We Own the Sky(47)

I looked through the viewfinder at the bay curving away into the haze, and I could feel Jack’s eyes on me, intently watching what I was doing.

“I’ve only actually tried this once before, but we’ll give it a go,” I said. “Look through here.”

Jack bent down and looked through the viewfinder. “Wow, it’s amazing,

Daddy.”

“And press this button here. But be careful, just press it lightly.”

“Like that?” Jack said and I could smell the tang of salt and sunscreen on his skin.

“Exactly. Good boy. Now listen to the camera.”

Jack bent down so he could hear the camera’s little whir. “It’s like an

airplane.”

“Right, because it’s doing what we call a burst. So it’s taking lots and lots of photos.”

“Like a million?”

“Well, not quite that many. But hundreds maybe.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.”

The whirring had stopped, so I flicked the dial on the tripod and then set the

camera’s frame rate again. “Now, we’re going to turn it a little—will you help me?”

Very gently, Jack helped me move the tripod into place. “It’s going to take more photos, and then we’ll move it around again, and then we’ll have a picture of everything.”

“The whole world?” Jack said.

“The whole world.”

Anna put her arm around my waist. “He’s doing really well, isn’t he?” she said. We watched as Jack methodically turned the camera and then looked through the viewfinder, making sure he wasn’t missing anything, making sure he was capturing it all.





13

“Where’s Jack?” Anna said. We were at the Amberly Primary fireworks night, and it seemed like the entire school was scurrying through this particular corridor.

“He went to the bathroom,” I said.

“Yes, I know, but about five minutes ago.”

“Shall I go and check?”

“Could you.”

It was strange being back in the boys’ bathroom. Everything was so small.

Lowered urinals and sinks; tiny little cubicles.

I looked along the row of sinks and then turned the corner to where the

cubicles were, but there was nothing, no children, no sounds.

“Jack.” No answer. “Jack,” I said again, feeling a slight panic, like the feeling of losing sight of him in the playground.

I went back to the corridor, thinking that perhaps he had come out and I had missed him, but I couldn’t see him, just throngs of parents and children walking past. I went back in the bathroom and paced around, sure that I hadn’t seen him come out, and then I heard a snigger coming from one of the cubicles. I opened the door and there was Jack with a boy I didn’t know, both with a fan of Pokémon cards in their hands.

“Jesus, Jack, don’t do that. I was worried where you had gone.”

“Sorry, Daddy, we were playing Pokémon, but Sasha doesn’t have any energy cards so I gave him one.”

Sasha looked nervous, as if he was in trouble.

“Shall we go and watch the fireworks? They’re starting soon.”

“Okay.” Jack had a quick shuffle through his Pokémon cards and carefully

took one out. “This is for you,” he said to Sasha. “Porygon is very strong and he will protect you, but you have to take him into your bed at nighttime.”

Sasha nodded seriously, carefully putting the card into his coat pocket.

I herded the boys out and Anna was standing outside. “Is he okay?” she said, looking relieved.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He was playing Pokémon with another boy.”

“Ahh. C’mon, we should go. The fireworks start in five minutes.”

The playground smelled of late autumn—wet leaves and roasting chestnuts—

and we could hear the crackle of the bonfire in the air. The Friends of Amberly Primary were running a burger stand, and the smell of fried onions reminded me of going to West Ham with Dad.

Dad loved that smell. Best smell in the world, son, he always said. I

remembered the last time I went to the football with him. We walked his usual route along Green Street and then onto Barking Road. He knew everyone, my dad, waving to all the Bangladeshi shopkeepers, who always gave him their little mangos, the only fruit he’d ever eat. They all loved Dad, in that little part of East London, because he was the cabbie who’d pick you up at any time of day or night. “The Ambulance,” people called him, because he always took people to hospital for free.

“Hello, Jack,” children said as we walked through the playground toward the fireworks, older kids from grade 3 or 4.

“Are they your friends?” Anna asked.

Jack shrugged nonchalantly. “We play Pokémon sometimes.”

We were glad that Jack had stopped being known as the brain tumor boy. The sickly child they prayed for in assemblies. The boy who received the giant Get Well Soon card, signed by the whole school. Now he was known for his Pokémon, his cards meticulously ordered by strength in his folder, his duplicates kept in an old cookie tin.

We found a good place to watch the fireworks and looked around for anyone we knew, but could see only shadows, ghostly faces occasionally lit up by the glare of the bonfire.