Page 51 of Love, Accidentally

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‘What have you got lined up for this week then, Tilly?’ Jonathan asks as he takes a mouthful of potato a month or so later.

‘Usual stuff. Day shifts from tomorrow and then my sister has finally decided that she trusts me enough to take my nephew out for the day on Saturday.’

When Will told me I’d been inducted into the Sunday lunch club, I didn’t realise that meant I’d effectively be kidnapped by Jonathan every Sunday I wasn’t working. I don’t mind, actually. Today’s roast is beef, with the most amazingly light Yorkshire puddings. Will informed me when I arrived that pudding will be treacle sponge with custard, which is probably going to finish me off. These Sundays tend to follow a similar format. Jonathan brings mountains of food out of the kitchen, we eat and then he disappears upstairs for a nap while Will and I clear up before sneaking out to the workshop to check on progress. Things are definitely happening as the enormous helicopter is now free of its blanket and sitting on the workbench. According to Will, Jonathan is starting to spend more time out there, and he overheard him on the phone talking to one of his old flying friends a week or so ago.

‘I don’t know how you manage shift work,’ Jonathan says with a smile. ‘I used to find just working regular hours tiring enough without having to alternate days and nights.’

‘It does bring its challenges,’ I reply tactfully.

The biggest challenge, which is totally unrelated to shift patterns and which I’m also not talking to Jonathan and Will about, is still Luke, unfortunately. Although I haven’t seen him since our confrontation in the staffroom, the law of probabilities means that the likelihood of our schedules aligning is growing with every shift, and I’ve managed to convince myself it’s got to be tomorrow. I’ve tried very hard to keep him out of my mind, but he’s still a malign presence, somewhere right at the back. In the end, I decided not to complain to HR, much to Tash’s disgust, but I just felt I didn’t need the extra aggro. I’ve pacified her by promising faithfully that I won’t hesitate if he steps even slightly out of line again, though.

‘I’ve had an idea,’ Jonathan announces. ‘You should bring your nephew along to flying club on Saturday. I’m going and I’m sure he’d find it interesting.’

‘I doubt it,’ Will counters before turning to me. ‘When Dad says flying club, what he actually means is a group of middle-aged and elderly men standing in a field flying remote-controlled aircraft. How old is your nephew?’

‘Three, coming up four.’

‘Yeah. I’m not sure it’s going to be his idea of a good time.’

‘I don’t know,’ Jonathan persists. ‘I was talking to Bernard and apparently the number of 3D flyers has gone up dramatically since I was last there. I can’t bear them myself, terrible show-offs, but it might be entertaining for a young person.’

‘3D flyers are the stunt people,’ Will explains. ‘There’s fierce rivalry between the scale model people who build realistic models and fly them as if they’re the full-sized thing, like Dad, and the stunt people. The scale model people think the stunt people are arseholes, and the stunt people think the scale people are fuddy-duddies. And that’s before you get into the rivalry between the helicopter people and the fixed-wing aircraft people. It’s a murky world where everyone seems to bear some sort of grudge.’

‘I think grudge is a bit harsh,’ Jonathan argues. ‘I’d prefer to call it a healthy rivalry.’

‘Grudge,’ Will says again, firmly. ‘Although the stunt guys would probably love having an A&E nurse there. They may be small, but the blades on their machines are still fairly heavy and going at quite a speed, so if they get it wrong and hit a person, it makes a hell of a mess. Apparently, people have lost whole limbs and even been decapitated.’

I turn to Jonathan. ‘Let me just make sure I understand this. We’ve got a muddy field with a load of men who think the others are all arseholes, some helicopters, and the likelihood of a horrific accident. And this is what you want me to bring my three-year-old nephew to see?’

‘Accidents are very rare,’ he says. ‘He’d be just as likely to witness a messy car crash on the way there.’

‘I think it’s probably not the kind of thing someone Isaac’s age would enjoy,’ Will tells him, coming to my rescue. ‘I tell you what. When you get your helicopter up and running, maybe Tilly can bring him along then. It’ll be more interesting if he knows one of the people flying.’

‘You’re coming though, aren’t you?’ Jonathan asks Will.

‘I was, but now I come to think about it, I don’t think you really need me, do you? Once you and Bernard get chatting, you won’t know whether I’m there or not.’

Jonathan smiles. ‘I suppose that’s fair. OK. You have a deal. I’ll let you off flying club for now, on the proviso that you all come when I’m ready to put Audrey through her paces.’

‘Audrey?’ I ask.

‘The helicopter,’ Will explains. ‘She’s called Audrey. I’ll let Dad explain.’

‘She’s called Audrey after an ex-girlfriend of mine from back in the day,’ Jonathan tells us. ‘The thing you have to understand about a helicopter, even a model one, is that it’s fundamentally unstable. You have to be ahead of it at all times, because it’s always trying to kill you. It just reminded me of her.’

‘Did she try to kill you then?’ I ask, enthralled.

‘Not exactly, but she was always coming up with crazy ideas that would have landed us in a lot of trouble at best, and could have been fatal at worst. She was a real live wire, but also exhausting. I’m trying to remember her surname. Car-something. Carruthers? No, Carmichael, that was it.’

‘Do you know what happened to her?’

‘No idea. She’s equally likely to have married and settled down to raise a family as she is to have died in a bizarre bungee-jumping accident or become a stuntwoman. I could see her as a stuntwoman, actually.’

‘Maybe you should look her up,’ Will suggests. ‘Widen the talent pool beyond just Gina.’

‘Let it go,’ Jonathan warns him, but I notice his stern tone doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Anyway, if you’re not coming with me on Saturday, what are you going to do?’

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