Chapter Ten

As January slid into February, and the weather turned from a damp cold into a biting frost, Martin found himself thinking less about flight manuals and more about other things. For a start, there were exams looming on the horizon – larger and more immediate than ever. The more confident he grew, the more he began to worry about Douglas. Their study sessions went well – it was obvious that Douglas understood all of the concepts, even some that Martin hadn't known before they had started – and the more his confidence grew, the more readily fully formed answers spilled from his mouth and his pen.

It was more than that, though. On his way to Maths class, Martin had seen Douglas from afar. The other boy had been standing outside the theatre, staring wistfully at the doors. If he hadn't been five minutes away from being late, Martin would have gone over to cheer him up. Instead, he carried thoughts of his friend into class with him.

For once, instead of reading under the desk, Martin copied down the equations that the teacher wrote on the board. All the better to cement them in his head.

Every now and then, Theresa slid her hand across the desk and doodled a little plane on the corner of Martin's page. Each time she did, Martin's mind leapt to the airfield and to Arthur's mother's plane – the time they spent on GERTI was the happiest he had ever seen Douglas. It wasn't a solution though.

Theresa's elbow nudged his. Martin glanced at her and she nodded towards his page. He saw a hastily scribbled note.

'It's cute when you frown. But also boring. What's wrong?'

Martin stole a glance towards the board, and then replied. It wasn't as if he could get in trouble for writing on his own notepad.

'Nothing'

Theresa scoffed through her nose.

'That's a lie. I know what you look like when there's something on your mind... or someone.'

'No, I – that's not it,' Martin scribbled back. 'Douglas is upset.'

'Oh...'

'I don't think getting him through his exams is going to be enough.'

'Enough to what?'

'Make him happy?' Martin wrote. Then he shook his head and crossed it out. 'I just mean, when I'm sad, all I need to do is something I like.'

'You mean you want to let him play with your model aeroplanes?' Theresa wrote back. She smiled slightly, taking care not to turn her head from the front of class.

'No. That's what I'd do if I was sad,' Martin replied. 'Douglas had the play. Now he hasn't. I don't know. I feel like I should do something.'

Again, Theresa's elbow connected with his. She reached across him, past the scribbles in the margins.

'I don't know how to help you,' she wrote.

Martin huffed and shook his head. It earned him a sharp glare from the teacher, but as they were both facing forwards there was no reprimand. He watched with baited breath as Theresa waited until the teacher's back was turned and then reached for his pad again.

'Just do something nice.'

'Like what?'

'Like – nothing specific, just nice. I don't know. Make funny faces.'

'My face isn't funny,' Martin wrote back, so hard that he nearly blunted his pen.

'It's a bit funny,' Theresa replied, smirking. If the teacher had turned around, they would have seen.

'That's what Douglas said.'

'Well then he's like me, and you cheer me up on a daily basis. Just be yourself.'

At that, Martin rolled his eyes. If only it were that simple. In a few months Douglas wouldn't need a tutor anymore and there would be no reason for them to seek each other out. Sure, there was an overlap of interests where the airfield was involved, but... it wasn't right to use Douglas' friendship as a way to 'network' as his father called it. For his part, Martin still wasn't sure what Douglas got out of their friendship, other than a shoulder to lean out... maybe that was enough.

With a sigh, Martin realised that Theresa was probably right. He sat back, looking to the board and realising that he had no idea when he had stopped paying attention. Martin leaned to the side, to catch a glimpse of Theresa's notes, and began hastily copying them down. He saw the teacher watching him suspiciously, and had to fight not to roll his eyes.

There was nothing to do, he supposed, but hope for the best.

Douglas had grown quite fond of the Crieff family.

Sure, Simon was pompous, but that was easily solved by slipping a little oil into his hair gel – he and Martin had hidden in the bathroom airing cupboard, sniggering behind their hands. Caitlin was irritable and caught in the worst part of puberty, but she was easily ignored. Martin's father worked throughout the day and turned up for dinner with oil on his hands and a smile on his face.

Wendy, however, was Douglas' favourite. Not only was she welcoming, but in the middle of a Saturday when the sun was shining and Martin had him revising out in the front garden, she was only too willing to provide him with an escape. Douglas had excused himself to the kitchen, telling Martin he wanted a glass of water. Twenty minutes later and Douglas was still in the kitchen, helping Wendy chop potatoes for sautéing.

Martin barged into the kitchen with a scowl on his lips, and a knowing glint in his eye. The February sun was cold, and yet harsh enough to leave the exposed skin of his collar pink and raw.

