Triskellion 3: The Gathering by Will Peterson Page A

at Gabriel, who looked as eager as Adam to see the contents of the package.
    It was thick and fastened with Sellotape. Rachel used a knife to slice it open and slid the contents out: a letter and a black and white photograph.
    The photo was of three people: a man and two women, one of whom was in an air force uniform, with a large aeroplane on a runway behind them. The woman in the uniform was glamorous and curvaceous. Rachel knew from the hairstyle and the lipstick that this was her grandmother, Celia Root. The other woman was also striking, but taller and more stern-looking. Rachel did not recognize her. The man was handsome with a strong jaw and nose.
    “That’s Commodore Wing,” Adam said.
    “Our grandfather,” Rachel said, as much to remind herself as Adam.
    In front of the three adults were two young boys. One was smaller and wearing shorts, the other was a more all-American kid: taller, with a flat-top and long trousers. Both boys were staring intensely into the camera, their faces unsmiling.
    Rachel unfolded the letter. It was dated August two years previously. It had been written while they were still in Triskellion.
    Clutching the photograph, Rachel began to read. The opening lines of her grandmother’s letter made her heart thump against her ribs and filled her mind with vivid sights and sounds which grew in detail and colour, until they felt as real as her own memories…
    My darlings, Rachel and Adam,
    In order to understand everything that has happened to you, you will need to go back to where it all began. I enclose a photograph of myself in my younger days in the 1950s and I know that this will help you see the truth. I am so sorry that I will not be there to help you, because if you are reading this then I am almost certainly dead…

part two:
the homecoming

C
elia Root crossed the hot airstrip of Alamogordo Air Force Base and took the last few steps towards the house of her old sweetheart, Gerald Wing.
    The day was getting hotter still and Celia’s blue service tunic felt rough against her clammy neck as she walked across the neatly cropped dried-out lawn to the house with the big blue Packard parked outside. She took a deep breath and walked up to the door. She rapped decisively, so that she knew there would be no turning back.
    The door was opened by a woman wearing civilian clothes. “Hello?” she said. She was American.
    Was she Gerry’s housekeeper? Celia wondered. His secretary?
    “I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Celia said. “I was looking for Squadron Leader Wing.”
    The woman smiled at the formality of Celia’s request. “I’m afraid the squadron leader isn’t here right now,” she said. “But he’ll be back soon. Do you want to come in and wait?”
    “Thank you,” Celia said. “I’m Airwoman Celia Root.”
    The woman smiled again and held out her hand. “How do you do. I’m Eleanor Wing.”
    Celia fought to recover her breath, and tried her best to smile at the woman she now knew to be Gerald’s wife.
    The house was modern inside, with spindly furniture in brightly coloured upholstery and lamps that looked like parts of a spacecraft. Celia followed Eleanor into an open-plan living room and sat down on a long red sofa. She was still in a daze, trying to come to terms with the fact that Gerald Wing had married.
    “Have you been at the base long?” Eleanor said. “I think I would have remembered you.”
    “I only arrived today,” Celia said. “From England.”
    “So are you here to see Gerald on air force business?”
    “Not really. I mean to say, I am in Alamogordo on RAF business, but I know Gerald from back in England. We come from the same village.”
    “How delightful,” Eleanor said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Gerry will be so thrilled to see you.”
    Suddenly Celia was not sure that Gerald would be thrilled to see her at all, but before she could say anything else, two boys came running into the room.
    “Mommy,” the smaller boy squealed,