If I Could Fly

by Jill Hucklesby

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘Sooty?’ says a soft voice, near me. My eyes find its owner, and focus on the figure of a kid about my height with very big hair.

  ‘Hey, Alfie.’ I am still rigid like a plank. Seeing my best mate makes me start to tremble, from my head to my toes. My chest is still heaving, but I’ve run out of tears.

  ‘Come on,’ he says gently, holding out his hand. I glance over my shoulder at the yellow beast, whose hazard lights are flashing. Its engine is still turning over, but it is motionless, its head lowered. ‘How’s your leg?’ Alfie asks.

  This seems a really stupid question. I’ve just had a whole three-storey building fall around my head, nearly been run over by a demolition demon and all Alfie wants to know about is my leg. Now I’m thinking about it, it’s sore. But it would be, wouldn’t it?

  ‘It hurts,’ I say, irritated.

  ‘Good.’ Alfie seems relieved. He is still motioning for me to take his hand. ‘There’s still time.’

  ‘Time for what, Alfie?’

  He looks awkward, like there’s something he really wants to say but can’t find the words.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He clasps my hand. As his fingers wrap round mine, I feel some strength returning and I try some shaky steps. ‘No rush,’ he soothes. I’m looking at the men in hard hats, who are busy moving around the site, concerned only with the task of clearing the area. They are taking no notice of us and I don’t know whether to be puzzled, angry or relieved. Despite my efforts, I’m going nowhere fast.

  ‘Sit here for a minute,’ suggests Alfie, lowering me on to the wooden bench, which has escaped the attention of the robots.

  ‘You got back, then?’ I say at last, when my head stops feeling like it’s floating in jelly.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to stay in that shed with the chicken poo forever,’ he replies, obviously slightly hurt.

  I’m taking in the view, which is adding to my confusion. Everything has changed. There is just rubble where the hospital stood. It’s like being in a monstrous lunar park. The scale of the devastation is so great, I am lost for words. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something white and brown disappearing in and out of the bushes.

  ‘Furball!’ I exclaim, but I’m feeling too weak to get up. Alfie gets on to his hands and knees, reaches into the undergrowth and lifts Furball up, putting her on my lap. She looks unhurt after her ordeal. I bury my face in her fur and breathe in her musty warmth. Then I remember the events my memory replayed a few short minutes ago. My chest starts to convulse, my throat tightens and a river of tears begins to pour from my eyes in an unstoppable flow.

  Alfie puts an arm round me and holds me tight. ‘Everything’s going to be all right. Promise.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I tell him. ‘Can’t trust promises. Can’t trust anyone. I know why my leg is hurting. I remembered. It’s so horrible.’ I press myself deeper into Furball’s softness. ‘I just want to go to sleep.’ The torrent is subsiding.

  ‘We need to leave,’ says Alfie, suddenly standing up, a trace of urgency in his voice. He has both his hands on my shoulders and is gently shaking me back to consciousness. In the jumble of thoughts and images in my head, I am connecting with the fact that Alfie is bunking off school today. And he’s doing it for me.

  ‘Not leaving Furball,’ I say.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ he assures me, pulling me up on to my feet.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask feebly.

  ‘Anywhere. As long as you keep moving.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Alfie is frog-marching me along the pavement, his arm through mine. He is almost taking my full weight. I am carrying Furball and half walking, half stumbling, trying to keep pace with this boy who seems to have lost his marbles. He has a manic look of determination on his face. We’re heading away from the hospital on a road that runs parallel with the coast. From here, there is a 360-degree view. To the south, on a flat, grey sea, there’s a long cargo boat with a gunship escort. I know that all the carriers bringing food from Europe have to have protection now because of the risk of hijack. At any other time, I would be excited to see this – I’ve only ever watched it on the news before. But right now I’m not concerned about the dwindling state of our national supplies. I am staring north, in the direction of home.

  ‘What did you mean, there’s still time?’ I ask, when we pause for Alfie to retie the laces on his stupid trainers.

  ‘There are some things you need to know,’ he answers.

  ‘What things?’ I’m losing patience.

