Jack kicks a loose bit of dirt at me. ‘That's your fault!’
I kneel on the grass and glare at him. ‘You don't care,’ I say. ‘You'd rather show off to your girlfriend than care about Dad.’
Jack's face clouds over. He starts forward as if he's about to hit me. Then the phone starts again. I take a few steps away to answer and Crowy gets in the way of Jack and starts murmuring something to him. Mum's face flashes up on my screen.
‘How's Dad?’ I ask.
There's a pause. My body goes stiff, and I'm sure my heartbeat stops for a second. Jack and Crowy step closer, crowd around. I don't move a muscle, not even to push them away. I hear Mum take a breath.
‘He's got worse,’ she says quietly. ‘Shall I come and get you?’
CHAPTER 61
I grab my wings and run. I don't look at Jack or his mates, just run across the playing field with my head down. Of course, Jack comes after me.
‘Mum will be at the bus stop in ten,’ I yell back to him. ‘It's up to you if you come.’
He turns then, shouts something to his mates. I keep running. Past the music school, through the teacher's car park, and past the school office. I don't even bother to stop and tell anyone I'm leaving.
We sit in the bus shelter, at opposite ends. Jack doesn't say sorry for pushing me over.
When Mum pulls up, she's got black lines under her eyes from where her mascara has run.
‘How is he?’ Jack asks.
‘His heart rate's increased and he's not responding to antibiotics.’ She leans over to wipe a smudge of mud from Jack's cheek. ‘They're almost sure now it's an infection.’
‘Do they know how he got it?’ I ask quietly.
‘They're doing tests to find out.’
We're silent. The only sound is the windscreen wipers on the glass. I push the wing model off my lap, shove it away from me. I remember the way everyone was laughing at it in school, and suddenly I hate it. It hasn't even helped the swan to fly. And it hasn't made Dad feel better either.
Mum explains how the doctor is worried that Dad's body might be rejecting the new valve.
‘If that's the case, then this is really serious,’ she whispers.
I just hope Dad's valve came from a strong pig. I hope it was a pig that ran and ran all day and never got tired. I rub at my arms where Jack grabbed me, pull back my shirt to see that my skin's already turned pink.
Mum edges the car on to the ring road and we drive out of the city. We're almost at the hospital when the flock appears. The swans fly over the road, right in front of us, and head back the other way. I turn around to watch them. Like last time, they seem to be heading for the fields near Granddad's house.
‘We should follow them,’ I say. ‘Dad would like to know where they go. It might cheer him up.’
Mum glances at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘Not now, Isla.’
The car park is really full and Mum has to drive around and around. Each lap seems to take for ever. In the end she parks the car right up against the fence in an area that isn't really a space.
‘That'll have to do,’ she says.
I leave the wings on the seat. I grasp the fence with my fingertips and listen for swans. I can only hear rain. Maybe the swan on the lake has already left, maybe she's joined the flock I just saw flying over the ring road. Why hasn't Harry texted to tell me? It's been almost two days since he kissed me, and I haven't heard anything.
I run after Mum and Jack. The lift takes ages. My hands are tight fists in my pockets, squeezing a heartbeat rhythm. A whole team of nurses gets in at Harry's floor. I hope he's all right. Perhaps his phone battery has run out and he hasn't been able to charge it. Perhaps he's embarrassed about what happened the other night. I dig my nails into my skin until it hurts, and hope he hasn't got sicker. I'll visit him after this; go and make sure. There's that fluttery feeling in my chest again as I think about seeing him.
The nurse who was looking after Dad last time comes straight up to us.
‘Still the same,’ she says, looking at Mum's expression. Her eyes linger over me and Jack. ‘You'll have to go in one at a time I'm afraid, and only five minutes each.’
‘I'm first,’ Jack says. I hate him for that.
