Taking Flight (19 page)

Chapter 34

VICKY

Fliss lent me a lovely silvery pashmina for the formal and Becca tried out different hairstyles on me every breaktime until Mad Max chased us out of the toilets.

‘God, you are
so
lucky,' Fliss sighed for the hundredth time on Thursday morning at the lockers. There was no sign of Becca. ‘Does Rory have any nice single friends?'

‘I haven't met his friends. You have to remember it was the shortest relationship in history. And,' as Fliss opened her mouth to argue, ‘we are just friends.'

‘But he's asked you to the formal. He
must
want to get back with you.'

‘He probably just doesn't know many girls.'

‘So, have you seen him since he asked you?'

‘No, they have their A2 mocks. That's weird, isn't it – exams all week and then a formal on Friday?'

‘I suppose it stops them obsessing all week about their fake tans and their hair appointments,' said Fliss wisely.

‘I don't think boys are like that,' I said. ‘They just wear tuxedos, don't they?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Boring. I'd hate to be a boy.' I thought of the fun I was going to have getting ready for the formal with Fliss and Becca to help.

‘They do look gorgeous, though, don't they? You're
so
lucky.'

And we were back where we'd started.

Becca dashed in and dumped her bag just as the bell clanged through the corridors.

‘Hi babes,' said Fliss. ‘Thought you weren't coming.'

‘Got my report. The postman came dead early. Mum wouldn't let me leave till she'd interrogated me about that B in Maths.'

‘Oh God,
reports
.' That gave us something else to obsess about, for a few minutes anyway.

The envelope with the school crest was still on the doormat when I let myself in after school. It was addressed to Mum, but I didn't think she'd mind me opening it.

She didn't, especially when she saw it. I thrust it at her as soon as she got in from work. All As and a couple of A stars. It was my first ever A in Science, thanks to Rory's private coaching. Though of course it could well be the last.

I watched Mum's face as she read down the grades and comments. ‘Victoria is an able pupil who has applied herself diligently to her studies. This excellent report augurs very well for June.' I bet Mad Max hated having to write something nice.

‘Good girl,' said Mum, giving me a hug.

I decided to cash in on her approval. ‘Mum, d'you think you could take me up to see Flight tonight? Just for ten minutes?
Please
?' I did puppy-dog eyes.

‘I'll take you after tea.'

It was pretty decent of her, I thought, as I sat beside her in the car watching the wet hedges blow and scratch against the windows. I was glad Flight would be tucked up warm in his nice stable. He was munching his haylage but turned round to look at me when I slipped into the barn.

‘Poor old fellow; he must be bored,' I said, scratching behind his ears the way he loved.

‘He's more settled,' said Cam, who was doing her evening rounds. ‘And look, see how well his wound's closing over.'

He nuzzled at me. ‘He's way more affectionate,' I said.

‘It's because you're spending more time just being with him,' said Cam. ‘And he's definitely making good progress. Though of course it's early days.' She looked at my face. ‘Don't look so scared, Vicky. I've got a good feeling about him.' This was the most she had said to me since the accident. I leaned my head against Flight's warm neck and wished I was brave enough to confess about threatening Declan.

Mum offered Flight a treat, warily. ‘I still don't understand how it happened,' she said. This was the first time she'd seen Cam since the accident.

Cam sighed. ‘No. It must have been just a moment of madness. It was so unlike him, though.' Then her voice hardened. ‘First and last time I'll take anyone on for work experience.'

‘I've been expecting him to get in touch with Vicky to apologise,' Mum said as if I wasn't there. ‘But so far …' She shrugged. ‘And he owes
you
an apology, too,' she went on. ‘I mean, this isn't the sort of thing that does your business much good, is it?'

‘Well, it happens. All too often, unfortunately, with the roads getting so busy. Flight's not the first horse to dump his rider and run over that road. We've just been lucky up until now. I'm going to get a gate put on. I meant to before, but you know what it's like – it takes something like this…'

On and on they went until I could have screamed. All this obsession and speculation about what he'd done and why he'd done it. And all the time I was the only person who
knew
why. I looked at my poor, damaged showjumper resting his mangled leg and tried to filter out their voices.

