Ethan couldn’t believe it: some idiot had just parachuted from the top of the block of flats –
his
block of flats. He watched as the figure rapidly gathered in the parachute to nothing, bundling it up as though rolling the night into a ball, then jogged towards him.
A van in the road next to him sparked to life. Another figure loomed out of the darkness, emerging from the far side of the vehicle, video camera in hand. As the van door swung open, music blared out into the night, a barrage of heavy guitar and drums.
The idiot with the parachute stopped in front of Ethan. Ethan recognized him from the year above at school: he had been in the upper sixth; Ethan was in the lower. His hair was long, blond, wild; Ethan’s was night-time black, and sprang from his head like a frozen explosion. He had given up trying to do something with it years ago. He almost felt the same way about his life, but something kept him looking for the right thing to do with it. He wanted a purpose – he just hadn’t found it yet.
‘Totally awesome, Johnny!’ yelled the van driver, pointing the video camera at the guy with the parachute standing next to Ethan. Ethan turned and found himself providing an involuntary wave for the movie. Idiot.
The parachutist Ethan now knew as Johnny tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Pen?’
Ethan shook his head.
Johnny ran over to the van, reached inside, came back. He grabbed Ethan’s hand and wrote on it.
‘Check this in about an hour,’ he said, indicating the scribble on Ethan’s palm. ‘You’re famous!’
Ethan stared at his hand and the MySpace address now scrawled on it.
It was a stupid question, but Ethan couldn’t help himself: ‘Don’t people usually jump out of planes rather than off buildings?’
Johnny grinned. ‘This is BASE jumping. You do skydiving first, then this – same deal, less room for error.’
‘More chance of death,’ said Ethan. ‘Why do you do it?’
Johnny leaned a smile in close. ‘Life’s too short not to,’ he said.
Then, pulling the parachute in with him, he jumped into the van next to the driver.
Doors slammed, and the road swallowed the van.
Quiet. It was all suddenly so quiet.
Ethan stood there for a moment, staring at the space where the van had been, watching flashbacks in his mind of what he’d just witnessed. The adrenaline still surged through him; he could feel it like pinpricks in his fingers. And he hadn’t even been the one doing the jump. He tried to imagine what it had felt like for Johnny.
Just when he was wondering what to do with his life, searching for a purpose, some nutball had jumped off his roof. For some reason Ethan couldn’t explain, it changed everything.
Staring at the web address on his hand, he headed home.
2
‘Ethan?’
He heard his sister, Jo, calling him as he reached his bedroom door.
He turned back up the hall and went into the kitchen. Like the rest of the flat, it was small and functional. If a surface could be used, it was. Shelves sagged under the weight of tins jostling for position. Squeezed in here and there were photos of Ethan and Jo and their mum. Dad wasn’t anywhere. The only thing attached to the wall that wasn’t a shelf or a photo was one of Jo’s paintings. Ethan didn’t understand it, or even like it that much, but he admired it. Jo had always been into her art and knew it was what she wanted to do with her life. He envied that. After school, Ethan’s future was confused. He hadn’t a clue what to do with it. And that scared him a little. He often wished he had something that interested him in the same way art did Jo. But nothing had ever really grabbed him and refused to let go.
The earlier shots of Jo showed a happy girl with flyaway hair. The later ones showed a girl dressed in black, hiding behind make-up. Ethan smiled – his sister’s approach to fashion had always been interesting. She was as much a piece of art as the stuff she painted.
Ethan looked at the pictures of his mum. She mostly looked tired but happy, though nowadays she looked just tired, he thought. And he knew whose fault that was. They all did: two kids, two jobs and an arse for a husband – it was a killer. Ethan felt the anger rise in him as a picture of his dad snagged in his mind. If there was one reason to find a purpose in life, then it was to show that bastard that nothing he could say or do would ever affect Ethan again.
Jo was by the fridge, hiding behind her long black fringe. ‘You’re home, then,’ she said. ‘Hungry?’
Ethan nodded. ‘Dad still out? Shame he comes back, if you ask me.’
