The Loneliest Girl in the Universe(9)

“The ship is a spinning circle, see, Romy?” my mother had said, while I applied homemade glitter and paint. “The spinning makes everything stay on the ground instead of floating in the air. Can you point out the engines?”

I push away the memory, annoyed at my brain for reminding me of her.

I move the model from a shelf in the kitchen to a low table in the lounge area, then decide it’ll get in the way there and move it back.

I change my toothbrush to a new one, then remember I only replaced it last week. It would be a waste of resources to get rid of this one already.

I fluff up my pillows, tug the edges of the bedding straight and pick a dead leaf off the basil plant on my bedside table. I put it in the kitchen bin, ignoring that it’s overflowing already. Taking it to recycling just seems so much work right now.

Finally, I give up any attempt at productivity and sit on the floor of the lounge area. Legs dangling over the edge of the padded grey sofa set low into the floor, I eat three packets of dry cornflakes in a row, until my mouth is too parched to chew any more.

I trace my fingers over the edge of the sofa, where the shaky letters of my name are carved. I don’t remember doing it, but it must have been me.

On the underside of my bunk in my bedroom, where it folds into the wall, there are pen marks in permanent marker showing my height, with my age neatly written next to them in Dad’s meticulous handwriting.

The last time he measured me, he shook his head sadly. When I asked him what was wrong, all panicked that I was getting shorter instead of taller, he said he was worried that soon I’d be taller than him; that then I’d be the one in charge of getting things down from the top shelves.

Dad showed me how to plot my height on a graph in my maths lessons, making me work out how tall I would be when I was thirteen or sixteen or twenty, based on the graph’s prediction.

The real measurements stop at age eleven, because after that Dad wasn’t here to measure me any more. I don’t know if our predictions on the graph were right or not.

I wonder if Molly would be the kind of person to track my height, if she were here. I wonder what she’s doing right now.


That night I dream of Molly and Dad and my mother. All three of them hug me, their arms wrapped tightly around me. Their hair touches mine, and I can feel the heat of their skin, warm and comforting. I feel the tension in my muscles drop away. I’m so relieved they’re here that tears well up in the corners of my eyes.

My mother is the first to leave. She strokes my cheek, and then turns and walks away. I call for her, reach out to try and grab her arm, but she ignores me. She tugs Dad, pulling him away from me before he can even say goodbye.

I bury my face in Molly’s chest, heaving sobs that have turned cold and sharp and painful. I cling to her, and at first she holds me tight, humming calmly into my ear. Then the astronauts appear and start to surround us. I hold on tighter, but they tug her away from me.

I spin round, searching for Molly. I’m in a dark room, and there are eyes in the darkness. I can hear breathing. I can feel warmth on my skin as the astronauts slide past me.

I back away, bumping into something soft and sticky and slick. Everywhere I turn they are coming for me, pressing in closer until I’m surrounded by the stench of their rotting corpses.

I duck, trying to escape, but there are too many of them – hundreds and hundreds – burying me under their brittle limbs and— I’m alone in my bed. They’re peering through the portholes at me. They stare like they want to know why I couldn’t save them; why I didn’t help them; why I’m not good enough.

I wake up gasping for breath, shuddering in horror.

I thought I’d stopped dreaming about the astronauts. I thought the nightmares had ended years ago. I thought I was free.





DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:


358


It’s been four days and there still haven’t been any emails from Molly. After dinner I access the detector’s software to see if a message is being processed, but there’s nothing. No laser transmissions have been detected from Earth for over ninety-six hours.

I’ve never seen it so quiet in my entire life.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, worrying at a loose piece of skin.

What is going to happen if the DSN antennas don’t come back under NASA control? Is it possible that Molly might never be able to send me a message again – just because of politics?

I sit on my bunk, twisting my fringe between my fingers. I try to tell myself that Molly will be in touch tomorrow, that there’s no need to panic. Whatever political disputes stopped Molly from sending me a message, they happened more than a year and a half ago on Earth! They will definitely be fixed by now.

It doesn’t help.

I curl up in bed and watch Loch & Ness through half-closed eyes, trying to quell the feeling that something terrible is happening. I’ve got the half-real fear that creeps up on you in the middle of the night, making you think that there’s a monster in your room. The kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. But, unlike a monster, it doesn’t go away when I pull the duvet over my head.

I’m being ridiculous, I know I am.

It’s just one day. What does it matter if Molly doesn’t talk to me for one day more than she promised? I can look after myself. I don’t need her constant reassurance. I’m not a baby any more; I’m a grown-up now.