by Isabel Wolff
I sat bolt upright, eyes staring into the blackness, listening as intently as a border collie on One Man and His Dog. I’d heard something. Definitely. What was it? There it was again! The squeak of the gate. It kept stopping and starting as though someone were trying to inch it open without being heard. I glanced at the luminous dial on my clock and my scalp prick-led—it was half past two. Heart pounding, I tried to remember if I’d left the chain on the door. I’d taken it off when the carol singers turned up, but had I remembered to put it back on? I’d been exhausted, depressed and squiffy by then so there was a chance I might not have done.
I flew to the window and, careful not to touch the curtains, peered down through the tiny gap. The gate was open, but I couldn’t see anyone—maybe it had been a cat, or a fox. I watched the garden for a minute or so, then sighed with relief—whatever it was, it had gone. I switched on the light and was just about to go down and check the front door when there was a creak on the stairs. Oh God… And now another. Then another. There was someone in the house. Sick with fear I turned off the light; and a wave of panic engulfed me as I tried to think where I’d left my mobile phone. Then I remembered—it was in the kitchen, charging up. Oh fuck. I frantically searched for something I could defend myself with: a marble bookend perhaps, or an umbrella, or my alabaster bedside lamp. I wondered whether I’d be able to kick-box him, but he might well have a knife. I heard another step creak, and then another. By now I was almost crying with fear. The only reason I’d seen nothing when I’d looked out of the window was because the intruder was already inside. I had left the chain off. I had. I had! And I was about to pay with my life.
My pulse had doubled and my breath was coming in ragged gasps. I got down on the floor and rolled under the bed, trying to breathe silently through my nose: and the steps on the stairs were getting nearer and nearer as adrenaline sped through my veins like fire. My entrails were coiling and twisting and I could feel beads of sweat stinging my eyes. My heart was beating so wildly I thought it might burst from my chest. For now the creaking had stopped, and there was silence… He was standing outside my door. My chest hurt with the effort of holding my breath as I waited for the handle to turn. Please help me God, I prayed. I’m sorry I said I don’t believe in you but I had it rammed down my throat as a kid. But please I whimpered, please, please, please, please please—don’t let me die. And as I mentally uttered those words the steps restarted, then faded slightly as the intruder went into my study next door. He was in my study. He was clearly looking at stuff there, and then he’d come in here and find me. He’d come in here and find me and kill me. All of a sudden I knew what to do. I’d belt downstairs—I could be out in the street in a flash.
I rolled out from under the bed, tremblingly groped for my trainers, then waited silently for a second. NOW! I burst out of my room then hurtled downstairs, two at a time, reaching the bottom in three or four strides. I flew to the front door and pulled on it, but—oh God, oh God—it was locked! I couldn’t believe it—the evil fucking bastard! He’d locked me in—I was trapped! Hyperventilating, I fumbled in the hall drawer for the spare key—where was it? Oh God…I couldn’t find it—shit! Suddenly I heard footsteps—oh sweet Jesus!—he was coming downstairs. I’d have to escape through the back door, into the garden and over the fence. As I sprinted into the kitchen, panting like an elderly Alsatian, I could hear his descending tread. And as my shaking hand sprang to the back door handle I heard, ‘What are you doing?’ What? I whipped round.
‘What do you mean what am I doing what the hell are you doing you maniac creeping in at this time of night without telling me, I nearly fucking DIED!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Theo said. He looked stricken. ‘Didn’t you get my messages?’
‘NO!’
‘But I phoned you a few hours ago to tell you I was on my way back and that I’d be coming in late. I left two messages on your answerphone and one on your mobile asking you not to put the chain on. As it was off I assumed that you’d got them.’
‘No! I didn’t! I’d gone to bed.’ I sank shakily onto a chair, weeping now with shock and relief. ‘I’d gone to bed very early,’ I sobbed, ‘so I didn’t hear the phone. I thought you were a burglar,’ I wept, ‘or even my phone pest. I was totally terrified.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. He looked grey and exhausted. He ripped off a piece of kitchen roll and handed it to me. ‘Don’t cry.’
‘And why did you go in my study?’ I asked my voice an octave higher than usual.