Driving home I kept the conversation firmly on the formal. Starting with the need to get out of school early. ‘Rory's picking me up at quarter to seven,' I reminded her. ‘And there's no way I could get ready in three hours.'

She laughed. ‘OK. Just this once. But I'm not writing a note saying you have to have time off to beautify yourself. I don't want Mrs Maxwell to think I'm that sort of mother. I'll say you have an appointment.' Then her voice changed. ‘Picking you up? Rory's not
driving
, is he?'

‘Course not! We're all meeting up at his friend Phil's house for cocktails, and he's leaving the car there. Then we're getting taxis to the hotel.'

‘Cocktails?' Mum looked disapproving.

‘Cock
tail
,' I promised. ‘Look, Mum, you know I'll be sensible. I'm not going to let anything stop me from having a perfect night.'

Chapter 35

DECLAN

Payne looks me up and down.

‘I will talk to you
when
you've tucked your shirt in
and
done your tie up properly.'

I heave as big a sigh as I dare. Fixing my tie I get a whiff of sweat fighting against the deodorant I put on this morning. The sweat's winning. I tuck my shirt in and look Payne in the face.

‘Right,' he goes. ‘So what was all that about?'

‘All what?' I know fine rightly.

‘That…' He searches for the word. ‘Ridiculous outburst yesterday.'

Ridiculous outburst
. Makes me sound like a two-year-old in a tantrum. He looks not far from a ridiculous outburst of his own. I don't really listen. ‘Blah blah … disturbed entire room … upset other pupils … abused school property … shouted obscenities …' Load of crap. ‘Then,' he finishes, folding his arms like this makes him dead impressive, ‘you absented yourself from the premises without permission, and missed your afternoon examination.'

‘I'd have failed anyway,' I mutter.

‘That is neither here nor there!' he roars. ‘I want an explanation.'

I sigh. A month seems to have passed since I ran out of school yesterday. A month of expecting Mum to come home, of looking for money for the electric, of freezing my bollocks off in the dark and going to bed with two duvets. And if I'd found money for the meter I wouldn't be standing here with bloody Payne. I'd be at home eating chips and watching TV with the heating turned up high. At least in school it's warm and if I stick it till lunchtime I'll get my free dinner.

‘Kelly? I do not tolerate dumb insolence.' Payne is the original Mr Zero Tolerance. But if I talk he'll say I'm being cheeky and he won't
tolerate
that either.

Out in the real world – well, the assembly hall – I should be doing my History exam. A few weeks ago I thought I could have got a C in History. If yesterday's ‘ridiculous outburst' feels like a month ago, that ridiculous optimism belongs to another lifetime. So I don't give a shit about missing History. I can stick it out here.

I fold my arms. And wait.

‘You need to learn to control your anger, Kelly.'

‘That's not fair!' How can he say that when I'm not even speaking?

He gives a half-smile. Triumphant because he's got me to talk. ‘Well, you were suspended last term for fighting – for breaking a boy's nose, let me remind you. And here you are, in trouble again.'

‘That was ages ago.' He's right about controlling my anger. I'm trembling. I dig my hands into my pockets. Try to breathe slowly. Payne's eyeing me nastily. I can see
the broken veins on his cheeks. He wants me to react. It would be so easy to take a swing at him.

‘And look at you!' he goes on. ‘You're a mess. Have you no pride in yourself? No self-respect? That uniform looks like you've been sleeping in it for a week.' He wrinkles his nose as if to tell me he can smell me. Maybe he can. I can smell myself, even through the sickly, bitter coffee that Payne's office always smells of.

I set my mouth hard. Don't react don't react don't react.

‘You can stay here until you're prepared to give me an explanation. I could just suspend you instantly, but –'

I don't want to get sent home. If I could think of something to say that would get Payne off my back I would. But my brain's too fuzzy.

‘I'll talk to Mr Dermott.' My voice surprises me.

Payne gives a dry laugh. ‘Oh, you will, will you? And who are you to say who you'll talk to and who you won't? This is a disciplinary matter and as such
I
am dealing with it and you will talk to
me
.'

