I am The Pilot. Not the co-pilot. None of that. I’m not playing games now. The Pilot. That’s how I’ve been introduced. We’re delighted to have with us today… We’re really grateful that he’s taxied into our school this morning… Put your seatbelts on because we’re about to hear from…
The Pilot.
There are sixty-four eyes watching me. Grace’s are among them. She’s three rows from the back and four from the front. She doesn’t know it now but she’s watching me with the same eyes that will watch her first child when they’re learning to ride a bike. So proud. So proud. So proud. Don’t fall.
In many ways I’ve been looking forward to this morning. I’ve even done some prep. I’m lying about so many things now, and to so many people, that I’m not even bothered about lying to these innocents. I look at their pure, gullible faces. The teacher steps back to leave the stage to me. She’s not the same teacher who asked me to speak to the kids a few weeks ago. She’s not as attractive. I might not have said yes to her. No pencil skirts and blouses here. Cords and a frumpy jumper. I’m not even bothered if I impress her or not.
I start talking.
‘I’ve heard people say – unimaginative people, not like us…’ – this is a trick of communication. You include the audience in your gang and they’re already on your side. You give them a compliment, a good characteristic, and they want to live up to it – ‘…that if people were meant to fly then God would’ve given us wings. I don’t know about that. But what I do know is that he gave us the vision to want to fly, and the brains to learn how.’
I’ve always fancied myself as a teacher. I have a natural affinity with children. Young children. This lot are nine. They’re borderline. They might just sneak under the wire now but in a year they’d be lost to me.
‘I know you’ve been learning about the Wright brothers. Orville and Wilbur. Kitty Hawk, South Carolina.’ I’m meant to say the year now but I’ve forgotten it. ‘Can anyone tell me what year that was?’ I ask. This is called thinking on your feet. A boy shouts out 1903. It sounds about right but I can’t be sure. I glance at the teacher and she’s nodding at him. So I nod at him also.
‘Well done. Exactly right. Or Wright. Haha.’ They don’t laugh. ‘With a W.’ Still nothing. I move smoothly on. ‘Well, since the Wright brothers first took flight in 1903, planes have developed a great deal. They can now travel further and faster than even Orville and Wilbur would have imagined.
‘One of the greatest breakthroughs was moving from propellers to jet engines. That happened in…’ I pause. I looked this up, too. Nope. It’s gone. ‘Anyone?’ I look at the boy who answered the first time. He stares blankly back. ‘No? Well, it doesn’t really matter when. The main thing to know is that it was a landmark change in the way planes are powered.’
And so I go on. I’m warming to my theme. Transatlantic flights. The Concorde. The jumbo jet. A little interlude on time zones and jet lag. The children are listening. Grace is listening. She is watching me with big eyes. She is relieved. I could really have been a pilot. I feel like I am one. I should have rented a uniform. I nearly did. I bet the teacher would have approved. I smile at her. She smiles back. Actually, she’s not bad. In a motherly sort of way. She’s not as old as she’s dressed. She might be hiding a tight little body in there. The minx. Landing gear. Safety processes. A reference to 9/11. Globalisation. But in its simplest form. I’m nearly finished.
‘But I don’t want this to be a history lesson. I’m not going to be testing you on names and dates.’ Another subtle us-against-them line. ‘Instead, this is about inspiration. It’s about having a dream. And believing in it. No matter what anyone else says.’ I’m talking exclusively to Grace now. I want her to remember this. ‘Just think what people would have thought about those brothers more than 100 years ago. You want to build a contraption that can fly? With you in it? Are you insane? You’ll kill yourself. But the brothers ignored those people. They believed in themselves. And they did it. History is full of people like the Wright brothers. They invented electricity. They wrote books. They ran faster than anyone said they could. The world we live in today is because of them and what they achieved. And it’s a great world. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. It really is. It’s exciting. It’s changing. It’s leaving us old folks behind. I’m already asking Grace how the TV works.’ Her classmates grin at her. She looks down, blushing. ‘It’s your world now. But.’ Dramatic pause. ‘The choice is yours. What you do with it and what role you play in it. You will meet lots of people who will tell you why you can’t. Do you want to listen to them? Do you want to be like them? Or do you want to be like the Wright brothers? And fly.’
