Flyaway Page 15

  ‘I can see stars through my window, too,’ he says quietly. I shut my eyes for a moment and it feels like he's in the room with me.

  ‘What else can you see?’ I ask.

  ‘There's a big moon, and a silver lake.’ He pauses. ‘I can see the swan, too, the moonlight's right on her.’

  I think about what it might be like to be in Harry's room at night, sitting with him and looking at the swan.

  ‘Is she OK?’

  There's a pause as Harry shifts in his bed to look. ‘Shall I go down there and find out?’

  ‘To the lake?’

  ‘Where else?’

  I can hear the smile in Harry's voice. Again, there's that tingly feeling in my stomach.

  ‘You're not going to go down there alone,’ I whisper.

  ‘I might. I might if you don't come round to the hospital really soon and come with me.’

  He laughs a little. Waits for me to speak. I swallow slowly, but I'm all out of answers.

  ‘It'll be cold down there,’ I say. ‘It's too crazy.’

  ‘I don't care.’

  ‘I thought you were scared of outside places.’

  ‘I'm not scared,’ he says, indignant now.

  I think of the swan floating by herself. I imagine walking with Harry, through the trees, to get to her. I think of finding Dad afterwards, at first light. Then I think of the alternative: sitting in this cold kitchen, waiting for the morning, and worrying. I listen to Harry breathing.

  ‘Promise you won't die on me?’ I say.

  ‘Promise.’

  And, like that, I agree.

  CHAPTER 50

  Immediately I regret what I've said and I try to call him back. But Harry doesn't answer. He sends me one text message.

  See you soon! :-) The number for the door is 12023.

  Harry is too sick for a midnight trip to the lake, I know this, and I'd get in so much trouble if anyone found us. Besides, what would Granddad do if he woke up and found I'd gone? I lean my head onto my flying model. The feathers smell dusty and old, nothing like the damp, fishy smell of the swan on the lake's feathers. I wonder about her, floating alone, with no other flock members to huddle up to. Do swans get lonely? Cold? Dad's said before that, without their flock, a bird's chance of survival isn't very good. And Harry said maybe she'd fly if she found her flock. But the problem is she needs to fly to find them. I look back out at the star-filled sky. Dad's alone too, in his hospital room, needing support from a machine. But he's not the only one alone in his room.

  I text Harry one more time.

  We are going to get in so much trouble. I'll be there in 20 mins.

  I leave a note for Granddad on the kitchen table. Then I carry the wings through the hall. I take my coat from the hooks beside the front door. There's a faded green beanie hanging underneath it, one of Granddad's, so I take that, too. I go out the back way, pushing the door handle really, really slowly. I shut it behind me with a small clunk. I look up, check the light in Granddad's room hasn't gone on. This is stupid, what I'm doing, but my feet lead me to the barn anyway.

  The wind sends leaves spinning past my face. When a big gust makes the metal sides of the barn creak, I draw back the rusty bolt. I find the bike I was riding earlier and wheel it out. The handlebars feel like solid bars of ice. I try tying the wings to the bike. They're too big to balance across the handlebars, and I can't find anywhere else to put them. I have to wear them.

  I thread my legs into the harness and do up the buckles across my chest and stomach. I leave my arms free to hold the bike, and leave the wings folded in on my back. My teeth are already chattering as I wheel the bike round the side of the house, and I'm glad of the extra weight and warmth of the wings.

  I set off, the bike wobbling a bit on the uneven ground of Granddad's lane. I pedal into blackness. The bike skids on ice as I take a left onto the main road, and I almost end up in the gutter, but somehow I manage to keep upright. I move towards the centre of the road where the tarmac looks dryer. I pedal faster. There are no cars, no people. It's too cold. I pass the strip of shops where the Indian takeaway is, and then it's just a long, straight road to the hospital. There's one hill to go up, and then it's downhill all the way.

  I stand on the pedals as I get to the hill, using my body weight to push down. I watch the tarmac move beneath me. Fast at first, then slower and slower as I near the top. The muscles in my legs start to quiver, but at least I'm not cold any more. I grip the handlebars tightly and force myself to keep going. I feel my heart thudding in my chest. I hope Dad's heart is beating just as strongly.

