Sky

SKY

R.E. PALMER

FRONTRUNNER PUBLICATIONS

Contact: [email protected]

Copyright © 2012 R.E. Palmer

Cover by Sophie Webber – [email protected]

The right of R.E. Palmer to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

ISBN-13: 9780956259349

Prologue

In the timeless space between consciousness and sleep, Tomas Moone met the girl he would love for the rest of his short time on Earth.

It happened during one of those perfect summer days you don’t want to end. He lay on the grass, gazing up at the sky, trying to look at those strange, squiggly things you get in your eye. But as soon as he caught a glimpse of one, it darted away. As Tomas drifted off to sleep, he saw her face and named her Sky. She seemed just as surprised as Tomas, but then the small, blonde girl with the pretty face, smiled and disappeared.

1

Tomas found it hard to believe, the wooden box carried by the strangers in black, contained both the fathers he knew. Unfortunately for Tomas, he couldn’t think of one without the other. If he could only remember the violent alcoholic, it would be easier to cope with his death. A cold hand grasped his, breaking his concentration. He involuntarily looked to his left. From behind the walls Tomas had put up to get through the day, he saw his mother’s tight face. He felt powerless to do anything to comfort her. As the coffin drew level, Tomas turned to the front and clenched his jaw, determined not to reveal his pain. Another stranger in black spoke, and his mother’s shoulders began to shake. He swallowed and glanced up to stop the tears filling his eyes from flowing down his face. Through blurred vision, he counted the wooden beams and wondered how many spiders lived in the cobwebs, stretched thinly between.

“Would Mrs. Moone like to say a few words?” The vicar held out a hand inviting Matylda to the front. Tomas knew how badly she wanted to say something about her husband before the dark days; how much they had loved each other, how overjoyed they had been when Tomas was born, and how, more than anything in the world, he’d cared for them both. But she couldn’t. She glanced at Tomas, her look imploring him to go in her place. He froze, barely managing to shake his head, on top of his stiff neck. Jonathan Moone would have to go to wherever he was destined, without their words.

The vicar saved the situation and said in a quiet voice, “I understand.” He smiled reassuringly at Matylda but she didn’t see the gesture. He continued, “Let us all stand to sing the first hymn.” Tomas helped his mother to her feet and held the sheet for them both, but his hand shook. He tried to focus on the words but neither his eyes nor throat were going to allow him to sing. A few made the effort and Tomas heard his grandfather’s flat tones, above the sorry mumblings of the congregation.

A single tear from his mother dropped onto his thumb, it sat for a moment before running off onto the floor. The hymn ended and they sat while the vicar spoke words of comfort, few heard. Tomas felt his mother’s weight sag against his shoulder as her energy failed, drained by her efforts to keep it together.

He looked up and caught a glimpse of pale blue through a small window. It was the first appearance of the sky after days of heavy, grey clouds that had dampened everyone’s spirits. He thought of Sky. If ever he needed her, it was now, but it had been weeks since he’d seen her. Never in all the years of their ethereal relationship, had she failed to show for this long.

Beside him, his mother shuffled forward on the pew to stand. Oh great, another hymn. Just then, a shaft of sunlight broke through and shone on Tomas. His heart lifted, before realizing the beam was empty, she wasn’t there.

“What has happened to your once great country?” Tomas exchanged a glance with his mother as Granddad launched into his usual tirade. “Just look at the state of this graveyard.” He jabbed his stick towards a wall covered with fresh graffiti. “There are heroes buried here. Heroes! I should know. I fought with them,” he stopped and waved his stick up at the sky, “up there, in the clouds.” The old man straightened his spine, and for a moment, looked much less than his ninety odd years. His voice boomed, “And just when they thought we were dead and buried… ha! We gave them a bloody nose!” He lowered his stick, exhausted by his outburst, aging rapidly. His sad eyes looked at the headstones and he softened his voice, almost whispering, “They deserve better, someone should look after them.” He stooped to remove a plastic bag caught on one of the graves but got stuck half way.

“Careful Dad, let Tom get it.” Matylda moved quickly to help her father back up.

Granddad removed a glove and touched the cold stone. “I’ll be joining you soon my English brother. We’ll fly again together, just you see.”