‘Because you’d left a lamp on. I was trying to turn it off but I couldn’t find the switch.’
‘But what the hell are you doing here?’I asked. ‘You said you’d be back on the twenty-eighth.’
‘Well,’ he sighed. He looked at me, then looked away. ‘I…was worried about my book. There’s still loads to do so…I thought I ought to get back.’
‘So you left?’
‘Er, yes. That’s right.’
‘But you’d only just got there.’
‘I know. But I…realised I’d made a…mistake and that I should be working.’ How weird.
‘But Theo, how on earth did you get from Leeds to London on Christmas Day without a car?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I hitched.’
Chapter 8
For the past week I’ve hardly laid eyes on Theo; he’s been working hard, as have I. The house exudes the air of concentration you’d find in a college library during finals week. He’s also been uncharacteristically withdrawn since his abbreviated Christmas break. If I make a cup of tea, he waits until I’ve gone back up to my study before going into the kitchen himself. If I’m watching TV he doesn’t come into the sitting room to see what’s on as he sometimes has. He’s not interested in talking—that’s obvious: the sign round his neck says Do Not Disturb. I’ve heard his mobile ring a few times but he always keeps the conversation short. Then this evening, I heard him emerge…
It was a little after ten-thirty and I was lying on the sofa reading a letter from a swinging granny who was getting divorced for the fourth time and who was worried that her pregnant daughter might be lesbian, when I heard his tread on the stairs.
‘I’ve finished my book,’ he announced quietly.
‘Congratulations,’ I replied.
‘I went through the manuscript seven times, and each time I found more mistakes. But now I know that it’s perfect. No glitches. It’ll go off for printing next week.’
‘And when does it come out?’
‘In May.’
‘That’s a fast turnaround.’
‘I know.’ He went over to the window and parted the curtain. ‘It’s a nice night.’
‘Really?’ I murmured as I scribbled on my pad.
‘Mmm. Think I’ll go out.’
‘New Year’s Eve party?’ I enquired.
‘No. I’ve never liked the forced jollity of New Year’s Eve. I’m just going to look at the sky.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Would you like to come with me?’ he asked suddenly.
‘What?’
‘Are you up for it?’ he added with a smile. ‘It’s really clear; and the moon’s not too full so I think we’ll see quite a bit.’
‘Well…’
‘Go on. Why don’t you?’ Why didn’t I…? Good question. The swinging granny could wait.
‘Okay, I’m up for it,’ I said with a laugh.
‘But you’ll need your thermals,’ he advised me. ‘With astronomy there’s a lot of standing about.’
I put on my thickest jumper, my coat and gloves; then Theo reappeared with his binoculars and the telescope in its large black case. As we walked to Holland Gardens the pavement spangled with a sugaring of ground frost and our breath came in cushiony clouds.
‘I’ll set it up by the playground,’ Theo explained as we crunched across the ice-stiffened grass. ‘You have to have the telescope on a flat surface; if there’s even a tiny wobble you can’t see.’ As he fiddled a
bout with the tripod I sat on a swing, looking up. ‘You get a big piece of sky here,’ I heard him say. ‘And it’s really quite dark.’ This was true. Above the Lucozade tinge the sky was obsidian, and I could see scattered points of light.
‘Twinkle twinkle, little star,’ I sang softly. ‘How I wonder what you are. Up above the sky so high… How many stars are there?’ I asked him.
‘Oh, trillions, gazillions,’ he replied. ‘Numbers so vast the human brain can’t comprehend them. Just in our own Milky Way galaxy there are over a hundred billion stars—which makes our solar system equivalent in scale to nine grains of sand in a cathedral.’ Nine grains of sand in a cathedral… Wow.
‘I know so little about astronomy,’ I said regretfully.
‘Don’t tell me—it’s always gone over your head.’
‘I wouldn’t know an asteroid from a black hole,’ I replied matter of factly.
‘Well I hope you’ll know a bit more after tonight.’
‘Are you going to unveil the mysteries of the universe to me then?’ I added with a laugh.
‘I shall do my best. You know what a galaxy is?’
‘Sort of.’
