Free-Falling Page 8

  ‘Going out.’ He grabbed his keys off the side table and brushed brusquely passed her towards the front door.

  ‘Where?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Out.’ As if that explained it.

  ‘How’s the job search going?’

  ‘Not now, Mum.’ He was through the door before she could get another word in.

  Since coming home for his brother’s funeral, James seemed to have settled into a routine of sleeping in until one or two in the afternoon, then disappearing and not coming back home until the early hours. His savings account must have been getting somewhat depleted, but he didn’t seem to have any set plans for what he was going to do. She didn’t even know if he might suddenly announce one day that he was going back overseas – yet again. And his sullen mood was intermittently broken up by bursts of rage. One minute, he’d be quietly watching the television in the living room; the next, she’d find him trashing his old bedroom, kicking junk from one side of the room to the other. She had no idea how to respond to these outbursts. Ignore them? Yell back at him? Gather him into her arms and let him cry it out? But that wasn’t the sort of family they were now. They didn’t hug. And they certainly didn’t share their feelings. They quashed them. They ignored them and they spoke to one another in short, snappy sentences, letting the tension just keep on mounting.

  Evelyn hadn’t told James that she’d been skydiving yet either. She wasn’t sure how he would react to her taking his place in the activity that she had banned him from experiencing. Her first jump had been terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Hurtling through the sky, plummeting down towards the earth, landing breathless with her head spinning. She had been instantly hooked. She had jumped again two days later. But both of those jumps had been tandem: each time she’d had Bazza strapped to her back, in charge of the important things like counting out each thousand feet and, more importantly, pulling the ripcord. Since then, she’d been torn between a desperate desire to skydive on her own and an alarming fear at the very thought of doing just that.

  She had managed to put it off for quite some time, but eventually she had steeled her nerves and booked herself in to obtain her skydiving licence. She wasn’t sure why, but she needed this. Within a few days she had completed the first stage of the licence, which consisted of intense on-ground training and yet another tandem jump. This meant she was now due to make her first solo jump – that very afternoon. She picked up her own set of keys and was about to head for the door when the phone rang again.

  ‘Evelyn McGavin speaking.’

  ‘Hi, Evelyn, how are you going? It’s Gabbie . . . from the office?’ She was speaking to her slowly and clearly as though she were a five-year-old child.

  ‘I’m well, thank you, Gabbie. What can I do for you? I’m just about to go out the door.’ Evelyn kept her voice curt.

  ‘Oooh! You’re going somewhere? Good for you! I won’t keep you long then. Alby just asked me to give you a call and see if you’ve decided when you’ll be coming back to work. We don’t want to rush you. But it sounds like you’re already out and about so that must be a good sign, hey?’ Gabbie’s over-bubbly gushing grated on Evelyn.

  ‘You can tell Alby that I’ve probably got a good six months worth of holidays stored up my sleeve, what with my long-service leave and the countless weeks of annual leave I skip every year, so I’ll come back to work when I’m good and bloody ready.’ That was enjoyable.

  ‘Okeydoke, Evelyn. I’m so glad to hear you’re doing better. I’ll tell Alby you’ll be back on board in no time at all. Bye bye then.’

  Jesus, it was impossible to crush that woman’s spirit.

  Evelyn hung up the phone feeling considerably agitated. The way Gabbie spoke you’d think Evelyn had been off work with a bad case of the flu rather than grieving her dead son. She pictured Alby, sitting comfortably in his massive office, a good ten years younger than her and on a salary a good ten times more than hers (okay, maybe not ten times her salary – but still a lot more). He’d be struggling to get by without her there to organise his days for him. She smirked a little, imagining the meetings he was probably missing and the phone calls he’d be receiving that wouldn’t make a bit of sense to him. She had always been a damn good PA, even if she never knew how she’d fallen into that career path. The image of her slimy boss struggling without her lifted her mood a little as she hurried out the door.

  A couple of hours later, she was 14,000 feet above the ground, air rushing around her as she perched at the edge of the doorway of the plane, ready to launch herself into the sky.