“Not with this one Granddad,” Tomas read the faded letters under the moss, “this says… Ethel Baxter, she died in 1936. That was before the war wasn’t it?” Matylda gave Tomas one of her ‘humor him’ looks, but both were glad for the distraction. Watching the coffin being lowered into the ground, had almost finished Tomas, and he was pleased to be leaving. Matylda managed a smile.

“Could you find Chalky’s grave for your Granddad?” She looked exhausted but relieved the ordeal was over.

Tomas took his Granddad’s hand. “This way Ace, he’s over there.” Matylda placed a hand on Tomas’s shoulder and mouthed her words.

“Thank you.” She turned to walk before calling back, “Don’t be long, I need you back at the house to help with the guests, and don’t let Granddad stand around too long in the cold.” The old man leant heavily on Tomas’s arm, as they walked. He cleared his throat.

“If your father had half the balls Chalky had, he wouldn’t be in that hole over there.” Tomas stiffened but luckily Granddad went back to the war. “Do you know what’s funny?” he didn’t wait for an answer, “if the Nazis had waited a few more years, they could have walked in here without a fight.” He chuckled and began to cough. When he’d recovered, he continued with his favorite theme. “You British have lost that bulldog spirit that built your empire. Chalky was the bravest man I knew, but you just don’t see the likes of him any more.” He straightened up and pushed out his chest. “Did I ever tell you about the time we walked into The Red Lion and—“

“Here you go, this is it.” Tomas was in no mood to hear about Chalky’s adventures yet again. Granddad removed his hat and bowed his head; a sideways glance prompted Tomas to do the same.

“Hello Chalky ‘me old china’.” Tomas never tired of his Polish granddad’s attempt at a Cockney accent, even after all the years he’d lived in London, he’d never quite mastered it. Granddad’s voice wavered as he spoke to the headstone, “I’ve come to say it won’t be long now, I’m nearly done here.” Tomas saw a tear in his grey eyes. “It’s all changed Chalky, you were lucky to leave when you did. You wouldn’t like it now.” He looked up at Tomas. “Life can be cruel lad.” He prodded his stick into the long grass growing on the grave. “Here lies a great man.” Granddad steadied himself, lifted his stick and shook it at the sky. “He could do things with a Spitfire you wouldn’t believe.” He chuckled, “The Luftwaffe couldn’t get him, it was the smokes that did him in the end.” He placed a hand on the stone. “I miss our evenings down The Crown Chalky,” and then to himself, “there’s only me left, I’m the last.” Tomas reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and placed it in his shaking hand.

“Were you scared, you know, in the war?”

The old man looked up and straightened. “Most of the time lad. Oh, we made jokes about it, but we were all scared.” He paused and looked into the distance as if seeing the airfield once more. “We weren’t afraid of dying… no, we were afraid of spending the rest of our lives crippled, or badly burnt.” He grimaced. “Those 20mm shells could do horrible things to a young man’s body.” He looked up into the clouds and then laughed. “But do you know what we feared most?” Tomas shook his head. “Losing the man in the middle, you know, the old chuj… down there.” Tomas flinched as the stick nearly found its target and laughed with him. Granddad continued, “We were just eighteen, nineteen back then, most of us virgins.” He exaggerated a wink, “Then I met your Grandma.” He stopped and whispered, “God bless her.”

Tomas shivered as a sudden gust blew through the churchyard. He suddenly remembered his mother’s words and glanced down at his watch. “Oh shit! Come on, we’ll be in trouble if we don’t get back to help mum.”

The sun broke through as Tomas turned, and out of the corner of his eye, saw a face. It was gone in a second. “Are you alright?” Tomas felt Granddad’s hand on his arm.

“Err, I think so… just felt a bit faint.”

“Best get you home lad, get some food inside you.” Tomas nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn it was Sky, who else could it have been? But she didn’t look right. She looked distressed. No, not distressed, that was too mild a word. It looked more like blind panic.

