We Own the Sky(20)

I felt something touch my arm and realized that Anna was by my side. At first I thought it was out of nerves, that she was ready to swoop in and save Jack, until I realized she was smiling, happily letting him trundle down the hill.

Jack slowed a little, now facing a gentle incline, and I ran behind him and gave him a push, my hands on the back of his saddle. I remembered the feel of my father’s hands, the powerful thrust as he pushed me, his cheers of pride as I rode my bike for the first time on our street.

“There is one more present,” Dad said that Christmas, and I remembered

Mom smiling, her cheeks flushed with wine. “But you gotta close your eyes, son.”

That December, I thought Dad was working a lot on his car. After I had gone to bed, I could hear him, tinkering in the garage, the radio on low, the occasional ptush as he cracked open a can.

Mom tied one of her old scarves over my eyes, and they led me out to the

garage.

“Are you ready?” they said and I squealed, barely able to contain myself.

They pulled the scarf off and I opened my eyes, and there it was, what Dad had been working on every night. A little BMX, but not just any BMX, but one that had been tricked out, with five-spoke mag wheels and chrome pedals and pegs.

“Fifteen quid, it cost,” Dad said proudly. “Everything donated or from the scrap yard.” I didn’t think I had ever seen him look so pleased.

  *

“You did brilliantly, Jack, well done,” I said as he expertly slowed to a halt.

Jack got off and started to make sure the bike’s plastic cannons were still working.

“He’s really got the hang of it,” I said to Anna.

“He has, hasn’t he?”

“Can I go again?” Jack said, tightening his helmet.

“Of course you can.”

Jack got back on his bike and practiced riding around in circles, weaving in and out of some tree stumps on the grass. Anna and I were talking, not paying attention, when Jack, instead of turning, rode straight into a tree.

Anna let out a scream and we both ran over. He was lying on the ground, a dazed look in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I said, kneeling down next to him.

He nodded vaguely, as if he didn’t know what happened.

“Are you hurt?” I said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jack smiled at me. “A million.”

“Can you remember your name?”

“Jack.”

“Can you remember my name?”

“Mr. Piggy Face,” he said, starting to giggle a little.

“Good. I think you’ll be fine.”

I helped Jack to stand and picked up his bike from the ground.

“What happened, poppet? Are you okay?” Anna said, dusting off his jacket

and trousers.

“I’m okay,” Jack said, still looking confused.

“What happened, mate?”

“I don’t know. I was just on the Spider-Man bike and then I... I don’t know... I felt all funny and then did a big crash into the tree...”

  *

When we got back to the house, I sat with Jack in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and watching  Final Score. Jack listened, mouthing the names of some of the teams. Accrington, Chesterfield, Blackburn. He tried to say the more difficult ones out loud: Gillingham, Scunthorpe, Shrewsbury.

As he was listening, Jack started to go through the photos he had taken on his camera, his little point-and-shoot. It had been a present for his fifth birthday, and it never left his side. He always gripped it tightly with two hands, just like we had shown him, because it wasn’t a toy, Jack, it wasn’t a toy. After he had finished taking his photos, he would wipe the screen with a piece of toilet paper and put it back in the case.

“Daddy,” he said, carefully putting the camera on the coffee table, “can I have special cheese toast?”

Special cheese on toast was butter, Marmite and a few slabs of cheese melted in the microwave.

“Of course you can. I think Mommy is making it right now.”

“Are you having it too?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll just eat all yours.”

“Nooooooo.” Jack looked at me and crossed his eyes. “If you do, I’ll do

something bad to you.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm.” Jack put his finger to his lips. “You will have to go to bed

and...and...” He thought hard and I raised my eyebrows. “And...and you can’t watch football,” he said triumphantly.

“Ah, okay,” I said, scratching my chin. “You win. I won’t eat your special cheese on toast then.”

Jack beamed, and I went into the kitchen to see if it was ready. Anna was cutting the toast into little squares.

“Is he okay?” she said.

“Yes, he’s absolutely fine.”

“I still don’t understand what happened.”

“Anna, he just fell off his bike. It’s completely normal.”

“But it was like he blacked out. He said he felt funny.”

“He just lost his concentration. It’s a new skill, a lot to take in.”

Anna didn’t look convinced. She handed me the plate, and I carried it in to Jack.