Flyaway Page 16

  I jump up and down to get warm then pull the blankets tighter around Harry.

  ‘You OK?’ I ask. ‘Not too cold?’

  He shakes his head impatiently. ‘Put your wings on,’ he says. ‘Show her what you're going to do.’ He's smiling as he says it, but I can see his skin looks greyer and colder.

  ‘Fine, but we're not staying much longer,’ I say.

  As I thread my legs through the harness the swan swims right up close, curious about what I'm doing. I ask Harry to help me fasten the velcro strips and tighten the buckles across my chest. He smiles. His fingers are already on the loops, blueish and stiff. I breathe warm air onto them.

  He glances up at me, his eyes like beacons. ‘This is it,’ he whispers. ‘Good luck, Isla.’

  ‘It's her you should be saying that to,’ I tell him. ‘She's the one flying.’

  Harry tells me what he's learnt about how swans take off. He explains how a swan angles its feathers to the wind as it runs across the water. He gets me to practise by turning my primary flight feathers so that the wind pushes behind them. The swan beats her own wings, watching me. I just hope she understands.

  ‘Is she ready?’ Harry asks, looking at the swan.

  ‘Only one way to find out.’

  I look down the runway of the lakeside track. I bend my arms and pull the wires one by one, testing them.

  ‘Just listen to what I'm telling you to do,’ Harry says. ‘I'll shout instructions.’

  ‘I'll try.’

  The swan holds her black-eyed gaze in mine. ‘You ready, swan?’

  Her hiss makes me shiver. It almost sounds like a ‘yes’. She opens her beak wide, begins to honk and whoop. She moves her head up and down in time with the sounds she's making, beats her wings. I laugh suddenly.

  ‘What's she doing?’ Harry asks.

  ‘It's what whooper swans do before they fly,’ I explain. ‘It's kind of like a ritual, head bobbing and honking, the whole flock does it.’

  Harry raises his eyebrows. ‘Maybe you should do it too?

  ‘Get lost!’

  Her noises increase to a trumpeting sound until she rises and beats her wings against the water's surface. I can almost feel her excitement, her urge to fly.

  ‘Now,’ Harry says. ‘Go now.’

  I start to run. I put my head down and tuck the wings behind me, exactly like Harry's explained. I concentrate on running straight. It's really hard as the wings keep pulling me from side to side with each stride I take. The wind is pushing from behind, pushing me faster. The swan rises on the water, still honking. I have a strange urge to shout as well. It's only because Harry's there that I don't. I try to pick up speed, but the wings feel so heavy on my shoulders. The swan keeps one eye on me the whole time. She's watching everything.

  I can hear Harry, still shouting, telling me what to do. I angle my arms and separate the primary flight feathers. I try to turn them towards the wind. The swan copies every movement. It's amazing. It's as if she's understood we're trying to help her.

  ‘Now beat your wings,’ Harry yells.

  I don't intend to beat them so slowly but it's seriously difficult with the wind and the running and everything else. It feels like I'm using every single shoulder and arm muscle to bring the wings to the ground and back up again. The swan keeps pace with me easily. I spring up onto my toes, try to run faster.

  A gust of wind pushes against my wings. It shoves me so hard that my feet lift from the ground. Just for a moment. Then they touch the track again. I keep running. The swan is going to lift off any second, I just know. The wind forces me upwards, lifts me again. Drops me down. I wait for the swan to take off. She's still watching me. I turn my wrists until the feathers angle into the wind again. I push myself to take bigger strides. I'm running faster than ever before. The swan's feet are hardly touching the water now. She's almost there. I can feel it.

  Then something inside my chest seems to twist and flap. I gasp, want to scream. It feels like my heart's about to explode. I'm going to collapse, just like Dad did. But I don't slow down, I can't. Not until she takes off.

  ‘Go on,’ I plead.

  There's another twinge. I bring my wings inwards, grappling for my chest. The swan brings her wings in, too. Harry's screaming out behind me, ‘No, no, no! Get them back out straight!’

  My heart is beating so fast and so loud. It's like it has wings and is trying to escape through my ribs. But the swan is nodding at me. She's taking off!