Mum and Jack put plastic bags over their shoes again and go into the room. I try sitting on the chair beside the desk, but I'm too restless. I pace the corridor instead. My hand brushes the wall. I think I can remember waiting in a corridor like this once before Dad was ill, with all of us together. I have a bunch of hazy memories that don't make sense. Mum with her arms around Dad's waist. Saying goodbye to Nan. Seeing Granddad cry. I stop pacing as I remember it. It shocks me even now to think of Granddad with tears on his face. Perhaps my mind has twisted the memory and it was really Dad who was crying.
I go back to Intensive Care. Why are Mum and Jack taking so long? Five minutes, the nurse said. I check my watch, see that it's been seven minutes already. I can't wait any longer. When the nurse leaves the desk, I step quietly towards Dad's room.
Like last time, the blue curtains are drawn around most of the beds. But not Dad's. Even from here I can see Jack and Mum, leaning over him. I take a few steps forward so that I can see Dad, too. When I do, I freeze. My legs won't work any more. His eyes are shut. There's a mask over his mouth and nose, exactly like the one he had on in the ambulance. He looks so sick, even sicker than how he looked that first day. It's as if he's fading away, merging into the whiteness of his bedsheets. I stop breathing for a moment. I'm about to black out. I have to step backwards.
Mum hears me. She frowns as she turns. Opens her mouth to say something. I know already what it is. Something about the infection Dad's got. It's all my fault. Dad is going to die. It's going to be just like it was with Nan.
I claw myself away from her. I don't want to hear her words. Someone grabs my shoulders, tries to stop me, but I elbow them away. There's a strange noise coming from my throat. I don't know whether it's a word or a cry or something else entirely. Mum comes towards me. I dodge her, dodge everyone. I get out of the ward and run straight into a trolley. I push it to the side to get past. Now Jack is shouting something after me. I block it. I don't want to know. I don't want to know if it's all my fault. I don't want to think about it. But I do. It's all I think about as I skid through the corridors. Dad's pale, white face. Our family with only three. Granddad crying again. I have to go, have to get out.
I take the stairs two at a time, jump down the last few. I bolt through the car park. I'm just running. I don't know where I'm going; my feet are just leading me. I don't know what else to do. I pass Mum's car, tumble through the reserve fence. Slip on a pile of leaves. It feels like there's a hole opening up somewhere inside me. It feels as though I'm about to fall in. I have to keep running.
She's waiting. Somehow I knew she would be. She swims towards me, comes right up onto the bank. I want to bury myself in her feathers. I want to lie across her back and leave with her when she flies. She understands, I can feel it. Her gaze is on me, drawing me in. Her eyes are darker than coal dust. She hisses gently.
A wind starts up, sending my hair across my face. I lean forward, into it, let the wind hold me up. The swan moves her head up and down. She beats her wings against the water's surface and I know exactly what she wants to do. I want it, too.
I start to run. Down the track. The swan keeps pace on the water. She draws ahead, pulling me on. I slide over patches of frozen ground, stretch out my arms to steady myself. I hear my heart thudding in my chest. I wish I could swap it with Dad's so that he could have the healthy heart. It keeps beating, louder and louder. But there's a pain in my chest, too. I shut my eyes for a second. Run blind. I feel the gravelly texture of the track. Smell the dampness of the lake.
I hear the swan beside me, honking and whooping. She's about to fly. I lengthen my stride. Water spins out from her wings and lands on my cheeks. I beat my arms, too, hoping to encourage her. I wish I was wearing the flying harness. But she
doesn't need it. As I turn to watch, the lake drops away from her feet. And then . . . up, UP. She's flying.
I watch her stretch forward, her beak pointing towards the sky. I see the wind rippling her feathers, the muscles moving in her neck. I hear the whirring of her wings as she climbs higher and higher.
I run behind her. I'm only going to follow her until she starts to draw away from me. But she stays there, flying low, only about five metres above my head. It's as if she wants me to come with her. So I do. I run past the end of the lake and past the trees. There's a pathway, leading over a stile and out across the fields. I follow it. Leap the fence. Now that I'm running like this, following her, it feels like I can keep running for ever. I look up at the swan. She's watching from above, keeping pace with me exactly . . . deliberately going slowly so I can follow. I don't know whether she's leading me or I'm leading her.
