Flyaway (17 page)

1. Acquire the wings of a large bird
.

2. Bend stainless steel wire into shapes that follow the contours of the wings
.

3. Make twenty small incisions in the skin along the wing bones
 . . .

The instructions get more complicated as I read through. I squint at the diagrams. They seem to show that, once finished, these wings would be able to twist and flap just like a real bird's. Leather straps lead out from a harness and fasten the wearer's arms to the wings, so that he can turn them just by moving his body. I keep scrolling through the pages of instructions. They look so hard: too hard. But I have Granddad's stuffed swan. And Granddad has loads of weird things in his barn that might help. Perhaps it's possible. I save this link. I minimise the browser and go back to my spreadsheet. When it comes to printing what I've done, I print these instructions too.

CHAPTER 35

O
n Saturday Mum drops me at the hospital, then drives off to do the shopping.

‘I'll meet you at Dad's ward later,' she says. ‘Don't you dare be late.'

I wait until I see Mum's car pull out onto the ring road before I thread my way through the car park to the fence. I walk quickly through the trees. I'm certain the swan must have flown away by now. But she's still there. Still alone, too.

I drop my bag and go right up to the water's edge. The swan keeps watching me, waiting for me. I've told Mum I want to sketch her wings again, but that's not the only reason I'm here. I do up my laces. I start to jog and wait for her to follow. It's not long before I hear her feet slapping on the water behind. This time, I try something different. I slow down. I glance at her and see that she's slowing too. I speed
up. She does the same, rising onto the water's surface and beating her wings. I stop abruptly. She does too. She sticks her feet out in front of her like brakes, making water shoot up around her, then waits for my next move. She's doing exactly what I do.
Exactly
.

I turn to her, suddenly angry . . . suddenly fed up with all this weirdness.

‘Stop following me,' I yell. I run towards the water, waving my arms about. ‘Why won't you just fly?'

She flinches, but doesn't move back. She stares at me blankly, looking at me first from one side and then turning her head and looking from the other. She blinks. I pick up a stone from near my feet and skim it across the water. I don't know why I do it; I suppose I just want her to react like a normal bird. But she doesn't move away and the stone sinks before it reaches her. She waits a moment, then swims towards me. She steps onto the bank. Totally unafraid.

Her head is low and submissive. So I walk right up to her. It's as if she wants me to touch her. I hold out my hand then rest it against her head. She doesn't move back. I take a deep breath and force my shoulders to relax.

‘Why aren't you scared?' I say, calmer now.

I stroke her neck, feeling her thin body beneath the feathers. She's unbelievably soft. So breakable. I could wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze. She'd let me. She shuts her eyes and I touch the tiny, yellowish feathers around them. I sigh out, sit down opposite her.

‘You're just stupid, aren't you? A head-case of a swan.
Maybe I should tell someone to stick you in a zoo.'

I'm suddenly exhausted, frustrated by trying to work her out. There's a flicker of morning sunlight dancing across my face. It's making me sleepy. I lean up against the tree stump and look across the lake, absently counting the birds. Three mallards, two tufted ducks, four coots. After a while, the swan inches back into the water. She digs her beak into the wall of the bank and starts feeding. Just a normal bird.

The day gets brighter. Soon the sun has burst through the clouds and is bouncing onto the lake. It makes the water shimmer. Makes it hard to watch. I shut my eyes, enjoying the warmth against my skin. It feels like it's the first bit of sun we've had since summer. It feels special.

I concentrate on the warmth, try not to think about Dad and the hospital and everything bad. The insides of my eyelids are pink from the bright light. I try to make my body as still as the tree stump I'm leaning against. And soon, I feel my thoughts drifting away.

CHAPTER 36

I
feel myself sinking . . . it's as if I'm falling down into the earth, being pulled towards the ground. The wind is whooshing at my ears.

Then the images come. Everything flutters at first. There are so many pictures, all flashing into my brain so quickly. I try to grasp at them. And slowly, I begin to see.

There's sky. Clouds. A whirr of wings. Swans are all around me. I look down and see the whole world stretched out below me.

I'm flying.

There's a smudge of a lake ahead. Swans start murmuring as we get closer. There's a wind, pushing from behind . . . pushing me forwards.

It happens so quickly.

The swan in front twists backwards. He looks around as
he starts to fall, his wings useless and still. He screeches. I turn, try to find a different route. The wind is too strong. Another bird screams.

