Taking Flight (3 page)

Chapter 3

DECLAN

The nurse is outside in the main ward but I catch most of what she's saying into the phone. ‘Your sister-in-law, Theresa Kelly … alcohol … tablets …'

I can't hear Colette's half of the conversation. Just a long silence.

‘Oh, no … got her in time … serious but stable …'

Silence.

I imagine Colette in her posh house, frowning at the phone and thinking, ‘what has this to do with me?' I don't know. But they've kept asking me who they should contact and she's the only one I could think of. And when the nurse comes into the side ward where Mum lies wired up and twitching she says, ‘Your aunt's on her way.'

Picturing Colette getting into her car and driving up here stops me thinking about Mum. A bit. I should sit nearer the bed. Touch her. But I can't. All those wires and drips. They keep telling me she'll be fine but she looks terrible. Not bluish any more but yellowy. I wonder how long until Colette gets here? She lives on the Malone
Road. That's dead far. I look at Mum. Look away. Cream walls, grey floor, sink. Twist a Coke can round in my hands. Concentrate on the coldness of it. Feel the stickiness where the Coke has spilled. Don't think.

The doorway fills up with them. The nurse, big and bossy; Colette, small, dark, uncertain-looking.

‘They've pumped her stomach,' says the nurse. ‘Just as well we got her in time.'

I don't meet Colette's eyes. I focus on Mum, marooned on the bed in the middle of the room. I sense Colette trying not to stare at the tubes and machines. Feel her eyes on me. The nurse's eyes on me. Asking, why did she do it? What did
you
do?

There's only one chair and I'm sitting on it. I turn my Coke tin round and round in my hands. Make myself look up and nod. I haven't seen Colette for … must be more than a year. I'm always out when she calls round. Running the streets, as Mum would say.

She speaks first. ‘Did you find her?'

I nod. Don't think. Don't remember.

‘Did you phone for the ambulance?'

‘Yeah.' I can't think of another thing to say. Is she here to see Mum or to take me to her house or both?

The nurse fusses round and then says, ‘I'll leave you with her for a while then. But I think the doctor would like to speak to you.' She means Colette.

‘OK,' says Colette.

‘You have the chair,' I say, uncurling myself. My legs and back ache when I stand up. Colette is the same height as me.

‘I'm sure there's another one somewhere. I could go out and have a look in the corridor.' She sounds like she wants out already.

‘No, I will.'

Mum moans and mutters a bit, making me jump, but she doesn't open her eyes. I have to get out. ‘I'll get the chair.'

I walk to the end of the ward even though there are plenty of chairs nearby and when I get back there's a man talking to Colette. I hover in the doorway, holding the chair in front of me like a shield.

‘We'll keep her in for a few days,' he says. His words – tests, liver function, psychiatric assessment – wash over me. Is Colette going to take me home with her? I know they won't let me stay home on my own even though I'd be fine.

Colette pushes back out past me to find the nurse. I listen. She's giving her her phone number. ‘I think I'd be as well taking him on home,' she says. ‘There's nothing we can do here.' She comes back in and smiles at me. ‘So it looks like you'll be coming home with me for a day or two.'

‘Is that OK?'

‘Course.' Her voice warms up a bit. ‘We'd better go and pick you up some stuff.'

Walking out of the hospital is like leaving a dungeon. But out in the real world, driving up the Falls where the street lights are on, and on out to our estate, the facts come crashing back in.
She tried to kill herself
. Not that anyone's
said
that. They've said ‘overdose' and ‘alcohol' and ‘sleeping tablets' but that's all. What will Colette tell Princess Vicky?

Mum's told me all about growing up next door to Colette. How she thought she was too good for everyone else in the street. How she stayed in and studied and never went out to play. They were best friends till Colette
went to the grammar school and didn't bother about her any more. They sort of got back together when Mum started going out with Colette's brother – my dad. Gran always said Colette had brains to burn and I used to think that was a funny thing to say, like why would you burn your brain?

Colette turns off the main road. I always think our estate looks kind of unfinished even though it was built before Mum was born. It looks like someone just threw it at the side of a mountain and it clung on.

Our house is the same as every other house in the street. Maybe a bit scruffier. It never looked like this when Gran was here. It has a sad, empty look, but that's just because I know what's happened here. A
dead
look. I wonder what we'd be doing now if she
had
managed to kill herself. I shiver. I notice Colette noticing the long, trampled grass. A few crisp bags hang sadly around the doorstep.

Colette grew up in this house. What does it feel like, coming back? You can't tell from her face. In the hall she nearly trips over the Coke I bought earlier. I think about picking it up and putting it in the kitchen but it seems like a massive effort. If I bend down I think I'll just lie on the floor and not get up.

