Kate Pullinger - Landing Gear

“Tell me what life at home is like now that you’ve finished school and are working.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

Jack seemed more relaxed this time. He’d made a bit of effort with his clothes, had done away with the hoodie. “Ready when you are,” Emily said.

“For a couple of hours I thought you were my sister.”

“It was nice, wasn’t it?” Emily asked.

“It was. A sister! But I also thought I was dead. Neither turned out to be true. But since then you sort of have become my sister. And Yacub, he’s a kind of brother. I still tell people he’s my cousin. They look at me, they look at him. It’s entertaining.

“It’s good at home. It’s so much better than it was two years ago. Mrs. Harriet’s working again, which is a huge relief for us all—she’s no longer quite so Crazee . Dad trundles along as he always trundles along but he’s home more, not at work all the time, and he makes an effort with Mum—it’s kind of sickening, but it’s also sweet. He gives her flowers. They kind of date, in a weird way. They go out to the movies or into town to see an exhibition on the weekend. For a while I thought my family was going to break apart. But that hasn’t happened. Instead it’s been transformed, it’s grown—first Yacub, then you. We’ve expanded. You should get married and have some kids, Emily, and you should all move in with us.”

There it was again, that moving-in idea.

“It’s a good idea,” Jack continued. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think Michael would want me and my growing young family moving in with you.”

“You never know. He can be quite sentimental at times. Also, it’s a Pakistani tradition, isn’t it, the big extended family, and we’re honorary Pakistanis now, according to Yacub. Mrs. Harriet would love it. And anyway, I’ll be gone soon.”

“Off to uni.”

“Off to the debt factory.”

“You’ll come back, though. I can see it already. You’re definitely going to be a stay-at-home adult child.”

“You’re probably right. I’ll move my growing young family in as well. I’ll have such a massive debt from my ten years at university that I’ll never be able to afford to leave.”

“Well, it’s a plan,” said Emily.

“Not really,” said Jack. “Not really.”

On Saturday, Emily got up early and went for a cycle along the river. She felt apprehensive; today she was interviewing Harriet and Michael together. This had been Harriet’s idea, and Michael was happy to oblige. Emily figured it might prove fruitful.

It was windy along the river and rain spat at her intermittently, but she kept up a good pace and was soon sweating inside her cagoule. The sky was grey and the river was grey, too, the colours of London. The trees were stripped of their last remaining leaves, and the wind pelted her with them. She decided to get away from the embankment and onto a road. She found herself cycling across the river, toward Chiswick New Cemetery. She’d visit her dad, and she’d tell him everything.

She’d showered and finished her breakfast when her doorbell rang. She opened the door to Michael and Harriet. They looked smaller somehow, thinner and more tentative than usual. “Hello!” she said, sounding falsely hardy. “Come in! Welcome!”

They entered the flat, bumping into each other, bumping into the walls of the narrow corridor. Harriet had brought a cake for Emily. “I actually made it,” she said, “I didn’t buy it.”

“It’s true,” said Michael.

“I’ll make coffee,” said Emily. “We’ll have cake.”

Harriet looked satisfied. They walked into the sitting room where the camera and the big light on its long-legged tripod were already set up.

Michael stood by the window. “You have a great view from here,” he said. “Haven’t been here during daylight.”

“You can see the supermarket,” said Harriet.

“Oh yeah,” said Michael, “look at that.”

“I filmed Yacub falling from here,” said Emily. She put her laptop on the table and pulled up the file. She played the footage. Yacub falling. Yacub landing.

“My god,” said Michael.

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you?” Emily asked.

“No,” said Michael. “No, I haven’t.”

Emily glanced at Harriet, who shook her head. “It’s not something—” Harriet said. “You sent me a copy but—I mean—I don’t think Yacub’s seen it either.”

The footage continued. Harriet standing there, her trolley escaping. Yacub getting up. The mini-cab arriving.

“Jesus,” said Michael. “Fuck.”

“It will be in my film,” said Emily.

“I suppose so,” Michael said. “Can’t see how you’d resist that. Of course, if anyone asks, we’ll say it’s faked. For the purposes of added drama or something.”

“It’s easier to believe it’s fake,” said Harriet. “If that wasn’t me standing there, I would think it was fake.”

“That is you standing there, isn’t it?” Michael asked.

“Yes, it is,” said Harriet. “It’s me.”

“What happened to that car?” asked Emily.

“It was totalled. A writeoff.”

Michael gave a small, disapproving huff.

“I’ll make coffee,” said Emily.

They sat down on the sofa.

When Emily returned from the kitchen, Michael had his arm around his wife’s shoulders, their bodies connecting neatly, both equally ill at ease.

“Okay!” said Emily.

“Listen,” said Harriet, “I’m just going to start talking, okay? If you want me to stop, interrupt or something. But I’m going to try to say it all, go through once while you film without stopping. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Emily.

“Michael will stop me if I say anything stupid. Won’t you?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“All right,” said Harriet.

“Okay,” said Emily. She turned on the camera and gave Harriet a nod.

“I kept you secret all those years. It wasn’t really a secret, I just didn’t tell anyone about you. Nor your mother. And somehow because I didn’t tell anyone for so long, it became a secret. My secret. The thing I had never told Michael. I don’t know why—I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I hadn’t managed to convince them to let me keep you, though looking back, there was no chance of that happening, and it seems strange that I convinced myself it was a possibility. I was ashamed that you’d been given up to people none of us knew. And I felt guilty for not preventing it from happening—the accident, I mean. I felt guilty for not preventing Barry from getting involved with George Sigo. And afterward, George was in prison, and I didn’t want to have anything to do with him, and then when I did— Well, that was a bad idea.”

Harriet took Michael’s hand; he was looking toward the window. He looked at the camera, and then at his wife. Emily thought, how handsome he looks in this picture.

“So I kept it secret. I tried to contact you through social services at one stage—I knew your birth name. Barry had always said if you were a girl you’d be called Emily. I made an appointment and they got out your file, and I managed to see your real name—your new surname—written across the top before the woman realized I had no right to the information. After that I was stuck for a long time. I couldn’t figure out how to contact you. If you went looking for your birth mother, the trail would not lead to me. George’s name wasn’t on the birth certificate, so the trail wouldn’t lead to him either. I kept it secret, it was too peculiar, and what would Michael have thought about my having kept it secret all those years? So, eventually, I began stalking you online.