Page 11 of See the Stars

I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies but not the madness of people.

ISAAC NEWTON

‘ A re you sure you can’t stay longer too?’ Sheila paused from buttering toast and put her hand on Hugo’s sleeve, looking like she wanted to cling to him for ever.

‘I have to get back to work, I’m afraid,’ said Hugo. He’d wanted to stay, but Alice didn’t like the thought of him letting the children down and had insisted he return. He smiled at Sheila. ‘And no one will look after her as well as her mother.’

‘That’s true,’ said Sheila, her face lighting up at the compliment.

‘I don’t really need much looking after,’ said Alice.

‘Nonsense,’ said Sheila. ‘You’re sick. And I’m going to fuss over you until you’re feeling better than you ever have.’

‘Great,’ said Alice, the sarcasm as obvious in her voice as it had been when she was a teenager.

Hugo laughed. ‘Good luck with your patient,’ he said. ‘You’ve got Basalt here to keep her on the straight and narrow.’

‘But you’ll be all alone,’ said Sheila. ‘In that flat.’

‘I’ll miss Alice, of course,’ replied Hugo.

‘But it’s only a few days.’ He smiled again.

‘To be honest, I’m looking forward to walking around barefoot and coming off the antihistamines without this one there.

’ He gestured towards Basalt, who looked back at him with utter disdain.

‘I might even take my life into my hands and sleep with the bedroom door open.’

‘You’re a saint,’ commented Sheila, popping three eggs deftly into a pan of boiling water.

Basalt snaked around her legs as she did so.

‘And you’ve already had breakfast,’ she scolded the animal, opening the fridge nonetheless and pulling out some ham.

‘Just a little snack,’ she added, as Basalt stood on his rear legs to fish the ham from her hand with his paw.

‘I wouldn’t . . . ’ warned Alice.

But it was too late. ‘Ow,’ said Sheila, as the cat’s outstretched claws grazed her fingers. He swatted the ham to the floor and gulped it down.

‘Welcome to my life,’ said Hugo.

Alice watched from the passenger seat of the car as Hugo went into the station. ‘We’ll miss him, won’t we?’ said her mum.

‘Yes,’ agreed Alice, though it was one less person fussing around her, making her feel like a patient.

She wanted to put her illness behind her, to focus on a task again.

If she proved to herself she could focus, then she was one step closer to being able to get back to her normal life.

And many steps further from her night-time worries about what shape her future might need to take.

Or how long it might last.

The telescope. That would be the distraction she needed until she could get back to work.

But logistical problems remained. She wasn’t allowed to drive yet after her almost-stroke. In London she could walk or take a bus or Tube wherever she needed to go, but here not being able to drive made her feel like a kid again. Or a prisoner.

‘I’d quite like to hang around town,’ she said, trying to assert some independence. The parts would take days to arrive, and she didn’t want to just be sitting in the house all day. ‘Maybe have a stroll, get some of that light exercise the doctor was talking about.’

‘I’d come with you, but the laundry . . . ’

‘I’m happy on my own,’ said Alice, quickly, wanting some time to herself. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘If you’re sure? I’ll pick you up later.’

‘Or I’ll get a taxi.’

‘I’ll pick you up,’ insisted Sheila.

Alice climbed out of the car and watched her mother drive away.

Her London clothes were all in the wash today and she was wearing an old pair of jeans she’d bought in the Topshop sale when she was a student and a plain woollen jumper riddled with moth holes that her mother had done her best to mend.

At least she’d brought a warm winter coat with her from London, an old but puffy affair filled with Canadian goose down.

Could she go shopping here? Her home town seemed unfamiliar after all this time. She knew that the town centre was further up the hill. There was an old church, and a small high street with a few charity shops, but she didn’t find that prospect very appealing.

What she’d really like was a coffee, she decided. Maybe that would stop the desire for a cigarette that was rising up in her again. She could always get a decaf, though that did kind of defeat the point.

She began to walk down the hill in search of a café, feeling the cravings getting stronger as she allowed her feet to carry her in whatever direction they chose.

She didn’t want an instant coffee from a greasy spoon.

She wanted to sit in a nice café like the ones in London, with wooden tables made from reclaimed railway sleepers, an assortment of exotic pastries under glass cloches and a good-quality flat white that was so expensive it made her eyes water before she’d even had a sip.