Jo took a bowl of pasta out of the fridge, put it in the microwave and turned the dial to heat it for two minutes. ‘Mum made this for us,’ she said. ‘She asked where you were. I couldn’t tell her because I didn’t know.’
Ethan tried to ignore her disapproving look. ‘I meant to leave a note,’ he said.
Jo sighed. ‘She’s worried about you.’
‘Oh,’ was all Ethan could manage, the guilt nagging at him again. The last time he’d seen his mum had been two days ago; somehow their paths hadn’t crossed – him getting home late after his last exam, her heading out for the night shift.
The microwave pinged. Jo got out a bowl of steaming pasta and handed it to him, then put in another bowl for herself.
She turned back to him. ‘She thinks you’re too much like Dad – you know that, don’t you?’
The words stung Ethan. ‘He’s a waster, Jo,’ he said, spitting bitterness with every word. ‘All he does is drink money away – or lose it at the bookies.’
‘Think I don’t know that?’ said Jo. ‘She’s worried you’re going the same way.’
Just talking about his dad made Ethan’s blood boil. He found it hard to stay calm. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘just because I’m not sure what I’m doing with my life doesn’t mean I’m going to end up like him. I’m not going to be a jobless alcoholic. I’ll have my A-levels. Dad’s got nothing.’
Jo didn’t answer. The microwave pinged. She took out her pasta.
‘Thanks for your support,’ said Ethan. ‘Really.’
Jo shrugged and started to eat.
Ethan stood there in silence. He hated his dad; always had. He was a bully. And now Ethan was seventeen his dad had started to really push him around. Ethan had nearly lost it with him more than once, but his mum had always stepped in, calmed things down.
‘Where did you go, anyway?’ asked Jo.
‘Out,’ said Ethan. ‘Trying to clear my head. Everyone I know seems to have a plan for what they’re doing, where they’re going, but I . . .’ His voice trailed off. Then he said, ‘I keep thinking about the Royal Marines.’
‘Dad would hate that,’ said Jo.
Ethan smiled. ‘Exactly.’
‘Look, I know you’re not like Dad. But Mum worries, Ethan, you know that.’
‘I know. And I promise I’ll never be like him. Ever.’
‘OK,’ said Jo. She patted him on the arm and headed for her bedroom.
Ethan went to his room. It was pretty bare except for a few posters from
Kerrang!
, the computer on the desk in the corner, and his bed. Clothes and magazines littered the floor like rubbish washed up on a beach.
He kicked a space between some magazines and put the pasta down on the worn carpet. Then he flicked on his computer. It was old and took a while to warm up, but soon the screen flared blue and he logged on.
The myspace page loaded and Ethan found himself staring at Johnny’s face. He clicked the
MOST RECENT
icon. The screen filled with a shaky image – a skyline he recognized as the one outside his window. Ethan realized this must’ve been what the bloke in the van had been filming: Johnny BASE jumping from the roof above his flat. The image blurred in a rush as a whoop and a yell burst from his speakers: the sound of Johnny leaping into nothing. The image changed again, slowed, and Ethan watched the view float by as Johnny glided to the ground in front of the flats.
In the next scene, Ethan saw himself standing next to Johnny, shock on his face, waving.
Flicking through Johnny’s myspace pages, Ethan surfed numerous films taken by Johnny and his friends. In all of them, Johnny was grinning and laughing as he jumped off things, or out of planes. Ethan lost track of time, clicking on picture after picture, movie after movie. And he saw something in Johnny’s face that he wanted for himself. Johnny looked so alive, like every minute mattered, counted for something. Ethan’s life had never really felt like that. It was almost as though he’d spent it in a waiting room with no idea what he was actually waiting
for
. But perhaps it was time to try and change that.
He went back to his pasta. It was cold but he ate it anyway. Mum’s food always tasted good, no matter what it was.
As Ethan finished off the pasta, he clicked a link from Johnny’s site. The screen jumped to an image of blue sky filled with skydivers. Underneath it were the words
FREEFALL SKYDIVING CENTRE
, followed by an address – it was the old army base just out of town. Ethan clicked through the site, drawn in by more images of people leaping from planes, faces alight with excitement.
Something caught his eye. It was a job ad:
Help needed for summer season. Bad pay, insane customers, interesting hours. Discounted lessons available
.
