Page 5 of See the Stars

The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.

GALILEO GALILEI

A lice looked out of the train window. They were heading through the outskirts of London and had a view of suburbia’s back gardens. Trampolines, plastic slides, the odd rickety tree house.

Basalt meowed from inside his carrier on the seat next to her. He was furious at being enclosed, and hissed at her if she ventured a finger through the bars. ‘Sorry,’ she said to him again. ‘It’s not for long and then we’ll free you.’

Hugo’s phone beeped. He quickly picked it up and frowned. ‘Who’s that?’ asked Alice.

‘No one,’ said Hugo. ‘Telemarketers.’ He switched the phone to silent and put it in his pocket, then glanced at Basalt. ‘I still think we should have put him in a cattery,’ he said. ‘He’d have a whale of a time, meet new friends . . . ’

‘If I have to stay with my mum, so does he,’ said Alice. She went home as infrequently as she could get away with. She told herself it was because she was busy, which she was. But she didn’t like to go back. Everywhere she looked, she saw empty spaces where her grandfather used to be.

‘Careful he doesn’t run away,’ said Hugo.

Alice looked at him, forgetting for a moment who they were talking about.

‘Cats do that when they’re in strange places.

’ Ah yes, Basalt. Of course. ‘And he has been an indoor cat for a while now, except for our balcony.’ He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes.

Alice watched him, and wondered if he was imagining a life free from Basalt.

‘He won’t run away,’ she said, her voice confident. ‘He loves me.’ She gently stroked the box, venturing a finger through the bars again.

‘Hiss,’ said Basalt.

‘And I’ll keep him inside,’ Alice added. ‘Just in case.’

‘It would be nice to let my feet breathe,’ said Hugo, stretching out his legs, ‘without the constant threat of losing a toe.’

‘He couldn’t bite off a toe,’ said Alice, indulgently. ‘His teeth aren’t big enough.’ She thought a moment. ‘Although I suppose he could give you a scratch that could get infected. But you wouldn’t lose the toe unless gangrene set in.’

‘Lovely.’

‘Or septicaemia,’ she added, warming to her subject. ‘That could kill you.’

‘And I’m pretty sure Basalt would cover his tracks by eating my body.’

‘He wouldn’t do that,’ said Alice. ‘Your body is too tough. Maybe just your soft bits. Ears, toes, perhaps your—’

‘Maybe you’d like to leave him at your mum’s place for good,’ interrupted Hugo, with an uncomfortable laugh. ‘All that open air . . . ’

‘I couldn’t be without him,’ said Alice. ‘I love him too much.’

‘More than me?’

‘Of course not,’ she lied. ‘I would be very cross with Basalt if he ate you.’

‘You’d still keep him, though, wouldn’t you?’ said Hugo.

‘Of course,’ said Alice. ‘But he’d get no fresh chicken for a month.’ Basalt hissed from inside his box again. ‘OK,’ she conceded. ‘A week.’

‘I hope this room will be comfortable enough for the two of you.’ Sheila had on a worried expression.

Alice regretted telling her about when she’d visited Hugo’s parents’ house, where the guest room had an en suite and a duvet cover that matched the curtains.

‘I did try to get Alice to take my room, it’s not much bigger but it does have a nicer view . . . ’

‘I told you,’ said Alice. ‘We’re only staying a couple of days, then we’ll head back to London.’

‘This room is perfect,’ declared Hugo. ‘Thank you, Sheila. It’s so beautiful here.’ He smiled, and Alice saw her mother smile back warmly. ‘I can’t believe I’ve not been up to visit before,’ he added. ‘I wish I could stay longer this time.’

‘Those kids need you,’ said Sheila. ‘Such a noble profession, teaching.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Hugo, clearly pleased. ‘But it has its moments.’

‘I bet,’ said Sheila. ‘I always thought I’d make a good teacher, you know,’ she said.

‘Really?’ asked Alice, then realised that didn’t sound terribly supportive. ‘You never said.’

‘Well, I didn’t have the education myself,’ said Sheila, still addressing Hugo.

‘I didn’t go to university, you see. I had the kids young, people often did those days, and then when I .

. . found myself a single parent . . . ’ She trailed off.

‘Anyway, I worked the night shift in a factory instead,’ she said.

Hugo made a sympathetic noise.

‘It worked OK with a family,’ Sheila continued.

‘I’d leave after I’d put the kids to bed, then be back in the morning in time to make them breakfast. They had their grandpa in the house with them overnight.

By the time his dementia got worse, they were old enough to look after themselves.

’ She smiled at Alice. ‘Hand-reared, she was. Not like some of the rich kids in the big cities, raised by nannies. And look how well she’s turned out,’ she added, ruffling Alice’s hair.

‘Big job in The City, fancy boyfriend who teaches at a private school.’

‘I’m hardly fancy,’ said Hugo. He glanced at Alice, his look somewhere between pleasure and embarrassment.