  My God, I must be insane.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking!’ Bazza cupped his hand around his mouth to raise his voice above the noise of the engines and the rush of air. ‘But you’re completely ready for this!’ He squeezed her hands and then took his position by her side. A second instructor, John, was to her left. They would both be jumping with her and holding on to her until her parachute was deployed. Bazza gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and then she was given the signal. Three, two, one – jump!

  Instinct kicked in and she leapt from the plane along with her two guides. This was it: for the first time, she was flying solo. Literally. Well, okay, so she had two other people falling alongside her, their hands gripping her firmly – but this was still a hell of a change from a tandem jump.

  Oh God, oh God, what the hell am I doing? Please God don’t let me die! Shit, I should be counting! One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand. Hang on – how many seconds did I already miss while I was praying to God just then? What am I up to? Four, five, six? How many more seconds am I wasting trying to figure out how many I’ve already missed?

  She looked over frantically at Bazza and watched in awe as he turned his head calmly back and forth, surveying the view with a giant grin on his face. Then, seeing her look of terror, he gave a bit of a nod and jerked his head upwards – it was time to pull the cord. She reached around to her side and tugged on it. She was instantly jerked away from the others and everything slowed right down. She realised she hadn’t really drawn a new breath all this time and took the opportunity to catch up, breathing deeply in and out, drinking in the air thirstily. She was finally able to take a look at the vast landscape unfolding beneath her. A feeling of pure freedom expanded in her chest.

  ‘That was amazing!’ Evelyn slid the packet of Tim Tams across the table to offer one to Bazza, then sat back in her chair, taking a sip of peppermint tea and letting the exhilaration of the day wash over her. They were relaxing in the staffroom at SkyChallenge. The staff there had accepted her as a regular and were wandering in and out of the tiny kitchen, giving her congratulatory little pats on the shoulder as though it were perfectly normal for her to be relaxing in their room.

  ‘McGavin, I knew you were going to love it!’ Bazza dunked his Tim Tam into his coffee and then slurped the liquid through it, shoving it into his mouth just before it collapsed. ‘There’s an art to this, you know?’ he mumbled through his full mouth.

  ‘To skydiving? Of course there is. That’s why I did all that training.’

  ‘Nah, not to jumping. You jump, you count, you pull the cord, done. No, to drinking your coffee through a Tim Tam. You have to get the timing absolutely spot-on to avoid losing it in your cup – but you can’t eat it too early, otherwise the whole thing isn’t soaked through. You try it.’

  ‘Bazza, I have no intention at all of drinking my peppermint tea through a Tim Tam.’

  ‘Whoa, did you just call me Bazza? Looks like taking the leap all on your lonesome has finally loosened you up a bit, McGavin. I didn’t know you were capable of using an actual nickname. Anyway, you have to try out the Tim Tam thing. It’s in your contract.’ He folded his arms in an unsuccessful attempt to look menacing. Despite the shaved head and eyebrow ring, Bazza’s warm eyes and cheeky grin meant he just couldn’t pull it off.

>   ‘In my contract?’ She raised her eyebrows at him.

  ‘That’s right. When you signed all the forms to start up your training, you agreed to take part in the official Post Skydiving Come Back Down To Earth Tim Tam Ritual. You’re legally bound. Please, pick up your Tim Tam and take your position.’ Bazza demonstrated this by grabbing another biscuit from the pack and holding it above his coffee.

  Evelyn laughed and gave in. She picked one up and held it above her mug in imitation of Bazza. A couple of staff members had come into the kitchen for a drink and stopped to watch.

  ‘Right, first you take a bite from the bottom-left corner like this.’ He munched away the corner, then added hurriedly, ‘But don’t take too much – all you want to get is a good clean entry point for your beverage. Next, flip your Tim Tam and take a similar bite from the corner diagonally opposite.’

  She did as she was told, finding herself laughing at his serious tone. Goodness, this boy has turned me into a giggling schoolgirl.

  ‘Place the top bitten corner in your mouth like so, lower the Tim Tam into your chosen beverage so that the bitten corner sits just on the surface, and then suck.’ He proceeded to slurp up another mouthful of his coffee and then shove the Tim Tam in. ‘Right, your turn!’ he said thickly through the biscuit.

