Flyaway (26 page)

‘I thought he'd be awake by now,' Jack says.

They talk more about Dad's operation, and I traipse behind them. I unlock the bike from the railings. I have to wheel it with one hand because of the flying model, but I get it to the car. I look over at the reserve. Is she still there?

Jack grumbles as he tries to fit the bike into the boot. ‘What's up with you anyway?' he says. ‘What's with all the weird things you've been doing?'

‘What weird things?'

He rolls his eyes. ‘You sure you're all right?'

I shrug. If I told Jack about the trip to the lake and the swan following me and the wind lifting me up into the air, he'd be convinced I was going mad.

We pull up at school. Jack's out of the car immediately.

‘Call me if anything changes,' he says, before slamming the door. He jogs in through the gates.

Mum turns around to study my face. She picks a twig from my hair.

‘Think we'd better just take you home,' she says.

CHAPTER 59

T
hat night, I dream I'm at the lake. Only it's Harry wearing the wing model this time. He beats the wings firmly and regularly and runs after the swan. I watch him speed down the track, away from me. I want to go with him, but I can't. I'm sitting in his wheelchair and my legs won't work. His feet lift from the track. He takes off. Starts to soar into the sky. Higher and higher. He follows the swan, screeching as he goes. I lean forward in the wheelchair and watch his body getting smaller. There's an ache in my chest as I watch him. But I can't take my eyes from him. I'm scared that if I do, he'll just disappear. I'm scared I'll never see him again.

CHAPTER 60

M
um's on the phone when I wake up. I sit on the top step of the stairs and listen to her end of the conversation. When she hangs up, she stands with her head pressed against the wall with her eyes shut. After a while, I go down the stairs and stand next to her. She slips her hand into mine.

‘Dad's not too well,' she says softly. ‘His temperature is still up and he has swelling.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘They're not sure. Either his body is rejecting the valve, or . . . they think he might have an infection.'

I shut my eyes for a second, too. ‘Like Nan had?'

Mum's fingers clasp tighter around mine. ‘I don't know, Isla, they won't tell me.'

‘Are you going to tell Granddad?'

‘I don't know.'

We keep standing there in the hall, just thinking. I feel sick. Nan got so ill once she got that infection, she died so quickly.

‘How did he get it?” I whisper.

I almost tell Mum about the wings, about going to the reserve with Harry and falling in the lake. What if it's my fault Dad's sick? What if he's ill because of the mud and bits of reed that I had on me when I visited him? But Mum just sighs deeply.

‘Who knows, babe? They're doing more tests today.'

I swallow slowly. ‘Will he be OK?'

‘Of course.' She nods. ‘It's nothing serious yet, they just thought we should know.'

She drives us to school anyway.

‘There's no use sitting around being worried,' she says. She looks at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘And you're not missing another day. I'll call you on your mobiles if he gets any worse.'

I hold my flying model on my lap. It's filthy. Mrs Diver wants us to talk about our progress today, but the feathers are still stained from the lake. I run my hands over them and try to brush off some of the dried mud. They no longer look like the beautiful thing Granddad and I made in the barn.

At the school gates, Jack hesitates. ‘I'll be at the playing fields at lunch time . . . if Mum calls.'

He jogs on to meet his mates who are waiting inside. Jess is there, too. He says something to her then throws his arm
over her shoulder as he starts to walk. He glances back at me, raises the watch on his other arm and wiggles it in the air.

‘You're late!'

No one is at the gates waiting for me. Not even Sophie, and I've told her about what's going on with Dad. Once again, I wish that Saskia was still here. There's no way she'd ever let me walk in alone. I trudge in behind Jack's mates, wishing I was part of his group. They always seem so close, such a pack. I'm jealous for a second until I see the way that Rav and Deano are looking at the wing model I'm carrying. They lean in towards each other and share some sort of joke. Then Crowy slaps the back of Deano's head.

‘She's just there,' he hisses.

He turns to see if I've heard whatever Deano's just said. His gaze lingers on my face. I feel my cheeks flushing and glance down at the yellow trainers he's wearing. When I look back at him, he's frowning at what's in my arms.

‘Jack's told me what's going on,' he says. ‘You all right? About your dad and all?'

I nod. ‘I'm OK.'

I want to say something that will keep him standing there, in front of me, while Jack and the rest of them go to their classes. For one stupid second, I think about telling Crowy about the swan and running around the reserve and about the wind lifting me from the track. I want him to stay and talk to me, and look at me like Harry does.

But he doesn't. He nods at me, once, then peels off with the rest of them, heading towards the English block.

I walk to the art lesson by myself. Mrs Diver sees me coming and pulls me aside.

‘Are you OK to talk about your project today?' she asks.

I hold up the muddied wings. ‘It's not finished.'

‘Wow, you made a model already.' She smiles. ‘It's huge!' She frowns as she tries to work it out. ‘Just give us an update of what you're doing and that will be fine.'

I take my seat next to Sophie and listen to the others talk. Most of them are doing really simple models, like Matt who is making a sort of parachute by sticking material over a tissue box and attaching it to a basket underneath. No one else's model is as complicated as mine; nothing comes close. And no one else has finished.

No one speaks about their project for very long and soon I'm the only one in the class who hasn't said anything. Mrs Diver looks over at me.