  ‘Not here, Caly. Just another few minutes.’ His cheeks are flushed bright red from bending down.

  ‘No, Alfie,’ I snap, tugging my arm away from his. ‘I don’t want to play this game any more. Just tell me this Big Thing, whatever it is, and get it over with.’

  ‘Aargggh,’ he shouts in frustration, running his hands through his hair. ‘You are really stubborn. I’m trying to make it as easy as I can for you. I’ve never had this trouble before.’

  ‘You’ve got five seconds, then I’m walking away and you will never see me again.’ My voice is low as I try to control my anger.

  ‘You are nearly in the same club as me,’ he begins.

  ‘Time’s up,’ I tell him.

  ‘That’s not fair. I didn’t hear you counting!’

  ‘I didn’t hear you saying anything interesting. Bye, Alfie,’ I say, turning and striding, as fast as I can in my state, away from him.

  ‘Right, then,’ he calls after me. I imagine he is almost stamping his foot at me.

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ I keep walking, without glancing back.

  ‘Calypso?’ he shouts. There is something in his voice that makes me look round. Alfie is standing in the middle of the road. He is facing me. Behind him, there is a mini-bus full of school kids, driving at full speed. It’s gaining on him fast. This is a stupid stunt to get my attention. Clearly, Alfie has lost not just his marbles but his sense of self-preservation.

  ‘ALFIE! Get out of the road! Are you barking up a fruit and nut tree?’ He doesn’t move, just stares at me. The mini-bus doesn’t even brake. Honest to God, it drives through him and continues along the road, past where I am standing with my mouth open. The children ignore me, apart from a girl with plaits sitting at the back, who sticks out her tongue.

  Alfie shoves his hands in his baggy jean pockets and starts to walk towards me. When he is standing in front of me, he reaches out and, with the tip of a finger, pushes my jaw up into a closed position.

  ‘Like I was saying, Sooty, it’s a weird club, but there are some good things about it. No exams. No school, actually, unless you feel like it. No wrinkles. No getting old. No pain. You can always be a kid. Everywhere is a playground. And friends can last forever, not just a lifetime.’ Alfie puffs out his cheeks with a big sigh, as if a burden has lifted.

  ‘The robot . . .’ I begin. ‘Oh my God. It didn’t drive round me, did it?’

  Alfie shakes his head. He is too slow to catch me as I sit down on the pavement with a bang, my muscles incapable of holding me up. Furball hops free and begins to investigate the sparse winter grass on the verge.

  ‘Freakin’ Friday,’ I say quietly.

  ‘The thing is . . . you’re not quite in the club yet. You have to decide,’ says Alfie, kicking a twig with his foot, not making eye contact.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I tell him.

  ‘The pain in your leg. It means you’re still connected.’

  ‘Trains are connected, Alfie, sausages are connected. What am I connected to?’

  ‘To your self,’ he answers. ‘There’s still time to go back, maybe. That’s what I meant when I said you’re nearly one of the club.’

  I swallow hard. Is Alfie telling me that I am ‘almost’ dead? That somewhere my whole self is existing without this bit of me? That I’ve been leading a parallel life – and that the mate I’ve been counting on isn’t even alive?

  It’s too much to
take in. Any minute now, I’m hoping Alfie’s face will crack up and he’ll say, ‘Gotcha, Sooty,’ and do a little victory dance. In fact, I’m holding my breath, waiting for it – but nothing comes.

  ‘How long ago did you . . .?’ I ask, at last.

  ‘Three years. Pneumonia. Died in the hospital. Became a Watcher. I look out for kids after they’ve, well, you know.’

  No, no, NOOOOO. I’m shaking my head. I don’t believe I’m talking to a dead guy. Freakin’ Friday doesn’t cover it. All the other days of the week are in there too.

  ‘Sorry,’ I manage to say. Poor Alfie. Poor Alfie’s mum, who lost her whole family. No wonder she works nights and all the hours she can. No wonder Alfie comes and goes as he pleases. No wonder he was so lost and lonely when I met him. There is a silence between us. Alfie is allowing me time to come to terms with my situation.