‘It’s a city of stars. There are over a hundred billion galaxies in the universe,’ he went on. A hundred billion… Good God. ‘Some are elliptical,’ he explained, ‘some are irregular, and some are spiral, like ours. Our galaxy has four arms like a Catherine wheel, with a bulge in the centre. Can you see the Milky Way?’ Craning my neck, and shielding my eyes, I could just make out a very pale band.
‘I think I can see it, but it’s terribly faint—just a smear.’
‘It’s so called because the Greeks thought it looked like a river of “gala” or milk. Okay,’ he said, as he took off his glasses and peered through the eyepiece. ‘We’re ready to go. Have a look.’
I jumped off the swing, removed my right glove, pulled back my hair and peered. I felt almost faint with awe as I found myself staring at the hugely magnified face of the moon. It was as though I were standing right next to it, so clearly could I see all the craters and shadows and seas.
‘That is amazing!’ I breathed. ‘It’s just so…beautiful!’
‘It is. The moon has highlands and lowlands,’ I heard him say as I feasted my eye. ‘The highlands are covered with craters from meteorite impact billennia ago; that huge crater middle left is Copernicus—can you see it?’
‘Yes—I can!’
‘The lowlands are areas in which large craters have been filled by solidified lava to form lunar seas. That dark area above Copernicus is the Mare Imbrium, and the one next to it is the Mare Serenitas, or the Sea of Serenity.’
‘How incredible to think that we’ve been there,’ I said as I straightened up and looked at it with my naked eye. ‘I remember the moon landings so vividly,’ I went on warmly. ‘It was July 1969, and we watched it at school. It was just so thrilling wasn’t it?’
Then I remembered.
‘I wasn’t born then.’ Of course. ‘I’d love to have seen it live, like you did, but I was born in seventy-two. Right!’ he said brightly, as I stood there feeling 120, ‘let’s try something else.’ He swung the telescope to the right, fiddled with the eyepiece then said, ‘Oh yes. That’s nice. Very nice,’ he repeated tantalisingly. I wanted him to hurry up and let me see.
‘This is Saturn,’ he explained as I looked through the end. ‘It’s magnified thirty-two times, so you should be able to make out the rings.’
I bent over the telescope and a shining disc, girdled with a silvery hoop filled my field of view. ‘That is INCREDIBLE!!!’ I shouted. ‘That is incredible! My GOD!!! I can see the rings! I can see Saturn’s rings!’ I repeated disbelievingly. ‘It’s just…so magical!!’ I wanted to dance. ‘What are they made of?’ I asked as I stared at them.
‘Particles of ice most no bigger than a sugar lump. The Assyrians believed they were writhing serpents.’
‘And how big is it?’
‘Saturn’s huge. It’s a gas giant, made largely of liquid hydrogen so it’s actually very light. If you could find a bath big enough to put it in, it would float. Now…’ He removed the eyepiece and slotted in a different one. ‘This is magnified ninety-six times.’
‘Oh! How FANTASTIC!!’ I gasped as I peered through the eyepiece. I can even see the gap between the rings!’
‘That’s the Cassini division. You should be able to see the moons as well. That blob on the left is Titan, the biggest. Can you see it?’
‘Yes—I CAN!!!’
‘Saturn has eighteen moons,’ he explained. ‘One of them, Iapetus, is black on one side and white on the other; okay, let’s give Jupiter a whirl.’ I waited impatiently for Theo to move the telescope again, my face and fingers tingling with cold.
‘Right,’ he said, as I stamped my feet. ‘Take a gander at that.’
‘OOOOOHHH!!!’ I moaned as I looked through the eyepiece. ‘AAAAAAAHH!!!!!!!’ I whimpered again. ‘It’s just so amazing, Theo, and it’s ENORMOUS!’
‘It is. It’s well over a thousand times bigger than the earth. In fact it’s bigger in volume than all the other planets combined.’
‘Oh that is FABULOUS!! It’s just so…HUGE!!’
‘Rose, don’t shout,’ he whispered with a giggle, ‘people will wonder what we’re up to?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The, er, rapturous noises.’
