Read Taking Flight for Free Online Page B

park.
    â€˜D’you want me to give you some time on your own with your mum?’ Colette asks as we get near the ward. My legs get heavier with every step.
    â€˜Don’t mind,’ I say, which is a lie. I need her to stay.
    â€˜Well, I’ll come in with you to say hello, and then we can see what you feel like.’ Colette’s carrying a Marks & Spencer’s bag. I don’t have anything.
    Mum’s in a normal ward. She still has a drip and she’s a funny yellow colour but she’s sitting up. I hold back from hugging her. I’m scared I might hurt her and I don’t know if she’s still annoyed. The last time I spoke to her I told her I wished she was dead. The last time I saw her she was unconscious. I keep trying not to replay those minutes before the ambulance came, when I thought she was dead, but sometimes I can’t make them stay on top of the wardrobe where they belong.
    â€˜Well,’ she says. Her voice is flat.
    â€˜Well,’ says Colette.
    â€˜Alright, Mum,’ I say.
    Colette hands over the bag – it’s got magazines and a nightie and stuff. Mum says thanks and they start on that boring women-talk, about the food in the hospital and how good the nurses are. I zone out and try not to stare at Mum. She hasn’t met my eye yet.
    Then Colette says she’ll leave us on our own for a bit and here we are.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I say. Two Rs in ‘sorry’, Kelly .
    Mum’s eyes fill with tears. I bite the insides of my cheeks hard. Please don’t let her cry. Or me.
    â€˜Och no, love, I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean – I was just a bit depressed. Everything will be OK when I get home.’
    â€˜When?’
    â€˜They won’t tell me. But you’re OK, aren’t you?’ She gives me her pleading look.
    â€˜Yeah, fine.’ I search for my most ‘fine’ voice.
    â€˜Colette feeding you well?’ asks Mum, who half the time doesn’t notice if there’s nothing in the fridge.
    â€˜Yeah.’ This isn’t the whole truth. Colette’s food is OK in a vegetably way but my throat tightens every time I try to swallow.
    â€˜And what about Vicky?’
    â€˜She’s OK.’ This isn’t even a tiny bit true. Vicky is a Class A Bitch. ‘She’s taking me up to see her horse tonight. We’re going to some showjumping thing on Saturday.’
    â€˜Showjumping!’ For the first time her voice loses that flat, dead tone. ‘Where’s that at?’
    â€˜Dunno.’ There’s no point asking me things like that. I never know where anywhere is. Until last week I always thought the Malone Road was about ten miles away.Sometimes Colette used to phone Mum and invite her over to her house, and Mum always used to say the same thing, ‘Aye, it’s OK for her with her fancy car. How could I be trailing away over there?’ So I grew up thinking it was really far. Plus I thought it was all Prods but there’s a big Catholic church and all so it mustn’t be.
    â€˜And what about school?’
    â€˜Haven’t been in any trouble.’ This is the whole truth. I don’t mention Emmet and neither does she.
    â€˜Good,’ she says. Her face is all pulled down with tiredness. I wish Colette would come back. Mum closes her eyes and I pick up one of the magazines and read some crap about Victoria Beckham. Mum is as skinny as Victoria Beckham. You can see her bones at the top of her nightie. It’s minging.
    At last we’re on our way back to Colette’s. It seems far because we get stuck in loads of traffic jams.
    â€˜She looks a bit better, doesn’t she?’ Colette says when the silence gets too loud.
    Better than what ? I think but she’s doing her best so I just go, ‘Yeah.’
    Colette looks at the clock on the dashboard. ‘God, this traffic’s terrible. Vicky’s supposed to be at the