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Valyn was enough of a burgling veteran that he had his own territory between West Fitton Road and Fitton Avenue on Embry Street. A lot of pubs occupied this side of Fitton and after a bender on Saturday nights, people were practically giving their money away. Sometimes he’d go to a pub himself to keep an eye on anyone who was throwing money around and getting drunk enough to be careless with it. Other times, he simply waited in alleys for people to get lost or sick in.
It was, in fact, a Thursday night when he mugged his last wallet. Valyn had gone outside for a fag when he saw a scrawny, ginger bloke ambling towards him. He was dressed in a professional uniform but didn’t look like he could hold his own in a fight. Exactly Valyn’s type.
“Oi,” he said as his victim got near him. The man startled a bit at being addressed, but stopped nonetheless. “Got a light, mate?”
“No. No, I’m afraid I don’t smoke. Sorry,” the man replied quickly. He smelled like he’d had a least one pint, but moved like he’d had no more than two.
“Well that’s bad luck for me,” said Valyn. In the same breath, he grabbed Ginger by the scruff of his jacket and yanked him into the alley. “Don’t scream,” he warned.
The man made a funny sound in his throat, but seemed to be battling the urge to cry for help. The reputation of muggings was in Valyn’s favour. He didn’t carry a weapon, but most thieves did. Ginger was scared enough to keep him quiet.
“Give me your wallet, and your watch,” said Valyn, admiring the clearly valuable piece of jewelry, “and you’ll be on your way.”
Ginger stammered for a good ten seconds before he slowly moved his right hand to unclasp his watch. He fumbled shakily and dropped the watch on the ground with a CLINK. Valyn wanted to sigh in exasperation, but managed to keep up his criminal façade. After all, this little twerp might decide to get brave is he wasn’t being intimidated.
As Ginger looked between the watch on the ground and Valyn’s eyes, clearly lost at what to do, Valyn closed the distance between them and shoved him against the brick building. “Pick up the fucking watch and give me your wallet or we’re going to have a problem.” He then released him roughly and took a step back, giving the man a chance to pick up his watch.
Once he had snatched the watch away and tucked it into his jacket pocket, Valyn glared the other man down until a shaking hand removed the shabby-looking wallet. Valyn cursed inwardly. This might not have been worth it after all. At least the watch looked real, and could have been a gift from a rich relative.
Ginger extended his hand all of 6 inches away from his body, the wallet looking as likely to fall as the watch before it. Valyn grabbed it from him as well. Ginger cowered. “P-please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. Just, please…”
Valyn wondered why the man was apologizing, but didn’t need to investigate it further. “You call the fucking cops and I’ll kill you,” he threatened, shoving Ginger against the wall once more as he stalked off into the darkness and labyrinth of alleys.
Once he was a few streets away, he opened the wallet to glance through. A five pound note, 10p, and debit card. “What a fucking waste,” muttered Valyn. He looked at the ID behind the clear plastic. Martin Crieff. “Thanks a lot, Martin. Cheers. I’ll have a fucking pint on you.”
He was just putting the wallet into his jacket pocket when he heard a loud and frantic beeping.
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Douglas got the call at 2 in the afternoon.
It was Helena’s weekend with their daughter, and Douglas had three whole days to himself, with no flights scheduled until Monday. They’d gotten back from their trip to Brussels late Thursday evening and at the last moment before they parted ways for their time off, Martin had mumbled something about it being his birthday. Douglas had ribbed him a bit before taking him out for a pint. There’d be a cake waiting on Monday, and a flight deck surprise party that would surely turn Martin the colour of tomatoes.
Douglas slept in on Friday and toyed with the idea of calling some of his mates over for cigars. What he did instead was sit in front of his television at midday with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee.
He wanted to ignore his phone when it rang. He especially wanted to ignore it when he saw that it was Carolyn on the caller ID. But, he had nothing better to do and so he answered.
Her voice was soft, and Douglas wasn’t sure he heard her two words correctly at first. When he gave himself a few seconds for his brain to catch up, a part of his world stopped moving.
“It’s Martin.”
Douglas remained as nonchalant as possible. “Oh? What is Martin?” He bit down on his bottom lip. Nothing in Carolyn’s voice suggested that the answer would be at all comical. Situations started to fill Douglas’ head: Martin with a broken leg, Martin with a cold, Martin in an accident with his van, Martin with a flesh-eating virus (well, it would be his luck).
