The Light Between Us

by Katie Khan

  An Alignment at Dawn

  London, May 2030

  It can be beautiful, seeing the planets over a city. Most people want a huge expanse of sky and spurn cityscapes for landscapes, preferring trees and heaths to squares and concrete. But Isaac wakes while it’s still dark, the light from the streetlamps pouring in through his open window. He’s left the blackout blind up, the curtains open, and by the light of the moon he steps into his trousers, pulling socks over his toes and finding shoes beneath his bed. He touches a hand to his chest, making sure it’s still there, next to where his heart used to beat.

  He had to decide where to view the ecliptic; at first he revisited all of the places with significance to him and Thea. He went to the pier in London where they had sat swinging their feet, watching the first light; he sat in the quad at Oxford, looking up at their old accommodation windows. He even went to Dunsop Bridge, and watched the dawn break behind the trees.

  But it’s been years now, over a decade. He’s only allowed this one particular alignment, a conjunction – he promised, didn’t he? – so he has to make it a good one. He has to make the memory last.

  He’s thought long and hard, and decided on this place.

  Unhurried, Isaac walks through the city, past drunks and couples in trysts hidden down back alleys, making the most of the remaining minutes of darkness. He wanders down the main road, the theatres closed but their advertising boards still glistening in the light from the streetlamps. A bouncer stands outside a casino, and Isaac nods as he walks past, despite the bouncer’s suspicious look.

  He arrives in the square as the dark night begins to glimmer, the first hint of a new day on the horizon. The lions are shrouded in fog and darkness, the statues cold and black. He walks past them, and past the dormant fountains, until he finds himself at the steps outside the National Gallery, watching the sky.

  ‘Look there.’ Thea points. ‘The North Star.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Isaac squints. ‘I think that’s Venus.’

  ‘Isn’t it amazing that the light we’re seeing is millions of years old? Anyone can be a time traveller, simply by looking at the stars.’

  Isaac closes his eyes, the memory almost visceral, praying that when he opens them Thea will be lying on the steps to his right, looking to the stars as she’d done the night he’d told her he would have changed everything.

  There’s something between us, Thea. I know it.

  They had become so distracted – did he ever tell her, in this place, that he was in love with her? He can’t be sure, but he knows this is where it started, and here is where he opens his eyes.

  Isaac’s alone in the darkness of Trafalgar Square, the pigeons sleeping – hiding; the tourists elsewhere. None of them seem to know that a once-in-a-decade planetary alignment is about to hit its peak conjunction in the sky above at 5.09 a.m.

  To the east, the first rays hit the clouds, and he catches his breath as the timid streaks of orange begin to light the sky, the moon still visible overhead.

  Most people think you have to be in the darkest night to see the pooled light of the planets. But Mercury will be clearest today while the day is embryonic, the light of the sun illuminating the universe.

  And there it is.

  There, like an arc of polka dots, lies the ecliptic, and he draws a breath at the spectacular sight curving away in the sky above him. As the blueish light of Mercury brightens to meet Venus, Saturn, Jupiter and Mars, Isaac lies down on the steps and thinks of Thea.

  He can’t believe it’s been so long. He tried going back to New York, but it didn’t take; Williamsburg felt too hipster for him, Manhattan too vacuous and empty. What good is it going to any bar or party in the world if she’s not there?

  The sun cracks like an egg yolk, a round, yellow ball rising through the buildings of the inner city, and the surrounding clouds turn a flaming red in response. Somebody smears the egg so the sky is coated in layers of yellow, and layers of red, as though an impressionist painter has been dreaming of brunch.

  He sighs, watching the fiery sky, the moon still visible and the pink mark of Mars slumbering to the left. ‘Red sky in the morning,’ he whispers, then glances at the square around him. The city is foggy, and the mist swirls around the bronze lions. He wishes it would swirl around him, maybe swallow him up until he, too, is lost in time.

  He mustn’t think like this. He has everything to live for. And yet, somehow, everything he is living for lies in his memory. Isaac touches a hand to the chain at his neck and pulls it outside his jacket, fingering it lightly.

  It had surprised him when he found Thea’s ring in his possession after the jump. He’d pulled it from his pocket, then clenched his hand tight until the stone cut into his fingers, in case the other Thea should see and realize what she had done.

  He’d tried to recall her sleight of hand – the moment when Thea had both rings, and left one with him.

  She had given him a lifeline, or a keepsake. He isn’t quite sure which. But regardless, he wears it on a chain around his neck – he never takes it off. Isaac supposes he has one, and Thea the other.

  He sighs again, his eyes still on the sky. He recalls all of the times he’s dreamed she’ll come back to him, or imagined – hoped – the two Theas had run a bait-and-switch, and really his Thea is the one who travelled back to this world in the glass house, so they could be together. But time has been unkind to such fantasies; after a decade he sits in Trafalgar Square at sunrise, alone.

  ‘Shepherd’s warning,’ he murmurs at the crimson sky, the ecliptic revealing the arc of the planets tangibly close, in a familiar line-of-sight trick. Five planets lie above him on the celestial sphere, and without a shred of self-consciousness, Isaac waves as they hit their peak conjunction.

  He shuts his eyes, slipping the ring over his little finger and off again, a subconscious habit he’s picked up since he lost her.