‘Oh, sorry, but I can’t help it,’ I laughed. Indeed I felt as overawed as a blind man who’s just been given the gift of sight. I wanted to jump up and down and shout. I’d seen photos of the planets in newspapers of course, but seeing them with my own eyes was something else.
‘Jupiter’s so gorgeous,’ I said as I looked through the telescope. ‘That amazing marbling effect.’
‘That’s just gas. Jupiter spins at an incredible speed producing ever changing bands of coloured cloud. And can you see the moons?’
‘I can!!!’
‘The one on the right is Io—which is very volcanic—the one on the left is Europa, the two close together at the bottom are Calpyso and Gannymede.’
‘Calypso and Gannymede,’ I repeated dreamily. ‘What lovely names. This is heavenly,’ I breathed. ‘Literally.’ I shook my head. ‘I feel…overwhelmed.’
Theo smiled. ‘I’m glad. I often think that people who aren’t moved by the sight of the night sky have no soul. Right, let’s take a look at some stars. The Orion constellation is always a good bet at this time of year.’ He repositioned the telescope, peered into it, then stood back to let me look. ‘Can you see Orion’s belt? Those three stars in a line?’
‘Yes.’
‘Go down to the right, at about five o’clock, do you see that large white one?’
‘Mmm.’
‘That’s Rigel which is the brightest star in Orion and is sixty thousand times more luminous than our sun. Then go up a bit and to the left…can you see that fuzzy white patch around four stars in a trapezium?’
‘Yes, I can—just.’ He put in a different eyepiece, checked it, and then I looked at it again.
‘That’s the Orion nebula,’ I heard him say. ‘Basically, it’s a stellar nursery, in which new stars are being born.’
‘Baby stars!’ I said. ‘How adorable! Or are they called starlets? And how are the little poppets made?’
‘Well it’s not quite like human reproduction,’ he said seriously. ‘You don’t need a mummy star and a daddy star.’
‘You don’t?’
‘No. What happens is that a new star condenses out of a great swirling cloud of gas and dust. Gravity squeezes these clumps together and the pressure at the centre makes them heat up. Once they get to about ten million degrees centigrade, nuclear reactions begin; this releases huge amounts of energy, which causes the star to burn. They usually burn for a few billion years,’ he went on. ‘For example our sun has been burning for about five billion years and has got about another five billion or so to go.’
‘So it’s m
iddle-aged.’
‘Yes.’
‘Like me,’ I added with a sardonic laugh.
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘Not like you. Now, up beyond Orion’s left shoulder we pass a very bright star called Betelgeuse—the Americans call it Beetlejuice—see it?—then we go into Gemini.’
‘That’s my sign.’
‘Do you see those two bright stars, up there?’
‘Which ones? There are rather a lot.’
‘Here,’ he said, ‘follow my hand.’ He stood behind me, and placed his left hand on my shoulder—the sudden contact made my heart jump. Then he extended his right arm in front of me, the sleeve of his ski jacket brushing my cheek. Despite the stinging cold I felt a warmth rise up from my chest to my face. ‘Can you see now?’ he asked softly, and as he spoke I was aware of his breath, warm on my ear. Feeling strangely disconcerted, I squinted at the sky and could now see two bright stars of equal size.
‘Those are Castor and Pollux, the heavenly twins,’ I heard him say. ‘They were the sons of Leda and were transformed by Zeus into the constellation Gemini so that they would never be separated.’ I thought of Bella and Bea.
‘And Orion was the hunter, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. He boasted that he could kill any creature on Earth. But he forgot the Scorpion, which crawled out of a hole, and killed him. When the Gods brought Orion back to life and placed him in the heavens, the Scorpion was put there too, but as far away from him as possible so that the two can never meet again. Here,’ he removed a silver hip-flask from his pocket. ‘It’s brandy. Would you like a swig?’
‘Have you put all this classical stuff in your book?’ I asked him as I had a sip.
‘Oh yes. People like all the stories and myths. Do you see that winking star—over there? That’s Algol, which marks the head of the Gorgon, the snake-headed monster which Perseus slew. Algol’s actually a binary star,’ he went on. ‘Binaries look like one star from a distance, but in reality they’re two, one often brighter than the other. They orbit each other, pulled together by gravity into a kind of eternal embrace.’