"Douglas!" he exclaimed. "We're supposed to be looking at thermodynamics."

"I'll be out in a minute," Douglas replied with a careless shrug.

"Oh, you should come inside, dear," Wendy told Martin. She rinsed her hands in the sink and reached for her apron. "Douglas has been ever so good. How about your skin some carrots? Or chop some salad for me?"

"No, I'm sorry, Mum – we don't have time," Martin insisted, throwing his hands in the air as if to avoid having a task thrust upon him. He ignored Douglas' protests as he took his wrist and pulled him bodily from the kitchen table and out towards the garden. "This is the third time you've wandered off. Come on – we're not done."

Douglas didn't put up a fight. He did, however, fight a smile as he was marched from the house and out onto the grass, where their books were laid out at their feet. As irritable as revision made him, he appreciated the fervour with which Martin had taken to helping him with his work. It was good to know that there was someone on his side who understood where he fell short. The one problem with everyone thinking you were perfect was that nobody was ever around to offer a helping hand.

"I was only helping your mother with lunch," Douglas remarked as he slumped on the blanket that had been laid out and reached for his notes. "She likes me."

"She thinks you're a good influence on me," Martin snorted, and just like that his poor mood was erased.

"Me?" Douglas replied. "Really?"

Martin shrugged.

"I've been too busy to get in trouble at school."

They revised in silence for a while, Martin piping up occasionally to ask questions or to tell Douglas how long it was taking for him to write things down. It took all of Douglas' power to bite his tongue and push through. It was his fault he was struggling and nobody else's.

"You know this," Martin sighed – it was meant to be encouragement, surely – as he propped his cheek up on his fist. He had stopped reading through the books, which was something. Now he just looked bored.

"I know I know this, Martin," Douglas groaned. He dropped his head into his hands and pressed down over his eyes. "I just need... I need more time. I need more time, don't rush me. I know..."

Douglas focused entirely upon the words in front of him. He wasn't sure how long he concentrated for, but by the time he finished the final pages of the exam Martin had found online, he was exhausted. It was a bone-deep kind of weariness that rattled about inside his skull. He ran his hands through his hair and slumped, squeezing his eyes shut. This was so much easier with Arthur –sure, he didn't get very far, but at least there wasn't the persistent pressure to do well. Arthur could be amazed by anything.

It was only when the pages of his books fluttered in the wind that Douglas realised that Martin hadn't said a word for a while. He looked up and was met with the sight of Martin's blue eyes fixed on his face – narrowed and unwavering.

"What?"

Martin didn't answer at first. He stammered, blinking as if to clear his head. His eyes remained fixed on Douglas' face. Cheeks flushing faintly, he stammered again and then leaned in close, lowering his voice so that only the two of them could hear.

"Douglas, h-have you... h-have you ever thought that maybe... m-maybe..."

"What, Martin?"

"H-have you ever thought... a-and I'm not trying to hurt you..." Martin swallowed hard and fidgeted. Then he took a deep breath and held Douglas' gaze. There was something curious and bright in his tone, like someone who had uncovered buried treasure. "H-have you ever thought that you... y-you might be dyslexic?"

Douglas' mouth opened – and no clever retort came out. Instead of shame he felt only a stone drop in his stomach, carrying with it the weight of resignation. His gaze dropped to his notes and he fought the urge to squirm. He twiddled his pen between his fingers. It would have been easy to lie and yet, with Martin's gaze burning on his skin he couldn't muster the energy. A part of him longed for the bond of trust that they had.

"There's... um... there's never been any diagnosis," Douglas admitted. He saw something flit across Martin's face, and he ignored it. "Actually, there have never been any doctors to make a diagnosis."

"Th-then what-"

"I thought – a while ago, I thought that maybe... I'm not stupid, Martin-"

"I know you're not."

"Good, because I'm not. I know I'm not, which is why I started to think that there was something wrong... there's nothing wrong, and my parents said so," Douglas explained. He shrugged, brushing the matter off as best he could. "My dad used to sit up with me and help me with my homework... it wasn't so hard before. Now, it's mostly private study and I... well, if I wasn't having trouble, I wouldn't need you, would I?"

Martin's expression contorted, and he sat back. The closeness evaporated. Guilt washed through Douglas so quickly that he was dizzied.

"That's not what I meant, Martin."

"Sure, fine – of course it's not," Martin replied curtly. "You're upset because I-"

"Because you're probably right," Douglas interrupted. He caught Martin's eyes for a second – no more than that. Then he sniffled and stared at the grass. "And... and I don't want to be diagnosed. I don't want help. I just want to sort myself out... I want to get on with things and learn how to cope. All I need is time, but I need more time – I need to be able to pull things out of my head quickly – I need to get them down on paper."