2

The rocky ground extended for about ten feet, before coming to an abrupt end. The big, empty space invited him to discover what lay beyond. Tomas walked forward, eager to see what awaited him. Too eager as it turned out, and he had to check his pace as he reached the edge, quicker than expected. But it was worth it. It was as if he’d stepped out of a dark cell, after a long sentence. The vibrant colors, sounds and sheer expanse before him, flooded his senses, energizing his body. Far below, a glistening blue sea seemed to go on forever in all directions. The light of the two suns reflecting off its restless surface, resembled a million spear tips of a vast army, being raised to greet his arrival. Tomas stretched out his arms, threw back his head and laughed. The roar of the sea rose in approval. He felt so alive and free to do whatever he desired. Up here, he had no doubts - he was king of the world.

A swell of warm air rose up to meet him. With one step, he could soar free from the earth and up into the sky. His heart raced as he shuffled closer to the edge, preparing to take a leap of faith. A gull cried out below. He glanced down and saw the grubby white caps of his trainers, peeping over the edge, and then nothing but open air, for hundreds of meters. Birds flying in and out of the rock face far beneath, added to the sensation of height. Suddenly Tomas wasn’t so sure. A battle waged in his mind - before him power and immortality, behind, safety and anonymity. Somehow he managed to stay perched right on the edge, whilst the conflict raged.

A sudden chill in the breeze made him shiver. What the hell was he doing standing up here? His stomach churned. He froze, hanging between life and death. The sky no longer promised everlasting life, it welcomed his end. To his horror, he started to tip over. Frantically he waved his arms to prevent his fall. Time slowed. Sea replaced sky as he pitched forward. But just as he had accepted his fate, someone snatched him back from the brink. His rescuer spoke. “Not yet Tomas, we’re not ready.”

Tomas took a sharp, sudden breath in and fell back - onto his bed. He lay panting, his heart raced as the events of his dream flashed before him. Of all the places he had visited at night, he found the precipice the most exhilarating. But it had gone, replaced by the lights dancing in the dark above him. It took a full minute for the drone of the early morning traffic to bring him back to his least, favorite world. The monster he knew as London stirred. Tomas groaned and raised his hand to his face, trying to deny the reality - a damp bedroom in his granddad’s house.

He shivered. The sheets clinging to his clammy skin, brought little comfort against the cold air in his room. Tomas let his head sink into the pillow and longed for a visit from Sky. Whenever life got tough, he would think of her and suddenly it would be summer like it used to be; glistening glasses of lemonade, the smell of the barbeque and larks singing high above. Her visits had become a regular occurrence, and at times, he could even see her when he daydreamed at his desk in school. He used to enjoy making her laugh with his monkey face, but now they were older it seemed childish. But if he’d tried to speak to her, she vanished. Like the squiggles in his eyes, he learnt if he tried not to look at her directly, she stayed a while longer and smile, her sweet smile.

Sky was his secret, he’d never told a soul. Not because he thought people might think he was mad, he feared if anyone found out, she’d be lost to him. He tried to imagine her face, but he could only remember her beguiling green eyes. He closed his own for one more attempt, but she belonged in the land of in-between and not here.

The green light from the alarm clock gave his room a ghostly hue. He rolled onto his side and glanced at the clock; it was 3:22am. His skin prickled. He sensed a presence in the room. He couldn’t move. Only his eyes responded, as they rapidly scanned the dark, unsure of whether he wanted to see what lurked in the shadows. A whimper escaped through his clenched teeth. Something moved. It came closer. A figure stood over his bed. Slowly, it bent forward, getting lower until its face was just inches to his left. Tomas felt its cold breath on his exposed cheek. Again, he tried to move, but could only manage to force his eyes to look away. Then he heard it. At first he wasn’t sure if it was a voice in his head, or in the room, but he clearly heard a woman whisper.

“I know who she is.”

3

“It’s called sleep paralysis,” Matylda placed the toast on the table. “I see it sometimes at the hospital.” She turned to pick up the boiling kettle. “You gave me and your Granddad quite a shock last night, not to mention poor old Fudge.”

“But it seemed so real, there was something in the room.” Tomas picked up a slice.

Matylda spoke as she poured water into a cup. “It will. You’re waking up, but your muscles are still asleep, that’s why you couldn’t move,” she laughed suddenly, “it was probably Fudge licking your face.”

