Taking Flight (14 page)

I only know it's late because when I stand up to get the paper out of the printer I realise my hands are stiff with cold. I touch the radiator – it's cooling, which means it must be after ten. This is the longest I've ever spent on schoolwork. No wonder people at smart schools don't hang round the streets at night getting into trouble – they mustn't have time.

When I open the kitchen door Vicky still has her
History book open. There's a pile of plastic folders beside her stuff. My essay would look class in one of them. Shame to get it crumpled in my bag after working so hard. Only I don't want to ask her. Maybe I could just slip one into my bag tomorrow. She'll hardly notice. But no. I make myself ask.

‘Yeah, no worries.' She didn't look up when I came in but she does now. ‘That your
Macbeth
essay?'

‘Yeah.' I can't keep the pride out of my voice.

‘Let's see.'

I hand it over. She skims it and starts to laugh.

‘Here, give it back!' I snatch for it.

She holds on. ‘Declan – you can't hand this in as a final draft.'

‘Shut up!' Hot rage floods my face.

‘I'm sorry, I'm not being mean. You just mustn't have spellchecked it. Look, this is all one sentence. And you need to take a new paragraph every time –'

I bite my lip. ‘It's only a stupid bit of coursework. I don't
care
about it.'

‘I was going to say,' – she sounds quite kind – ‘d'you want me to fix it up a bit for you? Just the spelling and that.'

‘Oh. Would you?'

She shrugs. ‘Yeah, I don't mind. It'll only take ten minutes, as long as you saved it. You did? Well, then, you make us some toast and I'll fix your essay. OK?'

‘Yeah. Thanks.'

When it comes back it's still my essay but it's all in paragraphs with loads of full stops and all. I can't help smiling at it. Sykes will cream herself when I hand this in.

Chapter 24

VICKY

‘I love Pizza Express,' I said as we sat down at a table in the window. The restaurant was all lit up for Christmas.

‘Me too.' Rory grinned. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt and baggy jeans and looked
gorgeous
. I had finally decided on black trousers and a pink top. I saw Rory sort of checking me out when I took my coat off, while trying to look as if he wasn't – exactly the same as me. I hoped he wouldn't know that it wasn't only
our
first date – it was
my
first date
ever
.

I thought I'd be too nervous to eat in front of him, but when the pizzas came they looked and smelled so yummy that it was no problem. I would catch his eye and think, yes! Here I am on my first date with this lovely boy.

‘So when will you hear about Cambridge?' I asked between mouthfuls.

‘January.' He gave a little grimace. ‘I hate waiting.'

‘But you got on OK?'

He shrugged. ‘I didn't make a fool of myself. But that doesn't mean I'm what they're looking for.'

I couldn't see how he could not be what they wanted but of course I couldn't say that without sounding totally sad so I just said, ‘But, being head boy and everything – bet they loved that.'

He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, I suppose it doesn't do any harm. Oh!' He sounded like he'd just remembered something. ‘Tell Declan I did manage to get it in – about the horse show.'

I paused with a forkful of pizza halfway to my mouth. ‘What do you mean?'

‘He said I should try and put in about giving first aid to that boy. They were quite interested. Oh God, I don't even like thinking about it. You know – tempting fate.' He poured out some water and I wondered what it would be like saying goodbye to him if he did get into Cambridge. All the gorgeous, clever girls he would meet there … Then I wised up. It was December. If he went to Cambridge it would be next October, ten months away.

‘Declan's going home on Sunday,' I told Rory. ‘He and my mum have gone up to his house to give it a bit of a clean up for his mum getting out of hospital.'

‘What was wrong with her? Sorry – that's very rude. I have a prurient interest in medical stuff.'

I wasn't sure what ‘prurient' meant but I supposed it was something to do with wanting to be a doctor. I told him.

‘That's pretty tough,' he said. ‘My granda was an alcoholic.'

‘
Your
granda?' I was shocked.

