Three

It wasn't often that Mum and Dad treated them to a day out, but on birthdays they pulled out all the stops. Despite their efforts, Martin hadn't abandoned his dreams of being a pilot; in fact, being in the Cadets had only strengthened his resolve. It hadn't helped his socialise the way that he had wanted to, but there were a few…acquaintances that he spoke to when he attended sessions.

So, when Martin's birthday had rolled around, they had surprised him with a trip to an air-show. Of course, they had to wait a while, but Martin was content to wait the rest of his life if it meant that he could spend the day in the sun watching the country's best aircraft performing miles above their heads.

The sun was shining. The wind wasn't blowing too hard. It was still early and promising to be a good day….or it would have been, if Dad would have stopped going on and on in spite of Martin's ignoring him.

"I mean it, son." Dad carried on just as he had throughout the drive to the crowded airfield, and all the way through admissions; now he strode alone between Martin and Simon, hands in his pockets, eye squinted against the bright sun overhead, "You're studying all the right subjects."

"To be a pilot." Martin grumbled, just loud enough for his father to hear. Regardless, he made a point of tipping up his nose and peering across the open spaces to inspect the glittering aircraft that sat proudly on the tarmac, and the uniformed personnel giving short lectures to young children and elderly enthusiasts alike.

"But you could just as easily use those skills to be an electrician." Dad insisted, his optimism as impenetrable as ever even though he only paid Martin's grumbling the slightest of his attentions, "You're very good at it."

"Oh, Raymond, stop bothering the boy." Mum scolded him lightly, giving his arm a gently slap with the back of her hand as she left the other on Simon's shoulder; her breezy mood was the only saving grace that Martin could find in amongst his father continuous efforts, "It's his birthday."

"And we've heard this all before." Caitlin trilled as she skipped along behind them, weaving in amongst the other visitors. For once, Martin had to agree with her.

"Oi, you." Dad fixed her with a good-natured glare, his attention finally drawn away from Martin long enough for him to slip out from between him and his brother; he pointed a finger at his daughter, "Watch your mouth, young lady."

"Or what?" Caitlin retorted, turning to skip backwards, her hands behind her back, her tongue out and ready to point with petulant ease. She hadn't wanted to come with them in the first place.

"Or I'll scoop you up and leave you in a fighter jet." Dad replied, and he caught up with Caitlin, scooping her into his arms and slinging her over his shoulder, even as she squealed and kicked her legs out in all directions, "I'll close the lid so that nobody knows you're there."

"I should be at home, studying." Simon piped up from the side. His frown was as strong as it had been when they had left the house. Just because Martin had been so looking forward to the day didn't mean his siblings had mustered up any kind of excitement.

"We'll stay in and study tomorrow, dear." Mum assured him, adopting the sweet, indulgent tone that Martin had been finding just a little bit grating in recent months, "Today's for Martin."

Martin didn't wait around to hear what Simon said in return. Head down, hands in pockets, he wandered over to the edge of a crowd that was pouring out of a large tent, only to find that he was too short to see what was inside. A moment later, Dad was at his side, plopping Caitlin down on the ground.

"Go on, you two." Dad instructed, clapping Martin on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble, although he stopped him from falling more than an inch, "Go and run around."

"This isn't a playground." Martin sniffed at the ground and scuffed his feet; now that he was there, he would have preferred to be allowed to wander on his own, to enjoy the air-show around people that were as fascinated as he was in the subject matter, "This is an educational event for aircraft enthusiasts – i-it's my one chance to get up close and personal with rare planes."

"Just go with your sister." Dad sighed, and before Martin could argue, he walked away, leaving the two of them alone while he returned to Mum's side with Simon. There was no choice but to follow Caitlin as she skipped away through the crowds.

It wasn't fair.

It was, however, a welcome escape from the need to pretend to pay attention to his family. For a while, Martin was able to enjoy trailing around after Caitlin, as she surged a path to the tarmac, past every stationary aircraft that was on display, stopping to tip her head back when the aerobatic planes passed overhead.

