Page 19 of See the Stars

Alice sat in the lecture hall listening to Professor Boxley talking about stellar winds.

Her studies were increasingly fascinating.

She realised she had barely scratched the surface of what she wanted to know, and with every fact she discovered, she just wanted to learn more.

She was only two terms in to her five-year undergraduate programme, which would give her a Scottish master of physics degree, but she had already started to think about what her PhD research might cover afterwards.

Even thinking about earth-like exoplanets – planets outside the solar system that were in the habitable zone of their host star and potentially able to sustain life – made her excited.

She knew she might research her entire life and never find anything, but if she could help the field inch forward . . . Well. A life worth living.

Someone’s phone was ringing. Professor Boxley talked over it for a moment, then stopped to allow whoever it was to do the rummage of shame in their bag. Instead, the phone rang out and he continued.

The ringtone started again. Boxley sighed and stopped. ‘Phones off, please,’ he said. ‘Is it too much to ask?’

Zelda nudged her. ‘What?’ Alice whispered.

‘Isn’t that you?’

‘No,’ said Alice. She looked in her bag just in case. Her screen was lit up. It was her. ‘Shit,’ she said. She quickly ended the call, then looked shamefacedly at Professor Boxley. ‘Sorry, sir,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You again. Is that a boyfriend?’

Alice was mortified. He was going to heckle her. In front of everyone. She’d seen him do it a few times, usually to students who came in late or fell asleep during his lectures.

‘My mum,’ she mumbled.

‘Well unless your mum was phoning to tell us the composition of the frozen substances found on the surface of the dwarf planet Makemake,’ he said, to an uncomfortable twitter of laughter from the audience, ‘perhaps you’d better switch it off.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Alice. ‘Sorry.’

Zelda raised her hand. ‘Methane and ethane,’ she said. ‘Suspected to be in pellet form.’ Alice looked at her friend gratefully.

‘That’s right,’ said Boxley, clearly surprised. ‘See,’ he said to Alice. ‘No phone calls required; you have an expert right next to you. And of course, the one at the front of the lecture hall, talking to you right now. Now, let’s address the . . . ’

Alice mouthed thank you at Zelda, then tried to overcome her humiliation and listen, taking assiduous notes and cursing her phone.

Finally the lecture was over. She stuffed her notebook in her bag and stood up to leave. ‘A moment, please, Alice.’ She looked up. Professor Boxley.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she said again. She looked at Zelda, who was standing awkwardly at the door to the lecture hall, clearly not sure whether to wait for her. Alice gave her a little head-tip to tell her to go, but Zelda just looked even more confused at the gesture.

‘You’re not in my study groups,’ Boxley told her, ‘but my colleague showed me your paper on habitable zones.’ Alice bit her lip. ‘It’s my research area.’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘Then we should get to know each other better. I look forward to it.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Alice.

‘Sir is my father,’ he said. ‘Call me Will.’

*

‘Why does he want me to call him Will?’

‘Maybe because that’s his name,’ said Zelda. They were sitting at a table in the union eating the sandwiches they’d both packed for their lunch before they headed to the library. ‘He sees you as an equal,’ she added, a little jealousy infusing her voice.

‘Sounds like he wants to get in your pants to me.’ Callum had joined them and was tucking into a burger he’d ordered from the bar.

‘Nonsense,’ said Alice, feeling offended, though Boxley had made her feel uncomfortable. ‘And it’s double standards,’ she continued. ‘You wouldn’t think a female professor was interested in your pants if she asked about your research.’

‘My pants are not as interesting as yours,’ Callum replied. Alice found herself blushing.

‘Neither is your research,’ said Zelda.

‘Fair,’ laughed Callum. ‘Chip?’ he offered. Zelda declined but Alice took one, dipping it in the little bowl of ketchup on Callum’s plate.

Zelda took a bite of her sandwich. ‘What did your mum want?’ she asked Alice.

‘Shit,’ said Alice. ‘I forgot.’ Her phone was still switched off in her bag. She fished it out and turned it on. Multiple missed calls flashed up. ‘Shit,’ she said again. She stood up. ‘I’d better call her back. I’ll be outside. Reception here is patchy.’

Alice sank to the pavement, her phone held to her ear. Her mother was still talking.

‘We knew he was old. But it’s still a shock, isn’t it?’

Alice didn’t reply. She couldn’t believe she’d never see him again. She reached a hand down for balance and touched the paving slab, cold and hard.

Her mother continued to talk. Flowers. Hymns. Ashes.

Alice couldn’t focus. She couldn’t listen to this, not now. ‘I’ve got to go, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’ She hung up and put the phone down. It sat on the pavement and looked up at her. Don’t shoot the messenger , it seemed to be saying.

‘What are you doing down there?’ Alice looked at Callum’s bright green trainers, then up at him. He crouched down. ‘You OK?’ he asked.

She realised she didn’t want to talk about it. Not to him. ‘Yes,’ she lied.

He offered a hand to help her up, but she shook her head. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asked. ‘It’s just that OK people don’t usually sit on the pavement.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, her voice starting to wobble. She got herself up, suddenly wanting to be on her own. ‘Tell Zelda I had to leave,’ she said, and set off, hoping she could get to the privacy of her room before the tears started to flow.