  Thea.

  He opens his eyes.

  Isaac looks through the cityscape towards the Houses of Parliament and the rose-tinted tower holding Big Ben, the dawn fog shrouding urban details like bus stops and traffic lights. His breath catches as a lone figure walks across the square, its outline hazy in the first tentative rays of daylight.

  He sits up, the backs of his legs damp from the dew on the steps. Without the vista of a wide and sprawling horizon, the sunrise over the city moves in fits and starts. It takes time, and every moment is time spent alone. Not in grief – after a decade, that’s dulled – but time suspended in the absence of happiness.

  Isaac exhales as the dawn reveals its final bloom, announcing the arrival of today. He can no longer live in the past, or the future, or even an alternate present. The mist begins to dissipate, and the lone figure comes into focus: a woman walks towards him as the moon and the sun share the sky, and a diamond glints in the first light of a new day.

  Acknowledgements

  I was overwhelmed to receive a lot of support from authors, bloggers and readers for my first novel, Hold Back the Stars. I would really like to thank the following for shouting about the book in all manner of ways:

  Thank you to world-class authors Matt Haig, Rowan Coleman, Maggie Harcourt, Samantha Shannon, Debbie Howells, Renée Knight, Laline Paull, Emma Jane Unsworth, Lisa Lueddecke, Melinda Salisbury, Anna McPartlin, Caroline Smailes, Colleen Oakley, Miranda Dickinson, Claire Douglas, and James Oswald. The way you lent your support to an unknown debut author was breathtakingly kind and I’m grateful. Thank you.

  Word of mouth is everything when it comes to reading. Thanks to the book bloggers and bookstagrammers who championed my writing from the get-go, including Leah Reads Books, Stacey Woods, Sally Akins, Lia from Lost in a Story, Joanna Park, Samia Sharif, Crini and Sana, Janay Brazier, Christina from Chrikaru Reads, Lizzie Huxley-Jones, Ellen Devonport, Jana Vlogs, Beverley Has Read, Kate from For Winter Nights, The Book Haven, Kaisha from The Writing Garnet, and Ralou from the wonderfully named Collector of Book Boyfriends.

  Op
ening the door to feedback can be double-edged and, as often happens, I found it tricky to close the door again to write this novel. When I eventually found the words, I discovered it was even more enjoyable to draft than my first! That’s rare, from what I hear. So thank you to the people who helped me find my confidence again. They include Louise Dean and the KritikMe Krew, Margaret ‘Kate’ McQuaile, Dan Dalton, Gillian McAllister, and Craig Ainsworth, as well as my incredible family Jane Wood, Don Wood, and Jonathan Hopkins.

  Thanks to my agent Juliet Mushens; I’m so honoured you believe in me. Darcy Nicholson at Transworld – thank you. So much. When I sat opposite you at breakfast and you bounced in your seat with excitement about publishing my next novel – which I hadn’t written yet! – I went straight to my desk and finally knuckled down to it. Your enthusiasm was the push I needed, and your insight and skill at editing brought this story up beyond what I’d hoped.

  Simon Taylor, Hannah Bright, Nix Wright, Deirdre O’Connell, Beci Kelly, and all of the team at Transworld – thank you. You are wonderful and I’m lucky to be published by you. Thanks also to Howie Sanders at Anonymous Content for brilliantly repping my film rights, Gemma Osei at Caskie Mushens, and Sasha Raskin for looking after my books in the United States.

  Thank you to my team at Warner Bros, including Jill Benscoter, Katie MacKay, Susannah Scott, Polly Cochrane, and Jessica Turner. It’s lovely to be supported in both of my jobs, and I realize how lucky I am!

  My wonderful family, some of whom are mentioned above, but also Amber Wood; Ella, Finley and Sol Adamson; Sam Wood, and Liz Pearn. I adopted a very fluffy cat this year so it feels only right to add him into the acknowledgements, given rescuing him is just about the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done (other than writing novels). Thank you, Arthur ‘Artie’ Flufkin, I love you. Marley and Poppy, you are the best dogs in this universe or the next.

  To Katy Pegg, to whom this novel is dedicated, for adopting me as a friend in my late twenties, when I thought the type of close friendship I’d read about was out of reach. And to Carl Sagan, for writing stories like Contact and reminding this nonscientific human what interests me, and why I should attempt to take risks with storytelling. Sorry if any of the physics is wrong, that’s all on me.

  And finally – my huge thanks to you, for reading. Authors are simply shouting ideas into the void without readers. Thank you. Always.

  About the Author

  Katie Khan is a writer from London whose first novel, Hold Back the Stars, was published to great acclaim, translated into twenty-two languages, and is being adapted into a feature film. The Light Between Us is her second novel.

  Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @katie_khan

  katiekhan.com

  Also by Katie Khan

  Hold Back the Stars

  For more information on Katie Khan and her books, see her website at katiekhan.com

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

  www.penguin.co.uk

  Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Doubleday

  an imprint of Transworld Publishers

  Copyright © Tiny Epic Ltd 2018

  Cover design by Beci Kelly/TW

  Figure silhouettes by Shutterstock

  Katie Wood has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473541184

  ISBN 9780857524027

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

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