Taking Flight (4 page)

Chapter 5

DECLAN

Seven o'clock Tuesday morning. I scrabble under the pillow for the exercise book I shoved there last night and stare at the blank page. How do you write an apology letter?
Dear Emmet. Dear
is the kind of word you use for someone you like. I lean back against the headboard, chew the pen and look round the bedroom. All clean and yellow in the light from the bedside lamp. This is the third morning I've woken up here. I wonder how much longer I'll be able to put up with Princess Vicky without breaking
her
nose.
Dear Emmet
. I'm not sorry – Emmet McCann deserves more than a broken nose – but in a way I am. Because hitting Emmet was how it all started. Right, here goes.
Dear Emmet. I am sory that I hit you. Declan Kelly
. Short and sweet. And sort of true.

When I get to school I go straight to Payne's office.

He looks at me over his specs and holds the letter at arm's length. ‘Two Rs in “sorry”, Kelly. Not exactly fulsome, is it?'

I bite my lip.

Then he seems to get fed up. ‘Registration,' he says. ‘I'll see to this. And
don't
let me see you back in my office this term.'

School. Scuffed walls, smell of crisps and polish and feet. All the noise – teachers shouting names, pupils replying – is behind classroom doors. I push open the door of our classroom and Mr Dermott's voice trails off when he sees me. From the way some people look at me I know they know about Mum. Half the people in my class live round our way. I slink to the back and sit beside Cathal Gurney. I can see the ribbons of snotters and his wet, red, open mouth. No wonder no one ever wants to sit beside him.

When the bell goes I grab my bag as usual but Mr Dermott puts his hand out to stop me.

‘Just a minute, Declan.' At least he calls me by my name. The likes of Payne just call you by your surname which is stupid because there's three Kellys in our class. I hang back. ‘Sit down,' he says, pulling out a chair beside his desk.

I sit.

He pulls at his earlobe. He looks a bit like Homer Simpson, only ginger. ‘Umm, Declan, just wanted a bit of a word.'

I get ready for the usual pep talk about fights.

‘I had a phone call yesterday from your aunt. She … well, she told me about your mum being … um, in hospital.'

‘Oh, right.' My cheeks burn.

‘Don't worry,' he goes on, ‘nobody else has to know. But if you're finding things a bit difficult, well, come and find me and we'll see what we can do.' He sounds embarrassed too. I wonder how much Colette's told him. I
know I'll never in a million years go and find him, no matter what happens.

Seaneen Brogan is leaning against the wall opposite twisting a bit of hair round her hand. When she stands like that the first thing you notice is her tits in her tight school blouse. ‘Right, Declan?' She walks beside me. ‘Heard about your mum.'

‘Not you too.'

‘Sure you know my granny misses nothing.' Seaneen lives round the corner from me but her granny lives right across the street. She smiles at me and pulls her ponytail tighter. She has all this curly hair that she scrapes back off her face but wee frizzy bits always escape. ‘Granny says she saw you going away in a blue car.'

‘I'm staying with our Colette.' I might as well tell her.

‘Her that married a Prod?' Without waiting for an answer she goes on, ‘Is your mum going to be OK?'

God, what is it with this girl? I can't shake her off. She's on her way to Technology, like me, and she's obviously going to walk every step of the way with me, talking non-stop. But in a way I don't mind. Colette has been pretty nice to me but she's hardly mentioned Mum; it's like she doesn't exist even though she's the reason for me being there in the first place. And at least Seaneen doesn't look at me the way Princess Vicky does, like I'm
nothing
. She's prettier than Vicky too.

I see Emmet in the playground at break, surrounded by his mates, as usual. I wonder if he got the letter yet. I wish I hadn't spelled ‘sorry' wrong. He gives me what I
think
is meant to be a dirty look, but it's hard to see what his fat gob is doing because his nose is still spread all over it. I hope it never goes back to normal. He's an ugly bastard anyway – you can tell he's going to be just like his
da. Barry stubbed out a cigarette on the back of my hand once, when he found out I squealed on Emmet to the peelers. I still have the scar; why shouldn't Emmet?

Don't know what Mum sees in Barry. I know she gets cheap drink and fags and that off him, but I can't believe that's enough to make her keep going back to him. I don't make eye contact with Emmet. Even when one of his mates looks over, says something to him and they both laugh.

