The view is fine up here. I can look out across the world and see everything.
For instance I can see a fifteen-year-old boy and his brother.
2
David Case’s baby brother had recently learned to walk but he wasn’t what you’d call an expert. He toddled past his brother to the large open window of the older boy’s room. There, with a great deal of effort, he pulled himself on to the window sill, scrunched up like a caterpillar, pushed into a crouch and stood, teetering precariously, his gaze fixed solemnly on the church tower a quarter-mile away.
He tipped forward slightly towards the void, just as a large black bird swooped past. It paused and turned an intelligent red eye to meet the child’s. ‘Why not fly?’ suggested the bird, and the boy’s eyes widened in delight.
Below them on the street, a greyhound stood motionless, his elegant pale head turned in the direction of the incipient catastrophe. Calmly the dog shifted the angle of his muzzle, creating an invisible guy line that eased the child back an inch or two towards equilibrium. Safer now, but seduced by the fact that a bird had spoken to him, the boy threw out his arms and thought, Yes! Fly!
3
David did not hear his brother think ‘fly’. Something else made him look up. A voice. A finger on his shoulder. The brush of lips against his ear.
So that’s where we start: one boy on the verge of death. Another on the verge of something rather more complicated.