The Comet Seekers: A Novel by Helen Sedgwick

Róisín will wait all night if she has to, for that perfect moment of destruction when the comet will split and burst, crash through the atmosphere and turn from ice to fire.
    Some people say that comets seed life on lifeless planets. That will not happen today; nothing can survive on Jupiter, not even ice and dust and rock.
    When she arrives, Sam is already there; he glances at her as she walks from the stairs to join the group, his eyes lingering a second longer than if there was nothing to say.
    How’s it looking? she asks.
    Clear night, he says.
    There are several other postdocs there, PhD students and one of the junior lecturers leaning over the computer’s keyboard. We should get some good measurements from here, he says without looking up.
    Róisín thinks about saying she is more interested in the view, then realises how unscientific she sounds.
    Sam turns away.
    Róisín thinks about Liam, then promises herself she will stop.
    Comet Shoemaker–Levy 9 was trapped a long time ago, caught in orbit around Jupiter, never able to break free from the storms. Some planets collect comets, shielding the smaller fragile worlds from their impacts; that is what Jupiter does for Earth. It’s a comet catcher. The solar system’s best line of defence. You have to forgive its toxic atmosphere and raging hurricanes, when you know what it does. Jupiter is a self-sacrificing sort of a king.
    Róisín’s memories come to her uninvited; she is looking through the telescope, focused on Jupiter’s southern hemisphere, and she is thinking about the touch of his stubble on her chin; the taste of his skin where she once licked fresh water from the creaseinside his elbow; the way his thumb brushed her lips outside the school gate.
    Sam has fuller lips, is capable of growing a far thicker beard, and wears glasses that accentuate his eyes. There is nothing unpleasant about him.
    Sometimes Róisín feels the lack of love so acutely her eyes burn.
    Someone has brought a bottle of wine, someone else some crisps and chocolate. Snacks fit for a children’s party and drinks for an eighteenth birthday. They’ve planned to stay here for the night. They’re going to watch the collision in the observatory and then go outside, drink and play music and spend a night on Blackford Hill.
    Not just one bottle of wine: many. They’ve all brought at least one, some more. Someone has whisky. Someone, peach schnapps. They started with little plastic cups but soon they are taking swigs out of bottles.
    The sky is black at first but after enough wine they can see it as purple, turquoise; a deep glowing blue that’s filled with something more than darkness.
    It’s ready, someone says.
    They cluster around the telescope, wanting to see with their own eyes; the computer display is inadequate for the mood they want to capture.
    Sam looks at Róisín, steps back from the crowd.
    They see a burst of golden-yellow red, a bright fireball igniting within the atmosphere of the gas giant. The comet has fractured into pieces, and this is the first of them, the bravest, letting go of its orbit and agreeing to burn. It lasts for a while; there is nothing immediate about this particular form of ending. It is not the miracle she was expecting.
    Róisín looks through the eye of the telescope, imagines Liam doing the same. His binoculars made a quiet thud on the ground,the last time he saw a comet. He was angry. Perhaps he still is. That must be why he won’t hold her gaze.
    She feels a hand on her shoulder; someone takes her wrist.
    Come outside, Sam says.
    They step out into the dark, stumble along the muddy path and over the crest of the hill.

    SEVERINE IS WOKEN UP BY a terrible pain in her stomach. Something has happened, and she’s no idea what it is, but it feels like something in her is breaking apart, something that should be whole is fracturing into pieces.
    Didn’t you realise? says Great-Grandpa Paul-François. He looks different, diminished. If you want to