Page 18 of See the Stars

‘Yes, but I don’t have the subscriptions any more,’ said Alice. ‘And he never used apps, so I prefer not to either. He might have seen something in one of these books and written it down as something he saw in the sky.’

‘Plagiarism?’ queried Berti.

‘Alzheimer’s,’ replied Alice.

‘Oh,’ said Berti. He tapped his fingers together as if he was counting something. ‘But why is it funny?’

‘What?’ asked Alice.

‘You were laughing.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Alice. ‘Just something he said about comets and cats.’

Berti shook his head at her as if she was incomprehensible and went back to the log. Alice sat back. She needed a rest from the spidery writing anyway. She looked at the book he’d put down on the table: Missions to the Moon .

‘Do you want to be an astronaut?’ she asked, remembering her own plans at thirteen.

‘Not at all,’ said Berti, his focus still on the logbook.

‘Statistically, the chances of an astronaut dying in space are one in twenty. Not great odds. And even if you don’t die, time spent in space means that bone mass will decrease, muscles weaken, not to mention the effects of space radiation . . . ’

‘There is that,’ conceded Alice. ‘But imagine seeing the earth from space. It would be a single orb, a marble in a sea of blackness. Not many people get that perspective. I bet it would change the way you perceive life, the planet, everything.’

‘I already know the planet is a sphere,’ said Berti, reluctantly turning from the log to address Alice. ‘And if I was ever in doubt, I could look at pictures, or even go old-school and circumnavigate the globe. I’ve got little enough muscle mass as it is.’

Alice laughed. ‘You’re more sensible than I was as a teenager,’ she said.

‘Good thing you grew out of it,’ said Berti.

Alice didn’t reply, feeling the pang of regret that she often did when she thought about the fact that she’d never go to space.

She supposed it was how other girls felt about not being ballerinas or princesses.

She picked up the first book in her stack and flicked to the section on comets and their paths.

Berti turned back to the log, and they both sat engrossed in their respective reads, Berti’s gentle finger-tapping providing a soft, rhythmic backing track.

‘I need to go now,’ announced Berti. ‘Can I take the logbook?’

‘No,’ she said, automatically. ‘Sorry.’

‘I understand,’ said Berti. ‘It’s a historic document and you don’t know if you can trust me yet.’

Alice opened her mouth to disagree, but he was right. ‘Yes,’ she said instead. It felt good to be honest.

‘Enjoy it,’ said Berti. ‘I’ll see you here again tomorrow?’

‘Perhaps. I’m not sure what my plans are yet.’ It all depended on when her telescope parts arrived.

‘Is that yes or no?’ asked Berti, looking annoyed.

‘We’ll see,’ said Alice.

‘Or we won’t see.’ He picked up his book to leave. ‘But I hope we will.’

Alice took back the logbook and began to lose herself in her grandfather’s world once more.

Hunger interrupted her not long afterwards, and she got up to go and buy something to eat in a nearby café.

She hadn’t found anything in the books that matched what her grandfather had seen.

What if he had found a new comet, unspotted by anyone else, and had never even known it because of the clouds?

She thought about that idea while she gathered up her things and left the library. She’d never know, not for sure. The comet would be long gone, likely flung to interstellar space.

She walked past a noisy group of teenagers who were shouting and laughing outside and seemed to be playing an elaborate game of catch with an oddly shaped ball.

Alice ignored them, pleased that she was a grown-up and didn’t have to participate in whatever they were up to.

She glanced up at the moon, spotting the Copernicus crater next to the Sea of Islands.

These children were really very noisy, thought Alice, frowning as she saw something fly into the air from one of their hands, eclipsing the moon for a moment before it succumbed to gravity and returned to the ground with a thump, right in front of her.

She went to sidestep it, then stopped in her tracks.

It was a book, landed splayed on the pavement. Missions to the Moon .

She bent down quickly and scooped it up, looking around for Berti. There was no sign of him. ‘Where did you get this?’ she asked a boy who’d come running towards her, presumably to reclaim the book.

