Best of Friends (45 page)

“It’s only a row,” insisted Lizzie.

“It’s more than that,” snapped her son. “Barry and Debs are totally unsuited. She’s my sister and I love her, but she behaves like a kid who always wants her own way. Debs has some chance with a man who wouldn’t take any of her crap and would make her grow up, but Barry isn’t that man. He’s not interested in hassle. He’ll walk out on her rather than deal with the situation. This is serious, I’m telling you.”

“Don’t overdramatise.”

“Mum!” Joe groaned. “At the wedding when he had a few jars in him, Barry’s father told me he never thought Barry would go through with it. Apparently he had second thoughts the night before. I think that only his mother threatening that she’d die of shame if he didn’t marry Debra got him to the church in the first place.”

“Oh, Joe, I had no idea,” said Lizzie, shaken by both this new information and Joe’s pronouncement that Debra’s marriage was in trouble.

“Go upstairs now and tell her she has to go back to Barry and sort this out like an adult,” Joe ordered. “Or you’ll be drawn into it all and you’ll never have your own life because you’ll be babying her for ever.”

“But she’s my daughter,” said Lizzie

“Yes, but you’ve got your own life,” Joe said ominously.

On Sunday morning, Lizzie woke early and crept around the house getting ready so she wouldn’t wake Debra. She squeezed some oranges for Debra’s breakfast and left a note saying there were eggs in the fridge and that she’d be back before five, hopefully. The night before, she had decided it wasn’t yet worth advising Debra to go home to Barry and sort things out. It was easier not to. In the clear light of morning, she was sure that Joe had been exaggerating the problem between the newlyweds. Didn’t every groom have a panic attack the night before his wedding? It meant nothing.

Lizzie was the first one in the training centre this time, and the reception door was still locked when she pushed it.

“Hold on, I’ve got the key.” It was Simon, a baseball hat pulled down low over his head.

He hadn’t shaved and Lizzie felt her heart leap in an unfamiliar way at the sight of his lean, stubbly jaw.

“You’re keen,” he remarked as he unlocked the door.

“It’s fifty percent fear and fifty percent enthusiasm,” Lizzie laughed.

Simon grinned laconically. “It’s nice to hear someone being honest about it. Most of the people who come here feel the same but won’t admit it. A little fear is healthy in parachuting because the moment you don’t respect what you’re doing, you’re putting yourself at risk.”

“I never looked at it that way,” Lizzie said, following him into the grim reception room. “I thought fear was the enemy of everything.”

“Only in the very stupid,” Simon said. “I’m making coffee. Would you like a brew?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Lizzie smiled. “I woke up early today with nerves, so I could do with something to give me some zip.”

He led her to a small office where a coffee machine stood in one corner by a tiny sink. Two desks and plenty of elderly filing cabinets filled the room, and there were photos crammed on the walls, of planes with laughing happy people in front of them, some in full parachute harness.

“Remember that you don’t have to jump if you don’t want to,” Simon said, fixing coffee. “Nobody’s going to make you do it.”

“I’m going to make myself,” Lizzie commented, walking round to look at the photos. There was one of Simon, younger and with longer tawny hair, his arm round an equally tawny-haired woman in a flying jacket. “I’m jumping for a breast cancer charity so I can’t chicken out.”

Simon nodded but didn’t enquire into why she’d chosen breast cancer specifically. He wasn’t a prying sort of person. It was refreshing talking to him, she realised, because she didn’t have anything to prove and because she knew there was no way in hell he could be interested in her. Therefore she could just be herself.

“You’ll either love it or you’ll hate it,” was all he said. “A lot of people jump once and never come back but if you get hooked, it’s very addictive.”

“Will you be flying the plane today?” Lizzie asked shyly.

“No, I’ll wait on the ground and see what you look like when you land,” grinned Simon. “That’s the true test.”

“If I look green in the face, don’t think I’m a wimp,” Lizzie said. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Simon handed her a mug of coffee. “I don’t think you’re a wimp. You’re brave.”

“For taking it up at my age?” Lizzie said wryly.

Simon gave her a considered look. “Why did you ask that?” he said.

Lizzie flushed. “You know, I’m the oldest person on the course.”

