Part Five
Monday, 11 November
Halley
He’s very keen on you! Recalling Henry’s sister’s words, Halley indulged in a shiver of pleasure, then pushed it from her mind to refocus on the data set she had open: she couldn’t afford to get sidetracked from her mission to get all her data analysis into a presentable format in time for her late November meeting with her advisor. Her raw data comprised millions of ultra-high resolution images of the night sky, taken at particular arcs and depths, that she stored compressed in data shards in the cloud. With each of these now too big to easily manipulate on her personal computer, she was stuck working at her powerful desktop within her cubicle. In this room she was the only woman.
She knitted some unprocessed images together in a time lapse, checked her spreadsheet on a secondary screen for the correct grid reference, then renamed the file and dropped it into place on the master document. It would all ultimately resemble a jigsaw of the section of the night sky she’d focused on. Then she returned the new shard to the cloud and selected more unprocessed images. As they downloaded, a faint sound intruded through her noise-cancelling headphones, and then something hit her shoulder.
She pulled her headphones off, grabbed the offending item — a blue stress ball — and shot to her feet in one swift motion. ‘Whose is this?’ she said mildly, into the appalled silence.
‘Mine,’ one of the guys in a cubicle over by the door admitted. Before she could chuck it back at him, he added, ‘Shit, Hal, are you OK? I’m really sorry, I meant to throw it at Jacob.’
Halley lowered her arm. ‘I know you didn’t do it on purpose.’ Now he’d apologized she couldn’t do what any of the guys would have done, and fired it right back at his head. Rather than responding with raucous applause, as they would for each other, there would be injurious silence, and later, someone would question why she hadn’t accepted his apology.
‘You’re not hurt?’ he added.
Hurt. From a stress ball at fifteen metres.
‘I’m fine. Catch.’ She sent the stress ball arcing toward him. He fumbled it, of course.
‘I did yell incoming ,’ she heard him mutter. ‘Why did she have to make such a big thing of it?’
She bit her lower lip to stop herself retorting that she’d been wearing headphones, had she not been she’d have caught the missile. If she got into that, she’d end up pointing out to the whole lot of them that treating her so carefully felt exclusionary. Instead, she checked the time. Discovering it was early evening, she reflexively rotated her shoulders, and glanced through the window behind her. The cloudless sky was rapidly darkening: a perfect night for sky-gazing, if only she didn’t have so much data wrangling and undergrad marking to do. She was tempted to head up to the telescope anyway, but that would be nuts. Instead, she switched to a different interface and more straightforward task, marking problem sheets.
After working through half of them she got to one with answers so far from correct that she couldn’t even decipher how the student had reached them. Deciding this meant that sleep was now the priority, she switched everything off, stretched, then rose, scooping up her belongings.
As she left the building and began to walk, her thoughts returned to Henry, as so often happened when she wasn’t actively concentrating elsewhere. On this beautiful evening, with the stars appearing overhead, her longing to see him was stronger than ever. If it wasn’t the middle of the night on his bit of the planet, she’d have phoned him.
Halfway home she found herself behind a couple, walking arm in arm. She semi-recognized them, and wondered how, until a split second later, when she realized that they reminded her of herself and Henry. The woman had a thick, fair ponytail, and the guy was a little darker, and three inches taller.
The woman half-turned, and the illusion was instantly broken, but Halley kept her eyes on them. She wasn’t close enough to hear what the woman said, but the meaning was evidenced by the man’s reaction, pulling off his sweater and smiling as the woman put it on over her thin dress.
Halley averted her eyes and plodded on.
* * *
Tuesday, 12 November
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: My first American football match . . .
To: Halley Hart
Dear Halley,
Are you free Saturday at the same time? And, unfortunately, at similar — still separate — places.
I had a visitor in my office today. Mr Exactly, asking if he could speak to me. I managed not to say, ‘I really bloody wish you would.’ He implored me not to go ahead with solo tutorials because — I think you’ll like this — he’s in love with Ms Oxcited... In her presence it’s almost impossible for him to think, let alone formulate complex sentences, so he puts all his energy into hinting that he likes her by agreeing vociferously with everything she says.