Alice felt embarrassment only. ‘Great childhood, Mum,’ she muttered. She paused, feeling awkward. ‘Tea?’ she suggested.

‘Herbal for you,’ said Sheila, heading for the stairs. ‘And I’ll make it. You’ve come here to rest, not to look after your mum.’ She smiled at Hugo. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll get her back to health.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Hugo.

‘Come on,’ said Alice, needing a break from her mother. ‘Let’s have a walk round the garden. That old kettle takes an age to boil.’

The grass felt squidgy under their feet, coating Alice’s shoes in mud.

The lawn was caked in slippery wet leaves, fallen from the nearby trees that past autumn.

The plants had long since lost their summer glory, and the stems were bare.

‘Not really garden season,’ said Alice, feeling apologetic on the plants’ behalf.

In the landscaping around their flat, the plants were replaced at regular intervals, so there were always bright flowers.

‘Beats our balcony,’ said Hugo. He took a deep breath. ‘And that country air smells good.’

‘Wait till the farmers spread fresh manure,’ said Alice. She missed the city already and found herself wondering what was happening in the markets. Perhaps if she got online later, she could . . .

‘There’s nothing but fields all around,’ continued Hugo, ignoring her. ‘It’s idyllic.’

‘I can tell you’ve never lived in the countryside,’ said Alice, remembering the suburban house she’d visited. ‘There isn’t much to do in a field if you don’t eat grass.’

‘And your mum is so lovely.’

‘She has her moments,’ said Alice, though she was feeling the old irritations creeping up already. ‘And she likes you.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ asked Hugo, with a laugh. ‘Apart from Basalt, that is.’

Alice glanced back at the house. It was old and faded, the once red bricks baked to a gentle umber by the sun.

Basalt was sitting on the kitchen windowsill, staring daggers at her.

She didn’t want to let him out, because although he had supreme confidence in his own abilities, it wasn’t safe.

He could get lost, or meet a fox. And she couldn’t imagine what her city cat would make of the sheep in the field next door.

She felt Hugo’s fingers curl around her own as he took her hand. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘It’s very quiet here,’ replied Alice. ‘I forgot what quiet sounds like.’ They walked on. Alice stopped outside her grandpa’s observatory and reached her hand to the door, feeling the rough texture of the weathered wood under her fingers.

‘That’s an odd-looking shed,’ said Hugo.

‘My grandpa modified it,’ said Alice. She looked at the padlock, wondering if the key was still on its hook.

‘He was a postman, wasn’t he?’

‘That’s right,’ said Alice. ‘And a stargazer.’ She felt tears welling up, unbeckoned. It was the shed, empty without her grandfather.

‘Come on, let’s head back to the house,’ said Hugo, not noticing. ‘I can see your mum waving at us.’

‘OK,’ said Alice, quietly drying her eyes with her coat sleeve. ‘I’m getting cold anyway.’

‘Tea’s ready,’ announced Sheila. They came back in and removed their muddy shoes, leaving them on the old mat by the back door. Sheila put a teapot wearing a hand-knitted cosy on the kitchen table and gestured for them to sit. ‘Oh dear,’ she added. ‘Alice, you don’t look well.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Alice, wishing people would stop telling her that. It didn’t help.

‘I’ll get you some water.’

‘I’d like a coffee,’ said Alice. ‘And a pain au chocolat.’

Her mother went to the sink anyway and returned with a cup of water, plastic, with Alice spelled out in stars. ‘Drink that,’ she said.

‘This cup must be thirty years old!’ said Alice, touched. ‘I can’t believe you’ve still got it.’

‘Of course I have, love,’ said Sheila, with a smile. ‘It was your favourite. Now, would you like a banana?’

Alice shook her head. Basalt jumped onto her lap and rubbed his face against her, purring. Alice pushed her nose to him, sniffed, then looked at her mother.

‘He’s been at the mince,’ explained Sheila. ‘I’d already added the onions, but he didn’t seem to mind.’ She watched Alice finish the water, then, seemingly reassured, started pouring tea into her best china. ‘I’m making shepherd’s pie for dinner,’ she said. ‘Is that OK for you, Hugo?’

‘Lovely,’ said Hugo.

‘Good hearty food, that’s what you need,’ said Sheila to Alice. ‘You’re very pale.’

‘I’m always pale,’ said Alice. ‘And freckly,’ she added, a little mournful.

‘You could do with fattening up a bit, too,’ Sheila added. ‘London-thin, that’s what you are.’

‘London-thin?’ queried Hugo.

‘It’s a look,’ said Sheila. ‘Thin and rich but unhealthy. Because of the fumes.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Hugo, hiding a smile.

Alice thought about saying something about the simple equation of diet and exercise, calories consumed versus those burned.

But she found she didn’t have the strength.

Instead, she sipped her tea, feeling the warmth of Basalt on her lap as she looked at the key to her grandpa’s shed hanging on its old hook by the back door.