It was late, but Ethan phoned anyway, and left a message. He put down the phone and sat back in his chair. Something about what he’d just done fizzed through him. He didn’t know why but it seemed important, like he’d made a move that mattered, changed something. OK, so it was just a job, but what else was he going to do with his summer?
3
‘Stand over there and smile at the birdie.’
The security guard at the entrance to the old army base was pointing at an X on the wall, bullet-to-the-brain high. Ethan did as he was told and walked over to it, resting his head against the X and turning to face a webcam. He smiled at the stuffed parrot sitting on top of it.
The security guard took Ethan’s picture, and a few moments later handed him his pass. It was a terrible photo, but then Ethan never liked pictures of himself.
‘The jump centre’s first left at the mini-roundabout,’ said the security guard. ‘Follow the road round, take the second right. If you get lost, look for people falling out of the sky and listen for the screams.’
Ethan didn’t know whether to smile or not, so he just nodded and headed back to his bike. He still couldn’t believe he’d got an interview for the job at FreeFall. Someone called Sam had phoned and told him to come in as soon as possible, preferably that day. So Ethan had done just that, gobbling his breakfast and racing out into the morning.
He jumped back on his bike, clicking through the gears as he followed the guard’s instructions. The guy was right – people were literally falling from the sky.
Ethan watched as parachutes exploded into life above him. Reds and yellows and blues studded the sky as skydivers drifted downwards. Some people, riding parachutes no bigger than large kites, swooped down to earth, spiralling fast, banking hard, slamming through the air at an impossible speed. Others, with much larger chutes, glided along, gentle as eagles. Ethan noticed how some chutes were carrying two people strapped together. All those arms and legs made them look like huge black spiders.
As he stared, Ethan wondered what it felt like to jump out of a plane. He remembered the BASE jumper, Johnny, and how his eyes had seemed wildly alive. As parachutes floated down, he imagined being up there himself, leaping from a plane, plummeting to earth.
His stomach somersaulted. Would he do it? Hell, yeah – you bet he would.
He’d never be able to afford it, though.
And with that thought suddenly dulling everything, Ethan pedalled on.
Leaving his bike in the car park, Ethan walked past a cabin that contained both the reception and shop, and found himself on an area of tarmac between some old aircraft hangars and a large green field where the skydivers were landing. He turned to watch a few more come in, the hangars now behind him, then turned back to get his bearings. The place was Saturday-morning busy. Everywhere he looked, people were either walking with nervous purpose and even more nervous smiles, or gazing anxiously up into the sky as skydivers continued to fall out of it. Ethan made his way through the crowds towards a building to the right of the hangars with the word
CAFÉ
written on the door. Beyond it he spotted a number of skydivers on a patch of grass. They were wrestling with their parachutes – laying them out on the grass, sorting and untangling the lines, then packing them into what looked like daysacks.
As Ethan pushed on through, a motorbike pulled up in front of him. The rider pulled off his helmet, grinned at Ethan and slid off the bike.
It was Johnny.
Ethan waved and nodded a smile.
Johnny propped up his bike and came over. ‘Knew I’d see you at the DZ,’ he said.
‘DZ?’ asked Ethan.
‘The dropzone,’ said Johnny. ‘If you want the full definition, then it’s a column of airspace around a central point on the ground where you land when skydiving.’ He winked. ‘Landing area to you and me.’
‘Right,’ said Ethan, and turned to watch as a skydiver flew in.
‘Looks easy from the ground,’ said Johnny. ‘Doing it at a hundred and twenty mph is a little more difficult.’
He quickly pulled off his biking overalls. Underneath he was wearing some kind of boiler suit, albeit one that looked a lot more cool than something you’d wear to fix your car. It was black and red, with slim silver pads stitched at elbow and knee, stretching up and down the outside of each arm and leg. Johnny turned to a bag strapped on the back of his bike, and pulled out a black helmet, visor down, and what looked like an enormous watch.
‘I checked out your MySpace page,’ said Ethan. ‘It was awesome.’
Now there was a word he never used, and it sat in his mouth like a sour gobstopper.