BooksBarbecue
Back Stargazing for Beginners Save as PDF
Contents ( 64)
  1. A Letter from the Author
  2. ONE
  3. TWO
  4. THREE
  5. FOUR
  6. FIVE
  7. SIX
  8. SEVEN
  9. EIGHT
  10. NINE
  11. TEN
  12. ELEVEN
  13. TWELVE
  14. THIRTEEN
  15. FOURTEEN
  16. FIFTEEN
  17. SIXTEEN
  18. SEVENTEEN
  19. EIGHTEEN
  20. NINETEEN
  21. TWENTY
  22. TWENTY-ONE
  23. TWENTY-TWO
  24. TWENTY-THREE
  25. TWENTY-FOUR
  26. TWENTY-FIVE
  27. TWENTY-SIX
  28. TWENTY-SEVEN
  29. TWENTY-EIGHT
  30. TWENTY-NINE
  31. THIRTY
  32. THIRTY-ONE
  33. THIRTY-TWO
  34. THIRTY-THREE
  35. THIRTY-FOUR
  36. THIRTY-FIVE
  37. THIRTY-SIX
  38. THIRTY-SEVEN
  39. THIRTY-EIGHT
  40. THIRTY-NINE
  41. FORTY
  42. FORTY-ONE
  43. FORTY-TWO
  44. FORTY-THREE
  45. FORTY-FOUR
  46. FORTY-FIVE
  47. FORTY-SIX
  48. FORTY-SEVEN
  49. FORTY-EIGHT
  50. FORTY-NINE
  51. FIFTY
  52. FIFTY-ONE
  53. FIFTY-TWO
  54. FIFTY-THREE
  55. FIFTY-FOUR
  56. FIFTY-FIVE
  57. FIFTY-SIX
  58. FIFTY-SEVEN
  59. FIFTY-EIGHT
  60. FIFTY-NINE
  61. SIXTY
  62. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  63. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  64. ONE

For the next hour, I lie next to her, obsessively touching her forehead and checking her body to make sure she’s not got any rashes and slowly, slowly, her temperature drops. Eventually she drifts off to sleep. As I listen to her ragged breathing, I find myself thinking about what Grandad said. What if he’s right? What if Mum can’t help putting herself first and going off and leaving us because that’s what happened to her when she was little? If that’s true, then does that mean that I’ll be like that when I grow up? No, I think, because I’ll never have children and that way I’ll never make anyone feel as scared as I feel right now.

I look at Elsa. Her arms are flopped above her head and she’s stretched out like a starfish.

A horrible thought creeps into my mind. What if it’s too late to stop the pattern? What if I’ve already become that person who turns away from people? I remember what Ed said, about how I ‘never even crack a smile’, and how I refused to let Grandad come and stay round here. I feel a tightness in my chest and I stroke Elsa’s damp hair off her forehead. I thought my loneliness was temporary, but what if I’ve got it for life?

I put my finger back in Elsa’s hand. Even though she’s fast asleep, her fingers curl around it and hold on tight. It feels like she’s never going to let go.

We must fall asleep like that because when I wake up a bit later, we’re still holding hands. I ease my finger out of her grasp then put her back in her cot. The thermometer says her temperature’s down to thirty-eight, so I put a blanket over her and stand there looking down at her.

Suddenly, there’s a bang and a clatter as Pongo and Grandad come into the flat.

‘Sorry I’m late, love,’ Grandad says as he bursts into the room. His cheeks are rosy red and he brings a bit of the cold night air in with him. ‘I was out for longer than I realised, then I discovered one of the chickens had escaped –’

‘Shhh!’ I say, nodding towards Elsa.

‘Ah, been sleeping the whole time, has she?’

I think back over the trauma of the past few hours. ‘Kind of,’ I say.

‘I thought I’d make us fried egg sandwiches – Pongo didn’t catch a rabbit or a squirrel – and that I might stay here tonight, help you keep an eye on Elsa. What do you think?’

I pull Elsa’s blanket up so that it’s covering her hands. Then I turn and look at Grandad. ‘I think that’s a really good idea.’

THIRTY-EIGHT

I wake up the next day to find the electricity turned off and Grandad trying to mend a broken light in the living room. Once I’ve helped him fix the light, and Elsa’s woken up happy and cool, Grandad goes home to look after his chickens, leaving a trail of destruction behind him – newspapers are scattered across the kitchen floor (he went through the recycling searching for a crossword), my toolbox is tipped over in the front room, and mud and leaves are scattered over the carpet from his walk with Pongo.