We present an extract from The Sky Is Not Enough, the new novel by June O'Sullivan.
The Sky Is Not Enough is based on the truly remarkable life of Irishwoman Sophie Pierce Evans (AKA Lady Heath), the first woman to become a licensed commercial pilot in Britain and also to fly solo from Capetown to London.
Hamble, Hampshire, May 1927
I glide my plane to a standstill and pull off my goggles. They have started to frost over and I feel like the cold is in my bones. It's hard to believe it’s early summer on the ground. I’m certain I’ve broken the record. According to my altimeter I topped 15,700 feet. Mary, my enthusiastic passenger, turns around in the front seat and gives me a thumbs-up.
I see a man running towards me now.
He climbs onto the wing, leans into the cockpit to see the instruments on my dashboard and then shouts to the gathered crowd, 'Fifteen thousand, seven hundred and forty-eight!’.
They erupt into cheers.
Another world record. But I am numb. So what if I climbed a bit higher? Next week someone else might go to fifteen thousand, seven hundred and fifty. Then this won’t count for anything.
I know the others will want to celebrate this but it’s too small. I need something bigger, bolder. Something no one can touch. Something that will be mine for a long time. But for that I need money.
*****
At lunch I let Mary carry the weight of the conversation. I sip at my gin, trying to work it all out. When John excuses himself to use the bathroom Mary leans in.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What did you do?’ I drain my glass and gesture for another.
Mary swats my arm. ‘I heard about William. I didn’t say anything before, I didn’t want to bring it up in front of John. I’m so sorry.’
I nod. ‘I’m sorry I ever met him. What kind of woman ends up with a dead husband floating down the Thames with a single copper penny in his pocket? And you know he always blamed me for being reckless with his money. I know I should feel sad but I don’t. I haven’t seen him since I left Kenya three years ago.’ I blink hard. I am angry. With him, for being so useless, for falling into the Thames, or throwing himself in, or whatever he did. With myself for marrying him. With it all.
‘So now you can.’
‘Can what?’ I ask as John returns.
‘Find yourself a nice, rich, old widower!’ Mary slaps her thigh.
I feel John looking at me. I know if I turn I will see hurt in his eyes. So I compose my face and give nothing away about how much I love him and how much it really doesn’t matter.
‘I’d better start looking then,’ I say and throw back my drink.
******
The gin has slowed the angry tide of my blood to a sluggish ebb by the time we get to my lodgings. John shakes my hand at the front door. How bizarre. I look down at my hand as though it might contain a secret message.
‘Good luck,’ he says and turns to walk away.
There is still that long, purposeful stride but his shoulders are reaching towards his ears.
‘John? Good luck with what?’ I call after him.
‘Finding a new husband.’
I run after him and grab hold of his jacket.
‘Don’t go, please. Let’s talk.’
He follows me back to my tiny sitting-room, hovering like someone come to deliver bad news. I sit in the armchair by the unlit fireplace and light a cigarette.
‘You’re angry,’ I say. ‘I know. But, really, you shouldn’t pay any heed to Mary. You know how she is. How she runs away with things.’
‘It’s just a bit difficult, Sophie. To drown her out. And to continue ignoring the thing that is staring me in the face.’
‘You knew I was married.’
‘Not at first, in Boscombe.’
‘I was living in married quarters, for God’s sake!’
‘But you never talked about William. You let me believe you could be mine. But that was never the case and I’m a fool for hanging on.’
‘I couldn’t be yours.’
‘Not then. But we could be together now. Properly.’
I quench my cigarette in the ashtray, taking my time to stub it out, avoiding looking at him so he won’t see the answer in my eyes. No. I love you, but no.
‘I should have known!’ He thumps his fist on the mantelpiece. ‘I was charmed by you, flitting in and out of my life. Tearing across France on your motorcycle, disappearing to Africa for months on end to play coffee farmer, the running, the flying. Why are you so desperate to get away, Sophie? What are you running towards? I thought it was me. Our situation was difficult but still you kept coming back to me. But now I know it has nothing to do with me. I would have given you anything. It doesn’t matter. You’re just going to keep running.’
‘Buy me a plane.’ My words are crystalline.
‘What?’ He turns to look at me.
‘Buy me a plane. You said you would give me anything. That’s what I want.’
‘You know I can’t.’ His voice wobbles. ‘Not now, not yet. But we could work towards that, together.’ He comes and kneels beside my chair. ‘We could build a life, a marriage.’
‘That’s no good to me, John.’ I run my hand through his thick, dark hair. ‘I tried that. I thought marriage would bring me freedom. But it’s just a different type of prison. No better than my aunts rotting away in the living mausoleum in County Limerick that my grandfather made for them.’
‘You’re not your aunts.’
‘I know.’ I rise and step away from him.
He takes my place in the chair, his head in his hands.
‘I never intended to be them. I worked damn hard and made sure I never would be. But I don’t have forever. I’m thirty years old. The world is moving so fast. Every success, every record I break vanishes with the morning mist. The faster I make them, the faster someone comes and takes them from me. Someone younger, richer. So, yes, I could live an ordinary life with you, John. But then I wouldn’t love you, I’d hate you. I know it’s callous but I need someone who will back me, financially, to go after what I want. Love will have to wait.’
He stares at the floor, then stands. ‘I understand. And I do wish you luck. And I hope love waits for you, but I can’t. I won’t be here when you come looking for love again.’
He leaves, pulling the door to a final, quiet, resolute click.
I slump to the floor and sob.
The Sky Is Not Enough is published by Poolbeg Press