  Then a huge gust of wind shoves me sideways. Forwards. Upwards. I feel it rushing all around, over my body and through my wings. It turns me cold. Pulls at me. Sucks me up, up . . . I try to struggle against it, but it's no use. The ground peels away from my feet like a plaster. I straighten my wings to steady myself. Try to find the ground again. My feet are floating, there's air underneath them! I stretch my toes down to feel the path again, but I can't. I can't do anything apart from move my arms up and down. Keep beating. Keep beating or I'll fall. I gasp as I realise what I'm doing.

  I'm flying!

  At least it feels like it. I breathe in huge, frozen mouthfuls of air. The ground is further away now. This can't be possible. I'm not doing this. I can't be.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see the swan. She's beside me. Her wings are making a slight whistling sound and her neck is straight and pointing forward. For a second I can't do anything but watch her. The wind is sliding off her wings and sweeping over my own. She looks at me, opens her beak into a screaming call. I shout too, my voice whipping backwards with the wind. She's happy, I know she is. She's done it.

  I stop beating my wings to watch her, hoping I'll glide softly to the ground. But suddenly a gust of wind pushes me over the water. I look back, try to find Harry on the bank. Call out to him. I scrabble through the air, try to get back to the track, but it's no use. I start to tip. Start to fall. Down towards the lake.

  CHAPTER 54

  I land flat on my back in the reeds near the bank. My wings stretch across the vegetation, holding me up from the water. I don't move. I don't want to sink. The stars above me are trembling, and my body is swaying with the reeds.

  I turn my head so I can see the bank. Harry's left his wheelchair and he's coming towards me. He's calling out, but I can't understand what he's saying. My ears feel full of water, and everything is blurry. I want to shut my eyes and sink down, down, into the reeds. My feet slip, and my shoes begin to fill. It's so cold. But my chest doesn't hurt any more.

  There's a splashing sound as Harry gets into the lake.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I try to say. ‘You'll get wet.’

  He's knee-deep already. I turn around, which makes me sink further and my legs go under. I gasp. The water's like ice. I try to find a foothold but it's too muddy. My trainers get stuck. Harry reaches me, presses close to undo the velcro strips around my arms. Then he starts dragging me by the wings. He's stronger than he looks. Reeds slap me in the face and my wings get tangled in everything. I force my feet into the mud, force myself to stand. Grabbing at Harry, I try to steady myself. He's laughing.

  ‘That was amazing,’ he says. ‘How did you do that?’

  I keep my eyes on him, try to focus. ‘She flew, didn't she?’

  ‘I saw her.’ A smile spreads out slowly over Harry's face. ‘You did, too. At least, you were about a metre above the ground.’

  ‘How . . . ?’

  He shrugs. ‘The wind?’

  His teeth are chattering. I don't think he's noticed. I don't think he's even aware that he's in the water. I yank my arms away from the wings and touch his chin.

  ‘Your lips are blue,’ I say.

  He stops and reaches up to where my hands are. He puts his hands on top of mine. He feels warm. I wasn't expecting that.

  ‘You did it,’ he says. ‘Your swan flew.’

  He looks so happy. It makes me smile. I wonder where she's headed now. A part of me is sad she's gone, but . . .

  ‘Dad will be pleased,’ I murmur.


  There are polka dots jumping in front of my eyes and Harry's face is rippling like the lake. I'm standing so close to him, close enough to feel his warm breath on the end of my nose. His eyes skim over the drooping wings on my back. He reaches towards me and brushes his fingers against my cheek.

  ‘Bird Girl,’ he says softly.

  His fingertips feel light as feathers. My skin tingles. I Iose my balance and try to steady myself, grabbing him around the neck. His skin is soft, but he doesn't feel fragile. He's solid. Real. His breath falters as it hits my cheek. He's so close. His smile is blurring. He leans forward. I can feel my heart racing and fluttering again. I feel his breath against my lips. I shut my eyes.

  Then he does it: he kisses me. He's so soft and gentle. His lips are trembling, almost breakable. But they're warm, and they're moving against mine.

  He pulls back, smiles a little. His breath comes in a rush.