In my head there is rapturous cheering. Chairs are toppled as they jump to their feet. A few pilgrims even climb on desks. Grace is one of them. Her adoring eyes. I’m a superhero when I’m with her. Oh captain, my captain. I swallow hard. Get a grip. There is a touch on my shoulder. The teacher is there. She is looking at the class, telling them to thank me for my time. I put my hand up. No. Really. It was my pleasure. Grateful for the opportunity. I am about to depart. The teacher’s hand is still on my shoulder though. She’s not letting me go.
‘Have you got time for a few questions?’
I hadn’t planned on this. I thought it would just be turning up and saying my thing. I rush through the scenarios. None of them turn out terribly. I decide I can wing it.
‘Yes. Sure. No worries.’
It starts off well enough. Have I seen a UFO? No. How high do we usually fly? About 35,000 feet. I remember this from holidays abroad. Too easy. What’s the scariest thing that’s happened to me in a cockpit? I talk at length about a near mid-air collision. Over Birmingham. It was many years ago and my plane and the other one were not that close, really. About 1,000 yards. But when you’re flying at that speed, ‘not that close’ can feel too close for comfort.
‘Safety is always our number one concern,’ I say earnestly. ‘A pilot’s first responsibility is always to the passengers. To get them down safely.’
I believe it myself. I’m so convincing. When did I learn to lie like this? Where does it all come from? It’s got to be a talent. Not everyone can do it. It just comes naturally to me. There’s not even a difference anymore. Between a truth and an untruth. All these faces watching me. Believing me. And Grace’s among them. I don’t look at her. I wish she wasn’t here now.
Do I eat the same food as the passengers? Haha. Would they get sucked out if they broke the window? How long does it take to learn to be a pilot? A long time. How long? Long. How long did it take you? Ages. The boy who knew the year of the Wright brothers hasn’t raised his hand. Good. I don’t want him to. I’ve gone off him. I look at the teacher. I’m ready to go.
‘Okay,’ she says, ‘we’ve only got time for a few more questions.’
A few more? Jesus. Okay. I can manage that. Have I ever hit a bird? Lots of times. Usually it’s quite safe. What about lightning? Um. I talk about radar helping us to avoid storms. Deflection. Another trick. I don’t like the way the Wright brothers boy is staring at me. I have no idea about lightning strikes. It must happen all the time. It can’t bring a plane down or I’d have read about it. The radar keeps us well clear of thunderstorms most of the time, I say again. What’s it like flying through clouds? Can computers land planes by themselves? Enough now. I’m done. Let’s not get cocky. I look at the teacher but she’s looking at the Wright brothers boy, who has raised his hand now.
‘Okay, last question. James?’
‘How fast do you need to be going to take off?’
It could have been worse. A real curveball. But that’s pretty straightforward. I should be okay. Only I don’t know the answer. Every pilot would know the answer without thinking. I remember the times I’ve sat in a plane at take-off. I can feel the force pushing me back in the seat. I can see the tarmac, blue out the window. On wet days moisture streams backwards across the glass. What speed do you need to reach to make that happen? I tell the boy that I’m glad he asked that. That it’s a good question.
‘Here’s an interesting fact about speed,’ I say. I’ve decided not to answer his question, but to answer a similar one instead. ‘Did you know the speed aircraft travel through the air isn’t always the same as the speed they travel over the ground? Anyone know why?’ But I don’t give them the chance to answer. I want to answer this. I want them to know that I know. This is my wild card. ‘Wind. It’s quite simple. If a plane has a headwind – that means if it’s flying into the wind – its airspeed will be greater than its ground speed because it has to make up for the force of the wind. And the opposite is true for a tail-wind.’ I smile at Wright brothers. ‘You can impress your friends with that fact.’
