Flyaway (5 page)

CHAPTER 8

A
few hours later, I lean back against the seat and watch the streets blur past. The Saturday shoppers trudge around in thick coats. I lean over and turn the car's heating up a notch. I can hear Dad's stomach rumbling so I dig into my pocket and find an old barley sugar, left over from a previous trip, and hand it to him.

‘How do you want your hair?' Dad asks, rolling the sweet around his mouth and clinking it against his teeth. ‘You should get it all short and spiky. You'll be like a proper bird then, Bird!'

That's exactly how I want it, spiky like a cartoon character. Something different.

‘I'll call you tufted duck!' Dad laughs. ‘Only you won't dye it white in the middle, will you?'

I take my mobile from my pocket and text Saskia to ask
what she thinks. Dad turns into the car park and switches the engine off. He reaches round to grab the camera from the back seat.

‘Ready?'

‘If you are.'

There are five other cars here. There'll be people around if Dad looks sick again.

We keep silent as we go up the lane, both listening for the swans. Dad watches the sky, one hand already on his binoculars. I look up, too, watching for that grey youngster we saw last time. I'm watching Dad also. But if he feels sick, he doesn't show it. I shut my eyes for the last few seconds before we turn the corner and see the water.

The swans aren't there. The lake is empty apart from a couple of coots, dipping in and out. Dad sighs.

‘It was worth a try,' he says. ‘We'll check the rest of the reserve as well.' He half smiles, trying to hide his disappointment.

We follow the main path around, past the river and towards the corner where the power station is, aiming for the wires that the swans flew into. I remember how the birds looked as they flew towards us. Unstoppable for a second.

The reeds are still flattened from where they fell. Dad goes straight up to the water's edge and starts taking photographs. I hang back. I can already see feathers on the path. A fox must have got to the bodies before us, dragged them away to eat.

‘There's a wing still here,' Dad calls back to me, his voice raised a little. ‘You can see the burn marks. The council will
have to put markers on once they get these photos.'

Dad leans over the water, pulls back some of the reeds to make a gap. I catch a glimpse of a mound of feathers. I turn away. I wish the fox could have just eaten the wing, too. Dad points the camera towards it. Then the wind changes, and I get a waft of dead swan right in my nostrils. Dad starts coughing. I go back to checking the sky for the lone grey whooper.

Dad's quiet as we go back a different way, following the longer trail.

‘We'll keep looking for them,' he says. ‘Maybe next weekend, after I've been in hospital, we can try looking somewhere else?'

‘If you're feeling better.'

‘I'll be fine.'

I follow him to the small wooded section of the reserve. Dad leans against one of the trunks to catch his breath, and I wonder if his face has gone paler than before. I lean against the next tree and turn my cheek against the bark to watch him. Dad tilts his head up to look between the branches, searching for smaller birds.

‘Anything?'

Dad shakes his head. ‘All quiet.' He grins at me. ‘No swans up there at least.'

We stand there for a bit, just listening to each other breathe. I watch the way Dad's breath lingers in the air like mist and then starts to fade, disappearing like it was never there. His breathing doesn't seem heavy, not like last time.

‘Are you worried about going into hospital?' I ask.

‘It's only for a day,' he says. The trunk turns my cheek cold and damp as I wait for him to say more. Dad just pushes himself away from his tree then stands back to look at me.

‘Stop worrying,' he says. ‘You're as bad as Mum.'

I keep myself pressed against the bark, watching his chest, thinking about his heart inside not working properly. I hate that Dad's not telling me what's wrong with him. It makes me feel like I'm hanging in the air like Dad's breath, waiting for something. It makes me want to take him right back to the house and wait for Mum and Jack to get home. Suddenly I don't want to be out here with Dad, all by myself.

‘Let's leave the haircut for today,' I say. ‘Mum won't like it much anyway.'

CHAPTER 9

W
e're driving home when they appear out of nowhere, flying in a huge arrow across the sky. Dad spots them immediately.

‘Whoopers,' he breathes. ‘Let's follow them.'

We drive underneath them on the ring road to find out where they're going. We lose them for a bit as they fly across fields we can't go over. Dad curses.

‘We'll catch up with them on the other side,' he mutters.

He spins into a U-turn, races back in the other direction. He's way above the speed limit when we pass the hospital.

‘Be careful, Dad,' I say. But he goes even faster, his eyes darting to the side to watch them. He takes a quick left into a rough farm track. ‘They're landing on that field,' he shouts.

I crane my neck to look up through the windscreen. The
birds are circling, starting to drop down. ‘Is there even a lake over there?'

‘No idea!'

There's nothing pale about Dad's face now. He's almost shining with excitement. My body starts to jolt as we hit the dirt track. Dad doesn't slow down.

‘We've found the flock, Isla,' he says. ‘Perhaps this is their new wintering ground.'

I risk a slight grin at him, laugh at his eagerness. ‘You're crazy, Dad.'

The car bounces and judders over a track until we reach a driveway to a house. Dad stops the car by the fence. There's a stile with a footpath sign on it pointing across the field to where the swans are. Dad's out of the car before I've even taken my seatbelt off.

‘Come on,' he yells, grabbing the camera and shoving it in his pocket.