Then I remember something. This is the direction that the swan flock was heading this afternoon. I dig my toes into the ground and go faster. Suddenly it all seems so simple. I need to take her there, I need to lead her back to her flock. If I can't help Dad, then at least I can help her.
I head across the fields, hope I'm going in the right direction. It gets darker as I run. The lights from the hospital and the ring road begin to fade as I go further into the countryside. But I can still see the swan above me. The white glow of her wings stands out clearly against the darkening sky.
An ache starts in my chest and spreads into my shoulders. But I keep going. Even when the air thickens into mist. It clogs my nose and mouth and makes my clothes feel heavy. It makes the lights from the road disappear entirely. There's a shriek. Her. I look up. Everything's black. Only the damp feeling on my eyeballs tells me my eyes are open, not closed. My swan has disappeared.
I run into the darkness. I listen for her shrieks to lead me on. She's in front of me now. I'm only going by sound, trusting the swan not lead me into a lake or a fence. I shut my eyes then open them again. There's no difference. It's too black. I don't know which way is ahead or behind, up or down. I'm running in a black hole. Or maybe I'm flying, soaring behind her.
I press my hand to my chest to feel my heart. It's beating strongly. I keep my hand there and think of Dad, running across that field two weeks ago . . . it must have been near here. I wish I could have caught up with him. I wish I could have grabbed him and told him to stop.
My swan shrieks again. I turn my body towards the noise. I start to see flickers of light between the clouds. Stars. There's movement up ahead. And something else. Coming out of the mist is a sound. The sound I've been waiting to hear. It's a crying, low and eerie. It's the sound of a flock.
As we get closer, I see their shadows. The air smells different; it's damper and fresher somehow. We're near a lake. I hear the birds start to murmur as they welcome us. The swan above me shrieks and shrieks. I've done it. I've found her flock! I slow down. My legs feel so heavy; my shoulders stiff. I don't know whether it's because of the mist, but I'm suddenly lightheaded. Drifting upwards. It feels like I'm flying with my swan towards the water.
I don't see the stump. I go right over the top of it and tumble towards the lake and the shadowy swans. My head hits something hard. Stones scrape my skin. All I can hear is the shrieking of birds.
Then, whiteness. Feathers. Her. Everything starts to fade. And I'm sinking down
down into the wet earth and the pond weed. Cold travels along my veins and turns them to ice. If I move now, I'll crack.
The wind howls like a wild thing. Everything goes numb.
Blackness.
Cold.
Sleep.
* * *
My swan comes back. She brings others. They whoop softly and their feathers touch me on all sides. I press my head against them; bury my nose into that smell of feather. They don't move away. I shut my eyes and let them take my weight. For a moment, I imagine it's Dad I'm leaning on, and his arms are tight around me. Mum's on the other side. I can almost smell her perfume. And Harry's there, too, holding my hand.
I feel myself moving. A push forward and the swans take me with them. They hold me with their wings and I start to run. We leap together in huge strides, their outstretched wings bearing my weight. I leap and leap, forcing myself to keep up with them. The swans begin to whoop, getting louder and louder as we run. As we start to take off I stumble, but the swans are beside me, supporting me, lifting me higher. I feel weightless, as if I've left my body far behind. The swans stretch out across the sky, their wings carrying me into the wind, whirring and beating all around. They're singing. Singing to take me home. Back to Dad. I clench my eyes shut tighter, and let them.
CHAPTER 62
There's something warm in my ear. A bad smell. Something is nuzzling me. It nudges me awake. My eyelids are too heavy. I hear the bugling of swans and I'm nudged again. Am I still flying? Something cold and wet touches my cheek. I try my eyelids again; manage to open them.
There's a black snout. A pink tongue. A snuffling sound. A dog. A hand reaches down and drags it away.
‘Get out of there, Dig!’
I know that voice. I blink, try to see where it's coming from. Everything's too blurry. Too dark. I try moving my head. I'm cold and stiff. The pink tongue tries to lick me. Then Granddad is there, leaning over me. His eyes are wide grey pools. There's a thick scarf around his neck.