‘Do you want to tell us about yours, Isla?' she asks. ‘There's no pressure.'

I know my model is loads better than everyone else's, but I'm still nervous. I just wish I'd had time to clean it up. I walk to the front of the class. Already I can hear people whispering. I unfold each wing and stretch them out on Mrs Diver's desk. Bits of reed and mud tumble out. The wings are no longer beautiful and white; instead the feathers crumple inwards. The harness is dirty, too. I feel a lump in my throat as I look at it all. All that hard work Granddad did, and I've ruined the model in one night. It's so much worse than I'd expected. I stare down at the wings for ages, trying to work
out how to fix them. Then Mrs Diver clears her throat and I realise the whole of the class is staring at me. I swallow slowly, take a breath.

‘My flying model is based on swans' wings. I tried to make a kind of bird wing flying harness for a human to wear.‘

I hold up my flying model, only it's hard to make the wings stretch out without me being inside the harness, and they flop forwards. Loose feathers float to the table. I definitely hear someone laugh this time.

Jordan yells out, ‘What did you kill to make that?'

I press my hands to the wings. ‘It was stuffed,' I say. ‘Only stuffed.'

‘Did you drag it off the tip?'

When I look back at the class, they are staring at me like I'm insane. The boys at the back are laughing, sticking their hands into their armpits and flapping their arms like wings. It's horrible standing up there with only my scruffy, muddy flying model that doesn't look as impressive as I hoped it would. Jordan's right, it does look like something I got off the tip, or worse . . . like a bird I dragged out of a lake. My throat goes tight. I can feel my mouth jamming together, and I can't say what I want to say about the wires and how they move individual feathers. I can't say anything about how amazing it all is. I just stare out at the class, clasping my wings tighter and tighter.

‘Bird killer,' Jordan says.

Mrs Diver comes to my rescue in the end, bustling up to the front and ushering me to sit down.

‘I think it's very impressive,' she says. ‘And we'll hear more of it later.'

People tease me all day. They say nasty things about how I must have chopped up a swan.

‘I thought you loved birds,' Matt hisses as he brushes past me in the corridor.

Even Sophie doesn't hang around with me. At break she says she's going to the library to research something. I sit on a wall outside and keep checking my phone, but Mum hasn't called. Perhaps that means Dad is OK now. It's strange, but I almost want her to call just so I can get out of here.

At lunch I walk to the playing fields. Anything has got to be better than hanging around near the idiots from my class. It probably doesn't help that the wings are too big to fit in my locker and I have to carry them everywhere. I walk past Matt and Jordan and they start making clucking noises at me. That does it. I turn around, wanting to yell . . . just wanting to say something that will shut them up. But the lump is in my throat again and I can't do it. I just gape at them, and they only laugh more.

I start jogging. It feels as though everyone in the school is watching me, laughing at the wings in my arms. I keep my head down, not meeting anyone's gaze. I pull the phone from my pocket and check it again, almost crashing into someone as I do . . . but nothing.

Jack's mates are down near one of the goals. There are about six boys including Jack passing the ball between them, and a few girls watching on the side. Jess is there too. She
laughs as Jack stops the ball with his shoulder then flicks it across to Crowy. Crowy flips the ball down to his knee, grinning as he shows off. None of them seem to notice me.

So I dump the wings at the side and run onto the field. I jog over to Jack, but he just calls to Crowy to pass him the ball back.

‘What are you doing here?' he hisses.

I stare at him blankly. ‘You said you'd be here.'

He flashes a quick look in the direction of the girls as he receives the ball then balances it on his foot. ‘Has something happened with Dad?'

‘Mum hasn't called.'

He rolls the ball onto the grass, but doesn't pass it to me. He flicks it up to his knee as Jess looks at him. I understand, then, why he doesn't want me to play.

‘You're trying to show off,' I say.

He stops to glare at me, boots the ball over to Crowy. ‘Don't be an idiot.'

Crowy stops the ball with his chest then rolls it down to his knee. He bounces it from one knee to the other. The girls clap, yell for him to get his kit off next. They start up a chant. Jack jogs over to Crowy, leaves me standing by myself on the edge of the pitch. I kick at the grass, sending little chunks of it into the air.

The girls' chants get louder as Crowy starts pretending that he's stripping for them and his shirt edges up around his stomach. He doesn't look over to me at all, doesn't even recognise I'm here. He just keeps acting up for these girls. I keep
kicking at the grass. I want to run over, grab the ball and play properly. I want Crowy to stop being an idiot. I look across at Jack, but he's laughing as much as the rest of them. For some reason, that makes me madder than anything. How can he laugh and be silly when Dad's lying sick in a hospital bed?

So I run at him. I don't even bother with a proper tackle, instead I use the whole of my leg to knock him sideways.

‘Hey, calm down,' I hear Crowy say.

I don't listen. I stick my arm out and push it against Jack's chest. He stumbles a bit, but he doesn't fall. Somehow he manages to keep hold of the ball.

‘What are you doing?' he whispers.

‘Just give me the ball.'

‘Why should I?'

‘Cos you're being silly with it.'

He frowns as he looks at me. ‘You're off your rocker.'

‘I just want to play.'