  ‘I don’t get it. Some people can see me,’ I tell him. ‘There was a kid on that bus just now. And in a front garden. A woman in the launderette. And Dair . . . They can’t all be –’

  ‘Brown bread.’ Alfie nods. I turn quickly to look at Furball. I raise my shoulders in a question and Alfie just smiles in answer.

  ‘No!’ I exclaim and move to the rabbit, scooping her up for a cuddle. ‘It’s not true, is it, Furball? None of it.’

  ‘You only lose all your substance right at the end. That’s why it was dangerous for a bit because your essence is visible.’ Alfie is speaking slowly, or maybe my mind isn’t processing the words at the usual speed. ‘You’re fading all the time, though, so after a while you become invisible to the eye. But it’s still dodgy. There are people who’ve been between life and death who can sometimes see others who’ve entered that state. Mums can often see or sense the presence of a child too. That’s why I couldn’t ask you over. I really wanted to.’

  ‘Jeez, Alfie, all that running from the police. It was for nothing,’ I say, resentment bubbling under the surface of my voice.

  ‘I think the beach cop saw you in the boat. But, anyway, I had to try to keep it real for you until you remembered how you got your injury. You have to know, before you can decide. That’s how it works. I don’t make the rules.’

  ‘Well, who does?’ I ask.

  ‘Dunno. They get passed down from the Watchers to the Arrivals. Then the Arrivals become Watchers, and so it goes on.’ He’s looking at me intently.

  ‘So you’ve helped lots of kids?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Alfie with a grin. ‘Like I said, you’re the most trouble. But at least you’re halfway sensible. Some of them have never even tied their laces themselves, let alone had to survive.’

  ‘So you watch over them while they sort themselves out and, when they’re ready to deal with it, you tell them they can go back,’ I say.

  ‘Going back isn’t always possible. Sometimes, they’re full members of the club on arrival. Like Dair.’

  ‘But he was sick. How could that happen?’ My brain feels like it’s frying, trying to make sense of everything.

  ‘You come as you are, with all your good bits and your bad bits – problems, worries, bad habits, issues. Dair was a one-off. He tried to resist everything. His illness wasn’t real.’

  ‘It looked real to me,’ I say, overwhelmed with sadness for Dair.

  ‘His mind recreated symptoms from his past,’ explains Alfie. ‘It wasn’t safe for you to be with him any longer. He liked playing with fire. Always did. That’s why he arrived in the first place. That’s why he had to be moved on.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He was your first Watcher, Caly. But his mind was messed up. He was supposed to look out for you. It ended up being the other way round.’ Alfie is trying to keep an edge out of his voice.

  ‘They did it to him,’ I say quietly. ‘He started out like me, a kid who broke the rules. But they put a chip in his brain.’

  ‘That’s why you were put together, because of your similarities. But he never really accepted that he was dead. He thought he was still a freedom fighter. And he would never let himself get caught.’

  ‘So he started the fire because I went for help?’ The penny is beginning to drop, as Gran would say. ‘Where is he now?’

  Alfie shrugs. ‘Somewhere else, nowhere. He was moved on. I don’t know what that means.’

  There is silence between us for a few moments. I’m hoping Dair is happy where he has gone and that his mind is at peace. And then I remember I have a choice to make and that there may be a life line. ‘You said there might be time for me.’

  Alfie nods, kicks the twig again and hunches his shoulders. ‘Yeah. You get to decide.’

  ‘And every minute counts?’ I ask. Alfie nods. ‘So if we’d waited much longer to have this conversation, it might have been too late?’

  ‘I wanted to tell you somewhere nice and peaceful so that you could weigh it all up,’ he replies defensively. ‘I tried, that night of the fair. But your mind wasn’t ready. You hadn’t remembered enough. And you got in a strop.’ Alfie pulls a face.

  ‘So where were you taking me?’ I ask.

  ‘A playground about five minutes away. That’s where my Watcher took me.’

  ‘Sounds nice,’ I say, slipping my arm through his, standing close to him. I suddenly don’t feel in a hurry at all.

  ‘It’s a big decision, Caly. If you go back, you have to face up to everything you ran away from – not just your injury.’