Martin shook his head, something indecipherable in his expression.

"B-but-"

"But nothing, Martin," Douglas said. "I need to pass my exams, but the real world isn't made of exams. I can deal with the real world – I'm good in the real world. Don't make this more than it is."

"You're allowed help," Martin insisted.

"But I don't want it."

Slowly, reluctantly, Martin nodded. He picked at the grass beneath him and nodded again, taking slow, deep breaths.

"Fine, a-alright. I-if that's what you want," he said. Martin kept nodding and Douglas felt the tension ease from his own shoulders. Then Martin's eyes widened and his head snapped up. He was on his feet in seconds, clumsily crackling with energy. "W-wait here! Wait here – I'll be back in a minute."

With that, Martin hurried into the house, leaving Douglas alone in the front garden.

Before Douglas had time to pack his things away and pretend that nothing was wrong, Martin reappeared. In his hands was a small plastic box. Douglas held his breath as Martin dropped down beside him and opened the box, letting small slips of rectangular cards fall out.

"Martin, what is this?"

Martin didn't answer at first. Instead he pulled a thick pen from his pocket and stacked the cards on his knee. He met Douglas' gaze and faltered, blushing slightly and glancing towards the ground before he regained his confidence.

"Look, Douglas... I-I'm not going to tell you what to do, b-but..." Martin paused and drew his lip through his teeth, taking another deep breath. "B-but, I think maybe the reason you're so stressed is because you're trying t-to stuff too much into your head at once. I-if it's harder for you to deal with the words or... I-I don't really know what dyslexia's like, o-or whether you've even got it, b-but... b-but I have some idea that might help make things easier."

"Ideas?" Douglas repeated. A sliver of trepidation cut through him as he watched Martin fidget and shuffle the cards.

"Like flashcards – w-with the name of a theory or whatever on the front –and bullet points on the back," Martin explained. "O-or posters for your walls. S-so whenever you go through your room, you see the facts a-and you memorise the look of the words as well as the meaning. Th-they're just normal revision techniques, b-but most people don't do them. I-I could help you if you want."

Douglas wasn't sure what to say. A faint glow in his chest turned into a lump in his throat and all that he could do was nod and duck his head so that Martin couldn't see his expression. Pride had gone out the window, but he couldn't embarrass himself completely.

Martin must have read something in his silence as he rambled on, charmingly cheery as his excitement grew. He said something about colour coding but Douglas didn't hear him. He didn't even react until Martin held out a stack of blank cards. Instead of taking them, Douglas took Martin's hand and squeezed, wishing he could find a better way to express just how much he adored him in that moment – something more than the flexing of Martin's fingers around his.

It was a surprise to feel that Martin's hands were completely steady – for all of his fidgeting, there wasn't a tremor to be found.

"Thank you, Martin."

Martin gave his hand a final squeeze and then awkwardly cleared his throat. He let go of Douglas' hand and rifled through his pens and flash cards.

"It's nothing," he replied. "A-and... I won't tell anyone."

"I didn't think you would," Douglas murmured.

The glance that he earned was soft and he felt his heart lift as Martin shrugged lopsidedly. For once, Douglas didn't put up a fight as Martin urged him back into the rhythm of revision, even if it did leave him feeling childish. It didn't leave him with less of a headache, but he did feel some of the weight ease from his shoulders.

The moment Martin stepped out of his English class, he was almost knocked off his feet. It took a moment for him to realise that the wall he had walked into was in fact Douglas, and that the other boy had thrown his arms around him. His classmates, with the exception of Arthur, filtered into the hall around them. With Douglas' arms around him and a pleasant warmth flooding his chest, Martin could only wrap his arms around the boy and awkwardly pat his back through his confusion.

When Douglas stepped back, Martin got a clear view of a grin that softened his whole face –that made his light up handsomely.

"I got a B!" Douglas exclaimed the moment the rest of the class had disappeared. "On my Physics practice – it's a low B, I'll admit, but nobody cares about the grade margins."

"I do," Martin muttered.

Douglas waved a dismissive hand through the air and accepted Arthur's congratulatory hug.

"That's brilliant, Douglas," Arthur said as he patted his shoulder and stepped back, far more quickly than Douglas had stepped back from Martin. "We should celebrate."

"That's the plan," Douglas agreed. Before Martin knew what was happening, he had been swept up, with Douglas' arm around his shoulder, and the three of them were heading up the hall. "Although, if we should be treating anyone, it should be Martin. What do you say to an afternoon at the airfield, Martin? And dinner on me?"

