Borealis

They drove through the night, the road stretching out ahead of them
into the dark, trees rising evergreen and elemental, on either side. He
stole occasional glance at her as she as she was driving. Her hand-cut
features glowed in the soft light from the dash-board.

'Shall we have some music?' They hadn't spoken for a long time and his
voice sounded odd.

'Sure.' She flashed him a smile and clicked on the radio. Sinatra was
singing 'Fly Me To The Moon' and they listened to it through to the end
without talking. When it was over the D.J read a dedication in a
lyrical Welsh accent.

'I love the way they speak here.' She was doing her best to be
cheerful. 'Reminds me of Dylan Thomas.'

'Yeah, you always go for hell-raisers.'

'Like you, you mean?' She spoke lightly but he could detect an
edge.

The woods on either side of the road were thinning out. Distant lights
glimmered at the horizon. A small town, neon-lit. He glanced, out of
habit, at his watch. It was 2.30 in the morning and the desire for
sleep was strong in him. He heart sank at the thought of the cottage.
Its cold rooms and unaired beds. But it was a chance after all. A place
where they could get things sorted, put the weeks of arguement behind
them. He brushed her cheek lightly with his hand. She brushed it away.
The sky overhead was clearing, clouds rolling away to reveal patches of
sky glittering with stars. She spoke softly, almost whispering:

'We might see meteors. Stars falling.'

He was struck by the sadness of it: Stars falling out of the black. One
bright moment then gone.

'We can make wishes.'

'Yeah.'

The bedroom was chilly so he lit a fire while she made some tea. The
kindling was damp and and smoked before catching, but eventually a
flame grew in the grate. She handed him a mug and watched the fire
grow, then flopped down into the armchair, giving him a wan
smile.

'I've brought lots of books. There's never enough time for reading.
You hungry?'

'I'd love a sandwhich.'

'Coming right up.'

They woke early. The air in the room was freezing. He ran sleepy hands
over her in the warmth of the bed, then they made a slow kind of love.
Her voice, breathless with pleasure, was wry.

'I thought we said we wouldn't do this. Yet.'

'But we like it, don't we?'

'Yeah, we like it but...'

He stopped her mouth with a kiss.

She made soup, placing the over-ripe tomatoes in the bowl gingerly as
if they were something costly. She flavoured it with Thyme and some
garlic then hacked the bread into rough slices with the old knife. She
worked silently. He watched her for a while then gazed out of the
window. The sky was cornflower blue, the leaves turning yellow on the
trees. He loved the autumn, the smell of the soup bubbling in the pan,
the healing that was happening between them. He glanced back and caught
her watching him. Her eyes glittered like cirrus.

The snow on the Welsh peaks glowed in the thickening twilight. Evening
seaped into the house, damp and smoky. They settled in front of the
fire and she picked up her astronomy book. The radio was on and a soft
jazz floated out of it into the warm air.

'Look at this.'

She handed him the book open at a picture of a star exploding. Super
nova, a million light years away. A bright point of violence in the
emptiness of space.

'Imagine being there.' Her voice was full of wonder. 'We're nothing,
are we?'

'We're something. We're us. Together'

'We're nothing.'

She took the book from his hands and went back to her reading. The
clock ticked and Ella Fitzgerald sang 'Lover Man' but a ghost had
passed through the room and the air was a few degrees cooler.

He found her standing on the lawn in the moonlight. The wind tugged at
her robe and he was sure her slim body was shivering. As he got nearer,
he could see she was still sleeping. Her eyes, glassy and blank, peered
into the distances of the sky. Her teeth gleamed between parted
lips.

'Come back to bed. You'll catch your death.'

'I've seen lights. The Aurora. On the horizon. Look.'

'I can see the stars. Just the stars. There's no aurora. Not
here.'

He took hold of her but she resisted.

'I can see it. Look'

She pointed into the darkness. The wind, strengthening, gusted around
them and he felt quite alone. As if she were part of his dream and not
real at all. When he got her back into the house she mumbled something
and squeezed his hand as she fell deep into sleep.

'You've not said anythng about last night.'

He made her some tea and grinned. Her face was pale like
limestones.

'You don't see things as I do.'

'So you do remember. You were walking in your sleep.'

'You don't see it. That's the problem...'

'But you...'

'It's not worth trying. We can't try. We should split.'

'Why? because...?

She stood, leaving her tea untouched in the mug. He watched her pack
her things in silence, feeling the tears hot behind his eyes. She left
quietly, taking the car. He could hear the sound of the engine
retreating for a long time. He poured the cold tea into the sink and
watched his finger tremble. In evening, he stepped out onto the little
lawn and stared at sky, bewildered, looking for the aurora. He couldn't
see it, could never see it. He saw only her face, the expression she
wore when she saw him with his wife.