Page 1 of See the Stars

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

OSCAR WILDE

A lice’s right hand felt weird this morning, as though it belonged to somebody else.

She looked through the kitchen window as she wiggled her fingers, trying to get the circulation back.

Their apartment was high, with views of the Thames, however there was little to see as yet.

The world lazed in darkness, but no stars were visible; clouds enclosed the earth this January morning like a warm winter duvet.

Alice turned away from the window, disappointed.

She gave her hand a vigorous shake, wondering if she had inadvertently slept with it underneath her.

Basalt claimed her attention with a howl that seemed overdramatic for a cat that had been fed just before bed.

Alice bent to stroke him. He pushed his face into her own, his breath a heady mix of meat, fish and dead mice.

He howled again and Alice smiled at him; she respected her small, middle-aged grey cat for seeming to think he was a wolf, though he bayed for his breakfast rather than the full moon.

She straightened, taking a moment for her body to adjust to the slight change in gravity as she tightened her silk robe around her.

Even though the sun hadn’t yet risen, she was already running late.

She felt a throbbing in her temples, a little bit of pressure building at the feeling of being behind schedule.

She balanced her phone in her good hand, so that she could look up what was going on in the markets, and used her other hand, which seemed to be behaving itself more now, to put a coffee pod in her machine and feed Basalt.

The cat made the whole endeavour harder by trying to knock the bowl out of her hands with his paw.

She finally set the cat food on the floor and opened her emails on her laptop, enjoying the indulgence of a larger screen while she scanned for signs of urgency.

The light of her laptop made the headache worse, but Alice blinked thoughts about it away.

She just had a couple of days to get through till the weekend, when she’d have her customary duvet day to recover from the week behind her.

She’d snuggle up with her fiancé, Hugo, and Basalt, and the work stress would gradually seep away, only topped up by the occasional glance at her phone.

In the meantime, she’d have a paracetamol.

Maybe what she needed was more water, too.

Yes. More water, less caffeine, no cigarettes.

Maybe she’d even cut out the glass of wine she enjoyed in the evening when she told herself her work day was done.

It rarely was; she usually did a final email check from her pillow while Hugo snored next to her.

Basalt jumped onto the countertop. ‘You’re not allowed up here,’ she told him gently as she tickled his ears, though she and Basalt both knew he went where he pleased. He purred loudly, twirling around on the granite.

‘Shit,’ said Alice, as his tail knocked over the glass of water she’d just poured for herself.

That was what she got for trying to be healthier.

She rescued her laptop, but Hugo’s lesson plan was soaked.

She tried to save the notes by dabbing them with a kitchen towel, glancing at them as she did so.

She frowned. It might be the national curriculum, but no.

That would never do. Newton’s law of gravity was proven to be less accurate than Einstein’s theory of relativity.

The limitations had to be explained. Even she knew that, though it was eleven years since she’d abandoned her PhD in astrophysics.

But how to explain it simply?

Putting her phone to one side, just for a moment, she sat down on one of the leather kitchen stools and picked up a pencil and notebook that was mainly used for shopping lists.

She started to sketch an orbital path. It would only take a moment.

Seeing her seated, Basalt took his chance and pounced happily onto her lap.

Now, if there was a way to demonstrate time dilation, then . . .

‘Atishoo!’

Basalt dug his claws into Alice’s bare legs.

Alice looked up to see her fiancé standing in his boxers, rubbing his eyes.

He sniffed loudly, and Alice gently prised Basalt’s claws from her knees.

She and her cat had agreed that Hugo hammed up his allergy rather more than was necessary, at times.

Basalt had already been banned from the bedroom; he was not to feel guilty at shedding his fur in the flat.

‘Everything OK in here?’ asked Hugo. ‘I heard something.’

‘I knocked over a glass,’ said Alice, covering for her cat. ‘Sorry if we woke you.’

‘It’s time I was up anyway,’ said Hugo. He sneezed again, then scratched at his pale stomach. Basalt eyed him with disgust. ‘I’ll get the hoover.’