He's clasping the binoculars as he leaps the stile. I bumble over it, my foot getting caught on something, then run after Dad across the field. He's way ahead of me so I start sprinting. The wind seems to push me from behind. Like Dad, I want to get closer to the swans. I can't see any water where they're landing; maybe this is just a field where they like to feed. I leap over a cowpat. Stretch my legs to go faster. But Dad's quick as lightning when he gets going. I can't catch him. There's a moment where I feel brilliant, running after Dad with the sun low in the sky, watching the swans descend.

Then it happens.

Dad falls down. Straight in front of me. At first I think he's just tripped in a rabbit hole or something, but he doesn't get up. He stays there, just out of sight below a small ridge, silent.

‘Dad!' I scream. ‘Dad!'

He doesn't even raise his hand. I really start pelting then. I trip over tussocks of grass and almost fall. My trainers slip on a patch of mud. But I get to him. He's on his side, clutching his chest. His breathing's funny. And his face looks damp.

‘What is it? What's happened?'

I reach for him, feel his forehead. See how wide his eyes are. He shakes his head a little, opens his mouth. He can't speak. He just gapes air at me. It's like someone is stepping on his lungs.

I grab his hand. His fingers are so cold, and bluish at the tips. They tighten around mine. I move my other hand towards his chest.

‘Is it here?' I ask, touching him. ‘Is it your heart?'

I feel the tears in my eyes welling up, blurring my vision. I don't know what to do. I imagine his heart just below my fingers, beating too quickly. Beating right through his ribs and skin, fast enough to explode.

‘What's wrong?'

Dad's head moves a little. He opens his mouth again, his eyes bulging with the effort. I feel his pockets for his phone, but only find the camera. I remember seeing it now, on the dashboard next to mine. I stare back at his face. Try to think logically. What do you do when someone's ill like this? I pull my jumper over my head and cover his chest with it.

‘I need to get help,' I say.

Dad moves his head again. His face winces with the effort.

‘Will you be OK if I leave you?'

His breath is heavy and rattling in his throat. I try to push him back against the grass, try to make him relax. He's still straining to look up at the sky.

‘Just forget about the swans.' I almost shout it at him.

Then I run. I race across the field, the wind in my face this time. It makes my eyes stream and I stumble over a clump of grass. I leap over a log, dodge puddles. I'm running faster than I've ever run before, but it's still not fast enough.

Then I'm at the fence. I half tumble over the stile and land on my knees in the dirt. Something twinges in my leg as I get up. There's a pumping sound in my ears, a fast heartbeat in my head. I fall against the car, pull open the door. Grab the phone. Dial. My fingers can't get the right numbers. I try again. This time it works. I hear a click before the emergency services answer.

‘Please,' I say, breathless now. ‘It's my dad.'

CHAPTER 10

T
hey keep me talking on the phone, tell me how to make Dad comfortable. I go back across the field, still talking. They say the ambulance will be there soon. I try to make Dad lie still and straight, try to make him warm. Then I see the flashing lights. The paramedics are already opening the back when I get there. I'm breathing too hard from running to get the words out right, but I point to where Dad is. There's three of them. Two carrying a stretcher. One keeps asking me questions.

Words are coming out of my mouth as I answer him, but I have no idea what I'm saying. I'm pulling on his sleeve though, urging him to hurry. Dad's eyes are still open when we get there. They get him on the stretcher and carry him back to the ambulance. Then they're loading him inside. The guy who was asking me questions stops me from getting
in after him.

‘Is someone coming to get you?'

I shake my head. ‘You're not leaving me behind.' I won't let go of his arm.

So they take me with them. I grab hold of Dad's hand. His eyes dart around the ambulance. I want to tell him he'll be OK. But I can't.

They keep Dad sitting up. One of the paramedics sticks something into Dad's arm. It goes right into his vein. Then a mask goes over Dad's face and his skin slowly gets a bit pinker. The same paramedic asks me more questions. I ignore them.

‘What's happening?' I say.

He says something about a monitor, something about beeping. I don't understand. But Dad's fingers are getting a little warmer than before. I just concentrate on that.

The ambulance pulls onto the ring road and is driving fast now. The siren goes on. I watch the field through the darkened windows where there are still swans flying overhead. It feels like they belong to a different world. Cars pull over for us to overtake. I catch a glimpse of people's curious faces looking up through their windscreens as we pass. None of this feels real.

The ambulance swerves, makes a turn. I shut my eyes. For a second I think I'm going to be sick. Then the ambulance slows down and everything inside it clinks as it goes over a bump. The doors fling open. There's a whole team of people outside. They're waiting for us. They wheel Dad through huge doors to the hospital. No one tells me what's going on.

We go into a big, open room. There are even more people here. People in white uniforms, people in blue . . . others in green. Some of them stick more things into Dad's arm. Everyone's talking at once. I try to hold onto him, but there's a lady in white grabbing me around my shoulders.

‘Calm down,' she's telling me, over and over. ‘He's going to be OK.'

Dad loosens his grip on my fingers. I try to pull free of the lady who's got hold of me, but she spins me around and makes me look at her.

‘We need to leave your dad here,' she says. ‘You need to come with me.'

She leads me into an empty room and sits me down on a dark blue sofa. There's a small table in front of me with a telephone on top. All I can smell is disinfectant. She pushes a glass of orange liquid into my hand and waits until I look properly at her. I see she's a nurse, she's trying to smile at me. One of her hands is resting on my arm and she's trying to be nice, but I don't want to be here. I just want to be with Dad.