Authors: Helen Douglas
‘No. I’m working late tonight.’
‘I need a job,’ I said. ‘On the spaceport. Right away.’
He frowned. ‘Is everything all right? You seem –’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, interrupting him. ‘You said you could probably get me a job on the spaceport and I would like to take you up on that offer. And I’d like to bring a friend as well.’
‘There are vacancies for kitchen staff. But they tend to get filled very quickly. How soon could you start?’
‘Right away.’
‘Let me just check the transport schedule.’ He moved away from the screen for a minute. ‘This is probably too soon for you,’ he said when he came back on-screen, ‘but there is a transport leaving at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. The next one after that will be in two weeks’ time.’
Two weeks would be too late.
‘Tomorrow is good.’
‘You would need to be at the New Marseilles spaceport four hours in advance for medical clearance and security. And you’ll need papers.’
‘How do I do that?’
Ben scratched his head. ‘I can get temporary papers for you. You’ll be allowed to work for a couple of weeks until we get full security clearance. Kitchen work only requires low level security so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll ping the papers to New Marseilles for you right away. You’ll pick them up at Customer Services. What’s the name of your friend?’
‘Pegasus Ryder.’
I thanked Ben and hung up. It was going to be a tight schedule. I searched through the one closet in the apartment until I found a suitcase. It was old and battered, hidden under a pile of racquets and sports shoes. I pulled it out and dragged it into the bedroom and on to the bed. My pile of clothes was pretty small. There was plenty of room for Peg’s. Momentarily I considered letting him pack his own clothes, but I quickly changed my mind. He’d be exhausted by the time he got home. He’d want to sleep for a few hours before we drove down to New Marseilles. I’d need everything ready to go. I worked my way through his chest of drawers, blushing slightly when I reached his underwear, grabbing handfuls of clean clothes. I zipped up the case and left it by the foot of the bed.
It was three in the morning when Peg showed up. He stood in the doorway, his hair soaked, his clothes drenched. Water pooled on to the floor. The thin cotton of his white T-shirt was almost transparent; it clung to his skin so tight I could see the shape of his muscles beneath it.
‘You waited up,’ he said, a tired smile lighting up his face.
I nodded. ‘Of course.’
I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it to him. ‘Dry off.’
Peg rubbed the towel over his hair and neck, then strode towards the bedroom, pulling his wet top over his head as he went.
While he changed, I paced the room nervously. He might take some convincing. My plan was sketchy at best. I wasn’t sure how many more favours I could expect.
‘Are you planning to kick me out?’ said Peg, as he came back into the living room. He was shirtless. ‘Or are you just stealing my clothes?’
‘Guess again.’
‘Well, my chest of drawers is empty and my clothes are in a suitcase by the bed. Are we going somewhere?’
‘We are,’ I said, trying to hide the smile from my face.
Peg looked at me doubtfully. ‘So where are we going?’
‘How would you like to work on the Inter-Planetary Spaceport?’
Weariness was written all over his face. ‘It’s the middle of the night. We just failed to rescue Orion. Why are you talking about jobs on the spaceport? Can’t we just sleep?’
‘There’s no time for sleep. We have to move on to Plan B. Ryan’s going to be transported to the moon via the spaceport, so we have to be on the spaceport if we’re going to rescue him.’
Peg sighed. ‘You don’t just show up at the spaceport and ask for a job.’
‘I have temporary work permits for you and me to work in the kitchens. And I have reservations for the two of us on a transport ship leaving New Marseilles this afternoon.’
‘Are you serious? How did you do that?’
I smiled. ‘I told you I have a contact on the spaceport. I asked for a favour. I thought our angle could be that we’re a new couple and we want to start over somewhere new where I won’t get hounded by the press all the time.’
He ran a hand over his face. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘I’ll never give up.’
‘Why are you doing all this?’ he asked, his voice low. ‘Because you love him or because you think you owe him?’
‘Both.’ I bit my lip. ‘I don’t expect you to come with me. I just know I’ll have a bigger chance of success with you there as well. You said you wanted adventure.’
Peg collapsed on to the couch. ‘Tell me your plan.’
Sunday morning at the Peacock Feather in Lakeborough. Exactly two weeks since my first meal there. I was jittery from too much coffee and not enough sleep, so I ordered an orange juice and a plate of potato cakes to settle my stomach.
I sat in the same seat as last time, one by the window with a clear view over the streets outside. The storm had passed, but the sky was still low and threatening. A dozen paps were gathered outside the diner, attempting to film me through the window, but I knew the smoked glass would make their pictures pretty worthless. Clarence had said he would meet me at eight. By nine o’clock he would be on his way to New Marseilles to help with his father’s election campaign. By nine o’clock, Peg and I needed to be on the road too, if we were to get to the spaceport in time to clear the medical and security checks.
I checked the time on the clock by the front door: eight fifteen. I hated relying on other people, but I couldn’t do this on my own. For the hundredth time I wished I’d got round to buying a port-com; I had no way of contacting Clarence to find out why he was running late and he had no way to contact me.
The waitress brought me a plate of potato cakes – thick pancake-shaped discs flecked with browned onions and oozing with oil. I ate quickly, checking for signs of Clarence between bites. Outside, shopkeepers were pulling up the metal shutters on their storefronts and turning on the lights inside their shops.
Eight thirty. At four o’clock, when Peg had gone to bed, I’d made him set his alarm for now. Half an hour to dress, grab something to eat, convince Lyra to help us and pick me up. He’d been exhausted. What if he slept through the alarm? We couldn’t afford to lose an hour. It was a two-hour drive to New Marseilles if the roads were clear. We had to be there by noon at the latest. I should have borrowed his port-com; I could have called him to make sure.