There was a pause on her end and Douglas waited so anxiously, chewing his thumbnail next. “Douglas,” Carolyn said at last. “He was…Martin was…killed. Last night.”
Everything stopped, including Douglas’ ability to breathe properly. His insides clenched as if all his organs were taking a break from functioning and his thumb froze at the corner of his mouth.
Killed.
Martin wasn’t missing, or injured, or very, very ill. He was…killed.
Carolyn’s breathing was audible, and she was sobbing infrequently. Douglas could feel a warm tear dangling from his chin.
Kind, naïve, often discouraged Martin was gone.
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He wouldn’t go to the hospital, where Martin’s family was. Doctors had said his body wasn’t identifiable anyway. Just the ID to go on, and the dental records when they came through.
Instead, Douglas went to Carolyn’s house to offer comfort and share his tears with the two other people who’d become his second family.
He didn’t bother knocking at the door. He opened it with the spare key he had for emergencies and found Carolyn in her sitting room. Her cheeks and eyes were stained red from crying and she was holding onto a pilot’s hat.
Douglas sat next to her on her sofa. “Where’s Arthur?”
Carolyn shook her head for a moment before finding her voice. “He’s upstairs.” She needed to clear her throat to be heard. “Upstairs in his room. He didn’t take the news too well. He was…he answered the phone when Mrs. Crieff called here.”
“I imagine he wouldn’t take that well,” Douglas replied. It was hard to think of Arthur having to hear about Martin over the phone. Happy-go-lucky Arthur, in whose world the good never died unfairly, and certainly none of his friends were killed so young.
“He’ll be okay,” Carolyn reassured him, unnecessarily. “He…” She couldn’t seem to finish. She pulled the cap closer to her chest. It was Martin’s, clearly. The amount of flashy gold braid on it gave it away. She must have had someone bring it to her from the airfield.
“I might’ve been the last person to see him alive,” Douglas let slip, unaware that his mouth was even planning to speak. “It was…yesterday was his birthday. I had no idea until he told me, and so of course I took him to a pub. He only drank one pint. He said he’d see me Monday.” He was rambling and he knew it was only making things worse. He just couldn’t stop. “I was going to bring a cake, bake it myself. Write his name on it. I wanted to give you a call and we could bring gifts. Arthur would’ve been…”
Carolyn put her hand over Douglas’ shaking one. “Come here,” she said, offering a hug to him.
Douglas laughed a little. “You’ll have to put that ridiculous hat aside or its weight and mine will crush you.”
Carolyn smiled, her eyes grateful. She kept the hat on her lap and Douglas hugged her anyway.
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Carolyn and Douglas decided that they would go through with their Monday flight to Paris and then take off the rest of the week to, among other things, attend Martin’s funeral. Carolyn let Arthur stay home, as it was only a cargo flight. He didn’t bother to argue with her about it. Carolyn could tell that her son needed time alone with his pain. She and Douglas planned to fly alone.
When Carolyn put on her nice blouse and her navy skirt to get ready for the flight, she suddenly felt old and starched. Losing Martin was the closest she could get to her fear of losing Arthur. She felt a good ten years had been taken off her life, and she really didn’t have ten to spare.
She watched her reflection in the mirror as she applied her makeup. She wanted to see if her lips would tremble, or if perhaps her brow would wrinkle and her eyes would start to water. But none of that happened. Not today. Her makeup was her brave face. She’d done enough crying to get her through the trip. Then, in private and with Arthur, she would allow herself to have the longest cry she wanted.
She purposely sent a taxi to Douglas’ house to pick him up. If she picked him up herself, that was another half an hour of silence and too many thoughts. She turned her radio on instead, as she drove to Fitton Airfield alone.
When Carolyn arrived at GERTI, Douglas was already outside the plane, doing the pre-flight checks. He looked less grave than he had on Friday afternoon when he showed up at her house. Instead, he looked like he was concentrating hard on his checklist.
“Good morning, Douglas,” she said. Dear God, even that was almost too hard to do. Three words, a simple greeting, and her voice threatened to crack and reveal her inner weakness. He simply nodded in return and Carolyn went on into the plane to set her things down and to have a glass of whiskey before takeoff.
The door behind her made a creaking sound as Douglas came in with her a few minutes later. “Outer checks complete,” he said, quietly.
Carolyn turned to him. “Why are you telling me that, Douglas? I’m not the captain. I’m not--” She stopped, seeing a hurt look for a split second on Douglas’ face. Carolyn felt a sinking sense of guilt for something that would normally be expected of her. Today was different, however. Today might not be the day to be an Alpha Dog. It might be the day to be something more like those wolf mothers that raised abandoned children in the forest.
