Stargazing for Beginners Page 15

  ‘You really like doing this, don’t you?’ he says.

  His scrutiny makes me look back down at the wires. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I love finding out how things work.’

  ‘Me too.’ He moves closer so he can hold a wire still for me. ‘That’s why I like science.’

  ‘Did you used to take stuff apart when you were little?’

  ‘All the time! My toys, my bike … Mum’s coffee machine.’

  ‘Once I noticed the DVD player was sticking so I took the back off it.’ I look back up at him. ‘I was five.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll be an engineer when you’re older.’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t think so …’ He passes me a screw and I say, ‘What do you think you’ll do?’

  ‘I’ve not thought that far ahead … Maybe I’ll mend toys.’

  I press the cow and it quacks. ‘You’ll have to get better at it.’

  He tuts and peers at the circuit board. ‘I’m sure you were doing the cow.’

  Once we’ve got all the cows mooing and the ducks quacking we put the toys back together. Ed tells me about how he once stuck a bath toy to his forehead to make his brother laugh, but when he pulled it off he was left with a suction mark. ‘It was in Year Eight,’ he says. ‘I had to walk around school with this big red circle on my forehead! Don’t you remember?’

  I shake my head. I don’t bother telling him that I was probably too intimidated by Ed and his friends to even look at him in Year Eight.

  ‘Well, I can remember something that happened to you in Year Seven,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ I feel a flutter of panic inside as I try to remember if I did anything particularly humiliating back then. When I started secondary school, I was so clueless I actually wore a ‘This girl loves science’ T-shirt on non-school-uniform day – it had two big pink thumbs pointing up at my face – and I read out my ‘Day in the Life of an Atom’ poem in assembly. But then the eye-rolling began, and the sniggering … And then Mr Harper said ‘photosynthesis’ in that voice …

  ‘You and your friend won a prize for making a go-kart,’ says Ed.

  ‘Oh, that.’ My panic slips away. That go-kart was awesome. We were the only girls in the Formula One club and our kart was so fast we were picked to go to the regional finals. ‘Yeah, we did win a trophy, but then we got beaten in the finals by a boy from another school.’

  ‘I really wanted a go on that go-kart,’ Ed says, then he tests the toy hammer by banging it on the floor. He nods to the corner of the room. ‘Does Elsa usually sleep in a dog basket?’

  I look over and see that Elsa’s crashed out in Pongo’s bed. ‘Only sometimes.’ I go and tuck a blanket round her. Pongo hardly uses his bed so it isn’t too hairy.

  Ed’s rummaging through my toolbox. ‘We need some tape.’

  ‘It’s in my room.’ I push Pongo’s nose away from Elsa. Now someone else is in his bed he wants to get in there too. ‘No, Pongo,’ I say, and he flops down next to her. I’m just giving his wiry tummy a scratch when I hear a door open … My bedroom door!

  FORTY-TWO

  I find Ed standing in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the mountain of Disney on my bed. ‘I never had you down as a cuddly toy person, Meg.’

  ‘They all belong to my mum,’ I say, ‘well, except these two.’ I pull two plush microbes out of the pile. ‘Meet E. coli and Botulism. My mum gave me these.’ I know I’m babbling, but Ed’s still staring at all the Tiggers and Olafs. He picks up a pea pod and unzips it. Three little peas tumble out. Then his eyes fall on the life-size Kristoff.

  ‘Mum’s,’ I say quickly.

  ‘I guess your Mum’s into Disney as well as fairies?’

  ‘Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m called Megara?’ He looks blank so I sift through the toys until I find the only crocheted doll. ‘Meet Megara from Hercules.’

  ‘I’ve never seen it.’

  ‘Not many people have, but everyone knows who Elsa’s named after.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he says, pulling out Mum’s biggest Elsa doll. ‘So what’s the fictitious Megara like? How come your mum chose to name you after her?’

  I look at the little crocheted doll. Mum actually got someone to make it for her. ‘I can’t remember,’ I say. ‘I’ve not seen the film for years.’ I put the mini-Megara on my bedside table. ‘Mum says she’s feisty.’

  Ed starts looking around, taking in my globe and all the space posters. ‘Who are they?’ he asks, pointing at the laminated pictures l’ve stuck to the wall.