It was impossible to insist that Douglas spend his time revising when his good mood was indomitably bright. The strain that had weighed on him for the past few months was replaced by a charm and cheerfulness that buoyed all three of them. For once, Martin could see how so many people believed that Douglas was faultless. As they walked through Fitton on their way to the airfield, Martin stayed silent as Douglas and Arthur rallied the phonetic alphabet – Douglas, to Martin's surprise knew it all.

"Isn't this one of those learning techniques you were talking about, Martin?"

At Douglas' question, Martin blinked out of his stupor.

"Wh-what? Oh, yes – I-I'm sure this sort of thing works," he replied, glancing guardedly towards Arthur.

"I think I'd like this more than the flashcards," Douglas remarked dryly. "What do you think, Arthur?"

"Not with the alphabet though?" Arthur asked.

"No, Arthur, not with the alphabet," Douglas sighed. He glanced down at Martin, and something shifted in his expression. "Don't worry, Martin. Arthur knows everything – about me, that is. It would be a stretch to say he knows everything."

"Oh, well... that's good then," Martin replied, and the squirming in his stomach eased.

There was more of a buzz around the Knapp-Shappey aircraft than usual when they arrived. Engineers were crawling around the plane, checking this and analysing that, jotting things down in notepads. Martin watched from afar at first as Arthur went in search of his mother, only to return and inform them than GERTI was being checked over before it could be properly appraised. Herc Shipwright was also there, and a little more snooping on Douglas' behalf proved that he had wrangled the engineers for Carolyn.

"Now, boys, I know I usually let you have the run of the place," Carolyn informed them, tone laced with regret that Martin almost believed. "However, I don't think anyone's going to take my company seriously if they know I've been using three teenagers as staff."

"So you want us out the way?" Arthur asked.

"Ye-es... not quite a Code Red, but, well..." Carolyn pressed her hands together and glanced towards the plane. There was a disapproving suspicion in her gaze, and Martin suspected that she wasn't pleased to be at the mercy of a group of strangers. "Do me a favour and keep out of trouble, alright? That means all of you."

She pointed a stern finger and a withering glare that travelled from Arthur to Martin, and then over Martin's shoulder.

"So there's no point us really being here, is there?" Martin sighed, biting back his disappointment.

Carolyn nodded solemnly, lips pressed into a thin line as if she didn't believe him. Martin had only said it because he expected Douglas to say something to the contrary. There was a moment of silence, and then nothing.

Martin glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Douglas was a short distance away, talking with Herc. He caught Arthur's eye and felt another wash of disappointment. Douglas would have found a way to keep them there... then again, Douglas wasn't perfect either. Without really knowing what he was doing, Martin sucked up his confidence and pretended – just as Douglas would have done.

"A-actually, Carolyn – M-Mrs Knapp-Shappey," he said, clearing his throat. Carolyn raised an eyebrow but she listened, which was more than some people would have done. "C-couldn't we stay? I-I mean, if we said we were interns – that's what proper companies have, isn't it? W-we could say that we're interning."

"And what good would that do me if you're getting in the way?" Carolyn replied.

"We wouldn't get in the way," Martin assured her. "W-we'd just – we'd oversee. I mean, do you really want a bunch of strangers fiddling about with your plane?"

"Dad's engineers looked in all the hidey holes too," Arthur interjected. "And that was before we'd even hidden things in them."

"S-see."

Carolyn looked between them, almost appraisingly. Then she shrugged and her shoulders sagged as she threw her hands into the air.

"Oh, do whatever you like," she said. "But be warned. If I catch you or the engineers digging through my drinks cupboard, I won't be happy."

"I was more thinking we'd make sure they didn't steal our Monopoly," Arthur said. "The games cupboard isn't locked."

"We'll behave," Martin promised, stepping in front of Arthur. "You won't even know we're here."

"I better not."

Carolyn left them with Martin feeling like he had won the lottery. There wasn't a lot they could do on the plane with so many people around, but at least he wouldn't have to go home for a while – he could have a few stolen hours with Douglas, and Arthur to an extent. With Douglas on his mind, Martin clapped Arthur's shoulder and they ambled to where they friend was still deep in conversation with Herc.

"As tempting as that is, Douglas, my answer is still no," Herc said, shaking his head. He passed his pilot's hat between his hands and leaned casually against the small truck that the engineers had brought with them.

"Oh, why not?" Douglas insisted, just short of whining. He shot Martin a quick glance as he arrived, but didn't divert his attention from the man before him. "I'll tell you what – when I sell it, I'll cut you in for eight percent."

