The Space Between the Stars

by Anne Corlett

  “Okay?”

  “Fine.” It sounded snappish, and she tried for a smile to soften the effect. It felt like a grimace, stretched across her face. She was all over the place. It was late, and the lights were . . .

  “Jamie?”

  Her head jerked up. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She took another numb-footed step forward, blinking in the glare.

  “Jamie.” Footsteps clattered on the gangway, and a figure loomed in front of her, backlit into a monochrome blur. It moved closer, resolving itself into a familiar shape.

  Marc.

  The name dropped into her memory where it hung, detached and meaningless, a label for a stick figure she’d drawn one day and cast aside.

  He took another step, growing more solid.

  Marc. Tall, dark-skinned, with a light brush of stubble that used to snag against her face when they kissed. They’d worked together years ago, and then he’d moved over to an administration job, finishing up in Daniel’s division. Their brief fling had been over long before she met Daniel. It had been one of those fleeting attractions that falls away swiftly and cleanly, leaving no ill feeling behind.

  “My God, Jamie.”

  As he pulled her into a hard hug, her arms hung limp by her sides. He’d held her before but she couldn’t remember how it had felt. Maybe it hadn’t been real at all. Or maybe it had happened to someone else. He let her go, taking a step back to look at her.

  “When I saw your name on the list just now, I couldn’t believe it. We never . . .” He stopped and rubbed his face. “Sorry. It’s just . . . it’s good to see you.”

  Jamie nodded. All the words she thought of saying were the wrong shape in her mouth.

  Marc glanced down the gangway. “Daniel should be here any minute,” he said.

  Except he hadn’t.

  Of course he hadn’t said it. It was her racked imagination sliding Daniel’s name into the space between his words. She tried to focus, but Marc was still talking.

  “I sent someone with a message as soon as I saw the list. Then I had this awful thought, what if it’s someone else? The same name but not you.”

  “Daniel?” Her voice sounded muffled, and she tried again. This time his name caught in her throat, and she had to stop and cover her mouth with her hand.

  “He’s on his way now.”

  “From Earth?” She was talking as though it were real.

  Jamie suddenly realized that she’d never truly believed that he was alive. It had only ever been a distraction, something to stop her from having to look at what was left of her world, her life.

  Marc laughed. “Earth? No. He’s here, at the headquarters.”

  It wasn’t real. He must be talking about something else, but she’d blocked it out somehow, replacing it with another version of this world in which Daniel was alive, and here.

  “He was going to Earth.”

  “He only got as far as Earth station when the landing embargo kicked in. He was turned back.”

  Her mind was working too hard to fill in all those details, desperately searching for a reason why he might have beaten the statistics. You had to get the details right, or you couldn’t relax into the fantasy. Something would trip you up.

  “No.” There. She was back on script. That was what she’d be saying if he was telling her that Daniel was dead.

  Zero point zero zero zero one.

  She took a step back, colliding with someone behind her.

  “Jamie . . .” It was Lowry, but she couldn’t focus on what he was saying, because there were footsteps on the gangway again, and a figure coming closer.

  “Jamie?”

  Zero point zero zero zero one.

  “Jamie.” As the figure rushed forward her arms came up and she turned, so that they collided, awkward and side-on, her elbow digging against his ribs, her jaw pressing against his shoulder.

  Daniel. She wasn’t sure if she said it out loud or not, but it didn’t mean anything. It had no connection with the arms around her and the body pressed against hers.

  His hands were on her face, tipping her head up to look at him. She could feel his breath on her cheeks and see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes.

  Too close. She put her hands against his chest. He dropped one hand and folded his fingers over hers, misunderstanding her gesture. She was numb, cold in his arms.

  “Jamie.”

  She looked up. There were tears glinting on his lashes as he leaned closer, his lips feeling for hers. She turned her head, so that the kiss fell on her cheek.

  She was out of step, out of sync.

  He folded her close again, her face pressed against his chest. He was saying something, but it was muffled. She shifted, turning in his arms so that she could look past him. Callan was watching them, his expression unreadable, and when their eyes met, he looked away.

  Callan’s reaction snapped everything into focus. If someone else could see them, then this was real. He was real. He was here.

  She stepped back out of his embrace. “How are you here? I was going to Earth.”

  “I didn’t make it.” He took her hand, turning it over to stroke her palm. “And I knew if there was any hope of finding you, it would be back here.”

  “No.” She wasn’t making him understand. “I thought you’d go to Earth. To Northumberland. We said we would. If . . . Don’t you remember?”

  He stared at her, blank incomprehension in his eyes, and then he laughed.

  “Oh God, that old joke.”

  “I was looking for you.” Jamie thought it needed saying again.

  “Well, you found me,” he said, and smiled. “By accident, it seems.”

  She was about to argue, to remind him that they’d agreed, but there were conversations overlapping all around her, and she couldn’t focus. Callan was talking to a man with an e-pad. Gracie was checking something over by the doors. Lowry and Rena were standing with another couple of people. Lowry was smiling, but Rena was turned half away, her arms wrapped tightly across her body. The man with the e-pad nodded at Callan, then walked over to Jamie and Daniel.