The living-room is dark now; the streetlight shining through the window doesn't show up the dirt but I can see Colette's eyes taking everything in. The grubby duvet without a cover, spilling onto the dirty carpet. An ashtray spewing butts on to the sticky-ringed coffee table. Smoky air. Bet Colette's house isn't like this.

‘She sometimes sleeps down here,' I say, as if Colette has asked me a question. I pick up the duvet and back out of the room, hugging it. ‘I'll take this upstairs and get my stuff.'

‘What about turning on the light?'

‘You need to punch in the code to the electric meter.' I remember getting the card topped up. Feels like days ago, not hours. I do it, then go up and grab a few things and shove them in a plastic bag. When I come back down she's in the kitchen. The light's too bright. The surfaces are all crumby and slimy and the floor crunches under my trainers. The pile of clothes on the floor in front of the washing machine stinks. I want to tell her it's not always like this but what's the point? She frowns at the plastic bag and I narrow my eyes at her. Snobby bitch.

‘You haven't brought much,' she says.

‘You said it wouldn't be for long.' I try to keep the hope out of my voice.

‘No. But what about school?'

I can't tell her the trouble I'm in. So I go and get my uniform.

All the way to Colette's house my throat gets tighter and tighter. It's so obvious she doesn't want me. She's just the type of person who does the right thing.

I've forgotten how huge their house is. In a posh, quiet street with trees up the footpath. I trail behind Colette, not sure where to put myself. The house is so clean it makes me feel filthy. Bookcases, hippy sort of rugs, flowers. I follow her into the kitchen and she fusses around, puts the kettle on. I'm knackered. The big clock on the wall says it's nearly five but it feels like the middle of the night. My eyes are gritty and when I slump into a chair at the table I wonder if I'll ever have the energy to get out of it again.

‘I'll just go and sort out the guest room, Declan,' says Colette. ‘Make yourself at home.'

I force myself to stay awake and look round. It's a big
room, bright and clean but sort of cosy too. There's a row of cookbooks on a shelf. The kettle clicks off. If I don't stand up and walk around I'm going to fall asleep at this table. I trail over to the window. Big garden. Trees. There's a photo on the windowsill. Princess Vicky. On a horse. I forgot she had a horse. Imagine having your own horse. Spoiled bitch. She looks spoiled too: all tanned and blonde and hefty.

But the horse. Oh Jesus, the horse is amazing. Bright gingery-brown with a proud look. It's half turned away from the camera, a secret look in its eye. No one would mess that horse around. It shines too. Like a conker. I wonder what it feels like to touch.

‘Oh, there's Vicky's pride and joy.'

I haven't heard Colette come back. I set the photo back and catch myself on. Horses. Gay.

‘D'you want a cup of tea?'

I nod. My throat's so swollen that I can't speak.

‘Something to eat?' Colette goes on, pouring water into a teapot.

I shake my head. ‘No, I'm OK,' I manage to say. I don't think I'll ever eat again.

‘Vicky won't be back until tomorrow evening. She goes to her dad's every weekend.' Her voice is too bright. ‘That's where she keeps Flight – the horse. Well, at a livery stable nearby. Maybe she'll take you up to see him.'

What the hell's a livery stable? When she mentions Vicky she drums her fingers against her cup. I want to see Flight but not Vicky.

‘Do you want to take your things upstairs? Maybe you should try to get a bit of a sleep. You look shattered. The guest – your room's the second on the left. Bathroom's just opposite. I've left clean towels on the bed.'

I force my legs upstairs. Step by step. All the doors on the landing are closed. The bathroom is so shiny I'm nearly scared to take a piss. The guest room is yellow, everything matching, a girl's room. I collapse on the fleecy bedspread and bury my head in a pillow. It's cool and smells like fresh air. I should take my trainers off, I think. But it's too much effort.

Chapter 4

VICKY

‘It'll be fine, Vicky,' Fiona said when she hugged me goodbye, a bit awkwardly as she was trying to calm down a grizzling Molly at the same time. ‘You might even enjoy having someone your own age in the house for a change.' She sounded
exactly
like Mum.

But Dad should know better.

‘Come on, darling,' he said when the Merc purred to a smooth stop at the end of our driveway and I made no move to get out. I sighed and leaned back in my seat. He ruffled my hair. ‘I don't suppose it will be for more than a few days. And who knows, maybe the charming Declan will have improved with age.'

Yeah, I thought, turning round to haul my rucksack out of the back seat. I bet! I wasn't sure exactly how much Mum had told Dad about Declan's little run-in with the law last year.