I finished my potato cakes and pushed the dirty plate to one side. Time was moving too fast and too slow. I ordered another juice. The diner was beginning to fill. The oil had clogged the inside of my mouth, but the juice was too sweet to be refreshing. I longed for a toothbrush and toothpaste to scrub away the stale coffee taste. I wanted to shower. Most of all I wanted to sleep.
A sleek black limousine pulled up outside the window and Clarence climbed out of the back. He was wearing a pale grey suit, freshly pressed, and his hair was neatly slicked back. Dressed for the campaign trail. I checked the clock: eight fifty-five. He was nearly an hour late. The car stayed put. My guess was that Mrs Wolfe was in the back, waiting for her son before they both headed for New Marseilles.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Clarence, sliding into the seat next to me. ‘My mother made me wait for her. It’s a big day for Dad. I’ve only got a few minutes.’
‘I wanted to apologise for last night,’ I said. ‘I left you on the beach. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘I should be the one apologising,’ said Clarence. ‘I have no idea what happened. I just passed out.’
‘If I’d known it was going to rain, I would have asked someone to help me bring you inside,’ I said. ‘But I thought you’d probably just sleep it off.’
He rested his hand on my arm. ‘As soon as I get back from the campaign trail, I’ll make it up to you.’
‘That sounds great.’
‘I should go,’ he said, taking back his hand and pushing himself up.
‘Clarence, wait. I have a favour to ask you.’
He sat back down again.
‘My friend Lyra is going to the University of New Hampshire in a few weeks as a journalism major. Right now she’s interning at the
Lakeborough Times
and trying to write a story about the rich kids of Lakeborough.’
‘Yawn.’
My stomach twisted. ‘I know. So, last night I told Lyra about your dad’s campaign and the trip to the moon with Ryan. She’d love to be able to go along too. It would make a great story.’
‘You spoke to Lyra last night?’
‘She drove me home from the Institute.’
Clarence began inspecting his fingernails. ‘You may not know this, Eden, but Lyra Thornhill dated Orion for a year or more. Has it not occurred to you that she may still have feelings for him?’
‘It has occurred to me.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Ryan and I were friends. But . . . well . . . some people are a lost cause.’
A lazy smile spread slowly across his face. ‘You’re right about that. Now I really have to go.’
My throat clenched. ‘I told her you probably couldn’t make it happen.’
Clarence looked at me, his eyes blazing confidence and arrogance. ‘I
could
make it happen.’
‘Really? Your dad would listen to you if you asked?’
‘Of course. But why would I want to do anything to help Lyra Thornhill?’
‘Because her other idea is a bit ordinary. She was telling me she had some information about a drink-driving cover-up. Someone well known.’
He drummed his fingers on the table and frowned. ‘She said that?’
‘Yeah. But I think she’d do better to write about Ryan. I mean, his story is much more interesting. I think that if she had access to a story like that, she’d drop the other one completely.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll call my father’s personal assistant from the car and get Lyra’s name added to the passenger list. But make sure she knows I helped her out.’
‘I will.’
He leant forward and smoothed my hair. ‘If I do this for you, what are you going to do for me?’
I blinked slowly and forced myself to smile. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘When I get back from the spaceport, I’m taking you to my family’s home in Quebec for the weekend. Just the two of us.’
‘Can’t wait,’ I said.
The wipers whipped across the windscreen, but they couldn’t keep up with the water pouring from the sky. Thunder rumbled from the other side of the mountain.
We were on the expressway just outside Lakeborough and the traffic had slowed to a crawl.
‘We get a lot of localised thunderstorms here in the mountains,’ said Peg. ‘Once we get past the rain, things will speed up a bit.’
‘How long a drive is it?’ I asked.
‘Two hours on a good day. Bad weather, traffic, it’ll take longer.’
The battery on my old phone had long since died; I had no way of knowing the time. I couldn’t see a clock on the dash.
‘It’s half nine,’ said Peg. ‘We’ll need to be at the check-in by noon. So we’re cutting it fine.’
‘We have to make it,’ I said.
Forked lightning split the sky and thunder bellowed overhead. Why couldn’t Fate just work in my favour for once? The cars ahead of us slowed down even more. There were six lanes on the expressway, but each one was solid with nose to tail traffic, crawling along at twenty kilometres an hour.
‘Can’t you just drive on the hard shoulder all the way to New Marseilles?’ I asked.
Peg pulled a face. ‘You can’t drive manually on the expressway. We just have to be patient. When the storm passes, traffic will speed up.’
‘What if it doesn’t pass in time?’ I said.
He scanned on the traffic news and we listened as the announcer reported on all the lane closures, accidents and heavy traffic in the area.
‘Do you think the weather will delay the flight?’ I asked, groping for a glimmer of hope.
He shook his head. ‘There’s no weather in space. Not the sort of weather you’re talking about, anyway. And we’ll be portalling off the planet.’
We inched forward, close to the next exit off the expressway.
‘Is there an old road? A road used before this one was built?’
Peg shrugged. ‘I suppose there might be.’
‘Have you got a map?’
He reached across me to the passenger glove compartment, pulled out his port-com and dragged a few icons across the screen. ‘Here you go.’
It was open to a page that showed our location in relation to Lakeborough. I zoomed in close and searched for smaller roads. It looked like there was one. It ran almost parallel to the highway, though it was less direct.
‘Take this exit,’ I said.
‘An old road might be longer and slower,’ said Peg. ‘If we stay on the expressway, eventually traffic should speed up.’
‘You can drive manually on the old road, right?’