  ‘Sorry, I . . .’

  Even from this close up, I can see that he's blushing. It's lovely, seeing that colour in his cheeks.

  ‘It's OK,’ I whisper.

  I want him to kiss me again, but instead I start smiling, which makes him smile, and then we laugh. It makes me breathless. And it makes his face swirl. Everything feels good now. The swan flew; Harry kissed me. Maybe it's a sign that things are getting better.

  CHAPTER 55

  After a moment, I step away from him.

  ‘Where did she fly?’ I ask. ‘What direction?’

  ‘Not far.’ Harry nods at the lake behind me. ‘When you fell, she landed.’

  ‘Landed?’ I shake my head.

  ‘But she flew a whole loop before that.’

  I turn to look. ‘Why didn't she just keep flying?’

  I want to say more, but I can't get the words out. Instead, I see the lake getting closer, the reeds spinning past my head. Suddenly Harry's hands are grabbing at my shoulders.

  ‘You need to get out of here,’ he says.

  He pushes me towards the bank. My wings drag behind me, snapping off bits of reed and taking them along. I crawl out of the water. I lie back on the track and look across at the trees.

  ‘Did I just imagine that?’

  Harry sticks his head over me, his face upside down. ‘No way.’

  His fingers dart over the harness, loosening the buckles, drawing the wings away. Suddenly I can breathe. I turn over onto my knees, coughing. It feels as if I've swallowed the whole lake. I look back at the water and try to search for the swan, but it's too dark to see anything. The only thing I can make out is the flattened reed bed where I landed. Harry's got his hand on my back, but his face is blurry again. Suddenly I know I'm going to be sick. I throw up brown water, bits of reed. It puddles around me, seeps into the dirt. Slowly my eyes begin to focus.

  Harry drags the wings away and starts picking off bits of vegetation. I look at the slight smile on his face, thinking how perfect it looks, remembering how it felt to have it close to mine. I remember the feeling as my feet left the track, too. The fluttering in my chest.

  Harry puts his arm around my shoulder and leans us back against the wheelchair. I can feel him breathing, heavier now. He rests his cheek against my hair.

  ‘We better get you back to the hospital,’ I say.

  CHAPTER 56

  We find the swan on the other side, near the place where she always waits for me. I stop pushing the wheelchair when I see her, and she floats towards us. I look at her carefully, searching for clues as to why she didn't just fly away. I grip the handles of Harry's chair.

  ‘Do you want to try again?’ Harry's voice is muffled by the scarf wrapped around him.

  I see how cold he is. His skin's paler than eggshells. I can almost see his veins through it. I tuck the blanket right up to his neck and the hat down over his ears. His teeth are chattering too, and he's clasping the sodden swan wings tight to his chest.

  ‘I have to get you back,’ I say. I want to touch my lips to his and make his cheeks go pink again. ‘This was stupid, coming here.’

  Harry reaches out from under the blanket and grabs my arm. ‘No, it wasn't.’

  He looks at me, his eyes sparkling. Suddenly, I want more than anything to make him warm again. I glance at the swan, check where she is one last time, then wheel Harry back to the hospital. We go in the A and E entrance this time, behind a woman who's about to give birth. Everyone's too bothered about her to worry about us. It's weird, being back here; wheeling Harry past the small blue waiting room that has another family in it now.

  The wheelchair leaves muddy tyre tracks behind us.

  ‘I think we have to ditch it,’ I say. ‘Someone might follow them and find us. Are you all right to walk?’

  Harry nods, but he doesn't look all right. The skin under his eyes looks bruised and dark and he's breathing heavily. I stick my arm around him. He smells like lake.

  It's just gone two by the time we get back to his ward. I walk ahead of him down the corridor, checking for nurses. But we get into his room unnoticed. Harry sits on his bed and looks at the floor, his eyelids starting to close. I root around in his small cupboard until I find a pair of dry pyjamas.

  ‘Put these on,’ I say. ‘You need to get warm.’