‘The glass didn’t break, but I’m afraid your lesson plan is a bit soggy.’

‘That’s OK.’ He paused. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, looking at the notebook in front of her.

‘Oh,’ said Alice, feeling suddenly a little shy. ‘I just had a few ideas. For the kids.’

‘Relativity?’ queried Hugo, switching the coffee machine on again. It whirred into noisy action.

‘You’re welcome,’ Alice said, raising her voice to be heard.

‘It seems rather complicated.’

‘But necessary,’ she insisted. ‘You can’t teach Newtonian physics without mentioning Einstein’s theorem. It’s outmoded.’

‘I sometimes forget I’m marrying a PhD,’ laughed Hugo.

‘Not quite,’ said Alice. ‘I left before I’d finished.’ She found herself squeezing Basalt more tightly at the memory. His ears flexed back in annoyance. For a moment, Alice thought about telling Hugo what had happened.

But no, she didn’t have time for that. Not now.

Perhaps not ever.

‘Sick of Pot Noodles?’ joked Hugo, stirring sugar into his coffee. Alice felt relieved he hadn’t noticed her tension.

‘Something like that. And luckily for me,’ she added, her voice as light as she could manage, ‘astrophysics maths also works in finance, so the rest is history.’ She kissed Basalt’s head. ‘What will you tell the kids about space–time?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘Nothing,’ said Hugo. ‘They are twelve.’

‘They deserve the truth,’ countered Alice. ‘Or at least the upto-date scientific hypothesis that is our version of the truth as we currently comprehend it.’

‘Love you,’ replied Hugo, giving her a peck on the cheek and picking up his cup. ‘But I’ll use my own lesson plan, thanks. Even if it is a bit wet.’

‘OK,’ said Alice, her eyes back on her emails. ‘I might be late home today,’ she said. ‘The markets are going crazy.’

‘Will you look at those venue links I sent?’

‘I’ll try.’

‘The good places get booked up early.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ she said, glancing at the oven clock. Shit, she was running late. She encouraged Basalt from her lap and stood up. He jumped down indignant, and swiped at Hugo’s toes, which her clever cat had identified as his enemy’s most accessible weak point.

‘Ouch,’ said Hugo.

‘You should wear slippers,’ Alice reminded him, as she hurried to their en suite. She turned on the shower and stepped in, allowing the steamy water to prepare her for another long day.

Alice sniffed as she walked past one of the many verdant corporate plants in the office.

She was on the thirty-second floor of a fortystorey building in the City of London that seemed to be entirely constructed of glass and steel.

It wasn’t the plants that were to blame for the smell; the scent of cigarettes hung in her hair.

She’d only had the one, just to accompany the flat white she’d picked up from her favourite coffee shop on her walk from the station, but the smell lingered, both disgusting her and simultaneously making her crave just one more.

Did she have time for one more? Perhaps if she went back now, quickly, before she opened her computer . . .

‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ said Frieda, interrupting her thoughts from the desk opposite. ‘Can you come into the client review meeting with me?’

Alice plugged her laptop into the docking station. ‘I’ve got the call with the portfolio manager at eight thirty,’ she said, abandoning her cigarette plans. ‘And the client loves you.’

‘Please?’ Frieda was biting her lip, the vein in her forehead was bulging and her thick mascara, usually perfect, was smudged. She was stressed out.

Alice knew that feeling.

‘OK,’ she said, frowning at the calendar on her screen.

She was in back-to-back meetings most of the day already, and she had a pile of reports to write too.

But she’d make it work, she decided. Her brain rewarded that decision with a buzzy feeling somewhere between stress and pleasure. ‘I’ll shuffle stuff around.’

‘You’re a star,’ replied Frieda. She smiled, and watched Alice for a moment. ‘I like that coat,’ she said. ‘It’s new. Cashmere?’

‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘I treated myself.’

‘The green looks nice with your auburn hair,’ said Frieda approvingly. ‘Cigarette?’

‘No time,’ said Alice, typing a hurried message to the portfolio manager to start the call straight away, casting her eyes over her inbox as she did so.