‘Yeah, why not? Is this the first time she's been to rehab?'

I shrugged. ‘I think so.' I didn't want it to sound like
I was
interested
in her, but neither did I want it to sound like I
wasn't
interested in what Rory was asking me.

My granda used to be OK for years. Then – wham! He'd go on a huge bender. Is your aunt like that?'

‘I don't know. I hardly know her.' I could hear the frost in my voice.

Rory poured us both more water. ‘You really don't like Declan, do you?' he asked.

‘Weeeell …' I remembered my row with Fliss and Becca. We still weren't talking. I couldn't forget the things they'd accused me of. Poisonous. Jealous. I couldn't let Rory think stuff like that about me – I mean, it wasn't
true
, but I couldn't take the risk of him
misunderstanding
the same way they had. This week I'd made a massive effort to be nice to Declan. I'd even fixed up that weird essay for him. I couldn't decide if it was brilliant or crap: it was full of mistakes, but he'd thought of all this stuff I'd never even considered – like he'd really thought about the characters as people.

‘I think he's dead on,' Rory said.

Join the fan club, I felt like saying, but I just smiled and changed the subject instead. ‘We have exams next week.' Exams – not a brilliant topic for a first date.

‘You're lucky to get them over with. Ours are in January, which kind of mucks up the Christmas holidays. Then we have our Upper Sixth formal the week after.'

He suddenly looked down at his half-eaten pizza and started forking up bits of spinach. Oh God, I thought. I wonder if he's already asked some girl to the formal, long before he met me. It was six weeks away. Maybe we wouldn't still be going out then. Were we even going out? I
thought
we were – I mean, he'd kissed me and taken me out for dinner but nothing had been said. No one I knew
had ever been to the boys' school formal but it was everyone's ambition to be asked. I didn't want him to think I was fishing for an invite so I changed the subject.

‘Are you looking forward to Christmas?' God, another clanger! What a primary-school thing to say. I might as well have asked him what Santa was bringing him. Christmas! Would we still be going out
then
? What would I get him? How much were you meant to spend? God, this was all so much more fraught than I had ever realised.

‘Well, yes,' said Rory, not seeming to notice that I kept saying ridiculous things. ‘Apart from revising and waiting to hear from Cambridge. It's always quite good fun, though, with there being so many of us. What about you – do you stay at your mum's?'

This was much safer territory. ‘Yes, but I have a sort of second Christmas at my dad's on Boxing Day.'

‘Double presents?'

‘Isn't that the point of divorce?' I made my voice bright.

‘So you don't really mind? Them being divorced, I mean?'

I frowned and took of gulp of water. ‘Well, I was upset at first. I kept wishing Dad would come back. But then he married Fiona and she's actually lovely. So no, I don't really mind, not now. Anyway, that's enough about my family. What about yours? I saw your mum today with your wee baby sister.'

He laughed. ‘She's cute, isn't she? It's quite an ego-boost having a baby sister. I mean, you have a crap day at school, your team loses, you get rejected by Cambridge – well, let's hope not – but she always thinks we're all amazing.'

‘Hmm.' For the first time I wondered what Molly thought of me. She always squealed and kicked when she saw me on Fridays even though, I admitted, I never gave her much encouragement. I supposed she wouldn't always be a screaming baby and wondered if she might like having a big sister when she was big enough to know what that was. I imagined teaching her to ride, taking her shopping, reading her the stories I had loved. Maybe it would be OK.

* * *

Rory's hand tightened a little in mine and I smiled, though I didn't suppose he could see me in the dark. It was a cold, clear night, all the shops along the Lisburn Road lit up for Christmas. I usually hated walking but now I wished that the mile or so between Pizza Express and Sandringham Park was more like ten. I stroked his hand.