  ‘They’re all the woman who’ve ever been into space. Fifty-nine, so far.’

  I try to read the expression on Ed’s face as he studies the pictures of suited-up astronauts. Then he goes to my desk and picks up my Russian phrase book. ‘Are you learning Russian?’

  ‘Da,’ I say.

  ‘Because …?’

  I straighten up the book he’s put down. Except for Harriet, Ed is the only person from school ever to set foot in my bedroom. Part of me wants to march him back into the living room and get him working on our speeches again, but he seems genuinely intrigued by everything – he seems genuinely intrigued by me – and I realise that I want to tell him the truth. But that’s a big step. I look up at Valentina Tereshkova and she looks calmly back at me. Just jump, her eyes say. I turn to face Ed.

  ‘I’m learning Russian because the Soyuz rockets that take astronauts to the International Space Station have control panels and instruction booklets written in Russian.’

  He stares at me. ‘So you actually want to be …’

  ‘An astronaut,’ I say, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel like I’ve just said I want to be a princess or a dinosaur. I laugh. ‘I mean, I know it’s extremely unlikely to happen …’

  ‘Why?’ He fires this back at me.

  ‘Because hardly anyone gets to do it, but I’ve got a plan B – becoming a test pilot.’

  ‘Stick to plan A,’ he says. ‘You’d make a good astronaut.’

  His words make the tingle of connection come rushing back. ‘Look up,’ I say. He tilts his head back and takes in the galaxy Mum painted on the ceiling. ‘You need to lie down to see it properly.’ I go to the bed and sweep the toys on to the floor. Ed hesitates and too late I realise what a weird thing I’ve just asked him to do. ‘She did the interstellar dust and the Perseus arm really well,’ I say quickly, deciding to go full-on technical so he knows I want him to lie on my bed purely in the interests of astrophysics.

  ‘OK,’ he says, then he lies down, crosses his feet at the ankles and stares up at the ceiling. ‘Which one is the Perseus arm?’ He shifts closer to the wall. ‘Show me.’

  Still in the interests of astrophysics, I lie next to him, making sure I leave a gap between us. ‘There.’ I point at the middle arm of the spiral that’s speckled pink, turquoise and white.

  ‘What’s the name of the arm coming right out of the middle?’

  ‘The Scutum–Centaurus.’

  He turns to look at me and suddenly all I can think about is what Annie said about sapiosexuals. ‘Ed,’ I say, trying to casually check out his pupils.

  ‘Yes?’

  Too late, I realise that you can’t casually check out someone’s pupils without staring deep into their eyes. ‘Did you know that we’re around twenty-six thousand miles from the galactic centre?’

  After a moment, he says, ‘I didn’t know that … but I do know that our galaxy is roughly one hundred and twenty thousand light years in diameter.’

  Now he’s looking at me and I’m looking at him and I haven’t got a clue what his pupils are doing because I’m so worried that mine are expanding faster than the universe.

  ‘That’s big …’

  He nods and then I realise that somehow when I turned to face him, my arm moved over and now our fingers are just touching and neither of us have moved our hands away.

  ‘Meg,’ says Ed, and his little finger sort of loops round mine. I nod, but I can’t speak because there’s a chance that
we are holding fingers. How can such a tiny force create such a powerful counter reaction inside my body? ‘I think –’

  But I don’t get to find out what Ed thinks, because there’s a scuffle of paws, a flash of grey fur and Pongo crashes between us on the bed, barking and licking our faces. I jump up as Ed tries to push Pongo away.

  ‘I heard Elsa,’ I say, then I shoot out of the room, kicking plush Winnie the Poohs and Olafs out of my way.

  FORTY-THREE

  ‘Wake up!’ I whisper, shaking Elsa’s shoulder. I can hear Ed walking down the corridor so I pick her up and rock her up and down until her eyes flutter open. Ed appears in the doorway, smoothing down his hair and straightening his shirt. I grab a book off the table. ‘I was thinking I could use this to improve my introduction.’

  ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar?’

  I look down at the book. ‘Wrong book,’ I say.

  ‘So,’ he says, not quite able to look at me, ‘why don’t you read me your whole presentation?’