  Then, finally, I'm there. At the brow of the hill. I stop pedalling and put my feet on the road. The city lights spread out behind me. Granddad's house is somewhere in the darkness between me and them. I look ahead at the large block of lights that make up the hospital. There's a space behind the hospital that looks darker than anywhere. The lake. Somewhere, in the middle of all that blackness, floats the swan. Does she know I'm coming?

  I feel the wind behind me, making my coat flap. I angle the bike to face down the hill. Before I push off, I have a crazy idea. I unfold the wings, stretch them out across my back. They bounce with the wind, their feathers fluttering around my ears. The bike is inching forwards already.

  I let the brakes go. The wind shoves me hard and pushes me down the hill. I grip the handlebars, trying to keep them steady. The wings work like a sail and I go faster and faster towards the hospital. I go so fast that the bike starts to shake. I'm too scared to touch the brakes now. A slip left and I'll be veering into the trees at the edge of the road. A slip right and I'll be in the other lane. My wings begin to make a low throbbing sound. I must be going faster than a car. I feel faster than anything. It's like I'm flying. If I had the guts to angle my wings properly, to make them shift and catch the wind, I'm sure I could take off.

  CHAPTER 51

  I wheel the bike through the car park and lock it to some railings near the entrance. I see Mum's car and wonder where she is in the hospital. Harry's told me that there are family bedrooms on the fifth floor where his mum sleeps sometimes, and I wonder whether Mum has been allowed to sleep there. Or maybe she's dozing in an uncomfortable chair again. I feel a pang of guilt, wonder whether it's her I should be trying to find in this hospital instead of Harry.

  I take an empty lift to the third floor. My footsteps echo in the corridors. At the door to Harry's ward, I stop to peer inside. There are no nurses on the desk so I take a breath and quickly key in the numbers Harry texted me. The door clicks open. I try not to make a sound as I walk past rooms of sleeping kids. Every part of me is listening for noises, waiting for a nurse to stop me.

  Harry is sitting up in bed. There's a laptop and sheets of paper spread out over his duvet. I close the door behind me.

  ‘Why didn't you answer when I called you back?’ I whisper.

  He smiles slowly. ‘You wouldn't have come in.’

  ‘This is crazy,’ I say. I walk around his bed and crouch near the window. This way, if a nurse comes in they might not be able to see me straight away. I place the wings on the bottom of his bed. ‘If we get caught we'll be in so much trouble.’

  ‘We won't get caught.’ Harry sweeps his hair back from his forehead, sending a few more loosened strands floating down. It's thinning badly now. I look away from it quickly as he sees me watching.

  ‘Trust me,’ he continues. ‘I know exactly when the nurses change over and when they come to check on me. It's the same every night. They've just been, and they won't come again for at least another five hours.’

  I'm not sure I believe him, he could just be saying it to let me think it's OK. I feel sick as I think about all the things that could happen to Harry when we're out there alone.

  ‘I'm not sure this is a good idea.’

  Harry's hand moves across his duvet until his fingers rest on the back of my hand. I look down at them. They feel so light and cold against my skin. I almost turn my hand over and hol
d them properly. I would, I think, if I wasn't so worried.

  ‘Hey,’ he says quietly. ‘What if this is the only time we can ever do this?’

  ‘It won't be. After your transplant and after Dad's better, we can do whatever you want.’

  His fingers press more firmly against my skin. ‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘But what if I don't survive it?’

  ‘What?’ My voice seems to echo around his room, far too loud.

  ‘Fifty per cent chance,’ he says, shrugging slightly.

  ‘You never told me that.’ I keep staring at him. I know this transplant thing is serious, but I didn't realise quite how serious. My stomach sinks. First Dad, and now Harry. Both of them so sick. Both of them could die.

  ‘Why would I tell you?’ I feel his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. ‘As soon as you say something like that, people back away.’

  ‘I wouldn't.’

  His fingers move as he closes down his laptop. This time it's my hand that feels cold.

  ‘Why only fifty per cent?’ I say quietly.