  Evelyn pursed her lips awkwardly around the top of the Tim Tam and then lowered her face down to her mug of tea. She began to suck but reeled back as too much of the hot liquid flooded her mouth, burning her tongue. Meanwhile, the Tim Tam completely disintegrated, showering the table with mushy bits of chocolate biscuit as she flailed about, waving her hand at her mouth. ‘It’th too hot, too hot!’ she yelled, holding her tongue and dancing around. Bazza and the other staff members fell about laughing and, despite her burning tongue, Evelyn couldn’t help joining in. It was all just so ridiculous. As she watched all the young boys snorting in hysterics at her, a memory swam to the surface that she thought she’d all but forgotten.

  She saw herself, Carl and their two sons. They were in the kitchen of their first house – the one they’d sold and moved out of mere months after Carl had been diagnosed with cancer (too many bad memories to stay on in that house). The boys must have been about five or six years old. They were all drinking milkshakes through straws and racing each other to finish first. All of a sudden, the milk had gone up Carl’s nose and he’d choked and spat it all over the floor. The boys started laughing and, before they knew it, milk was up their noses too. Chocolate and strawberry milk was everywhere. It was the kind of thing that Evelyn would normally reprimand the boys about – but all three of them were just having too much fun and it really was too funny to get mad.

  Next thing she knew, she’d slipped in the milk and landed flat on her back. Well! This was just priceless. The boys piled on top of her, giggling uncontrollably, and Carl stood up from his chair to help her, still emitting great guffaws of laughter. As he leant down to take her hand, she grabbed hold of it and pulled. All four of them had then stayed on the kitchen floor, lying in puddles of milk, unable to stop laughing.

  Now, standing in the SkyChallenge staffroom, laughing hysterically with bits of Tim Tam all over the place, flapping her arms and holding her burnt tongue . . . Evelyn realised that she felt absolutely ridiculous. This wasn’t her. It may have been the way she behaved years ago. But not anymore. Now she was a mature fifty-eight-year-old.

  She was a grieving mother.

  She was a hollowed-out, brittle, old bitch.

  She stopped laughing abruptly, cupped her hand on the table and carefully scooped up the Tim Tam mess, dropping it into the bin. She tipped her peppermint tea down the sink and then said a polite thank you and goodbye, refusing to look Bazza in the eye. She turned and walked out of the staffroom and out of the warehouse, towards her car.

  What the hell had she been thinking anyway? Skydiving? This was a dreadful mistake and she would not be back here any time soon. She was just about to open her car door when a voice called out from behind her, followed by running footsteps crunching on the gravel.

  ‘Oy! McGavin! Where are you taking off to, woman?’

  Woman? He was just a disrespectful young kid. How could she have thought he was so wonderful?

  She turned back, ready to give him a piece of her mind. ‘I really don’t appreciate being referred to as “woman”. You should learn a few manners or at least get a grasp on customer service. Although, on second thoughts, don’t bother because I won’t be coming back, so there’s no need to treat me as a customer any longer.’

  ‘What are you talking about, not coming back? Today was great: you did terrific. What the hell just happened?’

  ‘I’ve realised that this has all been a waste of time and, to be honest, I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. If you could just move out of my way so I can get into my car, thank you very much.’

  Bazza had positioned himself between Evelyn and the driver’s door. He stared at her, totally mystified by this sudden mood swing. Evelyn refused to meet his gaze.

  ‘McGavin,’ he said, his voice low and serious. ‘What the fuck is all this? Did you just hit menopause or something? Because this is not you.’

  She snorted. ‘You really are pushing it, aren’t you? How would you know what is and isn’t me anyway?’

  ‘Because I’ve just spent the last few weeks getting to know your personality, and this isn’t it.’ He paused and then, peering at her face as she kept averting her eyes, added, ‘You look at me.’ She glanced fleetingly at him and he continued forcefully, ‘No, look at me and tell me that this hardarse bitch is really the real you. And I mean deep-down you.’

  She felt the suppressed emotion bubbling dangerously at the surface. I am not going to cry in front of this bloody kid.

