‘You just need to nod, Teacake. Yes or no.’
He goes on and on, machine-gun quick, demanding answers to impossible questions. What’s heartbreaking is that I can tell Teacake is really trying. Her eyes follow his hands as he turns the pages, blinking as images of clouds and angels flash past. Occasionally she’ll start to say something and Calum will pause, but she’ll splutter a few song lyrics or a radio jingle and he’ll groan and turn on to the next page.
Soon Teacake’s wings start to twitch: she’s bored of being questioned, or maybe she senses the manic edge in Calum’s voice. She beats them together and bends her knees to spring off, but Calum grabs her wrist. Teacake lets out a strangled cry.
‘Just say it!’ he shouts. ‘Tell me where you fell from!’
‘Calum! Let her go!’ I grab his arm and wrench it away from her. Teacake leaps into the air and flies towards the roof, where she lands in the alcove above the organ. Rani runs up the stairs, calling after her. My hand is still clutching Calum’s arm. He pulls away and kicks at the books, sending one sliding across the floor.
‘Calum –’ I flinch as it thumps against the wall – ‘it’s OK. She just—’
‘It’s not OK,’ he snaps. He paces towards the door, his arms above his head and his fingers clutching at his hair. ‘You don’t get it. You don’t understand anything.’
‘What do you mean?’
He spins around, his eyes bright. ‘You know what Allie wanted to be when she was little? An astronaut. A bloody astronaut.’ He laughs coldly. ‘Can you imagine somebody with CF, who has a hard enough time breathing down here on Earth, being sky-rocketed into space?’
I don’t get what he means. What six-year-old doesn’t want to be an astronaut? ‘Well, no, I suppose,’ I say. ‘What’s that got to do with Teacake? What’s your point?’
‘My point is she acts like it’s nothing.’ Calum’s hands clench into fists. ‘She had a lung transplant, Jaya. Don’t you get how serious that is? She was in a coma for two weeks. She almost died twice. She shouldn’t even be going out at the moment, not with this infection . . . But you – you’ve just waltzed into our lives and you expect her to be able to keep up with the rest of us.’
The unfairness of this takes my breath away for a second.
‘That is not true! I haven’t forced her into anything. You guys were protesting Beings’ rights before I even found Teacake. You know how strongly she feels about this.’ When his scowl doesn’t fade, I echo what Allie herself has told me so many times. ‘Besides, it’s her life. She should be free to choose what she does with it.’
Calum’s mouth twitches. For a second I think he’s about to shout at me, but instead he turns his head to the ceiling. The scholars gaze back, their books and instruments clutched to their robes.
‘You’re right. I can’t stop her doing what she wants. Hell, she could give up altogether if she wanted.’ When he looks down again, his eyes are cold. ‘But you can’t expect me to sit back and watch as she puts her life in danger. She’s not going to be the one left behind when it ends, and neither are you.’
I open my mouth to reply, but the weight of what he’s said hits me, and I just stand there gaping.
It must hit Calum too, because he swears and looks at the ground, his hands dug into his pockets. I can tell he’s trying not to cry.
‘Maybe you should take the day off,’ I say. I glance up at Teacake. She’s still hiding behind a pillar near the second set of seats, while Rani tries to talk her down. ‘We’ll cover your shift.’
‘Whatever.’ He throws his hands up and turns on his heel. ‘It’s over, anyway. She’s never going to give us any answers.’
As he walks away, I realize what was bothering me about his voice. His tone is just like Leah’s when she left me yesterday – the same desperation, the same fear. He’s being pushed to the edge too, and I don’t know what his next step will be.
TWENTY-THREE
It’s a beautiful day for catching angels. Already eighteen degrees, according to my phone, and not a hint of a breeze. From the bottom bunk, the slice of sky I can see is so bright it looks like it could burst. I almost wish it would. Maybe there are hundreds of Beings hidden behind the blue, waiting to tumble down into Dad’s arms and make all his dreams come true.
Not likely.
It’s eight o’clock. According to Dad’s calculations, the Being is going to fall at around 10.54 a.m., give or take ten minutes. We need to be at the foot of Arthur’s Seat at nine to help everyone set up. He assumed I’d be coming too, and I felt too bad to tell him otherwise. This is his big day, after all. This is what his months of stressing and obsessing have been leading up to. I know it’s going to be a disaster, but I’ll only make things worse if I refuse to go at all.
I can’t quite deal with it just yet, though. I roll over and check my phone for messages. The past few days have been like the first few weeks after Leah left: constantly glancing at my phone, checking Instagram, refreshing her online profiles. There are no missed calls on the screen, no texts. It’s like our meeting on Calton Hill never happened.
As I’m about to get up, a WhatsApp from Allie appears:
Bad news – my mum/prison warden is off work with a cold, so I’m not going to be able to sneak out to hang out with T. Gutted . . . it’s been way too long since I’ve seen her. Or you.
There’s a flutter in my stomach, and a knot of guilt in my chest. I can hardly stop thinking about Leah, and yet I still wish I’d kissed Allie before running out of her room the other day. Because I do like Allie. I kind of don’t see how anyone couldn’t: she’s funny and brave and pretty and smart, and she’s so thoughtful and caring around Teacake. I like the way she throws back her head when she laughs, and the cute way she fiddles with her earrings when she’s thinking, and . . . yeah. I really, really like Allie.
But I really, really liked Leah too. And I don’t quite know what to do with that.
I text Allie back, then reluctantly roll out of bed and get dressed, bracing myself for high-octane excitement from Dad. Instead, I find him sitting on the edge of the sofa, brows furrowed as he and Rani watch a video on his laptop. On the screen, a neatly coiffed white guy is standing on a quiet hillside, overlooking a valley dotted with rustic Mediterranean farmhouses.
‘This is Manosque, in the French region of Alpes-de-Haute-Provence,’ he says, as the camera pans across the valley. ‘A quiet town with a population of just twenty-two thousand, it was perhaps best known as the birthplace of writer Jean Giono – until 5.42 this morning, when it became the Fall spot of the 88th Being.’
The film cuts to a school courtyard, where a dozen flustered gendarmes are pushing back a pulsating crowd of Wingdings. If this were my insane plan rather than Dad’s, I would take this as a bad sign: it’s unusual for two Beings to land in one day, and even more so for them to be relatively close together. If one’s already fallen in the south of France, there’s very, very little chance that a second will turn up in Edinburgh on the same day.
Rani has made the same connection. ‘Remember the twelfth of June?’ she says. ‘Three Beings fell that day: one in the Philippines, one in Canada, and one here. It happens all the time.’
Dad nods. ‘Good point. It’s certainly not unheard of.’ He jabs the red button on the remote control, then slaps his knees and stands up. At this stage, his confidence is like a brick wall; it’ll take more than a few bumps to knock it down. ‘Right, then! Let’s go catch this Being, shall we?’
My insides feel like they’re being tossed around like lottery balls. I sense Rani’s gaze flicker towards me, but I don’t look at her.