We Own the Sky(22)

“Promise.”

Scott smiled and shook his head. “Right then. Drones. My favorite subject.”

“So,” I said, “we’ve talked before. You know what I think. It’s the future. The hardware is cheap, and people are going to use them everywhere. They’ll deliver us pizza, our Amazon orders. Builders will use them to deliver cups of teas on their...”

“Rob, spare me the preamble,” Scott said. “I’ve heard it a million times

before. You’ll tell me about the search-and-rescue teams next...”

“Right, but there’s something new, and this is what I wanted to talk about.”

“Okay, go on.”

“Personal drones.”

“Personal drones?”

“Yes. Ultracheap, ultralight and ultradurable.”

“Okay,” Scott said. “And what do these personal drones do?”

“Take photos mostly.”

“Take photos?”

“Yeah, you’ve seen those selfie sticks.”

“Unfortunately, yeah.”

“Well, that’s exactly what these little drones will do, all controlled from your phone. So just imagine: You’re at a wedding and you need that big group shot.

Or you’re hiking in the mountains and want to show people just how high you are, how amazing the scenery is... Or you’re in a crowd at a football match.

These were things that only pros could do a couple of years ago. Now anyone can do it with a five-dollar bit of plastic.”

Scott thought for a moment, stroked his stubble. “Look, I get it, Rob, there’s something there and maybe you’re on to something. But it’s just too...”

“Too?”

“Too niche, Rob.”

“That’s what they said about selfie sticks.”

Scott’s phone beeped and he looked at his watch. “Fuck, I’ve gotta go.”

“Meeting?”

“No, new lady.”

“Oh.”

“She’s Russian. Lovely, but a little demanding.”

“You’ll be bored of her in six months.”

Scott looked down at his laptop. “Bit harsh, mate,” he said, scooping up his car keys off the table.

“Sorry, was only joking.”

“Probably true, though,” Scott said, waving goodbye to Juan. “And anyway, you prick, I could say the same about you. You love the chase, building the new project, but then you get bored.”

“Touché.”

“All right,” Scott said, downing the remains of his beer. “Don’t worry about the tab. I got it. And please, my little beauty, please get me that fucking code, okay?”





hampstead heath

it was the first time you’d seen snow so we went sledding, up on the hill where the big boys were and i just remember hurtling down, you crammed between my thighs, snow spraying up into our faces like the warp-speed millennium falcon.

the only thing i would have changed jack is that i could have seen your face, that i could have seen your face as we were going down.





5

It was spitting with rain as we stood at the base of the Monument. We looked up at the column, the gray-beige stone blending into the rain, the only color we could see, the crop of golden bird feather at its peak.

We began to make our way up the spiral steps, Jack in front, going as fast as he could, his camera case strapped to his back. As we got halfway up, I could feel the chilly wind blowing down the steps, the pale ginger light beckoning from above.

For as long as we could remember, for as long perhaps as Jack could speak, he had wanted to be up high. At first it was the top of the stairs, the attic, but then it was tall buildings, hills, cliffs—wherever he could see the view from the top.

We would go up to Parliament Hill and look out across London. Jack would

sit on my shoulders, banging his little heels on my chest, and I would point out all the buildings on the skyline: the Telecom Tower, the Gherkin, Canary Wharf.

When he got older, he printed out pictures of skyscrapers—the Burj Khalifa, Taipei 101, the Shanghai and Petronas towers—and stuck them to the wall around his bed. He said he was going to go up them all.

At the top of the Monument, we were the only ones on the viewing platform, and I was surprised by how narrow it was up here, a circular alleyway enclosed by a wire mesh, the walls daubed with a crumbly white plaster.

“So how was school today? Did you learn anything?”

He was still wearing his gray school trousers and green Amberly Primary polo shirt.

Jack didn’t answer, too busy trying to peep over the barrier.

“Jack?”

He sighed like a teenager. “Math, reading, writing and PE,” he said rapid-fire and then looked up at me. “Daddy, why is it called Monument?”

“Do you remember I told you about the big fire in London?”

“In the olden times?”

“Yes, in the olden times.”

“So they built this to remember the people.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what people do sometimes. They build things to remember

people.”

“Why was there a fire?”