‘But what about taking off?’ he asks. The little shit.
‘Oh, well, that all depends on a number of factors. Lots of different things. Okay?’ It’s not okay. He’s still waiting. I look at the teacher. She smiles back at me. She’s waiting too. I decide she’s ugly, after all. ‘Things like the weather. The load. The weight of the plane. What type of aircraft it is. Lots of things. It’s quite complicated, really.’
‘What about a full 747?’ he says. ‘Or a full 707? Or a small plane?’
‘Exactly right,’ I say. I look at my feet. I notice they have turned a little towards the door. I didn’t know liars did that with their feet, but apparently it’s a scientific fact. If you want to know if someone is lying, see if their feet are pointing at the exit. They want out. I want out now too. I should just make up a number. But I’ve not got the faintest clue. Fast. Is fast a number?
‘He doesn’t even know.’
‘James!’
‘He doesn’t though, Miss. He didn’t know about lightning either.’
‘James, I’m not telling you again!’
‘I bet he’s not even a real pilot.’
I’m waiting for Grace at the school gates. Normally I’d meet her in the playground but she asked me to wait here instead today. I’m looking out for the mums. The sun is out. They might be dressed down. Ah. Here she comes. Grace sees me but looks away quickly. She raises a hand in greeting. Did she? Or did she just hike up her schoolbag. It was the same gesture.
‘Hello,’ I say, as she gets nearer. She mumbles something at my feet but doesn’t stop walking. I spot one of the mums. The redhead. The Dolores lookalike. No. Not today. The hair is wrong. No sign of the other one. I turn to leave. Grace has not waited for me. She’s twenty yards away already. I walk quickly to catch up to her. Big, adult strides. By the time I’m alongside her again we’re almost at the corner. She’s still not looked at me. As we turn I look back towards the gate. There is James. Walking out of it. With someone I assume to be his brother. His shirt is untucked. James’s shirt, I mean. And he’s dragging his schoolbag along the gutter with one hand. He’s scum. I bet his family is scum too. I loathe them all. Even the grandmother in the home and the aunt on dialysis. Draining the resources of the world.
‘I didn’t think it went too badly,’ I say. I don’t say that it didn’t go too badly considering the night I had. Just the thought of it recalls the smell of stale wine and sick. A small spurt of aftertaste shoots into the back of my throat and I swallow it back down. I wonder what her mother will say to me. Once the dust has settled. She wasn’t happy. Whenever she calls me Adrian I know. ‘The last part was a bit awkward. Who was that boy? The know-it-all? What a loser! But the rest was okay. The stuff about imagination, and about the jets. And the way I ended it, when I said about it being your world now, that was pretty good, I thought. No? You don’t agree?’
She slows down. I slow down. She speeds up. I speed up. I am trying to think what else I can say to her. I can’t think of anything. It doesn’t feel right to go for ice cream today. ‘Did you have a good sleepover?’ No answer. ‘Can I take your bag?’ She drops it off her shoulder onto the ground and keeps on walking. I have to stop to pick it up. My back aches when I bend down now. I put my hand on it and pull a face. When I stand up again I see that Grace has stopped now and is staring at me. I smile. But then I stop smiling.
‘A plane has to go 150 miles an hour to take off,’ she says. ‘Any idiot could look that up. And James is my friend!’
I watch her run away down the road. Her grey school skirt swishes around her legs. I take my phone out. I want to check. Because 150 miles per hour doesn’t seem fast enough. She’s right though. Between 150 and 180mph. And while I’m at it… let’s see… no, lightning strikes rarely bring down planes. They have systems to discharge the energy safely, leaving little or no evidence. Clever. Clever but not wise. I look up. Grace is nearly at our turning. She’s running slower, but still running. I watch her until she disappears behind the wall on the corner.