Expecting to Fly (5 page)

Later that evening, I was upstairs studying when my phone beeped that I had a text. It was from Joe.

Look out of your window.

I did as I was told and saw that Joe was on the opposite side of the street. He waved when he saw me and beckoned that I should go down. A quick slick of lip-gloss and I grabbed my jacket and
keys, then took the stairs down two at a time. All was quiet on the ground floor apart from the sound of the television in the living room. I snuck past, opened the door quietly and went out to
join Joe.

‘Hey,’ he said.‘Did I disturb your studying?’

‘No rest for the wicked.’

Joe grinned and there was a twinkle in his eye.‘Wicked? We haven’t even started yet.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Yeah. I felt bad deserting you before.’

‘No problem,’ I said.

‘I just wanted to say good night.’

‘Good night? It’s only seven o’clock.’

‘So can you come out for a bit?’

I laughed.‘A bit of what?’

He pulled me towards him, put my arms around his neck and kissed me. I didn’t care who saw. I didn’t even care if Mum and Dad had heard me go and were looking out of the front
window. Joe tasted of mints, his arms felt warm and his lips were soft.
I am in love,
I thought.
And this is so much more fun than homework
.

‘How was school, India Jane?’ asked Mum.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Major stressful. Decisions, decisions, decisions. What I want to do when I leave. What I want to do in the Sixth Form. It’s doing my head in. Should I do art or
something more academic? I don’t know.’

It was suppertime on Wednesday evening and we had all just tucked into bowls of linguini made by Dad. No one was in a great hurry to leave the table, which is usual with our family, plus it was
so cold outside, threatening snow, it felt nice to be inside huddled together cosy and warm. I don’t think I could have got up anyway, because Dad is a fab cook and my stomach was about to
burst.

‘It’s all very well being artistic,’ said Aunt Sarah,‘but with the creative arts – dance, music, painting and drama – there’s so much competition at
university and beyond.’

‘But she must follow her heart,’ said Dad. ‘She has a natural talent for drawing.’

‘And sadly, so do hundreds of others,’ said Aunt Sarah. ‘I have friends who see people’s portfolios every week, designers looking for work and, believe me, there is some
astounding talent out there. And I’ve seen your new project, India Jane, the portraits of your friends – they are very good. But it’s not enough to be creative. You have to work
out how to use your creativity so you can make a living.’

I had got started on my art project back in January and I was pleased with what I had done so far. I’d taken photos of the girls’ profiles then done a series of drawings and, next, I
was going to do paintings in different colours to show their different personalities. Shades of pink for Leela, cool pastels for Brook and maybe no nonsense black and white for Zahrah. I had also
asked Erin to send a recent photo so that I could include her. Her paintings would be green of course, because of her Irish roots.

‘I reckon you should do something practical,’ said Dylan. ‘Something that people will always need – like a plumber or a nurse or a hairdresser. People will always need
haircuts.’

‘Yeah right. I’ll cut yours later if you like,’ I offered with a smile.

‘On second thoughts, forget that,’ said Dylan. ‘I remember you tried to cut my hair before and it was all lopsided.’

‘I was trying to start a fashion.’

Dad got up and began to clear the table and Dylan got up to join him.

‘The thing that’s important is not to identify too closely with a job or career,’ said Dad.‘I think that is wrong. You have to find your true self beyond how you choose
to make money to live. That is not who you are. So many people after a certain age believe that their job is who they are – a teacher, a shopkeeper, a builder. That is not who they are, that
is what they do. Who you are is your core, that spirit, the soul that lives inside of you.’

Kate crossed her eyes and made a peace sign.

Mum nodded in agreement with Dad but Aunt Sarah sighed. ‘Finding who you are is all very well, but it doesn’t always pay the bills or the mortgage. It’s India Jane’s time
of life when she has to make some career choices. Choose some subjects to study in the Sixth Form. Think forward about how she’s going to get ahead in life, what she wants. And anyway, who
says you can’t still find yourself if you have a career? My path hasn’t exactly been conventional but, India, I think you need to look realistically at how you can aim for the right
career where, OK, you can be your true self, but can also have some security.’

I nodded.‘Exactly.’

It was so typical for Dad to go off on one of his rants about being true to yourself and following your heart and it wasn’t that I didn’t think there was anything in what he said, it
was just I couldn’t imagine it would go down well in class when we were discussing career choices. ‘Yes, Mrs Goldman, I am going to follow my heart, be myself and let the Force be with
me, that’s what I am going to do.’ I’d be laughed out of the classroom. Sometimes Dad lived in his own idealistic bubble, out of touch with mainstream life, but then he was a lot
happier than a lot of men his age who I saw hurrying to work in suits in the morning and looking grumpy. Dad had refused to be tied down to one job and he could turn his hand to anything, whether
it was making delicious meals, playing the piano, writing poetry, making furniture – he could even knit. Mum said he was a Renaissance man, which apparently is a romantic way of saying that
someone is an all-rounder.
On the other hand,
I thought as I watched him clear away the dishes,
although he has had a colourful life and we have lived in countries that some people only
dream about, we haven’t got a home and Mum and Dad haven’t got any savings. Small set-back.

