Flightsend by Linda Newbery

the summer holidays?' she
asked. 'It's only about four weeks till term ends, isn't
it?' Since study leave began, she'd lost track of the
dates.
    'I'm going to Snowdonia for a week's mountain
leadership course. Then I might go to Turkey.'
    'Sounds great,' Charlie said.
    'Well, I've got to do something.'
    Charlie saw bleakness flicker across his face. This
isn't right, she thought. Mum's done this to him. Sean
had always seemed cheerful, rarely moody or
depressed or even just dull; when he lived with Charlie
and her mother he was always singing or whistling
around the house. He'd made everything fun, even
going to Tesco's – queuing at the checkout, he would
organize his purchases on the cashier's belt according
to some rule: by colour, or alphabetically, or in order
of size. Once, recently, shopping with Mum, Charlie
had found herself colour-coding the contents of their
trolley as she set them out.
    Sean wasn't smiling now. He'd changed in the last
year; there was sadness underlying his natural vigour.
'What about you, Charlie?' he asked. 'How do you
like living here? I bet you're feeling a bit cut off from
Rowan and your other friends.'
    'It's all right. More than all right. I like it here.'
    'You're not going out with Stephen Gee any more?
I don't see you around school with him, these days.'
    Charlie shook her head. 'That was ages ago.'
    'No one else?'
    'Haven't got time,' she said lightly.
    Charlie thought about asking if he'd like to go and
see the airfield, and the cross and the badger sett, but
Sean said, 'I'd better go. You've got an exam
tomorrow, haven't you? I don't want to stop you
revising.'
    'It's all right,' Charlie said, although she really did need to do more revision, and events seemed to be
conspiring to stop her; but it was clear that Sean was
really thinking about Kathy, and her offhand
dismissal.
    They started to walk slowly back. The Post Office-cum-shop
was closed, but the front door of the cottage
beside it opened as they passed, and Henrietta the
shopkeeper came out holding a small watering can.
She was fortyish and – Charlie thought – slightly dotty,
dressing like a middle-aged hippy with strings of
beads, dozens of thin bracelets that tinkled as she
moved her arms, and long droopy clothes with fringes
and tassels. Charlie liked her.
    'Hello!' She beamed at Charlie, then at Sean; then
asked Charlie, 'Is this your . . .'
    There was an awkward second while Charlie
imagined the words brother ? boyfriend ? hovering on
Henrietta's lips. It had occurred to her before that
people might think Sean was her boyfriend. She could
easily pass for eighteen or nineteen if she wanted to,
and Sean was still in his twenties.
    'This is Sean,' Charlie said quickly. And while he
smiled and said Hello back, she wondered what she could call him. Ex-colleague of my mother's? Mum's
ex-lover? Ex-father of my mother's ex-baby?
    She wished she could call him something that didn't
start with ex.
    'You won't forget about the village fête in two weeks,
will you?' Henrietta said. 'I'm organizing it this year, so
it's going to be fabulous.'
    'No, we won't forget. Mum's having a plant stall.'
    'Brilliant!' Henrietta looked Sean up and down. 'If
you're around, perhaps you'd like to be in one of
the tug-of-war teams? We're short of strong young men.'
    'I don't think so, thanks,' Sean said.
    'Oh well, never mind.' Henrietta edged past them
to water the petunias in her window-boxes. Charlie
knew that you shouldn't water flowers in strong
sunshine, it made them wilt, but she didn't want to
sound like a horticultural know-all, so said nothing.
'You ought to wear green, you know,' Henrietta told
her sternly. 'It's your colour. That red T-shirt doesn't
suit you at all. Far too harsh. I've got some gorgeous
batik things in the shop, just arrived. Come in on
Monday and have a look. Isn't green her colour?' she
appealed to Sean. 'Wouldn't it look wonderful, with
her hair? A sort of deep mossy green.'
    'Fantastic,' Sean said.
    'Bye then,