Forecast (21 page)

Hennessey nodded. “But what is right anymore?”

“I suppose.” She took another sip. “You know, celebrating a successful balloon flight with champagne is a tradition that began in the early days of ballooning in France. Apparently, one of the first balloon flights ended in tragedy and peasant farmers believed the aerostats were Martians. So the peasants decided that French wine or, to be more precise, champagne, would be a good way to appease the farmers. And so the tradition still stands today, for commercial ballooning that is.”

Hennessey opened the margarine and used the small flick-knife to scrape a slab out. Her face grimaced as she licked the margarine from the knife, the taste sickly but still a taste and she didn’t know where the next one would come from, if at all. She passed the tub and the flick
-
knife to Faraday.

“Actually, I’m glad we’re alone,” Hennessey said, bringing a more serious mood to the moment. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“I missed my period.”

Hennessey had polished off more champagne than Faraday. It didn’t seem to be affecting the American much, even though the small amount Faraday had consumed was making her own head feel light. She nodded understandingly. “That could just be the stress you’re under.”

“It could be. But six weeks ago, a few days before we attended that conference at the Moorland Links Hotel, I slept with my ex back in the States. And we never used any protection. I’m really worried that I might be pregnant.”

Faraday felt her body clam up. Right now, she didn’t want to have that conversation and the moment became awkward. “Well, don’t go jumping to conclusions, Jen. Anyway, what do you think of this champagne? It’s not the best I’ve ever drunk, but I do like it.”

Hennessey was surprised by her response. “Did you hear what I said? I think I’m pregnant and I’m really scared. Never in my…”

Faraday had completely stopped listening. Hennessey’s lips were moving, but no sound passed through her vocal cords, just a mumble of noise. She stared through the champagne bottle in her hand, engrossed by its curvy shape and ocean green shade.

The majestic bottle-green balloon, Froggy, drifted across the south coast of Great Britain. The Isle of Wight had shrunk and all that could be made of the island was the famous cliffs. Nick Parsons had braced himself for bad news. He was so charming and so vulnerable and she was about to break his heart. Though she hadn’t said it to him, she had inferred that they were mentally compatible but not physically and Parsons interpreted that as criticism. He’d assumed that their sex life was good, not amazing, but good. She obviously thought differently.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” she said.

Her choice of words, her tone of voice, had him worried. He stared into her eyes, bewildered, listening.

“I went to see Geoff Casper last week.”

“Geoff Casper? As in doctor?”

“Yes.” Her head slouched.

“I went to see him because…oh, why is this so hard? Okay. I went to see him because…it turns out that my reproductive system doesn’t work properly.”

“You can’t have children?”

“No, Nick,
we
can’t have children.”

Parsons took it quite well. After an unbearable five minutes of silence between them, as the balloon passed over the harbour of Portsmouth, he finally said something. “Then we’ll adopt.”

Faraday’s eyes erupted with joyous tears and she flung her arms around him.

Three weeks later, on the morning of the conference at the Moorland Links Hotel, she returned home from the shops to find Parsons packing his bags. He said he didn’t feel as though things were working out between them and that he was heading up to Sheffield to stay with his brother for a few days to think things through. She never heard from him again.

Hennessey was still talking, Faraday couldn’t hear her. She hadn’t caught a word in the last few minutes. What was she rambling on about? She had to interrupt. “I’m sorry, Jen, I…can we talk about something else?”

“What’s your problem, Claris?”

Faraday exhaled a sharp breath. “If I tell you, please don’t tell the guys?”

Hennessey put her lips together and nodded.

Faraday hesitated. At last, she spoke. “I went to see my doctor about two months ago and he said I had severe endometriosis. I was having extremely painful periods and I had lesions in my fallopian tubes, which caused infertility. So, basically, I can never have kids.” Her head sank on her shoulders. “Anyway, I have accepted that. It’s just, I just don’t feel comfortable talking about pregnancies and babies and happy families. I’m sorry, I know it’s selfish. But talking about babies makes me sick.”

“Fair enough. I had no idea.”

She hesitated again. “I always pictured myself being married with three kids running about the house, making noise, making mess. All growing up and all growing old together. Family, it’s what we live for, to create a sense of purpose in our lives, to live for someone and to live because of someone. I never thought I’d end up alone.”

Hennessey shuffled along the bench closer to her. “For starters, you’re not alone, okay? And you haven’t ended up. This is not the end.”

“I guess time will tell.”

Hennessey put a hand on her stomach. “I guess so.”

Feeling guilty, Faraday took Hennessey’s hand in hers. “Listen, whatever happens, I’ll be there for you and we’ll get through it together.”

Having support put Hennessey’s mind slightly at ease, but she couldn’t help thinking she was heading into a solitary nightmare.

“Do you want to say something to the camera?” Hennessy said, holding it up.

“I don’t know. I have never felt that comfortable speaking into cameras.”

“You did it in front of over a hundred reporters last month at the conference. You’re a pro. I’m sure you can do it in front of me.”

“I knew what to say then. It’s different when there’s nothing in particular to talk about and you have to be spontaneous.”

“Okay, tell me about the balloon flight. How you felt it went, what you enjoyed most. Summarise the experience.”

Faraday started speaking. Hennessey interrupted her. “Just a moment. The tape has finished. I need to rewind it.” She smirked. “That’ll give you a moment to think about what you want to say.”

She hit the rewind button, listening as the cogs spun the plastic film round and round. When the tape clicked stop, she peeled open the small screen and tapped her finger on play to check what she was about to record over. To her surprise, the screen filled with the Fable
-
1 balloon. “Hey, look at this. Someone recorded our flight. We’re about to launch.”