If she found such a place, she wouldn’t corrupt the coffee grounds by going for decaf. A bit of caffeine wouldn’t hurt. It was what she craved, and weren’t people always saying to listen to your body?

As if her heart could hear her, she felt a flicker in her chest. She stopped, suddenly feeling breathless.

It was probably a stitch. Walking too fast in the cold air.

Still. She leaned on a lamp post for a moment and caught her breath. She was sweaty all of a sudden, and there was a ringing in her ears.

She was fairly sure that if she was going to collapse, she’d already be on the ground. She just wanted to sit for a moment, and allow her blood to flow back to her brain in an orderly fashion.

People were already starting to look at her. She didn’t want to sit on the pavement, with all the attention that might bring; it would only make things worse. But she didn’t feel like she could remain standing either.

She looked around, and realised where she was.

Her feet must have been feeling nostalgic, because she was standing outside the library she used to frequent as a girl.

It was a pretty building, rather grand for her town, red brick with grey stone Doric columns.

She remembered from school that it had been a legacy bequeathed in the will of a local industrialist.

But anyway, there it was, across the road from her old bus stop. Perhaps a nice rest with a good book in a comfy chair was just what the doctor ordered.

Well, her doctor had ordered statins, anticoagulants and a complete change in lifestyle, but it was close enough for now.

Inside, the library smelled the same as she remembered: dust, paper and disinfectant.

For a moment she felt like she was a teenager again, hungry for the knowledge contained within these walls.

She made her way to the non-fiction section and found herself browsing the astronomy books for something to read while she had a rest. Most of the books she recognised from years ago; she’d spent hours poring over the pages in her bedroom, learning the constellations, admiring the craters on the moon and studying the paths of comets.

She spotted one book that had been extremely old even when she was a girl.

It had been published in 1965 and outlined exciting plans for man to one day reach the moon.

She picked it up and settled down at one of the tables, feeling much calmer already. As she sank back in her chair and read the musings of a scientist writing sixty years ago, her heart rate gradually returned to normal.

Alice looked up, disturbed by the noise. The library was flooded with schoolchildren. She glanced at her phone to see the time: 3.30 p.m. The kids were likely taking refuge from the cold bus stop outside, just as she used to do.

‘Oi, brainbox!’ She looked in the direction of the voice and saw a group of boys approaching.

There was a slender boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with a messy crop of dark chestnut hair standing nearer to her than the others.

He was ignoring them, holding a book over his face as if he were hoping that would be a disguise. ‘What’s 258 times 64?’

16,512 , thought Alice. But she decided that sharing that information wouldn’t help anyone.

‘I’m not your performing monkey, Danny,’ said the boy, reluctantly pulling the book from his face. ‘Do you have a practical purpose for this multiplication?’

‘When are you doing my homework?’ demanded Danny, stepping forward. He was a beefy teenager who was at least a head taller than the other boys.

‘I’ve explained this,’ said the boy with the book, standing his ground. ‘Homework is to help you learn. There’s no point in me doing it for you. You’ll learn nothing.’ He paused, a little twinkle in his eye. ‘Except for how much better at maths I am than you. And we all know that already.’

Danny lurched forward and the boy flinched, using the book as a shield. Alice hesitated for a moment before deciding that as an adult, she had a duty to intervene.

‘No fighting in the library,’ she said.

They all turned to look at her. ‘Quite right,’ said the boy with the book. ‘It’s not a boxing ring.’

Danny looked at Alice for a moment, as if weighing up whether it was worth ignoring her. Alice sat up straight and tried to look intimidating, and to her surprise, it seemed to work. He muttered something under his breath that made the others laugh, and they left.

She turned back to her book, looking forward to some peace and quiet.

‘It’s 16,512,’ said the book boy.

Alice looked up. ‘What?’

‘258 times 64. I knew the answer straight away, but I didn’t want to tell him.’

‘That’s right,’ she said, impressed despite herself.

‘Of course it is,’ said the boy.

Alice turned back to her book, but she had the feeling she was being stared at. She was right. ‘What are you reading?’ asked the boy.

Alice looked at him. ‘A book about space travel. It’s probably not very interesting for anyone else.’