  ‘OK.’ I sit down and put Elsa between us as a barrier against accidental finger touching. ‘But I can’t look at you when I do it. I’ll just read through my introduction.’ Ed nods and picks up a pen. I stare at my first card … I can’t take in a single word. Whatever happened just then has rewired my brain. Solar system, I read … Does Ed like me? G-type stars … radiation … I mean, I know he likes me – he wouldn’t have put so much effort into coming round today if he hated me – but does he like me? The material begins to heat up … Like my cheeks, right now! What is wrong with me? I have to look at him, act normal. I force myself to glance in his direction, but the moment I see his dark eyelashes, his frown of concentration, I know.

  I know that I like Ed.

  He stares back at me. ‘What?’

  An astronaut must remain focused even when potentially catastrophic events are unfolding. ‘I just remembered a YouTube film I can use,’ I say. ‘It’s about Alpha Centauri B, the star hiding behind Alpha Centauri. That’s where the Goldilocks planet might be.’

  He nods. ‘Sounds good. Let’s see it.’

  And that’s how Ed and I end up watching space films. Outside, dark clouds roll in and rain starts to patter against the window, but there’s something good about sitting on the sofa with Ed, eating crisps and watching back-to-back Hubblecasts. Usually I watch these on my own, but it’s so much better watching them with someone else. And I suppose it might seem a bit datey, if Elsa wasn’t constantly trying to force-feed us plastic fruit and eggs.

  It’s almost dark when Ed checks his phone and says, ‘I’d better go. Mum wants me back for dinner. She’s making toad in the hole.’

  I take in this little bit of information. I’ve always imagined that Ed would have things like olives and fettucine for dinner … I don’t actually know what fettucine is, but it matches his ironed shirts better than toad in the hole.

  ‘I suppose I should feed Elsa,’ I say. Right now she’s standing up on my lap, trying to suck my face. It’s what she does when she’s hungry. I hold her hands and she bounces up and down.

  Ed starts packing his books away. ‘Won’t your Mum do that?’

  ‘She’s at a festival,’ I say, forcing myself to keep bouncing Elsa.

  ‘Beb … Beb!’ she says, again and again.

  ‘Like last weekend?’ Ed’s got a look on his face that I recognise from school, the one where’s he’s working something out and getting close to the answer. I try to remember if I talked about where Mum was when we were at the science centre.

  ‘That’s right.’

  He nods and pulls on his jacket. Then he sits back down on the sofa. ‘But I thought you said she was working?’

  My heart speeds up. ‘Did I?’ For a moment, I think about inventing some job Mum could do at festivals – Thai massage or reading tarot cards, but I don’t think I can get away with lying to Ed. Instead I stop bouncing Elsa and look at him. ‘You’re going to be late for your toad in the hole,’ I say.

  He stares straight at me. ‘Meg, where is your mum?’

  ‘My mum’s in a village in Myanmar,’ I say, then I laugh because Ed looks so amazed and it’s such a huge relief to tell someone. ‘At least, I think she’s in a village in Myanmar. To be honest she could be anywhere in the world right now. She’s not exactly been keeping in touch.’

  After a moment he says, ‘When did she go?’

  ‘Nearly two weeks ago. It feels like it’s been months.’

  ‘So she’s just left the two of you on your own and gone on holiday?’

  This sounds so bad, like a headline in a newspaper. ‘It’s not a holiday,’ I say. ‘She’s working at a clinic for sick children. It was a last-minute thing. She thought we would stay at my grandad’s place, but he’s got a lot of animals and it’s messy so I decided that we’d stay here.’ Then I say firmly, ‘I’ve got everything sorted out.’

  He does this quick laugh, like he still can’t believe it. ‘So that’s why you’ve been looking so tired and acting strange at school.’ He’s got his phone in his hand and I suddenly wonder if I’ve been stupid trusting him. What if he rings Bella the moment he leaves the flat? What if he tells his parents?

  ‘Ed, you mustn’t tell anyone.’ My voice rises. ‘If people knew we were on our own here, Mum would get into trouble. They could take Elsa away from her … from me. We’re doing fine.’ My hands tighten round her and for a horrible moment I think I might cry.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  I rest my cheek on Elsa’s smooth head. ‘Mum’s back on Monday – I’ve nearly done it.’