‘Would you consider doing this again?' Rory stopped walking and swung me round to face him. Instead of speaking I tilted my face up and, without any conscious thoughts at all, kissed him. I couldn't believe I, Vicky Moore, who'd never had a boyfriend, was standing snogging in the middle of the Lisburn Road. Rory's mouth was warm and firm and tasted of mint and pizza. His fingers played in my hair. His body pressed against mine felt solid and warm. I shivered deliciously and buried my hands in his soft wool scarf.

Finally he pulled away and smiled down at me. ‘So you don't mind going out with the boy next door? Not too much of cliché?'

I laughed. ‘Not if you don't mind going out with the
girl next door.' My voice came out really normal but inside I was singing. Going out! He'd said it, so he must mean it.

‘Ah, but you're only the girl next door
sometimes
.'

Far too quickly, we were at my house. Mum's car was in the drive and there was a light in the living-room window. I pulled Rory back behind the hedge.

‘Showjumping tomorrow?' he asked.

I shook my head. ‘Cam's giving me a lesson, which she won't usually do at the weekend. But
if
we win the final in two weeks we qualify for Dublin!' I realised I was babbling, but he looked as if everything I said was fascinating.

‘And are you likely to win?'

I gave a little shiver. ‘It's like you not wanting to think too much about Cambridge. Don't tempt fate. But Flight's on top form. I had a lesson on Wednesday night and he felt like he could jump a house.'

‘I wouldn't want to see that,' Rory said, bending down to kiss me again. ‘Far too scary.'

It was another ten minutes before I finally walked up the drive, all swollen with joy. Everything was so brilliant – Dublin looking likely, Declan going home and best of all, Rory, Rory, Rory! I thought of him walking up his identical drive three doors up. Did he feel like this too?

Childishly, I was looking forward to telling Mum about my evening – not
everything
of course. I flung my bag over the banister rail and put my hand on the living-room door handle. Mum's voice drifted out and I paused.

‘…welcome here any time. I don't want us to lose touch.'

I held my breath, waiting for Declan to reply but there was just a murmur.

‘I hope so, love. But if she isn't – well, you know where I am. I mean it – any time.'

Murmur murmur.

I yanked at the handle and crashed into the room. The two dark heads on the sofa looked so alike. Mum put her hand on Declan's and gave it a quick squeeze and the gesture seemed to squeeze out all my happiness.

Mum glanced up with a wide, bright smile and said, ‘Hello, love, good evening?'

Such a big part of me wanted to flump down beside her and go over it all – how happy I was and how lovely Rory was and how he was coming round on Sunday evening to help me with my Chemistry revision. But I could see that she wasn't really interested. So I just said, ‘Fine, thanks,' and backed out of the room to get ready for bed.

Chapter 25

DECLAN

I'm on my way to the muck heap with a wheelbarrow full of wet shavings and shit; it's heavy and stinky and the handles dig into my hands. I'd love to stop for a breather and watch Flight jumping but I don't want Cam to regret giving me the job.

‘Well done, Vicky!' shouts Cam from the middle of the school. ‘Do that again in the real thing and it should be next stop Dublin!'

The wheel hits a stone and a doughnut of dung drops off. I straighten my back for a moment and can't help glancing over at the school. Flight looks better than I've ever seen him – soaring over every jump with Vicky moving like she's part of him. It's split-second timing; I wonder if I'll ever be able to do that.

They finish off with three jumps in a row, just a bounce between each one. Vicky pulls him up and pats him after the last one. ‘I think that'll do us!' she calls. ‘Fiona's picking me up at two.'

She always does that – just rides and leaves. I don't
think I would if I had a horse. I'd want to
be
with it. Like Sally and Nudge.

‘It's ten to now,' says Cam.

I've been around horses long enough to know that they can't put Flight out into the field like this. Even from where I'm standing I can see that he's dripping with sweat, his nostrils red pits. He looks like he just won the Grand National or something. I empty the wheelbarrow and try not to think about the way I like Flight. I don't
want
to like him more than the others but there's something about him. Maybe it's just because he's Vicky's.