“So?” Simon shrugged. “If you had to be under twenty-five to jump, I’d have been retired long ago.”

The door opened and Teddy, the bearded guy from reception, came in. He ignored Lizzie and spoke to Simon.

“Two cancellations already,” he said.

“Who?” asked Lizzie before she could stop herself.

“Dolores Moore and Louis MacNamara.”

Lizzie wasn’t surprised that Casey’s friend had chosen not to jump: she was clearly scared of heights, but Louis was the one who spent all day yesterday bragging about how he loved flying and was sorry he’d never done a parachute jump before. All clearly bullshit. Lizzie grinned, thinking that she hadn’t chickened out.

Simon caught her eye. “You turned up on the second day,” he murmured so Teddy couldn’t hear. “That’s my definition of being brave.”

At half two, when she was suited up and in her harness waiting with three others to board the small plane, Lizzie didn’t feel very brave. Her heart was pumping at high speed, there was no sign of Simon to give her fresh confidence, and Casey—who’d adopted Lizzie as her best friend now that Dolores wasn’t there—was shaking like a leaf beside her.

“Why did we say we’d do this?” said Casey, teeth chattering with nerves and all her lipstick worn off from biting her lips.

“To meet gorgeous men,” Lizzie reminded her, giving Casey’s hand a squeeze.

“I haven’t seen any I fancy,” wailed Casey.

I have, thought Lizzie.

“Fantastic!” yelled a voice, and they all turned to look at the people coming in from the last jump. Everyone was smiling, great ecstatic smiles. Genuine enjoyment or sheer relief it was over, Lizzie wondered.

Four of them squeezed into the plane with Tony, the instructor, and a pilot. Their gear had been checked and rechecked, they had all been drilled to within an inch of their lives and if they didn’t know how to jump safely now, they never would.

“Ready?” yelled Tony over the roar of the engine. Everyone gamely made thumbs-up signs at him.

What the hell am I doing? Lizzie asked herself as the small plane took off down the runway.

From the ground, it seemed as if the plane took ages to reach the site above the drop zone, but when you were actually in the plane, the trip was scarily quick.

“We’re here. Ready?” Tony said again.

The thumbs-up were shakier this time.

Tony wrenched open the door and as the air rushed noisily in, Lizzie felt her stomach lurch. She was actually going to have to do this.

A big guy named Alan was seated nearest the door and Tony roared at him to get ready. In a moment, the pilot would cut the plane’s engine and then the jumpers would take it in turns to have their static line attached, carefully put their feet onto the wing strut, edge themselves away from the door, holding on to the wing with their hands, then jump. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousand, check canopy, Lizzie muttered under her breath. One thousand, two thousand …

The engine cut out and Alan, his face white under his safety helmet, swung his feet out. Lizzie watched as he made his way carefully out onto the wing strut, then let go. Her stomach swooped in sympathy with his.

“Good jump,” roared Tony, marking a card. “Next.”

Sergio hauled himself to the door, speedily clambered onto the strut and was gone.

“Oh shit, I can’t do this!” Casey’s voice was hysterical. She was next in line and she looked panic-stricken.

“Next,” repeated Tony.

“I can’t,” said Casey to Lizzie. “Don’t make me. I’m so scared.”

“You don’t have to,” said Lizzie, who was just as scared. Perhaps neither of them had to. Nobody would force them, Simon had said.

“She’s too scared to jump?” Tony asked Lizzie, and for an instant she saw derision in his eyes.

“I think so,” Lizzie said, gritting her teeth, “but I’m not.”

Squeezing past Casey in the enclosed space, she got to the door and waited while Tony fixed her static line.

“Good luck,” he said, and this time there was admiration in his face.

Lizzie shot him a smile that was far braver than she felt and swung her legs out onto the wing strut. Three thousand feet below her, the fields of Cork were laid out like exquisite squares of silk: olive greens and pale golds, with rich emerald patches bordered by tiny walls. The really teeny moving dots were cars. She would not think of how far away it all was. Instead, she took a deep breath and edged her way out until she’d gone far enough. All she had to do now was let go. The training drill clicked in and Lizzie let herself fall back into the sky as if she was falling onto a feather bed.