The bell goes at last and I trail in behind everyone to English with Psycho Sykes.
Macbeth
. Crap. But there's just this one thing that stays in my head.
What's done cannot be undone
. If I could undo breaking Emmet's nose. That's what started all this. If I hadn't done it … if Barry hadn't come round to the house … if I'd known Mum wasn't just sleeping off a hangover. If if if. I know it's all my fault. And Mum does too. Why else would she not even want to see me? She's been in three days and I haven't seen her since the first day. Colette tried to tell me it was the doctors' decision, that she should be left in peace or something but she's only saying that.

I can't think these thoughts. I shove them as far away as I can. It's like I have a wardrobe in my head, a really tall one, and I pile all these horrible thoughts on top of it, out of sight. I try to make sure they stay there by paying attention in every class, which makes the teachers give me very funny looks.

Chapter 6

VICKY

‘You haven't forgotten about taking me up to Cam's tonight?' I asked Mum as we pulled out of the driveway. She had been giving me a lift to school all week, but early, so she could get across town to take Declan to his school. It was called St Something-or-other's – I'd never even heard of it – and you should have seen their uniform – cheap, nylon blazers with the badge tacked on with big stitches, and trainers instead of shoes.

‘No, that's OK. But,' she went on, with a glance in the rear-view mirror at Declan in the back seat, ‘Declan and I are going to see his mum after school. So it'll be a bit of a rush. You need to be ready, homework done and everything, when we get back.'

‘Oh.' I hated coming home to an empty house. Then I thought it wouldn't be much fun for Mum either, hospital visiting. ‘What about tea?'

‘I'll leave something ready. A chilli or something. You might have to put it in the oven, though.'

‘Did you remember to ask Dad about the horsebox?'

‘Yes.' She sighed. If Mum hated towing the horsebox there was at least one thing she hated more: phoning Dad. Not that she'd ever said, but when I heard them on the phone their voices were weird. Sort of super-polite. It was hard to imagine they'd been married to each other for years.

We turned into the road where my school was. All you could see were lines of girls walking down the hill. Green skirts and grey blazers everywhere. Wool blazers.

‘You don't need to take me right to the gate,' I said.

Mum looked puzzled. She could be slow to catch on. ‘But sure I have to go all the way down anyway to get on to the Lisburn Road.'

‘Yeah, well, I want to walk.' I caught sight of Fliss's long, dark pony-tail. Even with high heels on – Mad Max was always catching her but she kept on wearing them – she was tiny beside Niamh, who she was walking with. Niamh was tall, like me, but skinnier. ‘Look, there's Fliss. I have to ask her about the physics homework.'

Fliss was looking at something on Niamh's phone. They were giggling. No way did I want them to look into the car and see
him
sitting in the back seat with his nylon blazer and his earring and his wee hard man haircut.

Mum sighed. ‘OK, OK, I can pull in here. I'll leave you a note on the table if I need you to do any cooking. Don't forget to check. See you later, love. Got your PE bag?' She turned round to Declan. ‘You might as well jump out and get in the front. No point in you sitting back there all the way to school.'

‘See ya!' I leaped out and grabbed Niamh's arm before The Hood would have the chance to get out and be seen. ‘Hey,' I said. ‘That your new phone? Oh, you got the pink one. Cool.'

Niamh shot me this weird look. ‘Duh. You saw my phone already. I got it last week.'

‘Yeah, but I never looked at it properly.'

‘Who's that getting into your car?' asked Little Miss Observant Fliss.

I sighed. ‘Long story. You don't want to know.'

‘He's a bit of all right, though, Vic,' said Fliss. ‘Your mum got a secret toyboy or something?'

‘Oh, you're so funny.'

Mum pulled away just then, but it was too late.

‘He's just someone my mum's giving a lift to,' I said.

‘So why've you gone all red?' pestered Niamh. ‘Hey, I wish my mum gave lifts to good-looking boys.'

‘Yeah, I like that dark, dangerous-looking type, don't you?' said Fliss.

‘Thought you liked Niall? He's blond.' This was a bit mean because Niall was Niamh's twin and she wasn't meant to know Fliss had a crush on him.

‘Hey, talking of boys, hope you've invited plenty of fit ones to your party,' I said. Niamh and Niall's joint birthday parties were legendary and her sixteenth was next week. The phone was an early birthday present.

‘Yeah, is
Rory
coming?' Fliss asked, nudging me, getting her own back.

‘Rory Marshall? From my street?' I tried to sound casual but it was my turn to blush.

‘Yeah, he's on the rugby team with Niall. He asked Niall if he knew you.'

Wow! As far as I knew, no boy had ever been aware of my existence before. I'd had a crush on Patrick Scott at Pony Club Camp the summer before last but every time I saw him I used to get my reins tangled up and lose my stirrups.