Suddenly I see them. There are two lines across the sky, blocking our path. I feel the flock splitting, losing formation. Scattering. I fly straight at the sun, and hope. I hear a sharp smack as another bird hits the lines. I keep beating. I twist my body, try to get a grip on the wind. The birds flying with me begin to drop away. But I can't stop. Not yet. Not until I'm far away. I look down at the land as I go.

And far, far below, there are two people. A big one and a small one. A cold gust whips around me as I realise, it's me down there! Me and Dad. We're on a path, at the edge of a lake, and we're waving our arms madly, yelling out.

It's what we were doing that first day, the day when the swans arrived.

CHAPTER 37

M
y eyes snap open. The swan is still drifting on the lake in front of me, still digging her beak into the bank and feeding. She's not looking at me at all. But it was her story I was dreaming, I'm sure of it.

I crawl towards her. Her head comes up as she checks where I am, then goes down again to feed. She drifts further away. She couldn't look more like an ordinary bird if she tried. I rub my eyes. Check the time on my watch. It's still early. I've only been asleep for about ten minutes, but already the sun's disappeared behind a cloud, making the lake look so much darker. I glance back at the swan, but she's floating further away, only intent on eating. I don't want to sketch her. Not now. I just want to talk to Harry.

I get to his room in a daze. It still feels like I'm half-asleep, still flying high above the reserve . . .

The same nurse lets me in.

‘He looks worse than he is,' she tells me carefully.

Harry's in bed, propped up so he can see out of the window. The skin around his eyes looks grey and thin and makes his cheekbones stand out. I hover in the doorway. He squints as he focuses on me and I can see he's not totally with it. I sit on the edge of his bed, right up close.

‘I was watching,' he says.

I smile. I'm glad. I reach for the glass of water on his bedside table and put it into his hands. ‘You don't look so good today.'

He manages a grimace. ‘More chemo.' He blinks slowly, takes a sip. He pushes the glass back into my hand. ‘Help me sit up.'

He reaches out to me. I look at his smooth, pale hands. His long fingers. I lean towards him and he grabs me around my shoulders. Carefully I put my hands around his chest. My face is near his neck. He doesn't smell ill: he smells like trees and life. I wonder if he can feel my breath on his skin. He pushes down on my shoulders, his fingers cold through my shirt, pushes himself up. He shuffles back against the pillows. I almost want to stay like that a moment longer, buried into his body, but I don't. Both of us look away as I take my arms back.

‘Now,' he says, once he's settled, ‘what's been going on?'

He nods towards the window, really wanting to know. I tell him how the swan was following my movements exactly. I tell him how I fell asleep and dreamt about her flock flying
into the lines. I watch his face as he listens. He doesn't laugh or look doubtful. Even if he doesn't believe me, he's making a good effort of pretending to.

He yawns, slowly. ‘Maybe you should find her flock,' he says. ‘Maybe if she had her flock, she'd fly.'

It's a good thought, but I start laughing all the same. ‘How would I get a swan to a flock?' I say. ‘Taxi?'

He smiles slightly. ‘Yeah, it is kind of stupid I guess.'

I look back out of the window. I can still see her there, floating alone.

‘I'm probably just overreacting,' I tell Harry. ‘Whooper swans won't migrate back to Iceland for at least another three months, so there's time. Time for her to start flying again. Time for her flock to find her. I don't know why I'm so worried about her really.'

When I look back at Harry, his eyes are shut. He looks so much more relaxed now that he's slipping into sleep. His hair is definitely getting thinner: I can see patches of skin on his head, and there are gingery strands all over his duvet. His breathing becomes heavier as I watch. I move my hand across the bed and touch his fingers. They're still so cold, like Dad's hands in the ambulance. I think about holding Harry's hand in mine, making him warm again.

I wait there for a little while, wondering if he'll wake up. When he doesn't, I write him a note on the back of a flyer for the hospital cafe.

Keep watching her. Text me if anything changes. Isla

I leave my number at the bottom. I don't know whether
to write an ‘x' after my name. I look at his white, pale skin. His fluttering eyelids covering up those bright eyes underneath. He looks like one of those stone angels you find in churches sometimes. I don't know why, but I lean forward and brush a bit of hair from his cheek. His skin twitches. I move my hand away instantly. I don't know what I'd do if he woke up and found me touching his face. I hold my breath, waiting. But he doesn't move again. He's already too deep in sleep to even notice.

CHAPTER 38

M
um and Jack are waiting on the chairs outside Dad's ward. As I look at their faces, my stomach sinks.