‘Stay still. I'll help you.’
He presses my shoulders, and I feel the cold, jagged ground beneath me.
‘The swans,’ I murmur.
Granddad leans over me again, smiles a little. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I know. They came back. You did too.’
I feel my head sinking down. His arm slides under my neck. He lifts me up. And suddenly I'm weightless again, floating and flying. I look up at the night sky and the stars sparkle like sequins.
CHAPTER 63
I can smell tomato soup. I open my eyes. I'm lying on Granddad's couch. He's in the armchair across from me, watching me carefully. He leans forward as I try to focus.
‘How are you feeling?’ he says.
I start to sit up and a sharp pain shoots down my spine. I gasp. Granddad's there immediately, helping to make me comfortable against the cushions.
‘I've checked you over,’ he murmurs. ‘There's nothing broken. I called your mother when I found you.’
For a second I want to reach forward and touch his face, just to know that he's real. I'm warmer than before. I can't hear the swans.
‘What happened?’ I say.
Granddad puts his hand behind my shoulder, supporting me. His hands feel like the swans’ wings, pushing me up. I want to ask him if I was flying, I want to know what he saw. I glance out of the window and see the white-blue sky. There are no birds.
‘You were running,’ Granddad murmurs. ‘Away from the hospital, running here. I heard the swans arrive so I went outside to see what was going on. I found you. You've been sleeping ever since.’
Granddad is watching me carefully. There's something about his expression that seems important somehow. Then I get it.
Dad.
I sit up quickly and feel pain in my legs and arms. Granddad tries to push me back against the couch, but I won't let him. Not until I know.
‘What happened?’ I say, my voice a whisper. ‘Is Dad . . . ?’
I remember the mask over his mouth. Mum's face in the ward. That feeling of emptiness. I swallow the sick feeling in my throat as I wait for Granddad's words.
Granddad touches my chin, forces me to look at him. ‘Your father . . .’ he begins, ‘. . . they think he'll pull through . . . he's responding now.’
I keep looking at Granddad's face. I listen to his breathing.
‘I thought . . .’ I try to say. ‘I thought he was . . .’
I feel the wave in my throat, the tears prickling at my eyes. Granddad's eyes well up, too.
‘I know,’ he says. ’I thought that as well.’
He hugs me tight. His jumper smell
s like woodsmoke and fried food, and his body feels stiff. I wonder when he last really hugged someone.
‘We'd better get you to the hospital,’ he says.
He leans away. He sits back on his heels and wipes his hands over his face.
‘Do you want to go now?’ he asks. ‘Or do you want to lie here a little longer?’
‘Let's go now.’
He puts his arm around my waist as I stand. He half carries me to his car. It's so cold outside, colder than it's been for days. Our breath is like vapour trails. I make Granddad stop for a moment so I can hear the swans. I can't see them from here, but I know where they are: Granddad's lake, only a few hundred metres away. Granddad turns his head and listens with me. I shut my eyes. Is my swan there? When I look back at Granddad, he's still listening.
‘They haven't been back for six years,’ he murmurs.
‘I know. Not since Nan . . .’
The words catch in my throat and I look up at Granddad. He nods.
‘Yes. Not since then.’ He studies the sky above the lake and shakes his head a little. ‘It's what I wanted her to see, before she . . .’ He struggles for words, coughs suddenly. ‘She shouldn't have been looking at four walls when she went. She wanted to be outside.’
He doesn't hold my gaze, but glances ahead to his car instead. Then he starts walking towards it. I let him lead me. There will be time to go back and see the swans another day. Once a flock finds a roosting ground, they'll stay for a while. I wonder about my swan, floating with the rest of them. I clutch onto Granddad, and I'm glad that I led her here.
Granddad starts the car and drives slowly. There's no one on the ring road; no one else has woken up yet. I watch the fields blur past, the fields I must have run through last night. Frost makes them glisten and sparkle. There are starlings bobbing on the electricity wires. I wonder how she did it, how she flew. Was it me? Did I lead her? Or did she suddenly work out where her flock was and need to get to them?