Faraday leaned over. The sound was tinny, but the picture was perfect. The pickets were being pulled by ground technicians. There was no commentary on it, just lots of crowd noise. She saw one of the balloonists give a wave to the camera moments before the balloon confidently lumbered up into the sky. The camera stayed on the balloon for a while until it disappeared in a haze of blue. Then the screen went dark.

“Okay, ready?”

“No, but…”

Hennessey was about to press the record button when a fresh image appeared. The cameraman was walking through the crowd and the screen filled with hundreds of different coloured shoes and random bare feet. It was still rolling when the cameraman entered the F1 Mission Control Base, using an electronic key-card to enter the gate and again for the two sliding doors at the main entrance. They heard the cameraman say hello to the receptionist. She said hello back. Another pair of feet came into the lens wearing big, black boots, like those worn by soldiers, and they were deep in water. “
You can’t go in there
,” the anonymous voice of a young man said. “
The bathroom’s flooded
.”

“
Can I go in
?” the cameraman said with the voice of a young boy.

The man in the black boots got angry. “
No, I just said no
!”

“
But I’m busting
.”

There was a moment of no conversation, just a phone going in the background.

“
Alright, follow me
.”

The camera continued to roll, capturing the steps of the stair-case leading into the workshop. The pair crossed the workshop and stepped into the elevator, where they dropped one floor. The shaky camera was now pointing at the unmistakable floor tiles in the White Room. “
Straight ahead
,” the man in the black boots said, followed by, “
I’ll leave you to it, just shut the main door behind you when you’re done
.”

Inside the White Room, the young boy realised the camera was still filming. The picture shuddered as he twisted the camera round and shut it down and that was the end of that. As soon as the screen went black, Faraday and Hennessey heard that scraping sound again. It was coming from the toilet; the one with the jammed door. The two women looked at each other, puzzled and frightened. There was someone in there.

Standing in the middle of the White Room, looking at the toilet door, trying to remain calm to figure out what was happening, wishing Sutcliffe and Matthews were there, Hennessey cringed as she heard another sound, that one coming from the entrance to the White Room. Someone had knocked on the front door. Someone kept knocking on the front door. There were noises from all directions now; the toilet, the entrance, Faraday behind her shrilling in despair. “Don’t answer it,” she was saying.

Hennessey was not flustered by the noise, rather headstrong and defiant. But it did occur to her that if Sutcliffe and Matthews had returned, they should have no trouble letting themselves in the main door. So who the hell was knocking on it?

She crept towards the entrance and put her ear to the door. “Who is it?”

No reply.

She raised her voice. “Who’s there?”

And then there came the sound of multiple fists banging on the door, followed by a muffled voice.

“
It’s us, open up
.”

Finally, finally the boys had come back. She pushed open the door and stepped back. Matthews and Sutcliffe were carrying Keith Burch between them. His large forehead glistened with perspiration and he was shaking fiercely. Hennessey had seen her fair share of colleagues ill at the merciless routines of flight training. They always looked pale, sweaty, disorientated or had escaped the ill
-
effects altogether and had passed out. But none of them looked as ill as Keith Burch.

Wearing only a black T-shirt and socks, Sutcliffe and Matthews all but dragged him into the room and set him down on the floor. Sutcliffe explained that Burch had abandoned his spacesuit when his oxygen ran out because of its weight and because it had been burnt severely around the legs creating holes.

“Where did you find him?” Hennessey asked.

“Actually, he found us.”

“Did he say anything about where he’s been?”

“From what we gather, he fell off the balloon and blacked out after his parachute opened. He mumbled something about going to church, but we think he is delusional. He’s very dehydrated and suffering from extreme exhaustion. God knows how he managed to make his way here.”

“I’ll get him some champagne.”

The comment threw him. “What?”

“I found a crate in the utility room.”

He smirked. “Mike. I should’ve known.”

She handed an opened bottle to Sutcliffe. He took a large swig first before tilting the bottle for Burch to drink. He quietly uttered a thank you and glanced down at his half
-
naked body, surprised to find only a few scratches on his legs and a small discoloration on his shin where he’d knocked it on a piece of metal protruding from the ground.

“Brad, we have another problem,” Hennessey said. She was removing Burch’s socks while she spoke.

“What’s up?” asked Sutcliffe.

“The toilet, I think –”

Burch flinched, his whole body jolting, and when Hennessey looked at his left foot, she saw why. His foot was dangerously inflamed and maroon around a rather deep score on his sole. Burch complained about the pain and tried to explain that he’d trodden on something sharp.

Sutcliffe was concerned. “Keith, that doesn’t look good.”

He was panting heavily. “I just…rest.”

“Get him some painkillers,” said Sutcliffe. “While you’re there, get him a sleeping pill.”

Hennessey marched off and returned with a handful of pills. Sutcliffe popped two painkillers and one sleeping pill in Burch’s mouth and gave him some champagne to help sink them. Burch coughed. “I’ll get you some herbal tea, Mum,” he said. Then his eyes closed.

Clearly Burch needed rest, needing all the energy he could muster to mend his broken body, so Sutcliffe made him comfortable, placing a bag under his head, dressing him in his jeans and his black hand
-
knit jumper to keep him warm.

There was an almighty pop. It sounded like another gunshot. With their hearts up in their mouths, they turned to see Matthews gripping the throat of a champagne bottle. “Anyone for a glass of Perrier?”