Louise Wener - The Half Life of Stars: A Novel

As Daniel yawned and climbed into his fathers car that morning, he saw a poodle being dressed in a red knitted coat. Huffs of hot dog-breath sprang from the animals mouthwhite, steamy and most likely malodorouswhile its owner tightened straps and fastened collars, and swaddled its shivering belly in a layer of cloth. The animal appeared resolutely unimpressed, yelping and digging its paws into the wind-whipped sand while its master tugged patiently at its neck. Even with the benefit of outdoor clothing, it still seemed unwilling to get going.

It was January in Florida and a deep, rare chill had swept the sunshine state from coast to coast. Palm trees swayed uneasily beneath a stiff crust of frost and beaches the length of the Space Coast looked like theyd been newly dusted with sugar. The freeze extended as far south as Miami and the Keys, and the crisp cold air, loaded with the prospect of rain, reminded Daniel of winters back home. In the hours before dawn only the intrepid and the insomniacs and the crazies were out on the streets and Daniel wishedlike the dogthat he could have slunk back to the warmth of his bed.

It might not have brought him much comfort. Even safe in their houses, buried beneath their quilts, Floridians were having trouble sleeping. Old men lay awake worrying about their pets. Fruit growers worried about their oranges. Cuban migrs worried about their relatives making landfall in the sub-zero cold and hoteliers fretted about lost business. And some way to the north, in the depths of a government building, the seven loneliest people in all the world tossed and turned and called out in their sleep, their minds alive with unwelcome nightmares.

As they hit the start of the turnpike, Daniels father extinguished his breakfast cigarette. He gave an empty belch like a small cry for help and felt around in the glove compartment for a half-eaten box of Rennies. Lately hed been guzzling antacids like a newborn baby guzzles milk, and the early start had set off a vigorous bout of indigestion. So profuse were his fathers digestive juices that Daniel sometimes imagined his stomach to be awash with them: gallons of fizzing acid; pools of yellow bile; creeping up the narrow tunnel of his oesophagus until they burnt a hole right through his chest.

Excited? said his father, stuffing squares of chalk into his mouth. Its going to be pretty exciting, if it goes.

Daniel nodded.

Long drive again, though. Four hours at least. Should we stop off for pancakes, are you hungry?

Daniel shook his head.

I could eat some dry toast. Maybe well stop for some toast.

Daniel knew his father wouldnt stop. The same way he hadnt stopped the day before. Hed speed without a break all the way to Titusville, then hed buy them both a hamburger at a drive-through McDonalds. Theyd eat in the car with the radio on while his father muddled himself with directions and map-books, and complained about the illogic of American road signs. Theyd been living in Florida for close to a year now, but the exit signs still managed to confuse him.

Hey, you awake? Were almost there.

Daniel had slept most of the way. He stirred as he felt the cars engine cut out beneath him and his body snapped easily back to life. These days it took his father a full hour to escape the bounds of sleep, but Daniel was whole in mere seconds. His father examined him carefully, his pride hiding a brief spike of envy. His son the athlete: the daredevil; the championship sprinter. His son the malcontent: the back-talker; the monosyllabic mood machine.

Hows your burger?

Its OK.

Is it good, you like it?

Its fine.

Your coffee warm? Sometimes they give you a cold coffee.

Its OK, Dad. Stop asking me.

Daniels father screwed up his serviette and pointed his car eastward towards the Cape. When had his son started drinking coffee? When exactly had he made the switch from Coca-Cola? When had he decided he knew everything about the world when he really knew nothing at all?

You think its going to go this time? You think that teacher ladys going to make it all the way up to Mars?

Theyre not going to Mars, Dad.

Yeah, I know. Just testing. Just trying to put a smile on your face.

Daniel turned to stare out of the window, embarrassed by his fathers attempt at humour. How had their relationship deteriorated this far? Hed expected to be an embarrassment to his teenage sonwasnt that the fate of all fathersbut he hadnt expected to disgust him. This, then, was the purpose of their trip. Daniels mother and sisters had stayed put in Miami Beach while the two of them drove north to repair their bonds. Already, it was turning out badly. This was the second time in two days hed made the long drive up to Cape Canaveral and he was fighting exhaustion as well as his sons contempt. Yesterday theyd left Dade County even earlier and stood for hours in the bitter wind with the other sightseers at Jetty Park, while theyd waited for the rocket to go. His son had sneered at him when hed called it a rocket. But what else was it? It was a rocket that came home again; big deal, it was still a rocket.

Theyd called off that first launch just past noon. And for what? Some jammed door bolt that wouldnt loosen. Theyd had to fetch up a portable drill to break it open, but when theyd found one its battery was dead. A billion dollars of the most sophisticated technology known to man, an entire space centre crammed with NASAs sharpest minds. And still they couldnt get the damn thing off the ground: for the want of a lousy pack of Duracell.

But he had to show willing. His son was enamoured by space. When he wasnt training or running or moping around the house he was combing the universe with his telescope. He wondered what his son was looking for. Black holes? Aliens? Some meaning? What was the point? There was enough to be confused about right here.

Recharged with food and wrapped up in heavy coats they braced themselves for another long wait. The crowd was larger than it had been the day before but the same rumours, whispers and half-baked theories circled the width of the park. It was too cold for the shuttle, too windy; there were icicles hanging from its wings. Daniels father rubbed at his eyelids. He hated delays at the best of times and this constant indecision, this permanent state of flux, left him feeling distracted and sleepy. He tried to stay alert through the announcementsit was going, then it wasnt, then it was againbut he just wished theyd make up their mind. He wondered why people could never do thattake a decision and stick to it. And then, out of nowhere, came the go-ahead. They were positive now, it was certain. The damn fool rocket would go.

By eleven oclock with the wind dropped to a whisper, the tedium was accelerating to an end. Daniel had a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes and all around him shone the glow of expectation. Children knelt up on their parents shoulders, teenagers balanced on the roofs of cars; couples held tight to one another waving flags and freshly painted banners in their hands. Everyone had their radios tuned to the same frequency and the launch commentary spilled out, lubricating the crowd, from a thousand different directions.

At fifteen minutes to lift-off, the air filled with great whoops and cheers and Daniels face drenched pink with excitement. Goose bumps spread out like a rash along his arms and he could barely stand still any longer. His father allowed himself a smile. He could drink all the coffee he wanted, be as surly as he liked, but this boy was little more than a child. As he watched him fidget in those minutes and chew nervously on his lips, he was reminded just how young his son still was. Young enough to judge him: not nearly old enough, yet, to forgive him.