  ‘I can’t,’ she choked out.

  ‘Why? Why not? It’s just me. Why won’t you just bloody look me in the face?’

  Oh, this boy was determined.

  She couldn’t hold back any longer. All of the emotions that were simmering at the edges, tingling her fingertips and toes, were now exploding and she stamped her foot on the ground and yelled, ‘Because you remind me of my dead husband and you remind me of my dead son and I can’t take it any longer!’ The flood of tears began and she ploughed on through them. ‘You represent everything that was good in my life and now it’s all turned to crap and I need to grow up and stop holding onto a past that doesn’t bloody exist anymore, so I can’t keep coming here and pretending that everything is fine when it’s not.’

  Bazza stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight as her chest heaved, her shoulders shuddered and she cried the snotty, gasping tears of a child. For just a moment, he became Carl, hugging her close the way he always did.

  Carl had been a hugger. All his life he was known for giving out great big bear hugs whenever they were needed and even when they weren’t. Evelyn was most certainly not a hugger. For years Carl would arrive home from work and automatically pull her into a firm embrace before scooping up his boys for a hug of their own. Night after night, Evelyn would tentatively hug him back, awkwardly patting his back – feeling like a fraud. The day that she found out her father had passed away, dying suddenly of a stroke at just sixty-nine years of age, Carl had come home early from work and immediately given her one of his warm, smothering hugs. She prepared to respond in her usual self-conscious way. But, without even realising it, she found herself melting into his arms and squeezing him back so tightly that she just about cracked one of his ribs.

  From then on, Evelyn became a hugger. She became the first to greet Carl at the door with an enthusiastic cuddle. She hugged the boys each night before bed – long, lingering cuddles, breathing in their ‘boy smells’ of dirt and red cordial (regardless of how well they assured her they had scrubbed themselves in the bath or brushed their teeth that night). She hugged
her sister when they met for coffee and ignored Violet’s dubious looks each time she did so. She was a hugger for a good five years – until a few weeks after Carl died. At first when he passed away, she did her best to continue with this new tradition. She tried to adopt Carl’s personality, his carefree, relaxed way of dealing with the boys. She even went easy on the two of them when she found them fighting at his funeral. She reasoned with them like they were adults, gave them the benefit of the doubt and then cuddled Andrew like always (but shook James’s hand, knowing that he wouldn’t go for a hug in public).

  But she couldn’t keep it up. A few weeks of being denied her regular evening bear hug and, well, she just forgot how to keep doing it herself. She went back to her normal way of disciplining her children: stern words and a smack on the bottom with the wooden spoon if required. She stopped the nighttime cuddles in favour of a quick, perfunctory kiss on the forehead before tucking them in tight. The first time she met Violet for a coffee after Carl’s funeral, Violet had leant in ready for the hug she had come to expect. When Evelyn had pulled back, turning the hug into barely a pat on the shoulder, the look on Violet’s face showed disappointment, but not surprise. Even her sister had known the hugging would run its course.

  Standing outside the SkyChallenge warehouse, Evelyn became a hugger yet again. Or at least for the moment she did.

  Then Bazza ruined it by whispering in her ear, ‘McGavin, you’re lucky you’re not a few years younger, otherwise you’d probably be slapping me in the face and I’d be explaining to the guys why the boss just canned me for pinching a customer on the butt!’

  Evelyn’s sobs turned into a laugh as she pushed him away and started searching through her bag for a tissue.

  ‘Right. You’re coming for a drink with us,’ he announced, grabbing her by the elbow and leading her back towards the warehouse. ‘Let me just gather the troops and we’re outta here.’

  On the way over to a nearby Irish tavern, she thought about what Bazza had said to her. He claimed to know her personality so well and yet it seemed he saw her as a completely different person to the one she saw in the mirror each morning. It felt as though he somehow knew the old her. The person she once was, before Carl died and she had had to shut herself down and close herself off. Was she changing? Was the thrill of the jump loosening her up? Or was he just seeing something in her that others couldn’t. She was getting the feeling that that boy had definitely found his calling in the field of psychology.