THE SKY'S the limit

Cheryl had a message for her partner Ray and it would come out of the blue

- Stacey Barrett,

Ray didn't take off his aviator sunglasses once during the drive from the house to the airfield. They were new, and they didn't suit him, Cheryl thought. She couldn't see it, but she knew he was squinting at her behind the tinted shades.

Ray's long fringe flailed at his forehead in the air conditioning as they tore along the motorway. 'If this is a parachute jump... I've got to tell you, honey, I'm not into that,' he said.

'I know you're not,' Cheryl said. 'It's not a parachute jump, I promise. Don't worry.

You have to train to do parachute jumps, anyway.

You can't just turn up and jump out of a plane.' 'Why?' he asked, smirking.

'How hard can falling out of the sky be?' Cheryl wanted to reply, then thought better of it. At least Ray wasn't sulking or making surly ripostes, which was his default mode.

'Is it a beer festival?' he asked, hopefully. 'Or maybe just a festival? Sometimes they have those, at places like airfields. Anywhere they can put up a stage or a tent. Like the circus, I suppose.' 'Sorry,' Cheryl said, 'it's not a beer festival. Don't want you to get your hopes up.' 'But there'll be beer, right?" 'I don't know. I don't think so.' Ray tutted and drummed his fingers against the door. Briefly, she wondered if he was going to bail out. 'Some treat this is.' Cheryl almost said 'sorry' again. Like she'd said 'sorry' the night before, when she'd overdone his steak. Like she'd said 'sorry' when she mixed up his football socks in the washing basket. She bit the word back, and let the car radio fill the silence.

Eventually, they pulled into the airfield. It was an unfamiliar sight to Ray, but Cheryl drove past Lazonby Airfield twice a day, on her way to and from work, and she'd been longing to see it close up.