Chapter 21 #2
‘Shall we get going?’ Mum suggests, happily letting Laurence help her climb into the basket. ‘Isn’t this marvellous! So spacious in here. Bigger than my first flat.’
Nico is clearly worried about me and asks again if everything is okay, but I stand my ground, insisting I’m fine and getting in the basket to stand next to Mum, my legs just about managing not to buckle.
He tells us to enjoy the flight and then turns to leave, glancing back at me anxiously, his brow furrowed as I cling to the edge of the basket, my knuckles going white.
Laurence fires up the burners and the balloon begins to inflate, rising up before us and over us, and then the basket begins to lift.
‘No,’ I whisper, as we rise higher. ‘No, no, no.’
‘Too-da-loo, world!’ Mum cries, holding her box of ashes under one arm and waving wildly with the other hand. ‘Up, up and away we go! Come, Henry, let us take to the skies!’
I’d tell her to please for the love of god stop talking like that, but I’m too scared to speak.
As the basket continues to rise higher and the safety of ground falls lower, my knees give way.
I fall to the bottom of the basket and scramble to get into a corner, pressing myself against it, hugging my knees to my chest and shutting my eyes.
‘Megan?’ Mum says, aghast. ‘Megan! What’s wrong? Are you all right?’
‘No, I’m not fucking all right!’ I cry hoarsely.
‘What’s going on?’ she asks, her voice from somewhere above me.
‘I’m scared of heights. I hate this. I hate this.’
I’m so frightened, I feel like I can’t breathe, my head spinning with dizziness as the sense of impending doom clouds any happy or reasonable thoughts.
My whole body feels like it’s trembling as I try to curl up as small and tightly as possible, like that might help to control the surge of panic at the thought of us plummeting to the ground that’s causing bile to rise in my throat and my breathing to come out short and shaky.
‘Oh my god, Megan.’ I feel Mum’s warm hand on my knee. She must be crouching in front of me. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Because Dad wanted us to do this. I have to do it for the house,’ I say, tears streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks.
‘Would you like some romantic music?’ Laurence calls out from wherever he’s standing near the burners. ‘I made a great playlist! Full of ballads.’
‘Uh, not for the moment, thank you, Laurence,’ Mum trills, before addressing me again, ‘Megan, it’s okay. We can go back down.’
My eyes flash open and I shake my head. ‘No. No, we have to complete this. We have to get the house. It was Dad’s dream.’
‘He wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this!’
‘Mum, please, don’t make us go down. I . . . I have to do this. We have to.’
‘Okay. Okay, then, we’ll do it. I’ll help you.’ She exhales, her forehead creased in concentration. ‘I’m sorry, Megan, I had no idea about this fear of yours. I should have known. I don’t think Henry knew either.’
‘I don’t like talking about it,’ I croak.
‘No surprises there,’ she mutters.
‘The view is wonderful!’ Laurence bellows enthusiastically. ‘Come, look out and see how high we are! We are so high, like birds! The ground is a very long way down!’
‘Oh god, I’m going to die,’ I whimper.
‘Thank you, Laurence, what invaluable insights,’ Mum calls back, before turning to look over her shoulder at him. He glances at her and his smile vanishes. Then he notices me and the state I’m in and holds up an apologetic hand. Mum swivels back to me.
‘It will be okay,’ she repeats, giving my knee a comforting pat and then moving to sit down next to me. ‘We will get through this together.’
‘Please, please don’t say anything profound,’ I beg, shutting my eyes again.
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say through sniffles, as I try to steady my breathing. ‘I don’t need you to tell me about how facing my fears is . . . crucial for my resilience or something and that it helps prove you can overcome any limitations.’
‘Sounds like you’re already very well-read on the subject.’
‘I just need to sit here until it’s over. I don’t need any wisdom.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of giving you any wisdom. I’m not sure I have any to give.’
I press my forehead against my knee. The basket wobbles a little and I emit a small sob, repeating frantically out loud to myself, ‘I can do this, I can do this.’
Mum sits quietly listening to me for a while until she suggests, ‘Perhaps it would be better if we talked about something that might take your mind of it.’
‘I don’t think there’s anything big enough to achieve that.’
‘I might be able to think of something,’ she muses.
‘What?’
‘I wasn’t planning on telling you this, although I suppose I was at some point, I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to present itself. The two of us here together, floating in a basket in the air, might work nicely now I think about it.’
‘Don’t say floating,’ I instruct.
‘Sorry. Flying in a basket?’
‘Just don’t remind me we’re in a basket in the air!’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘Got it. As I was saying, now is as good a time as any to tell you that I have MS.’
I lift my head and open my eyes, turning to stare at her in disbelief. ‘W-what?’
‘I have multiple sclerosis, Megan,’ she says, and then she calmly looks away as though she’s just told me she has biscuits in her purse.