“One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousand,” she screamed into the air. She felt a jerk and her body swooped upwards. “Check canopy,” she roared. Looking up, there it was: the most welcome sight in the world at that precise moment, her own parachute canopy.

“OmiGod, omiGod, omiGod!” she screamed with relief and, suddenly, the fear was gone and in its place was delight at this incredible new sensation. She was floating on the wind, lifted by heat currents, flying over the world like a bird of prey. Now she let herself admire the countryside below her, her eager eyes drinking in the familiar sights from an unfamiliar angle. The training school looked totally different from the air and, pulling gently on the cords that controlled the parachute, she steered towards the big white X she’d been told to aim for.

She loved it, just loved it. Lizzie began to laugh when she thought of how scared she’d been. This was joyful, perfect pleasure, total sensation, and it was ending all too quickly. The only hard bit was gauging how far away the ground was. It was coming closer and closer but where …? The ground rushed up to meet her and as Lizzie landed just beside the big X, she concentrated on falling correctly, letting her legs act as a giant spring to break her fall. Despite the jolt of coming into contact with the earth, she managed to roll with the impact and ended up with a better landing than she’d ever managed in training.

“Well done. You score ten out of ten,” said Simon, holding out a hand.

“That was the most incredible experience ever!” gasped Lizzie, eyes shining. “I loved it.”

“Good.” Simon pulled her to her feet and, on impulse, Lizzie reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you!” she beamed.

“Thank
you,”
grinned Simon.

“When can I do it again?” Lizzie couldn’t wait to experience another jump. “And higher. Can I jump from a higher altitude? That went so quickly, I want to spend more time up there.”

Simon helped her haul up her parachute. “If you jumped tandem with an instructor, you could.”

“Please,” begged Lizzie.

“You could jump with me,” he said softly.

Excitement and the pride of her achievement raced through Lizzie’s normally sedate veins. “I’d like that,” she said, gazing at him.

It was three by the time the whole squad of novices had jumped and the ones who’d enjoyed it stayed around to watch the local parachute club jump.

Casey had gone home as soon as the plane landed.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled to Lizzie, white-faced and red-eyed as she struggled out of her jumpsuit.

“Don’t be,” Lizzie said, hugging the younger woman tightly. “It’s not for everyone. You were brave enough to get this far so don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“But you did it,” Casey said.

“I know.” Nobody was as surprised as Lizzie herself. She’d been so scared and she’d beaten that fear.

The local club were all self-assured, joking and laughing, all in customised flying suits that looked miles better than the trainees’ khaki ones. Their bright yellow, hot red and multicoloured suits turned the whole event into a gaudy festival. There were as many women jumpers as men, and as harnesses and chutes were checked and packed, the group laughed and joked with the familiarity of people who knew each other well.

Simon was piloting the plane for the first jump and Lizzie watched him surreptitiously as she sat on a bench outside reception, holding a mug of tea and munching on a biscuit. She was so hungry now that she’d jumped. It must be the adrenaline, she thought.

“Have another.” Teddy, the bearded receptionist, proffered the pack of digestive biscuits. The metamorphosis of Teddy was almost as astonishing as her enjoyment of the jump. Now that the real jumpers were here and the only novices left were ones who’d proved themselves, Teddy had unstiffened and seemed like a different guy. It was as if he could only communicate with people who loved what he did.

“It gets into your blood,” he said, sitting down beside Lizzie with his own mug of tea.

“Do all the club jump every weekend?” Lizzie asked.

“Some jump every weekend, others every month. It depends on your finances and your life. Now Samson over there,” he indicated a guy in an acid-green suit, “would jump every day but his wife goes mad when he’s gone all weekend. She’s never jumped.”

To Teddy, the world was clearly divided into jumpers and non-jumpers.

“Does your wife jump?” Lizzie enquired.

“Not married, but my girlfriend does. She’s gone up with Tony today.”

“And Simon?” she asked idly.

“Simon’s divorced.”

“Really?” Lizzie took a big bite of biscuit and smiled to herself.

When Simon’s plane landed, he sought Lizzie out.

“On Sundays, we often go for dinner after jumping. Fancy coming out with us?” he asked. The invitation was casual but the excitement that coursed through Lizzie was anything but.