The Half Life Of Stars Part 29

'Did you have a question about the lecture?'

'No. I didn't see the lecture.'

He has dark brown hair; wide mouth, soft skin, smart eyes.

'So?'

'So?'

'What can I do for you?'

'Are you an astronomer?'

'In my spare time. I work as a meteorologist.'

'The weather?'

'Yes.'

'So, how's it looking?'

'It's going to be clear for the rest of the night.'

'That was quite a storm earlier.'

'The edge of a hurricane, did you enjoy it?'

'I did, it was beautiful. You don't get many storms like that at home.'

I stare at him. He stares back. I like his s.h.i.+rt, it's a nice colour blue.

'I'm looking for someone.'

'Boyfriend?'

'No. Brother.'

He nods. He likes me. He's definitely single, I can tell.

'My girlfriend's over there. She's volunteering with the park rangers tonight. She might be able to help you.'

The meteorologist waves his girlfriend over, her name is Ashley. She looks like Nicole Kidman only short. Serious. Immaculate. Pretty. I feel dishevelled, scruffy, too tall.

'No, I haven't come across him,' she says, sweetly. 'But I'd be happy to help you with your flyers. I could hand some out if you'd like.'

'Thank you,' I say. 'I'd appreciate it.'

The meteorologist smiles. It's a beautiful smile.

'So, where you headed now?' he says.

'I thought I'd go out to the lake.'

'Any particular reason?'

'I don't know, it's stupid really. But I thought that my brother might be fis.h.i.+ng.'

'I'm fis.h.i.+ng, that's what I'm doing.'

'With a stick and some bread bread? That's not going to be any good.'

'Fish like like bread.' bread.'

'No they don't.'

'How do you know?'

I didn't. I hadn't the faintest idea.

'I think they might prefer meat. Or potatoes. I left some ham on my plate, shall I go and fetch it?'

'Yeah, come on. We'll both go.'

A fis.h.i.+ng pond in Cromer, East Anglia; an autumn visit to my Aunty Jarvis, mum's older sister. I don't know why we called her by her surname but we always did. Perhaps it's because she was a lesbian.

'Dad says Aunty Jarvis is a lesbian. Do you know what that means?'

'Course.'

'You reckon?'

'Yep. I know for sure. It means she has s.e.x with her dog.'

Daniel stopped in his tracks. This was something. I'd shocked him.

'Aunty Jarvis has a miniature schnauzer.' I said. 'If she's a lesbian, I imagine she has s.e.x with it it.'

Daniel coughed. He nearly dropped his makes.h.i.+ft fis.h.i.+ng rod.

'Fats, where do you even get get an idea like that?' an idea like that?'

'Mum's got this book which I thought was about gardening, but it's not. It's about this woman who lets her dog lick Pedigree Chum off her'I whispered it'her you know what you know what.'

The book was The Secret Garden The Secret Garden, by Nancy Friday: a collection of women's s.e.xual fantasies that I'd found in the corner of my mother's sock drawer while I was hunting around for The Joy Of s.e.x The Joy Of s.e.x.

'You shouldn't be reading that.'

'Why not?'

'You're too young. And for f.u.c.k's sake that's not what a lesbian is.'

'Maybe I should ask Aunty Jarvis.'

'No, Fats, I'm telling you. You'd better not.'

Back inside the house, away from the pond, my parents and my aunt talked about this and that. Their voices strained, their inflections clipped. They talked the way relatives talk.

'Can I have the ham that I left behind please, Aunty Jarvis?'

'What do you want it for, dear?'

'Daniel's made a fis.h.i.+ng rod and there's a pond outside with fish in it. We've been trying to catch them with bread, but I think sliced ham will do better.'

'Sorry, dear. I just gave the last of it to Max.'

'Your miniature schnauzer?'

'Yes.'

'You gave him my ham?'

'Yes.'

'And yours?'

'Yes, dear. I did. Max likes my sliced ham. It's his favourite.'

Daniel and I fell to the floor and howled. We laughed so hard we thought we'd throw up. They didn't know what was wrong with us; we were kids, who understands kids? Who knows what nonsense sets them off? All the way home in the car, in the traffic jams, we couldn't stand to catch one another's eye. My cheeks hurt from the strain of it. They hurt so much.

Daniel isn't fis.h.i.+ng by the lake with a rod made from a stick and some bread for bait. He isn't rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach, choked up by a joke we both made. We used to talk in those days, we used to laugh; before we came out here to Florida. It was always us and them: me and Daniel versus the world.

I stare at my reflection in the lake. I can see the whole sky, clear now and vast, glinting right above my head. I know this is the kind of place that Daniel would like. It's quiet down here, private, concealed, but still wide open to the water. This is where the serious astronomers have gathered up: people in ones and twos, chatting and charting and sharing out snippets of astronomical information. No children yelling, no Christians singing, no families setting up braziers and cooking sickly smelling burgers and buns. Perhaps I should stay here a little longer. Perhaps he hasn't arrived yet. Perhaps if I wait out here patiently and dangle my toes in the water, I'll see him trudge up the hill behind me.

'Hey Fats.'

'Hey Pinhead.'

'I'm back.'

'Where you been?'

'Here and there.'

'You want to sit down for a minute?'

'Yeah. I think I'd like to sit down.'

Some shouts from the other side of the lake. I stop daydreaming and splash water on my face. I look at my watch; it's well past midnight. I suddenly have two men to look for.

Lost in s.p.a.ce.

'You sure you don't mind me waiting up here with you?'

'No, not at all.'

'It's just, I arranged to meet my boyfriend near the park entrance. And it's so full now, I think this will be the only place he'd spot me.'

'Really, don't worry about it. You can stay up here as long as you like.'

The meteorologist's name is Connor and I'm going to watch the light show with him from up here on the lecture stage. We sit on a couple of deckchairs, sipping beer: we have the best spot in the park.

'Where's your girlfriend?'

'Out on one of the quad bikes making sure everything goes off OK.'

'Have you two been together long?'

'About a year. You?'

'Me and Michael? Uh, about a week. But we used to be married so, all in all...if you count the eight and a half weeks we went out before we got hitched...that makes it about two and a quarter years.'

Connor rubs his head.

'You two were separated?'

'Divorced.'

'And now you're back together?'

'Yes.'

Connor blinks. He shrugs. He's not going to ask me any more about it: he thinks I'm strange.

'Do you think I'm strange?'

He laughs.

'A little bit.'