He looked at her, defiance in his eyes. ‘Nowhere,’ he replied. He was tall and broad for a teenager. Was he the boy who’d been picking on Berti the first time they’d met?

‘Nowhere?’ repeated Alice, incredulous. ‘Are you telling me that this book escaped all the normal rules that apply to everything across the known universe?’ she asked, anger filling her at the thought of these boys being unkind to Berti.

‘Are you really saying that you have found the one thing that is the exception to the laws of conservation of energy, and it is a library book ?’

‘Um . . . ’

The other teenagers began to snigger. ‘Because if so,’ continued Alice, ‘you’d better report it to the relevant authorities so that they can reassess everything we believe to be true.’

‘I found it on the pavement,’ admitted the boy, his voice sullen.

‘Oh, that is disappointing,’ said Alice. ‘Your place in the history of science will have to wait.’

The boy muttered something and kicked a can as he turned around, the others pushing him and laughing as they left. Alice brushed some dirt from the cover of the book. A couple of pages were a little bent out of shape, but it had survived its ordeal surprisingly well.

‘Berti!’ she called. He must be close. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t have completely abandoned a library book to those bullies.

‘You really told those boys,’ said an old lady waiting at the bus stop. ‘Scientist, are you?’

‘Fixed income analyst,’ said Alice.

The woman looked at her blankly. ‘Is that a type of scientist?’ she asked.

‘No,’ replied Alice, a hint of sadness in her voice. ‘Not at all.’

‘He’s in there,’ said the lady, gesturing to an old phone box. ‘Poor lad.’

Alice went to the phone box and pushed open the door.

It smelled of urine inside and was covered in flyers with scantily clad ladies on them.

Berti was crouched down but stood up when he saw her.

‘This phone box is definitely not the Tardis,’ he told her cheerfully.

‘It’s exactly the same size inside as you’d expect from the exterior measurements. ’

‘Are you OK?’ asked Alice.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, brushing himself off.

‘Who were those kids?’ asked Alice, perturbed that Berti didn’t seem more bothered. It made her think this kind of thing happened to him often.

‘They’re from my school,’ he said, exiting the phone box and closing the door behind him. ‘I’d call them Neanderthals if that wasn’t an anachronism. The Neanderthals have, of course, been gone for over forty thousand years.’

‘Some people seem to have escaped the rules of evolutionary progress,’ she replied. Berti smiled at her.

‘Mum says if I ignore them, they’ll get bored. But I think I’m just too interesting.’ He paused a moment. ‘It’s a bit lonely,’ he said. ‘Trying to ignore people all the time so they don’t pick on me.’

Alice felt a pang of solidarity. ‘It’s not easy to make friends around here,’ she agreed. ‘Especially when you’re a bit different.’

He looked at her with an expression so mournful that she found herself wanting to offer hope. ‘But it gets easier when you’re older,’ she added. ‘I promise.’

‘You’re older,’ said Berti.

‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘And I have lots of friends now.’ Was that true? She had plenty of people that she said hi to in the office, and Frieda was her usual cigarette companion, but were they friends? There was Hugo, of course. Did a fiancé count?

‘Really?’

She pulled herself together. ‘Yes,’ she said, deciding that for the purposes of this conversation, acquaintances counted. ‘Adults are much more willing to be friends with interesting people.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Berti. ‘I’d love to.’

‘What?’

‘Come over again.’

‘Why?’

‘Because that’s what friends do. They go to each other’s houses. I’ve seen them do it.’

‘Oh,’ said Alice, realising where this was going. ‘But we’re not . . . ’ She stopped herself. ‘Wouldn’t you rather be friends with someone your own age?’

‘But you said that when you get older, you like interesting people,’ said Berti. ‘And that means you should like me even more, because you are very old, and I am very interesting.’

Alice laughed. ‘You can’t argue with logic like that,’ she said. ‘Sure. Come over again. If your mum says it’s OK.’

‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ said Berti.

Alice smiled. ‘So am I,’ she said. As the words came out, she realised they were absolutely true.