“Thank you, Douglas. Do let me know when we’re ready for takeoff. I’ll be making coffee,” she said calmly. She passed by him on her way to the small kitchen and briefly patted him on the arm to show her care.
She sat down on Arthur’s stool (Lord knows how he managed to keep upright on it, even when the plane wasn’t moving), and she stared at the coffee maker for longer than she had intended, eyes burning through it as she was lost in her thoughts. At last, she took Martin’s cap from her travel bag and set it on the work surface. No other captain would be fit for it, and so GERTI would take it with her on every trip she went on, until the old aeroplane died too. It was her tribute to her lost captain.
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Douglas completed his pre-flight checks in the flight deck out loud. It was a habit, and a regulation, after all. He chuckled to himself at the thought. Martin would be proud. Douglas couldn’t help but imagine his captain doing the checks with him, repeating every last word as though he were reading from the manual.
Halfway through the checks, Douglas stopped and put his head in his hands, leaning forward. He hadn’t known it would be this hard to get ready for a flight. The wound was still fresh, and he still felt as though it were a dream, as if Martin couldn’t be dead and that at any moment he’d come in through the flight deck door to scold him about some violation or some other grievance.
The door swung open. “Douglas, what--I see what you’re trying to do. Trying to prove to Carolyn that she only needs one pilot? Well, I don’t know where you diverted my taxi to this morning, but it’ll take a lot more than inconvenience and my being twenty minutes late to get me fired.”
Douglas slowly sat himself up straight and put his hands down to his lap. Was that Arthur doing an impression of Martin? No. Even Arthur, God save him, was sensible enough to know how terribly irreverent that would be. Only a handful of other explanations could be conjured up and so Douglas spun around in his chair, shouting, “Martin?”
Martin stood there, dressed to the nines except for missing his captain’s hat, and crossing his arms in an irritable morning mood. “Didn’t think I’d make it, did you?” Martin asked, shaking his head in disappointment.
Douglas’ mouth opened like a carp’s for a moment. “No, I didn’t!” he exclaimed. “Martin, are you…you’re alive?” Martin looked fine, and not at all like he’d been hit by a car.
Martin’s demeanor changed at once. “What? Of course I’m alive. What’s wrong? Douglas…Douglas, why are you crying?”
Douglas wasn’t listening. He’d pulled Martin close to his chest and held the man tightly. He had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t about to let Martin get away.
“Douglas…who else thought I was dead?” Martin asked after a moment.
“Carolyn,” Douglas answered. “Oh! Carolyn!! Carolyn!”
Martin was released from the hug as Douglas went to round up Carolyn. She met him halfway through the passenger seating, looking confused.
“What is it, Douglas?” she demanded. “Don’t tell me another button has fallen off in the cockpit.”
Douglas pointed her towards the flight deck, lost for words momentarily. Carolyn looked past him where Martin was standing, looking shy and giving her a little school boy’s wave. She quickly bombarded him with an embrace, and then angry, accusatory questions, and then more embraces, as Douglas called Martin’s brother.
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“Coffee for you, Douglas, and coffee for you, Skip!” Arthur happily announced. He’d been bouncing with energy ever since he’d seen Martin, and he was doubly excited to be going on the first flight with the captain since everyone thought he’d been killed.
“Thank you, Arthur,” said Martin, tasting the coffee. He managed to hide his look of revulsion when he was unsure if he was drinking coffee or rainwater and simply smiled at Arthur’s politeness.
He put his coffee to the side and sat straight in his chair. “Outdoor checks complete, Douglas?”
“Yes, Captain. Pre-flight outdoor checks completed with a keen eye for detail.”
Martin sighed. “You did go outside the plane and look around it?”
“I stuck my head out the door, yes,” Douglas answered innocently.
“Fine. Are we ready for takeoff?” Martin asked.
“In a minute,” said Carolyn from behind him. Martin turned to see what she was on about, and saw her holding a small cake with one unlit candle. “The passengers can wait for us to finish our cake. We’ll tell them we had to clean the windows or something.”
Martin looked at Douglas, Carolyn and Arthur, who put Martin’s cap securely on his head. Martin’s face turned pink. “Douglas, this was you, wasn’t it?” he asked, knowing his co-pilot was the only person he’d told.
“Yes, Martin, I thought you deserved at least a small party for being alive on your birthday. And I expect no less from you next year, and every year after.”