  He gathers up the paper on his bed. ‘The problem is they have to find exactly the right match for a bone marrow transplant,’ he explains, ‘. . . and even then my body might not like it. It might pack up at any time.’

  There's something so calm about his expression. It's almost as if what he's saying doesn't bother him, but it has to. He might die. How can anyone be calm about that? I run my eyes across his cheeks and forehead. He doesn't look sick. At least, not if I don't look at his hair. He looks like any other boy I might be sitting in a hospital room with at half past midnight. Only he isn't any other boy. With his wide smile and bright eyes, he really is beautiful. I breathe in quickly as it hits me. He's more beautiful even than Crowy.

  Harry grins quickly. He's got his answer. ‘I knew you'd come with me.’ He pulls back his duvet and swings his legs out.

  I just stare up at him. How can he be this sick when he's just leapt out of bed? I study him, looking for clues. His pyjamas have small pictures of sailing ships on them. He sticks a jumper over the top when he sees me looking.

  ‘My mum's got no taste,’ he says.

  I stand, then sit back down on the bed, then stand again. I'm nervous as hell. My mind is still reeling.

  ‘What if you get sick?’ I whisper, ‘. . . by the lake. I wouldn't know what to do.’

  ‘I won't. Anyway . . .’ he grabs his mobile phone from the bedside table, ‘. . . that's what these are for. All the useful numbers are stored in it.’

  He digs around in the cupboard near the door, pulls out a black duffel coat and a scarf. I take out the beanie I took from Granddad's and hand it over to him.

  ‘You'd better have this, as well,’ I say. ‘It's cold out there.’

  He touches my arm. ‘Thanks, Isla.’

  I freeze, wait for him to say more. He's close to me, close enough to hug. But he just turns back to the cupboard and takes out a pair of trainers. He sits down on the bed to put them on.

  ‘I've found out loads about how swans use their wings,’ he says. ‘You don't need to worry when we get down there, I'll tell you what to do.’

  ‘I'm still not sure I can run with these things on, you know.’

  ‘Doesn't matter. We'll go down to the lake, I'll see the swan, you give the wings a go and if it works, it works. If it doesn't . . .’

  ‘I'm glad you think it's a mad idea, too,’ I say quickly. I reach to grab a folded woollen blanket from the shelf in the cupboard and force it into his arms.

  ‘Now we just need the wheelchair from the next room,’ he says.

  ‘Wheelchair?’

  ‘If you want to be certain of nothing happening . . . I'm not sure I can walk the whole way.’

  I sneak back into the corridor, open the next door along. It's a kind of storeroom. I grab the wheelchair and wheel it back to Harry. He gets in and I place the blanket over his lap.

  ‘Grab another, just in case,’ he says.

  I tuck it around his legs, nice and tight.

  ‘If anyone asks, we're just going for a wheel around the wards, OK?’

  I nod. ‘I'll say you can't sleep.’

  He starts wheeling towards the door, but I'm suddenly too nervous to follow him.

  ‘Come on then, Bird Girl,’ he whispers. ‘Let's go.’

  He looks back, his face serious, and I can see there's no way that he's going to back down now. He's going to the lake whether I am or not. I should be glad of it. The lake will be different at night, darker and quieter, and he'll get to see the swan. It's what I wanted after all, isn't it?

  ‘It's your fault if you get sick,’ I say.

  Harry holds his hand against his chest, looks at me solemnly. ‘I take full responsibility.’ He gives me a small grin. I want to catch it and keep it.

  I stretch Granddad's beanie further down over Harry's head. Strands of his hair fall in my hands. He watches my reaction.

  ‘I'm going to shave it soon,’ he says. ‘I'm starting to look like a patchy rabbit.’ He sighs suddenly and the grin disappears.

  I crouch down so my head is level with his. ‘No you don't,’ I say. ‘You look like a baby bird who hasn't grown all its feathers yet.’

  He muffles a laugh. ‘Trust you to think of that.’

  I tuck his scarf into his jumper and pull the blankets tighter around him. ‘Don't get me into trouble tonight,’ I say.

  He rolls his eyes at me, but he lets me tuck. I grab the wings from the bed and place them on his lap.