Thirty-seven notifications since she’d last checked at the station, just ten minutes ago.

Alice liked her work, but there was just so much to do that recently she felt like she was swimming against the current.

No matter how much effort she put in, she could only just stay afloat.

She closed her eyes for a moment, a long blink that would be the closest thing she had to a break for the rest of the day.

Then she opened them again and got to work.

The markets had been pumping and Alice had barely looked away from her screen all day, using adrenaline to power her through. But now the numbers weren’t staying in their neat little boxes; they were circulating around her screen as if pulled into orbit.

She blinked at her spreadsheet, trying to get it to behave.

It didn’t work. She rolled back her office chair, feeling the friction of institutional carpet against the wheels, and spun to face the vast windows.

She could feel her heart pounding irregularly in her chest, as if marking out dotted quavers.

It was dark already. She was exhausted and decided she couldn’t do another thing today.

She picked up her bag and her coat, noticing again the pins and needles in her hand.

‘Going for a smoke?’ asked Frieda, getting to her feet keenly. ‘I’ll join you.’

‘Home actually,’ said Alice, drawing surprised looks from several colleagues. ‘It’s already late.’

‘You usually work much later than this.’

‘Tell Angus I’m not feeling well,’ said Alice. ‘I’ll log back in from home.’

‘Angus lives for markets like these,’ said Angus, emerging from his office with a broad smile.

Alice tried to swallow the dislike she felt for anyone who referred to themselves in the third person.

‘Who wants to bet where the US markets will end up tonight?’ he asked, rubbing his hands together.

‘Alice, you’re usually on the money. What do you think? ’

Alice hesitated, unsure for once what she did think.

‘Alice isn’t feeling well,’ said Frieda quickly.

‘Take yourself home,’ said Angus magnanimously, as though she hadn’t already put in a couple of hours of overtime. ‘Look after yourself,’ he added, heading back into his own office. ‘Our people are our assets.’

‘Thank you,’ said Alice. She watched Frieda head out for her cigarette, tempted to join her.

But if she didn’t go home now, she felt like she wouldn’t have the energy for the journey.

She got up, then found she was unsteady on her feet.

She shook her hand again, feeling the numbness all the way to her elbow.

She must have been sitting in a weird position without realising.

She sat back down and tried to breathe deeply, but the air-conditioned atmosphere didn’t provide the relief she needed.

The coffee rose back up in her throat, feeling acidic. Her heart continued to beat too loudly.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Keith, from across the office. ‘You’re looking a bit peaky.’

‘I’m just tired,’ said Alice, hoping that was the problem. ‘Busy day.’

‘Tell me about it. The market is all over the place. I was meant to leave early tonight to help my son with his maths homework. He’ll likely be in bed when I get home now. Still. See you tomorrow for more madness.’

Alice stood up again, more slowly this time.

Maybe what she needed was some fresh air.

And to be under the stars, she thought, allowing herself a moment’s self-indulgence.

In moonlight. Well, not moonlight, that was a misnomer.

The moon gave out no light of its own. Reflected sunlight, that was all it was. The sun’s ghostly echo.

She travelled down in the elevator and went through the revolving door and into the street.

She gulped down the air, but it was far from fresh, redolent of bus fumes and cigarette smoke, which caught in her throat and made her feel in her pocket for her own packet, now empty.

There was music blaring out from a nearby bar, but Alice found the sound overpowered by the blood pumping through her temples.

She looked up, hoping for the reassurance of moonlight, but only the street lights glared back at her.

The whole of her right side felt numb now.

Alice felt panic rising in her. She took a few unsteady steps, then stumbled on a loose paving stone.

She couldn’t regain her balance. For a moment, she managed to stay upright, but the ringing in her ears reached an unbearable pitch and blackness overtook her eyes.

She was aware of falling backwards, of gravity drawing her too rapidly to the hard paving beneath her. She found herself lying on the ground, staring up at the night sky. For a moment she saw Betelgeuse, the star burning orange in a chink between two skyscrapers.

Then there was nothing.