‘Declan will cool him off for you,' says Cam. ‘I need to grab some lunch before the next lesson. Is that you finished with the beds, Declan?'

‘Yeah.'

She runs me through the routine briskly: ‘Saddle off, sweat rug on – run and get it, Vicky; it's hanging on his door – then walk him round the school till he's dry. Then turnout rug on and into the field – you know where he goes. Vicky, I said sweat rug! I thought you were the one in a hurry?'

By the time Vicky gets back I have the saddle off and resting on the fence with the stirrups run up properly. Flight rubs his sweaty face against my chest and I laugh because it feels nice.

‘Don't let him do that,' she says. She flings the sweat rug over him and puts her hand on the reins even though I'm already holding him. ‘Are you sure you can manage?' she asks. ‘He's quite excited after jumping.'

‘Yeah, it's fine.'

‘And when you put him out – he goes in the far paddock – don't let him barge you at the gate. Can you manage the electric fence?'

I try to make my voice patient. ‘Look, I put him out every morning when I was on work experience
and
brought him in every night.'

She chews her lip and fiddles with her stick. Fiona's red Audi swings into the yard. ‘Hell!' she says. ‘I'm late. Look, are you
sure
?'

‘Yes.' Then – and I know this is going to annoy her but I say it out of badness – ‘sure he knows me now, I've handled him so much.'

She narrows her eyes. Her face is pinched and she still hasn't let go of the reins. I gave them a gentle pull. A car horn blares, making Flight jump back and goggle at us with huge eyes. Vicky turns and stalks off. She doesn't look back.

* * *

I stand with Colette beside her car and think about all the places I've been in it in the last few weeks. Behind us, the light shines out of the open front door onto the path.

Colette nods in the direction of the house. ‘She looks OK, doesn't she? Good form.'

‘Yeah.'

‘I'd be happier if she hadn't signed herself out, though.'

She's only saying what I've been thinking, so I nod. I take the bag she's holding out. ‘Thanks for everything.' I mean something way bigger than thanks but that's all that comes out.

‘Come here,' she says and hugs me so tight her hair tickles my cheek. Then she pulls back and looks at me. ‘You'll remember what I said on Friday. About keeping in touch? I mean it, Declan. You'll see Vicky at the yard at weekends, of course, but –'

I don't say anything. Vicky's a total weirdo. She's nice as pie until she sees me within a mile of Flight, then she's a psycho. I don't think I'm going to be seeing too much of her at the yard. At least I hope not.

‘I'll call in as often as I can,' Colette says.

‘OK.'

‘And Declan – what you just told me about trying to get those GCSEs and getting to college. You stick at it, OK?' She looks round the street. ‘If I can do it so can you.'

‘I'll try.'

‘Your mum'll be really proud.'

I'm not so sure. Not when she knows it means going to the other side of the country. But I just nod.

‘OK, love, better go.' She gets into the car. I lean against our gate and watch till the Golf disappears round the corner. Then I pick up my bag and go in.

The house looks the way it did when Gran was alive, tidy and shiny. There's a smell of polish, though Mum's already half-filled the ashtray with butts – not drinking must be making her smoke more – so that won't last. Colette and I worked for hours on Friday night, changing beds, hoovering, wiping everything. Colette filled the fridge with food too. I don't know if Mum'll be pleased or if she'll think Colette's trying to take over a bit but she's arranging the yellow roses Colette gave her and she smiles at me when I come in.

‘Well, here we are, son,' she says.

‘Yeah.'

She sets the vase on the mantelpiece. We both sit down and look at it. Mum says the flowers are lovely. I say they're lovely. We look at them a bit more. I say they really are lovely. She says they really are lovely. I
wish she would just put the TV on and ignore me and act normal.

Then I think of something. ‘Mum, I've got something to tell you. About school.'

Her head jerks up in alarm.

‘No, it's good. Dermott reckons if I work really hard I could do OK. In my exams I mean.'