  CHAPTER 52

  It's a miracle that we get out of the hospital without anyone stopping us. I wheel Harry along the edge of the car park, my head darting from side to side every few seconds.

  ‘Stop it!’ Harry hisses. ‘You'll make us look suspicious.’

  I almost laugh. ‘Yeah, like we don't already, wheeling around a freezing car park at nearly one in the morning?’

  He muffles his grin in his scarf. My heart is thudding. It feels as though it's beating even faster than when I was on the bike. And the butterflies are back, bashing at my ribs every time I look at Harry. I stop near the sagging shed and hold my hand to my chest. What if I collapse like Dad did? What if my heart's stuffed up, too?

  ‘Can you hear that?’ I ask Harry, still with my hand on my chest. ‘It sounds too loud.’

  But Harry's more interested in pulling back the fence wire. ‘Stop panicking and just get me through this thing,’ he says.

  He moves the wheelchair right up against the fence so he can get a grip. I help him, opening the gap wide enough for his wheelchair to fit through.

  ‘I hope this thing's four-wheel-drive,’ I say.

  I wheel him over the pile of beer cans and fag butts, and see Harry grit his teeth as the chair jolts. I'm glad of the clear sky and moonlight. It gives me a chance to scan the trees, checking for shadows. My heartbeat slows as we get further in and I start to relax.

  We get to the lake. Harry holds the wings tightly on his lap as he takes it all in. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks he has reception, then drags his scarf up to his chin.

  ‘Where is she?’ he whispers.

  ‘She'll come.’

  As soon as I say it, I see her. She floats across the dark water like a ghost. The moonlight's bouncing off her feathers, making them glow. I wonder if her white adult feathers are starting to come through. I wheel Harry towards the bank, pushing harder as the tyres churn up the soft ground. The swan keeps swimming until she's right in front of us. She stares first at me and then at Harry. There's no fear in her eyes. I wait for Harry to see that.

  But all he says is, ‘I don't have any bread.’

  The swan stops looking at him. She inches onto the bank and waddles over to me, gurgling softly as she places her beak against my leg. There's that familiar rush of cold zipping right through my body. I glance over at Harry.

  ‘You see?’ I say. ‘She's not normal.’

  Harry grins. ‘She's great. Show her your flying model.�
�

  I take it from where it lies folded on Harry's lap and open the wings so she can see it all. She stretches her neck forward and runs her beak over the feathers. She hisses suddenly as she gets it caught in a loop of velcro and I help her untangle herself. I'm wondering if she thinks it's weird that I'm showing her wings. Maybe it's like someone showing me two human legs.

  ‘Harry's got this crazy idea,’ I tell her. ‘He thinks we can use my project to help you fly.’

  She tips her head to the side when she hears my voice, and Harry laughs.

  ‘She's listening,’ he says. ‘Just like a dog.’

  I watch her blink quickly as she turns her head to the sound of his voice. ‘Do you think she can understand us?’ I say.

  Harry laughs again. ‘Maybe.’ He shrugs. ‘Are you sure she's not someone's pet?’

  I shake my head. ‘I saw her, that day when the swans crashed into the wires, I'm sure it was her.’

  He watches her carefully. Now that he doesn't have the wings to hold, his hands are clasped tightly in his lap.

  ‘You can touch her, you know. She lets me.’

  I reach forward to the swan to show him, run the back of my fingers down her neck. I like the way she murmurs softly in her throat as I do. But Harry leans back in his chair, away from her.

  ‘Are you scared?’ I ask, laughing. ‘She doesn't bite.’

  ‘Maybe she just doesn't bite you.’

  I look back at the swan, find her deep dark eyes and really stare into them.

  ‘What do you reckon then, bird?’ I say. ‘Will you fly this time?’

  CHAPTER 53

  We go to the other side of the lake. The track is wider here and the hospital lights further away. The wind is stronger too, much stronger. It whips against us, making Harry hunker down into the blankets. The swan follows us, keeping pace on the water.

  She stops for a moment, turning her beak to the wind and smelling it. The wind grabs at her feathers. It's icy, as if it's coming from a faraway place, and it's pulling us away from here, dragging us somewhere else.