  Elsa escapes and crawls towards Ed. When she reaches him, she makes a grab for his hair.

  ‘Has it been hard?’ he asks, wincing as her little fists tighten.

  I laugh. ‘The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.’ I hold up my speech cards. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get ready for the competition.’

  ‘I can help you. It’s what we’re supposed to be doing right now.’

  ‘You’re aiming to “totally destroy” me, remember?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he smiles and shrugs. ‘Well, my total destruction will be more satisfying if I’ve got an equal opponent.’

  I’m about to say, ‘It’s fine,’ but instead I say, ‘I want to add this bit about atomic absorption – the Beer–Lambert Law – but I’m having problems with an equation.’

  ‘I am amazing at the Beer–Lambert Law!’ he says.

  ‘You’ve never heard of it, have you?’

  ‘No,’ he admits, ‘but by tomorrow I’ll be able to write a PhD on it.’ Then Elsa kind of ruins his boast by grabbing hold of his nose and squeezing really, really hard.

  FORTY-FOUR

  It takes a while for Ed to leave. While Elsa plays with Pongo in the hallway, we stand on the balcony and Ed quizzes me a bit about the stars I see when I go up on the Downs. In the end, I get my binoculars and show him Jupiter, which is just starting to appear.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he says for the second or third time. He hands me my binoculars and walks towards the stairs. He stops at the last moment and turns. ‘Thanks for the crisps,’ he says, then he gives me a wave and he’s gone.

  I go into the flat and pick Elsa up. Then I stand with my back against the door and I smile. Elsa’s staring at me, blowing raspberries. She stops and points a finger at my mouth. ‘Da?’ she says.

  ‘I’m just happy,’ I say. ‘Really, really happy.’

  My happiness lasts all evening and is given a boost on Sunday when Ed sends me a friend request on Facebook. I accept straight away. He knows about my mum. Who cares what he thinks about my moon pictures? Annie notices this development and sends me a series of direct messages:

  Annie: Did he bring flowers?

  Me: No. Just his AQA physics textbook and a scientific calculator.

  Annie: The dirty dog! Did you test him for sapiosexuality?

  Me: Your theory is bogus. I refuse to take part in a flawed exp
eriment.

  Annie: Ooooh … I like it! Maybe I’m a sapiosexual …

  Two minutes later:

  Annie: OK, I know I sound like the type of revolting girl that I despise, but did you *kiss* him?

  This message is accompanied by a GIF of an elf vomiting a rainbow.

  Me: NO!

  Annie: So what did you do?

  Me: We made a baby walker moo.

  Annie: What? Is that code for something disgusting?

  Me: No. We literally made a baby walker moo.

  Annie: I was not expecting that.

  Me: Neither was I.

  FORTY-FIVE

  When I hand Elsa over to Dawn on Monday, I practically throw her into her arms. My last handover! Right now, Mum is on her way home. I don’t know what time she’ll get back, but she can definitely drop Elsa off tomorrow.

  I’m about to go when Dawn hands me a letter and says, ‘It’s from Christine, the manager. It’s for your mum.’

  I slip the official-looking envelope in my bag. ‘I’ll make sure she gets it.’

  ‘It’s a bill,’ Dawn says, and although she doesn’t actually smile, I get the feeling she’s enjoying herself.

  ‘I thought Mum was up to date with the fees?’ This was one of the first things I checked when Mum left.

  ‘She is, but we’ve had to charge for Elsa’s lunches. Your mum usually provides a packed lunch – she was very particular about organic food – but when she hurt her back she stopped putting them in.’

  I nod as if this isn’t news to me at all. ‘It all got a bit much,’ I say. ‘How much do lunches cost?’

  ‘Two pounds, so that’s twenty pounds your mum owes us. Really, we need it today. We have tried ringing, several times.’

  I try to remember exactly how much money Grandad and I have left. Forty pounds? Maybe not even that. ‘And Christine would like to speak to your mum as soon as possible.’ Dawn watches me closely.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, smiling. ‘She can speak to Mum tomorrow because she’ll be dropping Elsa off.’