They were in the clouds by eight, only the clouds were more like feathers, fine strands that maimed the sky, a threat of what might come. They would do it in two legs, starting at Heston, then on to Desford Aerodrome, near Leicester, Norwich, Nottingham, then to Brough and Sherburn, Castle Bromwich to Manchester. They had scheduled a day of rest that was really a chance to meet up with Audrey, who was booked to do a speech. They had joked about this being the true race, Miriam by air, Audrey by rail.
The timing was critical. This from Frank, who was intent on measuring everything—air speed, wind speed, barometric pressure. This seemed to occupy him to the point that he was not so much anxious about the race but driven to the results. They had talked about winning and what it would mean to him. I’m flying to take the cup, Frank had told Miriam, and from this she understood that he had something to prove. To himself? she wondered. Or to Peter.
They had not talked about what would happen if they lost.
Miriam had forgotten the reason she’d agreed to the race, forgotten who she was in the time before flying. She’d been in the air so much it had become her natural habitat. The vantage point was one from which she was able to see the world in a way that made sense to her, to create the maps, her way of capturing the landscape that at ground level seemed off-kilter to her.
By Norwich the rain had come, and they decided to land and take refuge in the hangar, the deluge on the metal roof of the building as if the gods were trying to rip it off. If this were the actual race, they would have to press on, but now they had the luxury to wait it out.
“How’s our time?” she asked Frank over a cup of tea one of the local pilots had brought them.
“Six minutes behind.”
It was just an estimate, she knew, they would not be landing in the actual race as they’d done here, but Frank wanted to keep track of each segment, and this would be a setback in his mind. Miriam was tracking the journey, too, but in pictures. The images that she would later draw, doing a rough sketch to remind her, then later filling it in.
By Nottingham they’d gained two minutes, another three by Sherburn, and by Castle Bromwich they were ahead by six minutes. They landed in Manchester a full eight minutes ahead of the winner of last year’s race.
“Champagne’s on me,” Frank said, jubilant, eyes wide, face flushed.
Miriam grabbed the drawings she’d been sitting on, her own mood one of urgency to get to the hotel and complete them while still fresh.
“We still have the return journey,” Miriam said, and the brief look of concern made her regret the remark. Why could she not let him have this? Why did she need to remind him that the moment of success was just that, a moment? What was wrong with celebrating this?
For her the flying had become her own measure of achievement. If I can’t have a child, then who am I, she’d said to Edmund, when he’d asked if she would continue flying after the race. She had learned this skill, perfected it, and had given in to Frank’s suggestion to join the ATA. Thinking beyond the race, she’d created a flipbook of instructions just as they had done at the ATA, outlining the peculiarities of each cockpit, each engine, each airplane. The maps were part of this, too, creating the tools she would need to operate in this world she had chosen. The race was not so much about winning as about the recognition of being unquestionably good at something she loved. If they won this race, and now she could see this as a possibility, it would legitimize all the efforts she had put into it. She would no longer be the shopkeeper’s wife who could not have children, she could be Miriam, the woman who excelled at flying. Edmund would be proud, in his way. He was a believer in hard work and earned accomplishments. He’d been confused by it all lately, bewildered by her commitment, her dedication to something that he might have seen as a passing fad, might have hoped was a passing fad. He would balk at her joining the ATA, but he would understand it. Duty meant something to him.
“Champagne, yes, we need champagne. But first we need to see Audrey.”