Her grandfather was gone. She hadn’t apologised. She remembered all those long nights when he had painstakingly pointed out the stars to her, teaching her the secrets of the universe when she was barely old enough to read.

Then, when he needed her, she had just gone back to bed.

And now she could never make things right.

‘I don’t want to interfere,’ said Zelda, from outside Alice’s bedroom door in the halls of residence. ‘But it’s been a day and a half, and you can’t have eaten more than the chocolate digestives you keep in your bedside cabinet.’

Alice looked at the empty packet in the bin. Zelda was right.

‘You must be hungry,’ added Zelda. ‘And starting to lack key vitamins and minerals. I’ve brought supplies. I’d be happy to make you a sandwich. Perhaps with tomatoes, which are very rich in vitamin C, and potassium, of course.’

Alice got up and opened the door.

‘You look terrible,’ said Zelda.

‘I know,’ Alice replied.

‘It’s worse than I thought.’ Zelda studied her for a moment. ‘We’re going to need avocados too.’

Alice watched Zelda as she pottered about in the small, ill-equipped communal kitchen. Zelda was getting vegetables and hummus out of her bag, her bracelets clinking. Alice took a deep breath. ‘I know he was really old,’ she began. ‘But I don’t think I really believed he was ever going to die.’

‘Everyone dies,’ said Zelda, putting the hummus tub on the beige Formica worktop.

‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘I know that, of course I do. But I didn’t think he ever would. Is that crazy?’

‘At first, it does sound that way,’ said Zelda, deftly chopping an avocado. ‘But he was around your whole life, so you said.’

‘He was,’ said Alice.

‘How do you feel about grated carrot in sandwiches? I’m in two minds myself, but it would provide a healthy dose of B vitamins, which are known mood-enhancers.’

‘I think it will take more than a carrot to make me feel better,’ said Alice.

‘Two carrots and a beetroot,’ said Zelda. ‘On wholegrain.’

Alice couldn’t help but smile. ‘See,’ said Zelda. ‘It’s starting to work already.’

‘Thank you,’ said Alice. She put her head in her hands. The smile hadn’t felt right. Not with her grandpa gone.

Zelda clattered around some more and then slid a plate across the wobbly dining table, with a sandwich on it so full it looked like it was about to tumble over.

‘I’m not hungry,’ said Alice.

‘Of course you are,’ said Zelda. ‘Eat.’

Alice nudged the sandwich, then felt her mouth begin to water and her stomach growl. It would be rude to waste the food, she decided, and picked it up, taking a bite.

‘That’s better,’ said Zelda. She was silent for a moment. ‘Do you know what I think about death?’ she asked.

Alice shook her head.

‘Eat your sandwich, then I’ll tell you.’ Zelda brought her a cup of milk, telling her it was for the calcium.

Alice wolfed down the sandwich, realising as she went how hungry she was. When she’d finished, she looked at Zelda. ‘Go on,’ she said.

‘People die,’ said Zelda, sitting on the chair opposite. ‘But that’s not the end.’

‘It’s the end for them.’ Alice took a small sip of milk. It tasted like childhood.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Zelda. ‘It’s a change in state, that’s all.’

‘From alive to dead,’ said Alice.

‘You’re grieving, so I’m going to overlook the facetiousness,’ said Zelda.

‘Finish your milk and listen.’ Alice took another sip.

‘You know that your body is made from cells, and cells are made from atoms, and atoms are made, like everything, from protons, neutrons and electrons. Those are never destroyed. They move around, they realign. They convert. They don’t disappear.

The matter that makes up you and me today has been around since the universe began, and it will be around till the universe ends. ’

‘If it does end,’ said Alice, finding herself drawn in. ‘It could expand and contract for ever.’

‘Exactly,’ said Zelda. ‘Matter is simply rearranged. Dinosaurs and ferns that lived millions of years ago have been turned into oil and power our cars today. The water that is in our kitchen tap could have come from a meteor collision while the earth was still being formed. The moon shares so much matter with the earth that it could once have been a part of it. But it’s not now.

It’s changed. Is the fact that it’s now the moon bad, or is it just different? ’

Alice didn’t say anything.

‘It’s different and it’s beautiful and I know it’s sometimes a pain when you’re stargazing, but would you want it any other way?’

Alice shook her head.

‘Things change,’ said Zelda. ‘Particles realign. People die. I’m looking forward to when my body can finally rejoin the soil, decompose, be pressed over millions of years until it forms rock again.

Or gas, or oil to power the ants’ spaceships.

It will be a new life, a different life. ’ She paused. ‘A relief.’

Alice reached out and took her friend’s hand.

‘Your grandpa was old,’ continued Zelda. ‘He was tired. He didn’t always know who he was. Now he’s at one with the universe again. It’s where he should be and where we’ll all be one day.’ She stopped talking.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Alice, looking at her friend.

‘Yes,’ said Zelda. ‘Did that help?’

‘The theory or the sandwich?’ asked Alice.

‘Either.’

‘Yes.’ Alice reached out and hugged her. Zelda flinched a little, as she always did. Usually Alice avoided touching her, knowing she disliked it. But today she needed a hug from her friend.