  ‘But I’ll have you to watch over me, right?’ I have a strange sensation in my heart. It feels like it’s being wrenched in two.

  Alfie is shaking his head slowly. ‘You’ll lose contact with me and Furball. You’ll probably have no memory of your time with us.’ He sounds so sad.

  ‘But you can ride scooters and collect treasure and throw filibusters and everything, so you could hang around if you wanted to. That wouldn’t be bending the rules, would it?’ I ask.

  Alfie looks downcast. ‘The connection will end. I’m not allowed any contact with Arrivals who have gone back,’ he says quietly.

  ‘I don’t think much of that rule, then,’ I tell him.

  He smiles at me, then thrusts his hands in his pockets. My mind is racing, throwing up questions.

  ‘What’s it to be, then?’ Alfie asks hesitantly.

  ‘Ask me when we’re on top of the world.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ‘Come on,’ calls Alfie. ‘What kept you?’

  He’s sitting on the platform of a big red slide. I’m not sure where his burst of energy came from. He took off like a rocket as soon as the playground came into view. I saw him jump the wire fence with my own eyes. Crease would give him a high five for that.

  This place has been built at the end of a dead-end street that opens up unexpectedly on to a wide green. There are ten different climbing frames, two slides, four swings and a sand pit with a soft tarmac strip, suitable for long-jump. The red slide is the highest point in the town. From this angle, Alfie’s hair seems to scrape the sky.

  I’m rattling the locked metal gate like a toddler in a cot. Since when did they start banning kids from using the equipment on a weekday? Furball is looking at me quizzically. The clanking noise is making her whiskers twitch. There’s nothing for it but to follow Alfie’s lead and do a drop swing manoeuvre, if my leg will let me. I’m willing it to hurt more, which is one of the weirdest wishes to make.

  I propel myself over the top, landing as lightly as a jacana bird, and in less than thirty seconds I’m climbing the steps and joining Alfie on the red grid. There is just room for two and we sit in silence, hugging our knees in the cold breeze, looking out over the northern horizon to the edges of the town and the big swathe of countryside that separates it from my home zone.

  I lean against Alfie slightly. He doesn’t change his gaze; he seems lost in thought. We are both aware that the clock is ticking and that the next hour will change our existences forever.

  ‘So where am I really?’ I ask at last. Of the dozens
of questions gnawing at my mind, this is the most pressing. I feel I need to understand the whole picture, if my brain can take it in.

  ‘You are here,’ responds Alfie simply. ‘This isn’t a dream.’

  ‘But I’ve left my self behind. You mean my body?’

  ‘You’re probably in hospital. That’s what usually happens.’

  ‘So I could have been there for weeks.’

  Alfie shakes his head. ‘Separation doesn’t work in real time. You could have been in hospital just a few days,’ he explains. I look mystified. ‘You can be in two places at once, and so can time.’ Now I’m lost, completely and utterly. ‘Sorry, Sooty. I’m no good at this bit. You need a degree in quantum mechanics to get it properly.’

  I rub my head with my hands. These facts are orbiting my brain like out-of-control planets. I try to picture myself in our local hospital, flat out, with monitoring equipment bleeping to register my breathing. I imagine Little Bird sitting by me, chanting quietly for my recovery. Is Ven there too, a dark shadow pacing in the background, or was he arrested at the scene? If I was found outside, away from the house, he could have hidden the knife and told the authorities a bunch of lies about me being attacked. Would Little Bird have been strong enough to tell the truth, knowing that her life was in danger?

  I’m shivering and it’s not with the cold. Alfie is looking at me with a concerned expression.

  ‘My dad,’ I say simply. He just nods – he must have guessed what happened. There are probably only so many situations that bring kids to this new world: accidents, illness and violence, either self-inflicted or suffered.

  ‘You could move in, like I said.’ He sounds so hopeful.

  ‘And share your map posters?’ I dig him playfully in the ribs.

  ‘And my explorer’s books,’ he says.

  ‘Hmmm. Tempting.’ I pull a face. He looks a bit hurt, so I put my hand on his knee. ‘What would you do, if you were me? Don’t tell me you’re not allowed to answer that.’