A parachute malfunction in Flash fiction

(I'm on a roll, with nutella; 567 words; an hour-ish; progress!)

It was a fine Sunday morning, and the sun was warm and kind on her bare face. She sipped her coffee, half keeping an eye on Janie, who was fussily pasting nutella onto a roll. Tom was crunching his way through a pile of toast and jam, pausing now and then to talk a gulp of milk. He was on his fourth triangle when they heard the shouting.

“What’s that?” said Tom.

Maggie set down her cup. “Is it someone in the field?”

“Wheeeeaaaaaaoooooo,” said Janie.

There was a sudden flutter, like a large bird. An ominous shadow passed overhead. Then there was a clatter of roof tiles, and Tom leapt to his feet. “Mum, someone’s on the roof!”

At the front of the house a man was hanging in midair, his parachute wrapped around the telephone wires that came up from the lane. He swayed a little in his harness.

“Hello, sir?” Tom was saying. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you down.” He ran off back around the house before Maggie could ask how.

She looked up again, listening. There was a faint creaking noise. Was he breathing?

“Hello?” she said. “Are you okay?”

There was no answer.

“Can you hear me?”

Janie wandered up and put a sticky fist in hers. “Oh no,” Janie said, very seriously, and then she giggled.

“Hello?” Maggie said again, helplessly. She was wondering what to do next when Tom came back, dragging the stepladder across the grass.

“Good thinking, batman,” she said. Together they set the stepladder open on the driveway, but there was still about a metre between the man’s boots and the top of the ladder. “Hold it steady for me, okay? Janie, sweetheart, go and get the telephone.”

“We should call the fire brigade,” said Tom.

“Don’t let go, Tom, okay?”

She went as far as she dared up the ladder, the metal cold under her bare feet. She was nowhere near high enough to help, but his boots dangled in front of her, and she reached out and squeezed his ankle.

The man started, as if from sleep. “Sorry, what?” He looked down at her, then up at the twisted parachute.

“Are you okay?”

“Ah. I seem to have had a little parachute malfunction.”

“We’re getting help. Are you injured?”

“Did you check the taps?”

“Sorry?”

He looked foggy for a moment, and then he looked at her again. “Just dropping in,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”

He’s hit his head, she thought. She still had hold of his ankle. Maybe she shouldn’t be touching him. He might have broken bones. Janie had reappeared with the cordless telephone. She could hear her talking.

“Mummy’s up a ladder,” Janie said into the telephone.

“Janie,” Maggie called. “Who did you phone, Janie? What number did you press?”

“She can’t talk now, she’s holding the man up.”

“Janie, give the phone to Tom.”

“The man from the sky.”

“Janie!”

“Mummy I can’t concentrate!” Janie said crossly.

She squinted up at the man again. He was still swaying, peacefully, and she felt suddenly like she didn’t know which way was up or down. If she let go of the foot, she would fall. “Tom,” she called down. “Don’t let go.”

“I’ve got you Mum,” Tom said.

“Yes I told you,” Janie was saying huffily. “Okay.” Then she placed the phone down on the grass and sat beside it with her legs crossed.