moon.
Chapter Fifteen
The Slough of Despond
“MAN ON THE MOON” dominated the news. Andie saw the same photographs again and again: the boot-print, heavily shadowed; the Earth from the moon; the two astronauts by the American flag; and Neil Armstrong reflected in Buzz Aldrin’s helmet visor. The lunar module had successfully taken off from the surface and – amazingly – docked with the command module exactly as planned, and the first men on the moon were on their way back to Earth.
Andie went back to her own imagined landscapes, where the moon was silent and alone, not the focus of the world’s obsessive gaze. She painted the Sea of Tranquillity empty once more, with a blur of footmarks, and the prints left by the spidery lunar module; beyond, the powdery surface was unmarked by humans.
On Tuesday she went with Kris to the King’s Road, to deliver a batch of Marilyn’s jewellery to East of the Sun, West of the Moon. She hoped Zak wouldn’t be there – hadn’t he said he was only helping out a friend? But he was outside, hanging T-shirts on a rail. He said, “Hi, you guys,” mainly to Kris, then looked at Andie as if he recognized her from the shoplifting incident. All her family members, wherever they went, seemed to devote themselves to creating maximum embarrassment for her, Andie thought.
Kris handed over the box of jewellery to the sharp-faced blonde woman and spent a few minutes discussing which of Marilyn’s pieces were selling best. As they left the arcade, Zak, who was now at the till, said to Andie, “Tell Prue I got her message, would you? Tomorrow’s cool. Quarter to nine, tell her.”
“What’s that about?” Kris asked, out on the pavement.
“No idea.” Andie was baffled. “We went in there last week, and Prune, er, talked to Zak. I don’t know what else.”
“What, is she going out with him or something? That’s neat.”
Andie thought this most unlikely, but was reluctant to explain why. She’d cross-examine Prune about it later.
Much of the world might have been gazing at the moon, but the King’s Road was still the centre of its own universe: self-absorbed, inhabited by beautiful people with swishy hair and arty clothes. Where did they come from? Andie wondered. Where did they go to? Had they been bred specially from shop mannequins, or designed by the editors of Honey ? Somehow, in the King’s Road, even the plainest people, simply by being there, managed to make themselves look like the last word in cool.
Walking its length in Kris’s company was at least less exhausting than with Prune, who wanted to dive into every shop and exclaim over every window display. Kris, though younger, had an air of having seen it all before, of being used to nothing else. It was Andie who wanted to stop and gaze, and who thought she glimpsed George Harrison in a passing taxi.
“It was him ! I’m certain!”
“It wasn’t!”
“It was!”
With a twinge of regret, Andie knew that she’d miss this. Slough High Street couldn’t possibly match this daily parade of hipness and gorgeousness.
They were approaching the Town Hall. Standing squarely over the passers-by, the building made Andie think of a portly great-uncle with twirling moustaches, who had wandered by mistake into a disco. With its grand steps, pillared entrance and gilded clock, it looked surprised to find itself at the heart of fashion-conscious Chelsea. The gallery next door had a noticeboard outside: FASHIONS FOR THE SPACE AGE. EXHIBITION INSIDE.
“Hey, see this?” she called to Kris, who was about to walk on past.
They stopped to read. The poster gave details of a summer holiday competition, open to anyone under eighteen; entries were being displayed from now until the end of July.
“Shall we?”
“Sure, why not?”
They went inside. The gallery consisted of several rooms, one of which, light and airy, displayed the competition entries. Pictures and paintings were mounted on the walls, and on screens
Chapter Fifteen
The Slough of Despond
“MAN ON THE MOON” dominated the news. Andie saw the same photographs again and again: the boot-print, heavily shadowed; the Earth from the moon; the two astronauts by the American flag; and Neil Armstrong reflected in Buzz Aldrin’s helmet visor. The lunar module had successfully taken off from the surface and – amazingly – docked with the command module exactly as planned, and the first men on the moon were on their way back to Earth.
Andie went back to her own imagined landscapes, where the moon was silent and alone, not the focus of the world’s obsessive gaze. She painted the Sea of Tranquillity empty once more, with a blur of footmarks, and the prints left by the spidery lunar module; beyond, the powdery surface was unmarked by humans.
On Tuesday she went with Kris to the King’s Road, to deliver a batch of Marilyn’s jewellery to East of the Sun, West of the Moon. She hoped Zak wouldn’t be there – hadn’t he said he was only helping out a friend? But he was outside, hanging T-shirts on a rail. He said, “Hi, you guys,” mainly to Kris, then looked at Andie as if he recognized her from the shoplifting incident. All her family members, wherever they went, seemed to devote themselves to creating maximum embarrassment for her, Andie thought.
Kris handed over the box of jewellery to the sharp-faced blonde woman and spent a few minutes discussing which of Marilyn’s pieces were selling best. As they left the arcade, Zak, who was now at the till, said to Andie, “Tell Prue I got her message, would you? Tomorrow’s cool. Quarter to nine, tell her.”
“What’s that about?” Kris asked, out on the pavement.
“No idea.” Andie was baffled. “We went in there last week, and Prune, er, talked to Zak. I don’t know what else.”
“What, is she going out with him or something? That’s neat.”
Andie thought this most unlikely, but was reluctant to explain why. She’d cross-examine Prune about it later.
Much of the world might have been gazing at the moon, but the King’s Road was still the centre of its own universe: self-absorbed, inhabited by beautiful people with swishy hair and arty clothes. Where did they come from? Andie wondered. Where did they go to? Had they been bred specially from shop mannequins, or designed by the editors of Honey ? Somehow, in the King’s Road, even the plainest people, simply by being there, managed to make themselves look like the last word in cool.
Walking its length in Kris’s company was at least less exhausting than with Prune, who wanted to dive into every shop and exclaim over every window display. Kris, though younger, had an air of having seen it all before, of being used to nothing else. It was Andie who wanted to stop and gaze, and who thought she glimpsed George Harrison in a passing taxi.
“It was him ! I’m certain!”
“It wasn’t!”
“It was!”
With a twinge of regret, Andie knew that she’d miss this. Slough High Street couldn’t possibly match this daily parade of hipness and gorgeousness.
They were approaching the Town Hall. Standing squarely over the passers-by, the building made Andie think of a portly great-uncle with twirling moustaches, who had wandered by mistake into a disco. With its grand steps, pillared entrance and gilded clock, it looked surprised to find itself at the heart of fashion-conscious Chelsea. The gallery next door had a noticeboard outside: FASHIONS FOR THE SPACE AGE. EXHIBITION INSIDE.
“Hey, see this?” she called to Kris, who was about to walk on past.
They stopped to read. The poster gave details of a summer holiday competition, open to anyone under eighteen; entries were being displayed from now until the end of July.
“Shall we?”
“Sure, why not?”
They went inside. The gallery consisted of several rooms, one of which, light and airy, displayed the competition entries. Pictures and paintings were mounted on the walls, and on screens
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