Page 48 of The Dark of the Moon
As I watch them, I think about their son as he sleeps upstairs, exhausted after another long day filled with challenges that the rest of us can’t fully understand. I think about the summer we spent together, how I began to learn a little more about this brave family, to see how extraordinary they all are.
‘You know,’ I muse, ‘it’s not always the bright light of day that shows us the truth. It has been the dark of the moon that’s come to mean more to me, as my perspective has changed over the course of my life. In the short time I had with Ben, instead of looking forward to the sunlit days and moonlit nights, I came to love the darkness. The times in between. Those were the times when he wasn’t flying, you see. The times we had together. I think I always knew I needed to treasure them because they wouldn’t last.’
The two of them wait, expecting me to say more. But I leave it at that. They will understand, one day, that their extraordinary son – whose mind is as mysterious and unknowable as the far side of the moon – has a brilliance all of his own. He will shine, in his own way, when the sun and the Earth align to allow him to do so.
To be able to see it, it just depends on where you’re standing.
‘Well,’ I say, hauling myself up with the help of my stick, ‘I think I’ll retire too now. Sleep well, my dears.’
I leave them sitting there together hand in hand, pondering my words, encircled by the halo of light cast by the lamp, the shadows dark beyond them, as I make my way slowly upstairs to bed.
Finn
The museum at Tangmere was really interesting. Philly knows all the volunteers there and they were very helpful. We went early so it wasn’t too crowded. I really liked the Typhoon simulator, and I managed to land it. You have to stay very focused. Dad crashed. Philly bounced but managed to take off again quickly. ‘I’ve lost my touch,’ she said. ‘But still, not bad for an ancient Attagirl.’
There was a Lysander in the museum, but it’s one that was built for a film, not a real one, which is a shame. I think I’d have liked to have tried going up in one. There were some displays about some of the Lysander pilots who flew their missions from the airfield, and about the farmhouse at Bignor where Philly helped out with the French agents who came over. There was a bit about Violette Szabo and her poem code too.
We took a walk up on to the South Downs and there were good views down across the airfield and out to the English Channel. It was quite windy up there, but I took off my ear defenders when we got to the top because I wanted to listen to Philly’s stories about being there with Ben during the dark moon periods. Then we went back to her house, and I spent the afternoon laminating the leaflets I picked up at the museum and checking the plans for tomorrow, making sure everything is in place. Mum and I had organised a Big Surprise because even though I don’t enjoy them, I thinkPhilly does. And if I’m the one organising the surprise then it isn’t a surprise to me.
That night, at bedtime, Mum and I read some more of Amy Johnson’s book, about the dangerous South Atlantic crossing. She never flew that route, but her husband, Jim Mollison, did. Amelia Earhart had also flown that route in her Lockheed 10-E Electra as part of her attempt to fly around the world, but she went missing later on, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean in 1937. So that’s another person for me to try to find one day.
At the end of the chapter, Amy Johnson says, ‘I envy not clothes, jewels and luxuries, but experiences lived through, dangers survived, difficulties overcome. Perhaps some day, when the route is opened to passengers – a day not far-distant – I may see these smiling South Atlantic skies and these flooding sheets of torrential rain in the safety and comfort of a huge flying-boat, but it can never be the same as a lone flight against the elements, with not only nature but the whole world against you crying “Fool!”’ So it turns out even she must have felt like she was a Mentalist sometimes, which, as Philly says, just goes to show how wrong people can be. I’ve copied out the section and laminated it so I can keep it as a reminder.
I felt sleepy, so we put the book aside and then I pressed my hand against Mum’s as we did our starfish sign. I really don’t mind the touching feeling anymore, in fact it’s quite reassuring.
‘All set for another big day tomorrow?’ Mum said.
‘Do you think they’ll be able to do the Marmite sandwiches?’ I asked.
She smiled. ‘Well, it’s The Ritz. So I think they can do pretty much anything.’ And then she turned out the light and I went to sleep.
Philly
We drive up to London. The traffic is terrible, of course, and there’s the congestion charge and the parking on top of that, but Dan takes it all in his stride. I sit in front, so I can stretch out my leg in comfort, and Kendra and Finn are in the back. I glance in the mirror to watch Finn’s face. He’s wearing his ear defenders, and an expression of resolute determination, but I can still see the tension around his eyes. I only hope whatever it is they’ve organised is going to be worth it. I wouldn’t want it to end in another disaster after they’ve gone to so much trouble. All they’ve told me is there’s some big surprise. Which is a surprise in its own right. I can see how much it means to him, though, so I go along with it.
We walk through Green Park beneath the bare branches of the trees, and turn in at a set of grey stone arches, straight up to the main door of The Ritz, where Finn turns to me with a look of triumph.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ I say, feeling somewhat overcome. ‘Are we here for tea?’
‘Yes. It’s another bit of Unfinished Business, so we are going to help you finish it today.’
‘Well, this really IS a wonderful surprise, Finn.’
A top-hatted doorman ushers us inside with a flourish, not batting an eyelid even though we can’t look much like his usualclientele: an old woman with her walking stick and a young lad wearing ear defenders and now – even though it’s a dull London day – his sunglasses as well, which he’s put on in order to help him face this ordeal.
At the Palm Court we’re shown to a table in one corner, tucked behind a large potted plant and facing away from the mirrored end wall. Finn sits with his back to the room. He sheds the sunglasses but keeps his ear defenders firmly clamped to his head, shutting out the babble of chatter and the clinking of cutlery on china. The room is already filling up, even though we’ve come for the earliest sitting. I look around, taking it all in, from the crisp white tablecloths to the white-and-gold pillars and the ornately gilded dome of the ceiling above where we’re sitting. A piano tinkles discreetly in the background at the far end of the room.
Kendra excuses herself, saying, ‘I’ll just go and find the Ladies.’ I turn my attention back to our table. There seems to be an extra place set, which I suppose must be a mistake, despite all of Finn’s meticulous planning.
But then Kendra returns, and Dan is getting to his feet, pulling out chairs, and I realise they’ve invited an extra guest. The woman pulls off the red scarf covering her hair and undoes the buttons of her overcoat. Then she says, ‘Finn, it’s so good to meet you in person at last,’ holding up her hand and mouthing the words clearly so he’ll understand. Her accent is French, but there’s something else beneath it. It takes me a moment and then I identify it: a faint twang of Polish.
‘Philly,’ says Kendra. ‘May we introduce you to Eveline Espelet? Also known as Dr Ewelina Krakowska. This is Janina and Jakub’s daughter.’
And then there are exclamations and tears, and laughter and more tears as she enfolds me in a warm embrace, before taking her seat at the table.
Once the emotions have died down a little, Finn tells me how he managed to track her down in another miracle of persistence and determination. ‘It was through a maths blog. She was invited on as a guest because she’s Professor of Mathematics at the Sorbonne which is a university in Paris.’
‘I’ve heard of it,’ I say, nodding.