Tomas protested, “No, I would have known if it was him.” A piece of toast dropped from his mouth onto the table.

Matylda rolled her eyes, as she put the cup in front of him. “It can happen to anyone, it’s not serious.” She sat at the table and placed her hand on his cheek - Tomas pulled away. Matylda ignored the gesture and tried to explain. “You’ve been through a lot lately, don’t worry about it. Things will get better, just you see. I’ve got some extra shifts at the hospital, so we’ll have more money coming in.” She stood and took his plate over to the sink, turned and leant on the unit. “How about we go out for a curry or something on Friday?”

“Mum!”

“Oh I see, can’t be seen out with the old woman eh!” She walked over and ruffled his hair, like she did when he was a toddler. “Come on, get yourself off to college!”

In his bedroom the night before, Tomas had courageously stormed The Black Gate and defeated Mordor’s hordes. But that counted for nothing here. Today, he had to make it through the gates of the adjoining school to get to college; the creatures lurking here were far worse than anything the Dark Lord could throw at him. Tomas managed to negotiate his way passed the sideways glances and finger pointing, before reaching the graffiti splattered wall, favored by the lowlifes. Any hope of an easy ride was quickly dashed. The last person he wanted to see, didn’t miss the opportunity.

Greg called out, “Hey! Tom-ass!” Tomas kept walking. “Oi, Pizza Face! I hear your mum needs a new car.” The gang sitting on the wall laughed. He tried to ignore them, but Greg hadn’t finished, “And a new man.” Tomas looked at the ground and increased his pace, but this only spurred Greg on. He jumped off the wall, the others followed. Greg bumped his shoulder against Tomas, almost knocking him over.

Greg grabbed hold of his neck and pulled him closer. “Did you see the body Moonie? Messy I bet. Can’t be much left after hitting a wall at sixty.” Greg pushed him again and this time Tomas fell, spilling the books from his bag. Before he could pick himself up, Greg shoved him with his foot and he sprawled flat onto his face onto the cold tarmac. He dropped down next to Tomas, grabbing the back of his coat; his rings gouged into the back of Tomas’s neck. Greg hissed into his ear, “You’re weak like your old man, too posh for round here.” Greg stood and dragged Tomas with him, sneering into his face. “Did he leave you any money?” He tried to pull away, but Greg wasn’t going to let him. Greg called over his shoulder to the gathering crowd. “Have you seen his mum? She’s hot.” He turned back to Tomas and leered, “She’ll be needing someone to comfort her eh! Tell her I’ll be over later.” Before he could think, Tomas pushed Greg back and bunched his fists. He froze, suddenly unsure of what to do next.

Greg surged forward. “Oh yeh? Come on then.” Tomas turned to run, but could see no escape through the surrounding mob, keen to see his blood. But just as Greg raised his fist, the booming voice of Mr. Bates, stopped it dead in the air.

“That’s enough Brooks!” Bates ploughed through the crowd, like a dog scattering a flock of sheep. “Leave him alone, can’t you see he’s upset.” Tomas clenched his jaw and kept his eyes on the floor.

Greg turned to leave, the paused. His eyes fixed on Tomas, “We’ll see you later… and your mum.”  The smell of stale cigarettes added menace; Tomas feared it was no idle threat.

“Moone?” The imposing figure of Mr. Bates loomed over Tomas. “Are you alright?”

“Err… fine thanks… sir.” He turned to walk away, but Mr. Bates hadn’t finished.

“You know Moone, if you need to talk to someone about… you know, your troubles, you can always talk to Miss Olonga. That’s what she’s here for.”

Tomas stopped and turned around. “Thanks sir. I’ll think about it.” Behind Mr. Bates, Greg slid a finger across his throat.

4

“How was your day?” Matylda called through from the lounge.

Tomas collapsed back against the door, answering under his breath, “Shit,” but then louder for his mum’s benefit, “fine.” He looked down and smiled at Fudge. His faithful collie sat with his paw in the air, at the usual place to greet him. Tomas squatted and shook it. “Hi Fudge, good to see you mate.” He knew the name didn’t suit the collie, but it was the first thing that had come to mind, when the puppy’s face popped out of the basket on his fifth birthday.

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