‘Hey, Vicky, you're going to walk into the gate. Too busy thinking about Rory? Tell your mum to come too and bring her toyboy,' said Niamh and they both giggled.

The party wasn't till next Friday, twenty-third of November. Today was only the fourteenth. There was no way he would still be with us.

Chapter 7

DECLAN

All day my guts shiver at the thought of seeing Mum. I want to. Don't want to. Don't know what I want. Except for Mum to be better and not drinking. And for Barry never to come near us again. And for me not to have made all this happen.
What's done cannot be undone
.

Seaneen Brogan hangs round me again. ‘Is your ma getting home soon?'

‘I dunno. Piss off. You're a nosy cow.'

Seaneen laughs. She has wee spiky teeth. ‘I know,' she says. I think you would have to try pretty hard to offend her – not like Princess Vicky. Seaneen doesn't piss off either. She sneaks out at lunchtime to the chippie – not Fat Frankie's but the one at the school gates.

‘You coming?'

‘Nah.'

‘God, you're no fun these days, Declan Kelly,' she says but she brings me back some chips and a cigarette. I haven't had a fag for ages. Smoking that cigarette is about the only time I forget about going to see Mum, but when
I get out of school there's Colette in her shiny blue Golf, sitting outside. I can see people giving me funny looks. A few people in our school get picked up in fancy cars – Emmet McCann for one – but not me.

‘Good day?' she asks when I get in.

I shrug. Half the time I don't know what to say to her so I end up saying nothing.

She doesn't give up, though. ‘Homework?' she says, starting the engine.

‘Nah. Don't really get homework.'

‘Lucky you. Vicky gets about two hours a night.'

‘There's no point giving us homework. Nobody would do it.'

This is the longest conversation we've ever had. Too soon, though, she's parking the car in the big hospital car park.

‘D'you want me to give you some time on your own with your mum?' Colette asks as we get near the ward. My legs get heavier with every step.

‘Don't mind,' I say, which is a lie. I need her to stay.

‘Well, I'll come in with you to say hello, and then we can see what you feel like.' Colette's carrying a Marks & Spencer's bag. I don't have anything.

Mum's in a normal ward. She still has a drip and she's a funny yellow colour but she's sitting up. I hold back from hugging her. I'm scared I might hurt her and I don't know if she's still annoyed. The last time I spoke to her I told her I wished she was dead. The last time I saw her she was unconscious. I keep
trying
not to replay those minutes before the ambulance came, when I thought she was dead, but sometimes I can't make them stay on top of the wardrobe where they belong.

‘Well,' she says. Her voice is flat.

‘Well,' says Colette.

‘Alright, Mum,' I say.

Colette hands over the bag – it's got magazines and a nightie and stuff. Mum says thanks and they start on that boring women-talk, about the food in the hospital and how good the nurses are. I zone out and try not to stare at Mum. She hasn't met my eye yet.

Then Colette says she'll leave us on our own for a bit and here we are.

‘I'm sorry,' I say.
Two Rs in ‘sorry', Kelly
.

Mum's eyes fill with tears. I bite the insides of my cheeks hard. Please don't let her cry. Or me.

‘Och no, love,
I'm
sorry,' she says. ‘I didn't mean – I was just a bit depressed. Everything will be OK when I get home.'

‘When?'

‘They won't tell me. But you're OK, aren't you?' She gives me her pleading look.

‘Yeah, fine.' I search for my most ‘fine' voice.

‘Colette feeding you well?' asks Mum, who half the time doesn't notice if there's nothing in the fridge.

‘Yeah.' This isn't the whole truth. Colette's food is OK in a vegetably way but my throat tightens every time I try to swallow.

‘And what about Vicky?'

‘She's OK.' This isn't even a tiny bit true. Vicky is a Class A Bitch. ‘She's taking me up to see her horse tonight. We're going to some showjumping thing on Saturday.'

‘Showjumping!' For the first time her voice loses that flat, dead tone. ‘Where's that at?'

‘Dunno.' There's no point asking me things like that. I never know where anywhere is. Until last week I always thought the Malone Road was about ten miles away.
Sometimes Colette used to phone Mum and invite her over to her house, and Mum always used to say the same thing, ‘Aye, it's OK for her with her fancy car. How could I be trailing away over there?' So I grew up thinking it was really far. Plus I thought it was all Prods but there's a big Catholic church and all so it mustn't be.

‘And what about school?'

‘Haven't been in any trouble.' This
is
the whole truth. I don't mention Emmet and neither does she.

