happens when something undoubted becomes doubted?
She lets him fuck her against the fence, her skirt hurriedly pulled up around her waist, his trousers around his ankles.
Afterwards he sits in the grass and puts his head on his knees. His sobs are the sobs of a boy. She doesn’t know how to comfort him like this. She wishes she could.
I’ve found it, she says.
They haven’t moved; they are both sitting on the trampled grass by the fence.
Do you want me to show you?
He takes the binoculars from her and follows her instructions.
Nothing.
You have to keep looking. It’s very faint – look away from any nearby stars, try to see just dark space, and then concentrate.
After a while, he makes out a smudge of light that could be anything; a bit of dirt on the lens, his thumbprint.
Why London? he says.
She doesn’t answer. What answer can she give?
But you belong here, he says.
You could leave with me?
He doesn’t reply.
I mean it. After school, you could come to London too. We’ll find a whole new world, you’ll see . . .
I can’t!
She is shocked into silence by the force of his voice; he never shouts. He’s never shouted at her.
I can’t leave my dad, don’t you see? he says, quieter now, trying to find words to explain. The farm, I need to help and . . . he’s so sad. You could help, too? You do, by being here.
But Róisín knows she can’t stay, not now, couldn’t live on a farm with all this weight of silence, can’t keep on keeping a secret like this; she doesn’t want to live in the shadows, however much she wants to help.
It’s only four years, she starts to say, meaning her degree, but somehow she knows it’s going to be more than that.
This is a shite comet, he says. I can hardly see it at all, and the binoculars make a quiet thud on the grass. It’s too far away.
Give it some time, she says, hoping there might be some truth in what she is about to imply. It’s Halley’s comet; it always comes back.
AT FIRST , ALL SEVERINE CAN do is listen. She listens to their chatter and their affectionate bickering, listens as they discuss how grown up she is now: how very pregnant. She listens as they debate whothe father is and smiles when they ask her, giving nothing away, telling them nothing of her life. She falls asleep to their words and wakes up surrounded by family and at last, in her pyjamas, two days after her granny has died, she begins to ask them questions.
Where is my granny?
Oh, she’s a bit busy, pet. You’ll see her next time.
With the next comet?
Yes.
How long will I have to wait?
Days. Or maybe years. Jusqu’à ce qu’ils décident d’arrêter.
Great-Grandpa Paul-François laughs, kindly. She had his hair wrong in her tapestry; he is not a white-haired old man, he’s dark, handsome, with laughter lines around his eyes.
She promised.
You’ll see her again, if you want to.
And who are all the others?
But Great-Grandpa Paul-François has opened the closet in the hall and is having too much fun trying on Severine’s mother’s hats to reply.
She watches the comet through binoculars from their attic window. It’s faint this time, Halley’s comet, not like the comet she saw as a child.
How many days do we have left?
One or two, I’d say.
Oh, it’s you.
Hello.
Severine puts her binoculars down, turns to face Antoine.
Where have you been? she asks, sounding far more like a teacher than she intends.
Antoine smiles.
Playing hide-and-seek, he says.
With the other ghosts?
With the stars in Cassiopeia, and he turns his voice to a whisper. When we’re not here, I like to think we’re out there. Don’t you?
She looks out of the window and tries to imagine what he means.
Never mind, he grins, your granny always said I had my head in the clouds.
She tries to remember all the things her granny ever told her. Look harder, she would say, look at the world, at the sky, and always at the ground beneath your feet.
Beneath Severine’s feet there is just
She lets him fuck her against the fence, her skirt hurriedly pulled up around her waist, his trousers around his ankles.
Afterwards he sits in the grass and puts his head on his knees. His sobs are the sobs of a boy. She doesn’t know how to comfort him like this. She wishes she could.
I’ve found it, she says.
They haven’t moved; they are both sitting on the trampled grass by the fence.
Do you want me to show you?
He takes the binoculars from her and follows her instructions.
Nothing.
You have to keep looking. It’s very faint – look away from any nearby stars, try to see just dark space, and then concentrate.
After a while, he makes out a smudge of light that could be anything; a bit of dirt on the lens, his thumbprint.
Why London? he says.
She doesn’t answer. What answer can she give?
But you belong here, he says.
You could leave with me?
He doesn’t reply.
I mean it. After school, you could come to London too. We’ll find a whole new world, you’ll see . . .
I can’t!
She is shocked into silence by the force of his voice; he never shouts. He’s never shouted at her.
I can’t leave my dad, don’t you see? he says, quieter now, trying to find words to explain. The farm, I need to help and . . . he’s so sad. You could help, too? You do, by being here.
But Róisín knows she can’t stay, not now, couldn’t live on a farm with all this weight of silence, can’t keep on keeping a secret like this; she doesn’t want to live in the shadows, however much she wants to help.
It’s only four years, she starts to say, meaning her degree, but somehow she knows it’s going to be more than that.
This is a shite comet, he says. I can hardly see it at all, and the binoculars make a quiet thud on the grass. It’s too far away.
Give it some time, she says, hoping there might be some truth in what she is about to imply. It’s Halley’s comet; it always comes back.
AT FIRST , ALL SEVERINE CAN do is listen. She listens to their chatter and their affectionate bickering, listens as they discuss how grown up she is now: how very pregnant. She listens as they debate whothe father is and smiles when they ask her, giving nothing away, telling them nothing of her life. She falls asleep to their words and wakes up surrounded by family and at last, in her pyjamas, two days after her granny has died, she begins to ask them questions.
Where is my granny?
Oh, she’s a bit busy, pet. You’ll see her next time.
With the next comet?
Yes.
How long will I have to wait?
Days. Or maybe years. Jusqu’à ce qu’ils décident d’arrêter.
Great-Grandpa Paul-François laughs, kindly. She had his hair wrong in her tapestry; he is not a white-haired old man, he’s dark, handsome, with laughter lines around his eyes.
She promised.
You’ll see her again, if you want to.
And who are all the others?
But Great-Grandpa Paul-François has opened the closet in the hall and is having too much fun trying on Severine’s mother’s hats to reply.
She watches the comet through binoculars from their attic window. It’s faint this time, Halley’s comet, not like the comet she saw as a child.
How many days do we have left?
One or two, I’d say.
Oh, it’s you.
Hello.
Severine puts her binoculars down, turns to face Antoine.
Where have you been? she asks, sounding far more like a teacher than she intends.
Antoine smiles.
Playing hide-and-seek, he says.
With the other ghosts?
With the stars in Cassiopeia, and he turns his voice to a whisper. When we’re not here, I like to think we’re out there. Don’t you?
She looks out of the window and tries to imagine what he means.
Never mind, he grins, your granny always said I had my head in the clouds.
She tries to remember all the things her granny ever told her. Look harder, she would say, look at the world, at the sky, and always at the ground beneath your feet.
Beneath Severine’s feet there is just
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