  He just holds them on his lap and stares up at me. I think he's waiting for me to leave the room. But there's no time for being polite. I turn around and start putting away the blankets we've taken. When I think I've given him enough time to change, I turn back. He's changed his pyjama bottoms but he's struggling with the top. I go over. He's too tired to object. I can't help glancing at his chest as I pull on his pyjama sleeves. There are two white tubes there. They look like wires, the sort you plug into the back of a TV, but they are coming directly out of him with see-through tape sticking them firmly to his chest. His skin is yellowish and bruised around where they come out. I guess these must be the tubes they feed his treatment through: his Hickman line.

  When I look back at Harry's face, he's watching me carefully. Probably wondering if I'm freaked out. I am, but I'm not going to let on. So I just pick up the dry pyjama top and chuck it at him to put on.

  I turn away to the window, but I'm still thinking about those tubes. I start panicking then, really panicking. What if water from the lake has got into them? What if I've just made him really, really sick? I hear him getting into bed. I open his window and chuck his wet pyjamas down into the dumpster. They land right in it.

  ‘Full points!’

  I hear Harry's soft laugh. I turn back. His skin seems to be sagging with tiredness, his eyes so much darker. He looks so different from the way he looked at the lake only half an hour ago. He's sick again . . . sicker than I've ever seen him. Perhaps I dreamt up the boy who came with me tonight.

  ‘Are you OK? Seriously?’ I ask.

  ‘Stop worrying.’

  I take a towel from the cupboard and wipe the puddles on the floor. I dig back in for more of Harry's clothes.

  ‘Take anything you want,’ Harry murmurs.

  There's a pair of blue tracksuit bottoms that will be baggy on me, but at least they're not wet. I take off my jeans and slip them on instead. Again, my jeans follow the pyjamas out the window and land in the skip. I dry the wings as best I can and place these under Harry's bed.

  ‘Can I leave them there?’ I ask. ‘Just while I go and see Dad?’

  He nods. He reaches towards me and I thread my fingers through his. I place my other hand on top, warming them. I grin at him, stupidly, and still can't believe he kissed me. After a moment, his eyes start to close again. I sit next to him on his bed and lean back against the wall. I watch his lips, quivering a little with each breath he takes.

  ‘Please be OK,’ I whisper.

  I wait until I see the colour come back into his cheeks. Then I shut my eyes for a moment, too, and the room starts swaying. I feel as though I'm flying.

  CHAPTER 57

  Harry's there when I wake up, close beside me. His skin is warmer now, and his br
eath is steady. He's still got his hand in mine. I don't want to leave him, but I don't want his nurse to come in and find me here either. Carefully, I unthread my fingers. I watch him for a moment. Did it all happen? The kiss in the lake? The flying?

  I go back to A and E. I don't know why. I suppose it's one of the only places I can go where I can wait and no one wants to know why I'm there. I hug my knees to my chest and watch everyone. No one says anything to me. There's a guy about Jack's age with blood on his face, and a few other people waiting. It's started raining. I can see it pelting the bike every time the glass doors slide open. It looks like it's set in. There are no emergencies for a whole hour. I rest my head onto my knees and sleep.

  When it gets to five and it's still raining, I text Mum.

  Couldn't sleep so rode one of Granddad's bikes into the hospital. Can I see Dad yet?

  She calls back five minutes later.

  ‘It's miles!’ she says. ‘And it's on the main road.’

  Thankfully she doesn't say anything about the rain. Perhaps she hasn't noticed that it's been continual for the last couple of hours. I walk through the corridors to meet her in the cafe, which isn't open yet. She hugs me to her.

  ‘Don't do that again,’ she says. ‘No matter how sick Dad gets. You could have got run over; anything could have happened!’

  I nod, brushing away her concern. ‘How's Dad?’

  She pulls me down onto her knee. ‘He's made it through,’ she says, quietly. ‘You might be able to see him in a few hours.’

  ‘The valve?’

  ‘His body seems to have accepted it, he's off the support machine.’

  She rests her head on top of mine and clasps me tighter. I'm expecting her to say something about Harry's tracksuit bottoms, or something about how damp and muddy my top is . . . or even to get angry again because I cycled in. But she just breathes in deeply, and sighs.

  ‘You smell like trees,’ she says. ‘Of wild things and rain.’