‘Megara 1,’ Grandad said, putting on his smoothest American accent, ‘you’re good at one minute.’

‘Roger,’ I replied. Grandad and I were always watching NASA documentaries so I knew exactly what to say.

‘Megara 1, this is Houston. You are go for staging.’

‘Inboard cut off,’ I said, tapping buttons randomly, ‘staging and ignition.’ At that exact moment a deep growl burst out and I realised Mum had turned on the vacuum cleaner. Its roar filled the cardboard rocket. I felt my heart speed up with excitement and I tightened my grip on the keyboard.

‘Megara 1, this is Houston!’ Grandad shouted to be heard over the vac. ‘Thrust is GO. All engines. You’re looking good. This is ten seconds and counting.’

‘Ten,’ I called out, ‘nine … eight …’

Grandad and Mum joined in. ‘Seven … six … five …’ Then one of them started shaking the rocket around.

‘Mum!’

‘What is it?’ Her face appeared at the cut-out window.

‘I’m scared!’

She reached through the window and took hold of my hand. Her silver rings pressed into my skin. ‘Don’t be scared, Meg. I’m here.’

‘Four … three … two … one …’ continued Grandad.

‘All engines running,’ I said, then I slammed my finger down on the green button. ‘Launch commit!’

‘Lift-off!’ shouted Grandad. ‘We have lift-off!’

Mum let go of my hand and disappeared.

The vac roared, the rocket shook wildly from side to side and I was leaving Earth and shooting into deepest space!

TWO

Eight years later. Back on planet Earth.

Before I get my breakfast, I make sure everything in my bedroom is just right.

I smooth down the duvet, push the chair under the desk and turn my globe so England is facing the sun. Then I get a red pen and cross yesterday off my homework timetable. Good. If I spend a couple of hours working on my speech tonight then I’ll be right on track. I don’t believe in luck or superstition, but before I leave the room I take a moment to glance at my picture of Valentina Tereshkova – the first woman to fly in space. Her steely gaze keeps me focused during the day.

I grab some Weetabix from the kitchen then follow the thud, thud, thud coming from the front room. Only Mum would play bass anthems at eight in the morning. I find her kneeling on the floor, blowing up a paddling pool. Sitting on the sofa is my sister, Elsa, a jammy crust dangling out of her mouth.

I turn down the music then join Elsa. I start eating my cereal, trying to ignore Elsa’s powerful wee smell. Her nappy looks suspiciously bulgy.

There’s a hiss of air as Mum pushes in a plastic stopper. ‘Looking forward to trying out our new paddling pool?’

‘Not really,’ I say. ‘Mum, we live in a flat. Why do we need a paddling pool?’

‘So we can have fun, Meg! I thought we could fill it up and pretend summer’s here.’