  The man glanced at his pad. “Jamie Allenby?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve come in from . . .”

  “Soltaire,” Daniel answered for her.

  “Oh, yes. One of the smaller settlements. Three of you from there, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any chance that anyone else survived?”

  “We didn’t find anyone, but we only checked the area around the port.”

  The man frowned and seemed about to ask another question, but Marc stepped up beside them, giving Daniel a quick slap on the back that set Jamie’s teeth on edge. There was something congratulatory about it.

  “Look, it’s late,” he said. “Let’s debrief in the morning.” He turned to Jamie. “We’re putting new arrivals up in the conference wing for now. We’ve still got a few rooms free.”

  When Daniel’s arm tightened around Jamie, Marc smiled. “Guess you won’t be needing one. Why don’t you two turn in for the night? I’ll get everyone else settled.”

  Jamie hesitated, watching Marc walk away toward Callan and Gracie, but when Daniel squeezed her arm and said, “Come on,” his voice low and tender, she couldn’t think of a good reason to linger.

  She followed him out of the ship and down the gangway.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Daniel had a suite on the top floor with a bedroom, small sitting area, and spacious bathroom.

  “Perk of an administration job,” he said, when he saw her looking around. “We figured we’d probably be needed here for a fair while, so we might as well be comfortable.”

  We?

  They stood for a moment, not speaking.

  “Why don’t you take
a bath?” he said, eventually. “I assume things on the ship were pretty basic. You were lucky that Callan guy was in the area, mind, or you’d still be stuck on Soltaire.”

  Jamie looked away. “There must be plenty of people in that situation.”

  “I know. We’re going to send out search parties, but we’re short of ships and people to fly them. And we need to keep an eye on fuel supplies. It’s going to take careful planning.”

  “Couldn’t you send a ship out to transmit messages?” Jamie said. “Let people know it’s not just them? I nearly . . .” She stopped. She couldn’t talk about that.

  Daniel shook his head. “We don’t want to waste fuel. Better to wait till we’re ready to start picking people up.”

  Jamie didn’t have the energy to argue. She’d speak to someone tomorrow.

  “It’s late,” Daniel said gently. “Have a bath and then we’ll go to bed.”

  It was cold in here, the air-conditioning turned down low. That was why there were goose bumps suddenly brushing her arms. She went into the bathroom and closed the door, making sure the lock clicked as quietly as possible. Then she filled the sharp-edged marble bath with scalding hot water before trickling the cold in, until it was just cool enough for her to lower herself in, millimeters at a time.

  She usually took long, lingering baths, but tonight she couldn’t settle, climbing out after just a few moments, when steam was still rising from the surface. She dried herself on one of the soft towels, then hesitated over her clothes. She couldn’t very well put her filthy shirt and trousers back on, but her other things were still on the ship.

  She shoved her hair back. This was Daniel. He’d seen her naked a million times before. But not for a long time. After the baby, it had taken a while for her body to return to its prepregnancy shape, as though it was reluctant to let her forget. She’d fallen into the habit of covering up, sleeping in a T-shirt. It hadn’t been shame at her changed body. There was something solid and visceral about her half of their shared loss. It was written in the fine silvery lines on her stomach, and soaked into the blood that seeped from her, steady and pitiless, for those first weeks.

  The bathroom floor was cold beneath her bare feet. She had to go out there.

  She eventually slipped her shirt on, half buttoned. Then she opened the door.

  Daniel was lying on the bed, reading something. As she came out of the bathroom, he sat up, dropping the pad to one side. She didn’t know how to move or what expression she should be wearing. She looked around the room, putting off the moment. There were a few things from their flat on the sideboard. The digital frame with the pictures of his family. The abstract sculpture she’d bought him a few years back. Some of his books. She ran her hand along the titles. The Bone Clocks. That was hers. And the pewter bowl overflowing with odds and ends, that was hers too.

  “I brought some of your things.” He stepped up behind her. “Just in case. Everything else is still at the apartment.” His lips brushed the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. “I never gave up on you.”

  His hand was sliding up under her shirt, stroking her ribs, just brushing the underside of her breast.

  She should turn and kiss him. Once she’d kissed him, she’d remember how this worked.

  When she edged around to meet his gaze, he smiled and lifted his hand to brush back her hair. As his mouth came down on hers, she felt a flutter of panic. She couldn’t remember how they used to kiss.

  He took a step, easing her back toward the sideboard, his hands on her hips. She gave way, letting him lift her up onto the cold polished wood, one knee caught up between their bodies. He shifted, using his hip to gently push that leg to the side, so he could move in closer. His hands were tugging at her shirt, and she lifted her arms, letting him undress her.

  When he dropped his head to kiss her breast, she brushed her hands over the soft burr of his hair. That touch carried memories, familiarity, and it brought a brush of relief. She knew the way from here. She even felt a faint flicker of arousal. But was it enough?