No I won't.

‘Sir, can I sit down?'

He's about to say no, then points at a grey plastic chair. ‘If you must.' Payne sits too, at his desk, and lifts the phone. ‘I'll have to phone your mother,' he says, ‘if you won't cooperate.'

Suddenly the room's boiling and airless. I wipe my hands on my trousers. This bastard knows how to break me.

‘Sir, she hasn't been well. Please don't disturb her.'

He curls his lip. ‘Should have thought of that before, shouldn't you?'

He starts looking something up on the computer.
Probably my phone number. Then I realise he can phone our house as much as he likes. She's not there. Unless she's come home in the meantime. How long's it been? Two nights and a day and a half. She used to go on benders like this. Then she'd be dying for days and that'd be her off the drink for ever. Until the next time.

So let Payne phone.

But he doesn't. The bell makes me jump and when it dies away he glances at the big timetable on the wall by his desk and says, ‘You say you'll talk to Mr Dermott?'

‘Yeah.'

‘He's free now. Oh no –' He checks another sheet. ‘Invigilating. But
I
will go and take his invigilation and
he
can come and try to drag some sense out of you.' He makes it sound like he's doing me a big favour. He takes up the phone again.

In no time Dermott's big face peers round the door. They have a quick
mutter mutter
in the corridor then Payne buggers off.

‘Alright, Declan?' Dermott sounds brisk and casual, like he just walked into tutor group. Then he looks at me closely and his voice changes. ‘You're not, are you?'

Please don't be nice to me! Shit! Why did I say I'd talk to him? This is far worse than Payne. I let out a long breath and stare at the floor.

‘You want to get offside for a bit?'

I glance up. ‘What d'you mean?'

‘Well, I don't like it much in here.' He looks round the grey office. It's all timetables and discipline policies and filing cabinets. ‘Do you?'

I shake my head.

‘I'm not teaching until after break. And you seem to
have abandoned your History exam. So why don't we repair to a local hostelry and I'll buy you a cup of tea?'

‘What about Pa – Mr Payne?'

Dermott raises his shoulders in a gesture that
might
mean ‘sod Mr Payne'. ‘Come on,' he says. ‘I'll risk it if you will.'

There's a café at the school gates where we sometimes beak off class to get chips. It feels weird walking in with a teacher. Dermott notices me eyeing up the Ulster Fry the waitress is carrying to the table beside us.

‘Hungry?'

I can't let Dermott buy me a fry! Then I think, what the hell, he's a teacher, he's rich. I didn't ask to come here. ‘A bit.'

‘I'm meant to be on a diet.' He frowns at his big, soft belly.

‘I won't tell anybody.'

He laughs. ‘Well, it would be very rude to sit and watch you eat, wouldn't it? Go on then!' He orders two Ulster fries. It's the best food I've had for ages. Even eating with a teacher doesn't spoil it.

But the fry doesn't last for ever and finally Dermott pours us both out a second cup of tea and gives me this ‘come on, come clean' sort of look. ‘I understand there was a bit of an, er, incident in the English exam?'

‘Yeah.' I start rolling my serviette into a tube.

‘I thought things had been going better?'

‘They had.' Past tense.

‘Until…?' he prompts me.

I know I have to talk – I can't let Dermott take me here and buy me a fry and not give him what he wants. And he'd feel crap telling Payne he couldn't get anything out of me.

But if I say anything about Mum I know what'll happen: he'll be on to Social Services. And when Mum comes back – because she always does – things'll be worse than ever. So I'll have to give him a
bit
of what he wants.

I'll tell him about Flight.

The very thought makes the Ulster fry turn to lead inside me. I take a swallow of tea and try to find the words. ‘I lost my job.'

Dermott raises his sandy eyebrows. ‘But that – what was she called? – Ms Brooke seemed to think you were the bee's knees.'

‘Yeah. Well, not any more.'

Slowly, looking at the pattern on the table, I tell him the whole story. What Vicky said. Watching her drive away with Cam, all ready to tell her about me. Knowing it meant the end. Taking Flight.