"I don't think so."

"Come on."

"No, Douglas – and I won't say yes just to impress your friends either," Herc replied, smiling in greeting. Arthur gave a little wave, but that was all. "It may not be illegal, but I don't feel comfortable transporting large amounts of anything across borders and bringing you back the proceeds."

"But I promised my pen-pal," Douglas argued.

"Since when do you have a pen-pal?" Martin asked, scrunching his nose as he tried to imagine Douglas sitting in his room writing to a teenager in another country. Then he imagined Douglas doing that, but scheming to get something out of it – he could picture it perfectly.

"I thought we stopped doing pen-pals in Year Four," Arthur chimed in.

"Most people did," Douglas confirmed. "However, I saw a business opportunity. I have pen-pals on every continent."

"What kind of business opportunity?" Martin asked.

"The kind that benefits from me flying to Japan next week," Herc answered, ignoring Douglas' chagrin. "I don't know how you got hold of my schedule, Douglas, and frankly I don't care. I'm not lugging ten kilos of cheese to Tokyo in my flight bag."

"Does your pen-pal like cheese?" Arthur asked.

"Whether he likes it or not is irrelevant," Douglas replied. "What matters is that if I send him a package of fine English cheddars, he'll send me a package of Kit Kats, all of varying flavours unfound in the UK."

Exasperation brought with it a rush of fascination, and fondness. Ignoring the affection swelling in his chest, Martin moved to Douglas' side and hooked an arm around his – effectively pulling him away from the truck. Douglas resisted as little as was possible, pouting but coming along without a fuss.

"Come on, Douglas," he said, catching Herc's eye and enjoying the camaraderie of finding Douglas exhausting. "Let's leave the nice professional pilot alone, shall we?"

"This better not be how you treat me when you're a pilot," Douglas muttered, but he did as he was asked.

He caught hold of Arthur and together they headed towards GERTI, Douglas' arm still hooked through Martin's. He gave Martin a playful push, and Martin gave in and sprinted up the steps. He tripped – twice in fact – but it was worth it to hear Douglas laugh.

Fitton wasn't well-stocked in terms of restaurants, but the chip shop had served Douglas well for most of his life. Offering to let Arthur stay at his, after walking Martin back home on the way, Douglas had convinced them to travel away from the airfield for supper. It was nice to feel like a proper teenager for once – sitting atop a park table with a bag of chips between them – no airfield job, no exams on his mind, just three youths hanging around in the dark, enjoying themselves with some cheap and greasy food.

"How about without the last letter," Arthur suggested, mouth bulging as he grinned.

Douglas couldn't help but smile as he watched Martin grimace and roll his eyes, aghast at what his 'learning game' had been turned into. Word games were more fun – they were witty and kept Douglas on his toes. He wanted to reach out and prod Martin's arm – catch his attention and smile with him.

"Alright then," Douglas said. "Romeo and Julie."

Arthur burst out laughing, and Douglas couldn't help but follow. His chest stopped heaving long enough for him to see that Martin wasn't laughing. He was smiling, in that odd, helpless way he did when he didn't understand but was glad to be included.

Douglas raised an eyebrow and Martin scratched his head.

"Um... wh-why is that funny? What's so funny about Julie?"

"It's not that Julie's funny," Arthur explained, poorly. "It's that it's funny, you see, imagining Julie falling in love with Romeo."

"A-and who's Julie?"

"Julie was the caretaker's wife when we were in Year One," Douglas explained, and he felt a pang of something in his chest when he saw Martin's expression fall. "Everyone knew her... she used to come on all the school trips, and watch us in the playground, and help out with the assemblies... It doesn't matter really."

"N-no, it doesn't," Martin agreed, but some of his cheer had disappeared. "I-I wasn't around then. I-I guess I missed out on a lot."

"Yeah, but you're here now, Martin," Arthur said, and he reached out to clap Martin on the back. Douglas folded his hands in his lap to stop from doing the same – from moving to the other side of the table to put his arm around the boy that had done so much for him. "That's what matters."

"Exactly," Douglas said. He raised a chip in a facsimile of a toast. "You're one of us now."

"Yeah."

Arthur also raised a chip.

Reluctantly, biting his lip and sighing as if he didn't know what he was doing with such childish people, Martin raised a chip. His cheeks were red and he pulled his knees up to his chest to reach the middle of the table, where their hands all met, and Douglas could see clearly the upward tilt of his lips.

Catching Martin's eye, Douglas bumped their hands together. Martin rolled his eyes and took a bite out of his chip. A deal had been sealed.