  There’d been a time when every corner of their apartment had been home to some aspect of their desire. The sofa, the table, the sun-soaked carpet in front of the window, where any passing hovercraft could see them.

  Now the wood was cold beneath her bare skin, and she wanted to be in bed. She didn’t know him well enough for this. Not anymore. It was as though they’d only just met, and people who’d only just met hid their awkwardness beneath the forgiving covers. They didn’t have sex on sideboards, unable to contain themselves for a moment longer.

  She dropped her hands to his chest, pushing him away. When he looked at her, hurt flaring behind his eyes, she found a smile she hoped would fit and said, “Let’s go to bed.”

  They made their separate ways across the floor, and she slid in beneath the sheets, turning to watch him undress. The lines of his body didn’t look quite right, as if she were trying to draw him from memory and getting it wrong. He climbed in next to her, pulling the covers right up to their necks, making a joke of it. She smiled back, blinking away the tears that were pricking behind her eyes. He knelt up, the sheet falling to his waist, and swung one leg over hers, before dropping down onto one elbow so that he could kiss her breast once again. His weight was awkward, and she shifted, pushing up with her knee. He didn’t understand, pressing down on her, one hand catching her wrists and pinning them above her head while the other moved down between her legs, fingers splayed against her thigh.

  His eyes were dark as he kissed her again, a long, tender kiss that she tried to mirror. If she kept mimicking his passion, her own would surely follow, breathing those faint embers into a proper flame. The kiss went on, until she found herself wanting to push on to the next, inevitable stage. She leaned back against the bed, lifting her hips. He felt the movement and breathed in hard, bearing down, feeling his way into her.

  There was that moment of resistance as they shifted and edged against one another, and then he was inside her, and she was arching her back, trying to remember how it felt to want this. Something was swelling hard behind her ribs, and there wasn’t room to breathe. She let out a gasp. He heard it, and drew a sharp breath of his own.

  It was too fast. Too full. The wrong place, the wrong moment, and suddenly she needed him out of her, off her, because this wasn’t what she’d thought it would be, and it was too soon, too fast, too much. This was Daniel. This was her. But it wasn’t right.

  Stop.

  He was still moving. Why hadn’t he stopped?

  She’d only said it inside her head.

  Stop.

  Still silent, not projecting beyond the confines of her skull.

  “Stop.”

  There was a fractional falter in his rhythm, but he hadn’t heard her, or perhaps he’d heard her wrong.

  “Daniel, stop.”

  This time his head came up, confusion writing itself across his face.

  “Daniel, I can’t.”

  She could see the hurt on his face, stark and livid. His weight was still pinning her down.

  “Jamie . . .”

  “Get off.” Her throat was so tight that she could barely force the words out. “Get off me.”

  She tried to pull her hands out of his grip, and for just a fraction of an instant he held on. That brief second stretched out as though time had warped around that single sharp beat, his hands still holding on to her. In that still moment, she felt a tiny click, like a small bone breaking.

  Oh God, I don’t love you.

  She wrenched her hands away, shoving him hard in the chest. As he pulled back, she twisted out from under him.

  “Jamie?” There was concern in his voice, but a hint of anger too. “What the hell?”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, tipped forward, holding herself tightly. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?” Ange
r had the upper hand now. “Can’t look at me? Can’t touch me?” He gave a humorless laugh. “Why am I even surprised? Same old Jamie. End of the world, and it’s still all about you. What you want, and don’t want.”

  She stood and walked over to pick her shirt up off the floor. The bed creaked as Daniel got up. He followed her and put his arms around her.

  “Look,” he said. “It’s late. Let’s not say anything we don’t mean. Come back to bed. Just to sleep.”

  “I can’t.” She tried to extricate herself as gently as possible. Her heart was a deadweight. She didn’t love him anymore. She was sure of that. But she had loved him. Maybe it was fatigue, or grief, but she couldn’t separate out the loving from the not loving. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could. I thought if we both made it, then . . .”

  “It would mean something,” he finished. “It does. It has to.”

  She shook her head. “It just means we both survived. And that’s not enough. Just not dying. There are all those other people out there who didn’t die. How does it mean we’re meant to be with each other, rather than with any one of them?”

  His expression changed. “There’s someone else.”

  “No.” She said it too quickly, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. “I was just . . . I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry.” He was still holding on to her. “Daniel, let me go.”

  “I can’t. You’ve got to give this a go. Let’s just try.”

  “Let go.” She had to get his arms off her.

  “Jamie . . .”

  “No.” She wrenched herself out of his grip, stumbling against the sideboard. Daniel tried to catch her, but as she twisted away from him, off-balance, her forehead cracked against the edge of a shelf.

  “Christ, Jamie.” Daniel made no attempt to touch her again. “Jesus Christ.”

  She lifted her hand to her face. It hurt, and when she looked down there was blood on her fingers.

  He was here, and she was bleeding again.