‘And if he hasn't gone by next weekend at least you can escape to us,' Dad went on.

‘
You'll
be in Paris,' I reminded him. I grumped out of
the car and up the drive. I didn't look back. Usually I waved until the car was out of sight. I hitched my rucksack higher on my shoulder, made sure Tigger was squashed down out of sight and let myself in through the back door.

The kitchen was warm and herby with the smell of Mum's special homemade pizza. She and The Hood were at the table.

‘Hello, love.' Mum turned to smile at me. ‘Here's Declan. I told you he was here for a few days.' She made it sound like he was on his holidays.

‘Oh yes,' I said, as if I had just remembered. I hadn't planned how my voice should be and I was glad it came out cool and distant.

He nodded at me. ‘Hiya,' he mumbled. I'd forgotten how rough his accent was.

I plonked my rucksack down.

‘Good weekend?' Mum asked.

‘So-so. Can you take me to the stables on Wednesday for a lesson? Oh, and Dad's going to Paris. So can you take me to the show as well?'

‘Yes, I suppose so.' Usually she moaned at having to take me to the stables midweek, and she
hated
pulling the horsebox.

Declan had had his ear pierced since I'd last seen him. The thing that hadn't changed was how much he looked like Mum. Other than that, he just looked exactly like those steeky boys hanging round the bus stops, all shaved hair and shiny tracksuit bottoms.

Mum kept giving me a
haven't-you-forgotten-something
? look. I guessed what she was after – she wanted me to ask how Theresa was. But I didn't
care
. I hadn't even seen her since Gran's funeral. Before that, when Gran used
to mind me sometimes, Theresa was always out. And I suspected Mum wasn't that keen on her either, even if she did have this thing about them being old friends and sisters-in-law and all that.

Declan kept his eyes on his plate. I noticed how little he'd eaten.
Would you feel like eating if your mum was lying in hospital
? asked a cool little voice in my head, but I didn't want to listen.

* * *

Monday morning, usual scramble. Except it was so weird, trying to do my normal getting ready for school stuff with him in the way. Mum had an en-suite so I was used to having the bathroom to myself. Today I suddenly remembered
he
was around and I had to dive back into my room and put my dressing gown on. Then when I got downstairs he was in the living-room with a bowl of cereal, watching TV.
I
was never allowed to do that! So I just went and got
my
cereal and took it into the living-room too, and by the time I realised Mum was having a private conversation with him it was too late to back out.

‘Well, I'll phone your deputy head today,' she was saying. ‘You should have told me earlier. But I don't suppose a day off will do you any harm.'

He was getting a day off school for no reason!

‘Come on, Vic, love,' Mum said, turning round and looking at me properly. ‘You'll be late.'

I didn't tell
anyone
at school, not even Fliss and Becca. If I didn't talk about him maybe he wouldn't exist. But when I got home there he was, sitting in the living-room watching TV as if he hadn't moved all day. And it was the corner of the sofa
I
liked, the nice squishy bit.

When I went upstairs to get changed, Mum was putting clean clothes away in my room for me. ‘Try to make him welcome, Vic,' she said.

‘I am.'

She gave me a look. ‘How would you feel if
I
was in hospital and you had to go to stay with Theresa and Declan?'

‘I'd go to Dad's. I wouldn't go
there
and you wouldn't even want me to.'

‘You used to go all the time.'

‘When
Gran
was there.' I yanked off my school tie and stepped out of my revolting green skirt. My shirt felt sticky even after one day. I threw it over the chair and Mum picked it up.

‘I don't like the way you're behaving.'

‘But he's
horrible
.' I had my back to her when I said this, rummaging in my drawers for my favourite old jeans. Then I remembered I'd left them at Dad's – I hated it when that happened. I threw on old trackies and a top.

‘Don't be ridiculous, Vic. You've hardly said a word to him.'

‘He doesn't speak to
me
.' I got out my French books and plonked myself down at the desk. She sort of gave up on me and I stayed upstairs until she called me for dinner. Spag bol. My favourite. I wondered if it was for my benefit or
his
. My phone bleeped and I got it out of my back pocket to look. ‘WANT 2 MEET ME & BECS @ STARBUX? F xxx.' I read it out and was going to text back yes when Mum totally wrecked everything!

‘Why don't you bring Declan along to meet your friends?'

I couldn't believe her! To be fair to him, he grunted something like ‘Nah, you're alright.'

‘Then no,' she said. ‘It's a weeknight and your mocks are in a few weeks. And
if
you expect to go to the stables on Wednesday …'

I knew what that ‘
if
' meant – I was going to have to start being nice to him.