‘God, I’m ready for this to be over,’ said Emma to me.
I nodded, but didn’t reply, because that was when the stunt pilots started up our replica Lancasters’ engines. We’ve only got three operating – nothing compared to the twenty-four planes that 96 often sent up – but even so, the noise was deafening.
Slowly, one hand on the railing, I pressed my other to my forehead.
My skin was clammy.
My head was splitting.
Below me, Nick and Felix were with the rest of their crew, done for the night and watching the moving planes. Ana, meanwhile, was up on a podium with a megaphone, givingthe extras working as groundcrew a final briefing on what she needed from them.
Reaching the control tower’s landing, I tuned out, distracted by how woozy the lights were suddenly making me: brightening, then dimming, then brightening again.
‘Claude?’ said Emma, peering into my face. ‘You ok?’
Which was when the pyrotechnicians ignited the runway torches.
Not answering Emma, I turned, drawn by the sudden whoosh of light.
At the foot of the stairs, Rusty went nuts, barking and straining to give chase to the flares, so much more excited by them than she was by that bird.
The flares didn’t look the same as the ones I saw from the attic.
They were too uniform.
Too perfect.
I didn’t have time to think about that though.
Everything else happened.
The guttural roar of the planes intensified, deafeningly, as though multiplying by … eight.
My eyes swam.
The world wavered.
And, through it all, cut the piercing screech of that bird, who was no way, no how awake.
That’s when I started falling, tumbling backwards, my veins flooding with panic.
I saw Emma, staring after me, her eyes widening in alarm.
I heard Nick, above the roaring in my ears, shouting my name.
I opened my mouth, my throat filling with a scream.
But I didn’t let it go.
My neck snapped back, throwing my stare to the starlitsky, and I was no longer falling, but up at the top of the stairs again, with a blonde-haired woman whose fine-boned face felt instantly familiar. On my body, I wore a uniform still, only it wasn’t tailored, the fabric was faded, and my legs were covered in woollen stockings rather than sheer tights.
I was about to fall all over again, I felt a rush of surety about that, and didn’t want to do it twice, so I reached out, grabbing the blonde woman’s arm.
‘What are you doing?’ said Prim, as Iris grabbed on to her.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Iris, frowning at her own impulse.
Releasing Prim’s arm, she looked down at her feet, steady beneath her, not going anywhere.