‘What does he mean, OK?' She draws on her cigarette.

‘Like, GCSEs. Enough to go to the tech.'

‘Oh yeah? To do what?' She sounds interested.

‘Well … not sure.' For some reason I can't tell her about the horses yet. ‘But if I get some exams I'll have a choice, won't I?'

‘God, son.' She shakes her head. ‘Sure you've never been much of a one for school work.'

Thanks Mum. ‘Only cause I never bothered my head. But last week I worked dead hard. Look – d'you want to see my homework diary?' Mum hasn't seen my homework diary since first year. Gran used to look at it sometimes but, God love her, there was never much to look at. It's a bit of a joke – hardly anyone in our class does homework – but every Friday in extended form time Mr Dermott uncaps his green biro and does the rounds. Usually you just get a scribbled MD and the date, but this week on mine he wrote, ‘Great reports from all your teachers this week. Keep up the good work.'

‘See?' I hand it to her.

She takes the diary and the lines round her mouth disappear as her face relaxes into a smile. ‘Och, son, that's great.' She sighs. ‘I suppose that's Colette rubbing off on you. She was always staying in and doing her homework.'

‘It wasn't Colette. I just wanted to.'

She reads what Dermott wrote again. ‘Well, I suppose I'll have to keep you at it, won't I?'

‘Yeah! You nag me to work and I'll nag you to –' I run into a brick wall.

She sighs. ‘I know, son. Stay off the drink. Don't you worry, I'm not ending up back in there. Things are going to change round here.'

* * *

‘I see your ma's out of the nuthouse? Don't worry, Kelly – a few days back with you'll soon send her back in.'

I hitch my schoolbag up on my shoulder and walk out the gates as if Emmet hasn't spoken.

Girly heels trip along behind me. ‘Wait up, Declan, I'll walk you home.'

Great. But in a way it is nice to have company, even if it is only Seaneen.

She pulls a packet of cigarettes out of her bag. ‘Want one?'

I shake my head. ‘Nah. I've sort of gone off them.'

‘God, Declan, you'll be serving on the altar next. Here, my granny says your mum's home. Is she OK?'

I shrug. ‘I think so.' I don't want to tell Seaneen too much, but knowing her and her nosy old granny she knows it all anyway. ‘She's not drinking, if that's what you mean. She's cleaning.'

‘What?' She lights her cigarette.

‘Cleaning the house. I'm scared to put a cup down. But I can live with it.'

We're at the top of my street and I can't help doing the light-in-the-window check. Something like a bird flutters in my chest until I see the glow of a lamp behind
the curtains, shining out into the dark December afternoon. Half the houses in Tirconnell Parade are lit up for Christmas – the street's like Las Vegas – but that lamp's enough for me. The bird stops flapping its wings and I realise Seaneen's saying something about tonight.

‘What?'

‘I said, d'you want to come out later?'

‘What for?'

‘What for! Just to hang round. Me and Ciara and Kevin. Maybe Sean. Come on, it'll be a laugh.'

For maybe half a moment I'm tempted. But Sean and Kevin hang round with Emmet. Anyway, Colette's coming round later. ‘Nah, you're OK. Got stuff to do. See you, Seaneen.'

She seems to trip, then I realise she's lunging at me. Her lips graze mine for a second, just long enough to taste smoke and lip gloss – at least I suppose it's lip gloss.

‘See you. If you change your mind we'll be around.' She's away down her granny's path, pony-tail bouncing, big earrings swinging. I don't fancy Seaneen – I don't think I do anyway – but I can't help wondering what it'd be like to snog her properly, feel those tits pressed against you.

But I won't change my mind. I've got a bag full of Maths and History. Psycho gave me back my
Macbeth
coursework with, ‘You have been hiding your light under rather a large bushel,' in her angry red scribble. No idea what that means but she gave me a B-.

And in two days' time I'll be at the yard with the horses. So no, I won't change my mind.