Flight's been up on that wardrobe for so long I thought I could just keep him there. I haven't let him jump down for ages. And now that Dermott's forced me to let him down, it's like he's kicked over the whole wardrobe. Loads of stuff crashes down with him.

But I'm not stupid. I keep a grip of myself enough not to say anything about Mum and Barry. It feels like I talk more than I've ever talked in my life. Dermott doesn't interrupt. He nods and says ‘uh huh' and flinches a bit when I tell him what happened. I don't hold back the details. The car across the road, Flight struggling, the blood. Once I start the words come spurting out like puke.

‘And is that when she sacked you?'

I shake my head, rolling the serviette up the other way. ‘She never sacked me. I mean, she would have, but I just, you know, took off.'

‘Like you did yesterday?'

I shrug. ‘I suppose. I started writing about it for the story thing, and then … well, I couldn't hand it in, so I just, you know…' Ridiculous outburst.

‘And this happened when?'

‘Fifteenth of December.'

‘But that's nearly a month ago!'

‘Yeah.'

‘And who've you told?'

‘No one.'

‘Declan!' He shakes his head. ‘Not even your mum?'

This is where I have to be careful. ‘She knows I don't work there no more.'

‘And your cousin? How did she take it? I assume you've apologised?'

I shift a bit and start pleating the serviette into concertina folds.

‘Declan?'

I bite my lip. Shake my head. ‘It's not that I'm not sorry!' I burst out. I clench my fists hard and bite the insides of my cheeks. There's burning behind my eyes and if I cry here, in public, in front of Dermott –

I suck in a long breath.

Dermott glances at his watch, then asks for the bill. ‘Of course you're sorry,' he says. ‘Anyone can see that. And your cousin's clearly to blame too. But you're only going to start feeling better if you
say
sorry. Write it down if that's easier.'

I frown. ‘They'll think that's just a cop out. Like I'm too chicken to say it properly.'

‘Well, it'd be better than nothing, wouldn't it? Why don't we head back to school, and you sit down and write a couple of letters?'

‘I dunno.'

‘Look, it'll make you feel better, if nothing else.'

I shrug. I don't see how writing a letter is going to make any difference. But I suppose I could write them just to keep Dermott quiet. I don't have to post them.

Dermott pays and shrugs himself into his teacher anorak. I pull my blazer on. Heading out of the steamy warmth of the café into the cold street, it feels like we've been away from school for ages, not just a period.

Pulling a scarf out of his pocket, Dermott looks down at me and says, ‘I wish you'd told me all this before, Declan. Or told
someone
.'

I shrug.

‘You don't like asking for help, do you?'

‘I dunno.' Never thought about it.

He goes on like he's thinking out loud. ‘You don't like asking for things and you're …'

What's he going to come up with? I don't mind what Payne and Sykes say about me but –

‘Passive.'

‘
Passive
? How come I'm always getting into trouble if I'm passive?'

‘I mean, you let things happen to you. Bad things.'

I scuff my feet on the footpath.

‘If you don't mind a bit of teacher advice: try to take action a bit more. I don't mean kicking over tables. Or thumping McCann – though you wouldn't be the first to be tempted. I mean, when things go wrong, talk to someone. Don't just bottle it up and hope it goes away.'

He means, don't put stuff on top of the wardrobe. Not that he knows about the wardrobe.

‘OK, sir.'

‘Come on then. Back to the asylum.'

Teacher advice. Who listens? But Dermott – he's a good bloke; he's been around since Year Eight, so I let him sit me down in his classroom while he teaches some cheeky wee brats and I write two letters. At first it's impossible and I scrunch up more paper than I did during the ridiculous outburst but in the end I get it done. They're very short. And in a way he was right. Even if Vicky and Cam still hate me, even though it won't make Flight better or get me my job back, even if they tear them up without reading them, I feel better. I remember Gran every Saturday after confession – that clean look.

And that other thing he said about not letting bad stuff just
happen
. I can't
stop
Mum drinking. Maybe it's not even my fault. But I
can
stop her pissing off and leaving me with no electric in frigging January.

So after school, if she's not back, I know what I'm going to do. I'm going up there to get some money off her. To Barry's. He won't like it. But tough. I'm going to do it.