Before supper, we’d looked at various estate agents’ lists and it wasn’t looking hopeful, although Dylan was still occupied sifting through them all, determined to find
something that had been missed. I knew it was futile as I’d discovered when I had looked in estate agents’ windows: no way could Mum and Dad afford the prices of houses, not in Holland
Park nor in areas nearby. Of course Aunt Sarah had emphasised that we could stay as long as needed, but Dad told her that instead of buying a house, he was going to look into renting as an
option.

‘Hey, you could always be a drug dealer,’ said Kate. ‘We’re in a good area for it and, as Dylan said, best to do something for which there is always a demand. Notting
Hill Gate has always been a druggie area.’

I glanced over at Aunt Sarah. She looked cross.‘I suppose you think that’s amusing, do you, Kate?’ she asked. ‘Why do you always have to try and shock people? It’s
not clever and it’s not funny and we all know you don’t mean it.’

Kate got up and sloped to the door. I always marvelled at how slim she was, even though she ate twice as much as the rest of us sometimes, she always stayed slinky skinny-model gorgeous.
‘Why don’t you all leave her alone? It’s India Jane’s life. She’s the one who has to decide,’ she said, then turned to me. ‘I still don’t know what I
want to do. Don’t let it bug you. And don’t let any of them talk you into anything you don’t want to do. It’s your life.’

I noticed that Aunt Sarah was chewing her bottom lip, clearly trying to bite back something she wanted to say. She and Kate often clashed, and it was true that Kate often went out of her way to
say whatever was opposite to what everyone else was saying just to get a reaction.

‘Times have changed,’ said Mum, after Kate had left the room and Dad had brought a bowl of pears and a plate of cheese to the table.‘Once people could choose a career path and
pursue it all their life.’

‘Or be stuck with it all their life,’ said Dad.

‘These days, it’s different,’ Mum continued. ‘Times keep changing and people sometimes find themselves made redundant so they have to adapt, change jobs. In fact, many
people have a few careers before they retire.’

‘It’s true. India, love,’ said Aunt Sarah. ‘Don’t listen to Kate. We’re not trying to tell you what to do here. It’s a discussion and, although I
suppose Kate is entitled to her opinion, your mother’s right. The more strings to your bow, the greater your chance of survival. My advice would be that there’s no harm in picking a
couple of avenues to pursue.’

‘So are you saying that the choice is to follow your heart, your dream, and risk not having security
or
find a good steady career and know that there is regular money coming
in?’ I asked.

‘Not exactly. It’s not always that clear cut. I am saying, try to have some idea of where you want to go and pick your subjects with that in mind,’ said Aunt Sarah.

I glanced over at Mum. She wasn’t saying very much and I got the feeling that was because, after years of her and Dad following their dream, they had very little to show for it, whereas
Aunt Sarah had always ploughed away, stayed in one place and worked hard to make a base for her and Kate. Now she had loads of dosh and a fab house but then, for all her wealth, there had been days
before Tom came along when she looked sad – she had no husband, she had an uneasy relationship with her daughter and had been lonely before we landed on her doorstep. At least Mum and Dad had
each other and were happy. God, it was complicated. I was beginning to feel seriously depressed. Jobs. Careers. Goals. It was all anyone talked about these days at school and at home and everyone
had an opinion but me. I still hadn’t a clue which way I wanted to go apart from bed most nights, because my brain was exhausted with trying to decide and trying to keep up with doing ten
subjects.

Later that same evening, Joe emailed to say hi. He often did these days if we hadn’t been back to each other’s house or hadn’t had time together in the day. He’d either
send an email or a text message or he’d go on MSN or call. I really liked the easiness of it and how he had just fitted in as part of my life. I sat down to email him back.

I deleted the love. He might think that I was saying that I loved him and it was far too early for that.

I wrote,
With best wishes
. I deleted that. Far too formal-sounding.

I wrote,
Bye for now, India Jane XXX
.

I deleted two of the XXs. Joe always did one X. He might think XXX was excessive and feel suffocated. Heckity hoola, it was mad. With a mate, I could do not only love but lots of love and
endless kisses and hearts coming off the page and she wouldn’t even think twice about it. What was it about boys that girls always had to be so careful how they signed off?

I sent my email and went on to MSN to see if Erin was there, as she often was in the evening.