Of course, she didn't listen when Martin reeled off everything that he knew about each of them, but it was nice to talk about them without being told to shut up. At one point, an elderly woman even stopped to listen, nodding along to every word. Every speech was proceeded by Caitlin's declaration that it was 'boring', which Martin decided to see as a helpful sign that they should move on to the next plane.

Even the seasoned pilot letting children sit play with the control panel inside the Hercules C-17 didn't hold her attention. It didn't matter though. Martin was practically buoyant as they exited the aircraft, shoes clacking loudly on the grated ramp.

It wasn't until they reached a khaki tent that Caitlin altered her speech patterns.

Inside there were posters and pieces of machinery, the internal workings of the aircraft around them. There were pilots, tall and proud and everything that Martin wanted to be, showing visitors parachute straps and helmets. In the corner, there was a large, round, shining metal device with a seat built into the middle; a device that replicated the g-force that fighter pilots came up against every day. The child strapped into it was giggling and screaming as if she couldn't decide which was more appropriate.

"You're going to have to fly boring planes." Caitlin remarked, tugging at Martin's elbow to get his attention.

"What?" Martin replied, shaking his head to snap out of the haze of slightly dejected wonderment that had glossed his vision.

"Look." Caitlin took a proper hold of his arm and pointed at the spinning monstrosity; just looking at it made Martin dizzy, and she had to know that, "That man's using the spinning thing to show what it's like to fly fighter jets."

"Well, yeah – o-of course he is." Martin stammered, brow furrowing in confusion, "Fighter pilots have to be trained to withstand all sorts of g-force a-and-"

"So you can't fly them." Caitlin stated simply, and then she threw out her hand to point more emphatically at the spinning device, as if proving a point, "You couldn't even do that."

"I-I-I could." Martin replied hotly, cheeks burning as indignation caught him around the chest. Even though he knew that he couldn't stand being dizzy for more than a minute at most, he couldn't let Caitlin think that she was right- he just couldn't. She was always teasing him.

"Prove it!" Caitlin sneered, hands bunching at her waist in a childish motion as her lips curled into a devious smirk.

"Fine!" Martin snapped, puffing out his chest as he mirrored her posture, "I will!"

Martin knew that it was a stupid move and he knew that he was being played, but he couldn't walk away. Instead, he turned his back on his sister, ignoring the giggles that followed his every step, and marched towards the spinning metal device, with its daunting rings and its swift swishing. He would have to face it one day…it would take years to get used to the pressure involved in being a pilot, so he might as well start somewhere.

It wasn't entirely about showing off…but Martin really hoped that Mum and Dad were nowhere nearby.

Martin's nerve began to waver as he was being secured into the spinning device. The man in charge didn't even question it. After all, it wasn't as if it was dangerous for children. He smiled, and Martin smiled back, and did his best to wish away the fuzziness that accumulated behind his eyes and ears before the man even span the metal rings, tipping him upside down and around.

He could do it.

Martin couldn't do it; a sad truth that he discovered around about the time he was lying flat on his back, a familiar position with Caitlin at his side, Mum on his other, tittering over him. Caitlin actually seemed to be giggling.

The dizziness must have hit him so quickly that he hadn't even been aware of passing out.

Hastily, Martin launched himself from the ground, ignoring the fluttering inside his skull and the embarrassed flush in his cheeks.

"Oh, Martin, you know you can't do that." Wendy tutted over him, her tone half-way between concern and exasperation as she tried to pat him down and check all of his limbs, "What were you thinking?"

"Nothing, Mum." Martin groaned, shaking her off and storming away from the tent, avoiding the stares of the other visitors around him; he didn't want to see the judgement on their faces, "D-don't tell Dad, o-or Simon."

"Of course I'm going to tell your father." Mum sighed, hurrying after him, Caitlin skipping along in her wake, "He's going to be having some strong words with you."

Fantastic. Wonderful. That was the last thing Martin needed. One more reason for Dad to tally up to argue against him becoming a pilot.

As if Martin hadn't already filed it away in his own mind.

He would just have to become a boring pilot…no fighter jets for him.

Thank you for reading - about half way through now. : )