“The biggest challenge is radiation,” she continues. “If there’s enough of a shield in the living quarters, that may prevent damage to developing foetuses. But as of yet, we haven’t witnessed human gestation in space, let alone on a new planet, so . . . we’ll see.”
“You know a lot about this,” I say.
“If you’ve got the urge to bear children, Solvig, my advice is that you deal with that urge now.”
I hide behind my pint glass.
Evie runs her fingers over her stomach, causing the floral print to stretch, taut, over her bump. She leans forward conspiratorially. “When did you first know? You know, that you wanted to go?”
“Probably not long after my mum died,” I reply, my demeanour not as cool as I’d like.
“Oh, Solvig.”
“I used to sit on the edge of my bed, aged three or four, looking out of my window.” I mime this action by looking up at the dome above us. “I was so sure she was up there. In the sky.”
“That’s beautiful.” It looks like Evie might be about to cry. “It’s how I want my children to feel. If I go. I want them to think of me every time they look up. The sky is everywhere, so I’ll always be with them.”
It surprises me that Evie is already a parent. I have so many questions. How many children do you have? Do you feel guilty at the thought of leaving them behind? Did you always know, for sure, that you wanted them in the first place? Do you ever feel like a bad person? Instead, all I can muster is: “Evie, do you want another drink?”
Evie studies her Slush Puppie and sticks out her tongue. It’s ultramarine. She laughs. “My eldest boy’s favourite,” she said. “He might be able to have two in a row, but I can’t even finish one.”
“He must be very proud of you,” I say quietly.
Evie pushes the cup away. “He hasn’t handled this too well, to be honest. Ever since I entered the competition, he’s spent every evening up in his room, playing Minecraft. He’s building a to-scale model of the Eiffel Tower. Made of ice.”
“I’m sorry.”
“The twins are a couple of years younger than Leo. They’re thrilled. They think I’m Flash Gordon. ‘Mummy’s going to live in space!’ I think their concept of forever only runs to next week.”
“So many kids.”
“Yes,” laughs Evie. “So many kids.”
“And what about your husband?” I ask. “You did say you were married, didn’t you?”
Evie’s expression softens. “Cedric was the one who suggested I do this.”
“Really?”
“He heard a segment on the Today programme and emailed me a link to the Mars Project website straight afterwards. He knows how much this opportunity means to me. I imagine he was hoping I’d laugh it off. But it’s just a case of making it work long-distance, isn’t it?”
I look deep into my empty pint glass. “Making it work. Yeah.”
“I’m sure now he’s got used to the idea he’s proud . . . thrilled . . . happy.”
I can’t resist smiling. Evie is referencing Rene Carpenter, the American astronaut Scott Carpenter’s first wife. In interviews, she was repeatedly asked how she felt about her husband being “blasted into space,” and those three words became her stock reply. Who knows what really lurked behind those adjectives?
Evie reaches for my hand and strokes my knuckles. “It’s been so good to meet you today, Solvig.” She pauses. “I haven’t been on an adventure like this for so long.”
I give her hand a soft squeeze. “It’s been like that for me too. An adventure.”
“Look,” says Evie, wiping her eyes. “Why don’t we get out of here? This isn’t the celebratory atmosphere I was hoping for. We might be living on another planet soon, for heaven’s sake! Let’s not waste our time sitting beside a pool we’re not even swimming in.”
“Where do you suggest we go?”
“Back to my chalet,” Evie says, and there’s something about her expression that I like very much.
22
“Sorry I don’t have any alcohol,” says Evie, reaching into a shiny white cupboard. “I’ve got some rather potent sleepy tea if that does it for you?”
I inwardly lament not picking something up on the way. “Sleepy tea sounds fine.”
Evie sorts the drinks and I sit down. Although her lodge is in a different area of the park—an area called Birch, not Willow—it’s exactly the same as mine, right down to the black-and-white woodland scene on the wall. Because the layout is so familiar, I feel strangely at home. I put my feet up on the coffee table and sit back, closing my eyes.
“I can’t wait to push this little blighter out and have a glass of champagne,” Evie calls, above the noise of the kettle. “And a big platter of soft cheese. Six pregnancies later, that’s far too many years of my life without brie.”
“Why can’t you eat brie?”
“Oh, some people do,” Evie says, putting two identical black mugs on the table and rubbing her lower back before she sits. “Risk of listeria is low, but it’s there. Same with deli meats and smoked salmon. I’m probably a worrywart, but after two losses, I’d rather not take the gamble.”
Losses? Is Evie talking about miscarriages? It’s so odd to hear them described like that. People lose their keys. Their glasses. Their wallet. I should express sympathy, but I don’t know how. Sorry for your losses. That can’t be right.
“Anyway,” says Evie, putting her feet up next to mine. “I want to know more about you. Tell me everything.”
“Everything? Well, I’m a diver. You know that.”
“And your husband?”
“Oh, we’re not married.” My eternity ring catches my eye. I turn the half of the ring that’s studded with diamonds face down, so that the gems are in my palm.
“And how does he feel about this?” She motions around the room. Presumably she’s talking about more than Center Parcs; she’s talking about the entire cosmos.
“He’s okay,”
