Sky’s Falling - Stuart Docherty

There’s something wrong with my sister, Sky. She’s been slipping away and I don’t know what to do. 

Mum has come into the kitchen. She’s been upstairs, arguing with Sky. For the past few months, this has been a regular occurrence.

“What’re you talking about, Mum?” I laugh. “You’re saying she just fell through the bloody floor? Must be daft.”

“I’m not taking the piss, it’s what she and her bloody teachers said. It was Mr Morton’s class, too, your old Maths teacher. You can imagine what he was saying about her, the cheek. That’s the sixth time she’s got detention this year.”

Mum’s still twitching from the fight, turning the corner of her cardigan over and over in her hand and glaring at the kettle. She’s been full-time at the local primary school for years but does the odd night behind the bar for extra cash. Lately, with money being tight, it’s been every weekend. She looks worn-out, like she can’t stand up on her own.

“What’s for tea, then?” I ask.

Mum has flicked on the kettle and is scrambling through all the cupboards for a clean mug.

“I’m sorry, love, I’ve to be down at the Services for seven. You’ll have to fend for yourselves.”

“Suits me. Was going to grab fish and chips. If you want, I’ll nip down and pick us up a bag.”

“I’d love to stay, dear,” Mum says, looking at me for the first time since coming downstairs, “but I’ve no time.” She pauses and fondles with the fob at the end of her teaspoon. “Be a dear and get your sister something? I’ll give you some money.”

Mum starts to root through her purse but I stand up and wave her off. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing, Mum. Really.” 

Sky’s sixteen in a couple of months. Does her GCSE’s the month after. She used to be top of the class in pretty much everything. Not a swot, like, but smart. Loved her netball, too. And her singing. Mr Jennings, the music teacher, said she was the best in the school choir. She stopped going to both about eight months ago, when she started talking to the school counsellor about college, university, and life after school.

Mum sighs and her shoulders sag. “Where did my brilliant young girl go?” She screws her eyes shut and shakes her head.

Mum’s hands clench the clasp of her purse as she looks up at the clock. “Bollocks, is that the time? I’ll be late.” She pecks me on the cheek and swallows down the rest of her tea before rushing out the front door, stopping in the doorway to call up a goodbye to Sky.

Last Friday night we had a Chinese. Sky came with me and when she walked up to the door, the sensor didn’t pick her up. I saw her waving up at the little camera above the door when a big lad, looking into his carrier bag, bumped into her, nearly dropping his Kung Pao Chicken. Sky fell on her arse but the lad didn’t even notice her.

“Sky?” I tap on her bedroom door. “Mum’s off already. What do you want for supper?”

Silence, so I knock again. 

“I’m coming in now, Sky, just so you know.” 

When I open the door, I barely notice her. It’s like the light from outside goes right through her, standing by the window. There’s only the slight hint of a shadow but when she turns the effect’s broken and she’s there again, solid, whole. I want to reach out and hold her, to put my arm around her, but I don’t, can’t.

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m going out to get tea. What’re you having?”

Two years ago, in my last year of school, Sky was the perfect student. I was just about to leave and was falling to bits. Didn’t know what I was doing, where I was going or anything. It was like she had it all figured out and I was her idiot older brother, and I should have been the one giving her advice, helping her out.

“Some chips,” she mumbles. I smile before I close the door. She just needs some space, some alone-time. Not her brother nosing in her business.

When I’m in the chippy, they’ve got the TV on and the sound of it washes over me. Around this time last year, me and Sky were sat here side by side, watching the lad behind the counter fuss over the fryer. The walls in this place are tiled, pure white with matching grouting. The whole lot’s polished to a shine and I could see Sky’s reflection in it. I’d just got past the probation period at work and wanted to celebrate. Sky was still the same old Sky then but she sat next to me and started to ask me about the job, about life, about the future.

It was a miracle I got it, really. Mr Morton has a brother who owns the big malt factory down the road. Sky was Mr Morton’s favourite student and I reckon she must’ve asked him to get me the job, as, when an apprenticeship came up, I got it. It’s not fancy work, just moving crates on and off of things, really. That time in the chippy, she kept asking if I was happy, if I liked it. Kept asking about the repetition of it. She wanted to ask something else but didn't, or couldn’t, say it. Then she asked me something about being happy, about her future and I saw her reflection on the tiles start to fade away. I didn’t do anything then, either.

Now, when I’ve got the food, I start to drive faster than I should. I’m breathing hard and I push open the door. I shout her name when I come in and run up the stairs and open her door without knocking. She’s not there. She’s gone—fallen or slipped away.

Originally published in audio form at the Manawaker podcast, August 29, 2024

Stuart is a British writer and poet based in Tokyo, where he writes, eats too much, and pretends to speak Japanese. You can find his work at ergot.press, Maudlin House, and The Colored Lens.