Kate Pullinger - Landing Gear

“This is what I would like to do one day,” Yacub said. “Actuary.” He pronounced the word carefully. “Actuary.”

Michael smiled. Jack couldn’t think of the last time he’d seen his father look so happy. “It’s a great profession,” he said, “especially in these uncertain times.”

Jack looked at Yacub: you risk your life by stowing away in the landing gear of an airplane, and you want to be an actuary? Jack didn’t say a word. He decided it would be a good time to ask his father about tonight.

“So,” Jack said, as Michael gave him one of his why-don’t-you-want-to-join-my-noble-profession-too? looks. “Yacub and I have been invited to a party tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Where?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Jack said, “I don’t have the full details.” Since the “events” of two years ago, Jack rarely went out; he could tell his father was pleased by the idea.

“There’s a website,” Michael said to Yacub, “a good website, with a lot of information about the profession—I’ll show it to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Yacub said.

Jack noticed that his father, unlike his mother, didn’t ask to be called by his first name.

“It should be okay for you to go,” Michael said. “Bit of a culture shock, Yacub, but you’ll take good care of him, won’t you, Jack?”

“You know me, Dad,” Jack said. “The perfect host.”

Emily was Facebook friends with both Harriet and Jack. Jack had accepted a friend request from Crazeeharree a while back before unfriending her, Emily assumed, once he figured out she was his mother, and Emily had friended him at that time. Jack had hundreds of online friends; as far as Emily could see, he was indiscriminate about who he connected with and what information he gave away. So she knew about the party, and she monitored conversations throughout the afternoon to try to figure out if this was one she’d be able to crash. For a while she’d been thinking that a subplot about the son would add to the overall story she was trying to tell in her film. The son . She couldn’t bring herself to think of him as a possible sibling, that was going too far. Besides, maybe the falling man would be at the party. The falling man. She still could not believe what she had seen. Maybe the falling man would be there, and she could talk to him as well.

Fragments of info appeared on a variety of pages as pre-party anticipation built. She had to work to keep up with it all. Jacinta’s parents were away but Jacinta changed her mind about hosting the party when she saw word had leaked out. Paula said her dad had offered their house, but everyone knew that meant he’d be there, looming in the hallway like the former police officer he was. Abdul suggested Dukes Meadows, and everyone shouted him down on that, who wants to have a party out there in the cold and the dark, and maybe it would rain? Hetem said why not have it there, no parents, no one watching, no neighbours to complain. A bit more banter and then that was it, decided. Now everyone could invite everyone else without worrying about the party busting down the walls of someone’s parents’ house.

She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror. Could she pass for sixteen? The sixteen-year-old girls all looked twenty-six, but that wasn’t the point. Reverse engineering was much more difficult, especially among teenagers who have a sixth sense when it comes to “old” people. She couldn’t decide if the red hair made her look older or younger. She foraged in her closet for the right clothes. Were girls wearing too much makeup or was it the none-at-all look these days?

She arrived on her bike at dusk and the field was already a sea of bodies. There were three cars parked along the access track at the northern end of the common, behind the trees, their boots open. A crew of older guys was doing a brisk trade selling beer; skinny girls and hefty boys waddled away from the cars, laden with cans. As she watched, they finished up, stocks depleted; they slammed their doors shut and she heard one of them say, “Back later.”

She locked her bike, got out her cameras and went to work. She took a photograph of the crowd and her flash went off, illuminating the young faces. The people closest to her pointed their phones at the source of light and, Emily guessed, a dozen photos of her appeared on Facebook moments later. She made her way into the crowd.

Before they headed out to the party, Jack asked Harriet for money “for food.” Harriet always caved at the thought that he might go hungry, and she gave him some cash. He didn’t tell her the party was at Dukes; he said it was at Abdul’s house, as Abdul had an undeserved reputation for being reliable, steadfast and sober due to the fact that he came from a reliable, steadfast and sober Muslim family. She said, “Say hello to Abdul from me,” as if Jack would ever do that, ever. “Sure, Mum,” he said.

Yacub was dressed in his new clothes, looking very pleased with himself. Harriet lavished him with compliments and he was lavish in return, “Thank you, Mrs. Harriet, thank you. I will pay you back soon,” practically lowering his head so she could scratch him behind the ears. Jack was a little worried about what people would say when he turned up with his new best friend; the button-down shirt and brand-new chinos made Yacub look like—well, he looked like an up-and-coming actuary on his day off. Hopefully no one would be that interested in him and, besides, having Yacub with him was definitely contributing to his parents feeling relaxed and happy about him going out to a party.

Jack had been pretty much grounded since David McDonald died and he and his mother had their “events.” Well, not really grounded, though he used that as an excuse with his friends. He did go out from time to time; he wasn’t a complete loser. Truth was, he didn’t feel like going out much anyway. He had less freedom than his friends whose parents had eased up after a few weeks of searching, heartfelt conversations about personal responsibility and the whole things-were-different-in-my-day-drugs-were-weaker/nicer/better, etc. But he was used to it now. He’d become sort of housebound, institutionalized; he found it difficult to imagine ever leaving home.

However, seeing Ruby again reminded him of how much fun they used to have together. And then finding out that the party had been moved to Dukes Meadows—well, that was it. Jack had to go.

On their way out they stopped at the corner shop and Jack bought them both a tin of the caffeine drink that the school drugs counsellor said contained the equivalent of seven cups of coffee and one cup of sugar. Yacub made a face when he took his first sip, but to his credit he drank it down without spitting it out, which was more than Jack could say for himself the first time he’d tried it. When they arrived at Dukes, it was getting dark, but Jack could see that things had already started. The first person he came across was Frank; he had a huge haul of beer piled up on the ground and he was selling it rapidly.

For months after Jack had passed the bag of weed to Frank and Frank was expelled as a result, Jack had dreaded running into him. He folded it into his overall strategy of staying grounded and not going out much: better that than run into Frank. When he finally did see him—on the high street, with their mothers—he was stunned to discover Frank wasn’t angry.

“Hi, Jack,” Frank had said.

“Hi,” Jack had replied.

“See you around,” Frank said, and he smiled.

Jack could not understand why Frank had not told on him. If it had been Jack, he would have squealed like a pig. Jack felt indebted to Frank, though he wasn’t about to tell him that. Now, he bought six cans of beer off him and gave three to Yacub.