  The man’s outburst has reminded me of something. My head is filled with noise – a series of angry words – Come here . . . did you hear me? Come here. In my mind, it’s the drunk driver yelling them at us, but that doesn’t make any sense. In a flash they have gone and I’m looking at Alfie, who is on all fours.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask, walking over to him.

  ‘Wow. Omigod. Yeah. That was, um, really cool. Kicking, in fact,’ Alfie answers, his eyes wide with terror and exhilaration. His whole body is trembling.

  ‘You’re not supposed to get yourself killed, OK?’ I’m hugging him really tight.

  ‘I think I’m fairly indestructible, don’t worry,’ he replies. He lifts his sweat shirt and reveals his Superman T-shirt. ‘And, anyway, I’ve seen them do it on Dare Devils. A stunt man jumped a moving limo . . .’

  ‘Alfie?’ My body is trembling now. I nearly lost my best friend. ‘Shut up.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘Trick or treat,’ says a croaky voice outside my front door. It sounds like a cross between a frog and an old woman. I’m not scared. I’ve been expecting it. In fact, I’ve even dressed up for the occasion in an orange wool hat and scarf, black jacket and jumper and green cord trousers, held up with braces.

  I pull back the cardboard and my mouth drops open. Standing before me is a black blob with star lights festooned around it. They blink every few seconds. The blob’s face is obscured by a plastic mask with eye, nose and mouth slits and smothered by curtains of shoulder-length hair.

  In its hands, which are covered with black gloves, the blob is holding a pumpkin which has a loose lid and no features.

  ‘Freakin’ Friday,’ I exclaim.

  ‘I’m a black hole, in case you’re wondering,’ says the blob. Blink blink, go the lights.

  ‘Kicking hair, Alfie – sorry, black hole.’

  ‘Used Mum’s straighteners,’ he says. ‘Can I come in? This pumpkin weighs a ton.’

  He shuffles inside, blink blink, and puts the large orange ball on the table.

  ‘Can you take the mask off now? It’s a bit creepy.’

  Alfie is shaking his head. ‘Do you feel the gravitational pull?’ he asks, holding his arms out towards me.

  Blink blink.

  ‘Nice try. The lights are good,’ I say. ‘What are they running off?’

  ‘Personality,’ he answers. I can’t see if he’s grinning. He can’t see me pull a face. He lifts up his jumper revealing a round moon of a belly and a battery pack stuck to his skin with brown tape. The movement sends the lights into manic mode.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ says Alfie. ‘Cyber meltdown.’ He hits the pack with his fist and the lights die. ‘I’ve killed the universe – I am all powerful,’ he bellows, making me jump.

  With his mask off, he looks like a girl. I can’t stop staring at his hair. It’s longer than mine.

  ‘Did you see your mates before coming here?’ I ask. Alfie said he’d had another invitation for tonight and I had my fingers crossed that he would decide mine was the better option.

  ‘Nah. Didn’t fancy watching Night of the Purple Slayers and sticking my face in a bowl of green jelly. Anyway, they’re out trick or treating.’

  ‘We could do that,’ I suggest. It’s the one night of the year when calling on strangers is allowed. I can join in without anyone suspecting I’m a missing kid. Everyone else will be wearing a wardrobe from Hell too.

  ‘Curfew’s in an hour,’ warns Alfie. ‘And, anyway, people won’t answer their doors.’

  ‘It will be fun
seeing all the costumes,’ I plead.

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Yabradoodle!’ I say, before he has a chance to say yes or no.

  I’m eager to rush straight out, but Alfie is taking ages putting his mask on again. What’s got into him tonight?

  ‘I’m going to blow out the candles,’ I say, when I can’t stand it any longer.

  I extinguish the last of the tea lights and pull my scarf up over half my face for anonymity.

  I open the cardboard door and we are just about to set off on our adventure when Alfie stops in his tracks and grabs my arm.

  ‘What is it?’ I whisper. Then I hear it too – the unmistakable sound of voices.

  ‘Visitors,’ says Alfie. ‘Get the torch.’

  I fumble around in the dark until my fingers find it on my bookcase. They wrap round its handle and I hold it close to my thumping heart.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ I ask, panic building.

  ‘Stay calm. They might just go away. But if they come in, shine the beam in their eyes and hold it there.’

  ‘The lights have gone out, look,’ says a girl, just a few metres from where we’re standing.

  ‘Double dare you to go in.’ It’s a boy’s voice this time. There is a babble of excitement – it must be a big group. My hand reaches for Alfie’s and grips it tightly.

  He squeezes it back and puts a finger to his lips to remind me to be silent. Every part of me is trembling, even my ears.

  ‘What do I get if I do it?’ the girl asks. She’s flirting with him. The crowd is jeering and cheering. They sound like my dad when he comes home from the pub – loud and argumentative.

  ‘You’ll find out if you do it,’ says the boy. ‘But you’ve got to come out with a trophy.’

  ‘Give me your blade, then,’ answers the girl.

  ‘Mind, it’s sharp.’

  ‘Unlike your brain.’ More jeering from the group.

  There is a scrabbling outside the window, laboured breathing, and the scrape of a shoe with a heel as it lands on the floorboards inside the café.