‘Good,' she says. Her face is all pulled down with tiredness. I wish Colette would come back. Mum closes her eyes and I pick up one of the magazines and read some crap about Victoria Beckham. Mum is as skinny as Victoria Beckham. You can see her bones at the top of her nightie. It's minging.

At last we're on our way back to Colette's. It seems far because we get stuck in loads of traffic jams.

‘She looks a bit better, doesn't she?' Colette says when the silence gets too loud.

Better than what
? I think but she's doing her best so I just go, ‘Yeah.'

Colette looks at the clock on the dashboard. ‘God, this traffic's terrible. Vicky's supposed to be at the stables for seven. I hope she got my note about putting the chilli in the oven.'

When I think about going to the stables I feel two things. One, that it's going to be
crap
having to go somewhere with Princess Vicky; and two, that tonight I'm going to see a horse. For some reason, ever since I saw that photo of Vicky's horse, I've kept on thinking about it. When those memories of last weekend threaten to fall off the top of the wardrobe, I imagine riding the horse. Going faster than anything.

It's a rush to get out of the house again after the chilli and Vicky moans the whole way there that she doesn't like riding straight after tea.

‘So, how's your mum?' she asks me, but not as if she cares, just as if she wants to know how soon she can get rid of me.

I shrug. Not going to talk to her just because she suddenly decides to talk to me.

It's about fifteen minutes' drive to the stables. I don't see where we're going because it's dark but pretty soon we're on twisty, up-and-down roads with no street lights.

I thought the stables would be big and posh but we drive into quite a small farmyard sort of thing. Horses start neighing when we get out of the car.

‘Flight, baby!' says Vicky, leaping ahead of us into this big shed thing.

Colette turns to me and smiles. ‘OK?' she says. ‘D'you like horses?'

‘Dunno,' I say. I get out and follow her across the yard into the shed.

In real life Flight is even better than in the photo. I've hardly ever been near a horse before. Only once but I didn't get up close because one of the gypsies came out and chased me. It was one time I had a fight with Mum and I took off. After a bit I sort of forgot about the fight and I just wanted to see how far I could run. I left the estate behind and ran on and on. Way up on to the Glen Road – further than I'd ever been. I was only about eleven. And I came to the gypsy camp. It was a real tip, all rubbish and old cars. But there was a horse. It had a rope tied round one of its legs and it was just standing there eating grass. I crossed the road to go and see it. It was a nice horse, black and white with big hairy feet. It
looked round at me with a bit of grass hanging out of its mouth and I slowed down in case I scared it. Then I heard someone yell, ‘Oi, you! Clear off, you wee shite!' I ran back down the hill. That's the last time I saw a horse.

Vicky's horse is sleek and shiny. He looks down his nose at me over the stable door. I stretch out my hand to let him sniff me and he curves his neck to reach down into my hand. When he sees it's empty he sort of loses interest in me, but he lets me stroke his face. His face is like velvet.

‘Isn't he gorgeous?' Vicky says. For the first time she smiles at me.

‘Yeah. He's …' I want to say amazing, unbelievable, beautiful. ‘He's OK.'

Colette and I do a bit of standing about getting in the way while Vicky fusses around Flight, brushing him and putting on his saddle and that. I try to look bored.

A thin woman with short red hair comes up leading a tiny black pony. ‘OK, Vicky?' she says. ‘Ready in the school in five minutes? I'm just putting Hero in and I'll be straight down. Warm him up, both reins, while you're waiting.' She talks fast but posh. She nods at me and Colette and strides off with the wee pony.

Vicky comes out of the stable, wearing a riding hat, and Colette and I jump sideways to give her space to swing herself up on to Flight's back. When I see her sitting up there, all easy like a cowboy, I'm so jealous I could kill her.

For a balls-freezing hour Colette and I lean on the gate of a big sandy field thing with spotlights all round it and watch Cam making Vicky and Flight do stuff. Some of it looks easy – just going round in circles – but I guess by the look of concentration on Vicky's face when she's
doing the smallest circles that it's harder than it looks. Then Cam puts up some jumps. They look huge to me but Flight clears them all with a flick of his tail. After some of them he kicks up his heels as if he's enjoying himself.

‘OK, I'll put these up to a metre,' Cam shouts. ‘Now watch the stride coming into the gate.'

I've only seen horses jumping on TV. Vicky looks nicer when she's on Flight. Half the time I forget it's her and just enjoy watching the horse jumping. Then I remember what a bitch she is and that's when I get so jealous I could run up and pull her off the horse and gallop off on him myself.

Except I haven't got a clue how to.