Yesterday I met my friend Kwame — who owns the boat — and arranged to rent it for an initial six months. On my way home I passed a pub that shows American sport. They were advertising that the San Francisco 49ers were playing, and I thought of you. I even went in for a pint, and tried to follow the match.
Is it too early to start counting down to Christmas?
Henry xxx
* * *
Wednesday, 13 November
From: Halley Hart
Subject: Your first American football GAME
To: Henry Inglis
Yes! Same time, same place for me. You, on the other hand, seem to be in a different location every time we vid-chat. Where do I get to see next?
And no — It’s never too early to count down to Christmas — it’s my favourite holiday anyway, and I have a feeling this one will be the best ever.
When do you move on to the boat?
I absolutely love the update on your students! (From now on, I need regular updates — I’m massively over-invested in this situation!)
Henry, I get that you don’t follow American sport and also that San Francisco is the nearest major city to where I currently live. But if you wanna date me then you’ve got to understand that we’re Chicago Bears fans all the way. And while we’re at it, we support the Cubs not the White Sox, and the Bulls are the best basketball team on the planet.
How’s your dad doing?
Your Halley
P.S. What’s our soccer team? I’ll order their baseball cap for my collection.
* * *
Thursday, 14 November
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Match, not game, noted!
To: Halley Hart
Dear Halley,
I’m moving to the boat next week — Kwame’s got belongings there to shift out first. And Dad’s fine, don’t waste a moment worrying about him.
I gather that thinking of you because of the 49ers was something of an insult? Please forgive my cultural faux pas! The nearest Premiership footie team to where I grew up is Southampton FC, but I don’t really watch sport so I’m a nominal supporter at best. My father used to take me along to watch Hampshire County Cricket Club on occasion, but I shouldn’t think they produce much in the line of baseball caps. There might be beanies?
There was an SCR working lunch earlier. I attempted to radiate invisibility, so as not to get landed with any extra tasks, and thankfully succeeded, though it got dicey when an issue with a staircase near my office was reported. Apparently the housekeepers have repeatedly found straw and hay scattered around inside there, and fear it’s the start of an elaborate prank, similar to one a decade ago, when apparently the MCR carpet was sown with grass seed and watered until it grew. Hogshoo volunteered me to investigate, but it was decided instead to inform students resident on that staircase that it has to stop, or daily spot-checks on their rooms will become mandatory.
I’ve never been the biggest Christmas fan, but this year I’m looking forward to it more than words can express. And to keep us going in the meantime, there’s our date to look forward to. See you Saturday!
Henry xxx
* * *
Friday, 15 November
Voice note from Viola to Henry:
Henry, It’s me. The appointment’s come through for Dad’s hip operation at long bloody last. But the date’s rather awkward so we need to work out a plan. Call me!
* * *
Saturday, 16 November
Halley
She knew when she’d been dreaming about Henry, for the simple reason that she always dreamt about Henry. And she knew when Angelie was having one of her groups over for a breakfast meeting when she was awoken by raised voices.
Halley squashed her spare pillow over her face and ears, blocking the intrusion out. She’d give Angelie hell for having people here at the crack of dawn. Except, Angelie wouldn’t do that — their agreement was that meetings began no earlier than 9.30, so Halley had overslept. Which meant that she only had two hours or so until her next date with Henry.
She sat bolt upright, smiling with anticipation.
‘Listen up,’ Angelie bellowed in another room. ‘If this decision was easy, we’d have made it already. Let’s break for ten, run through the options calmly , then take another vote.’
Halley hastily dressed, keen to make the most of their break, so she didn’t have to make coffee to a soundtrack of arguing.
Passing several of the group in the hallway, she recognized them as members of the mobile game team, and the concept art all over the breakfast bar in the kitchen confirmed it. Then she second-guessed herself, because the curly-haired guy built like a linebacker was sitting beside Angelie, and he was from her wellbeing app team.
Halley caught Angelie’s eye, and jerked her head toward the hallway.
‘What’s going on?’ she hissed, once they’d shooed the others back into the kitchen. ‘We agreed, if you ever merge a couple of your teams, you’d tell me how you explained their existence to each other, so I could back up that story.’
‘I didn’t, though.’
Halley scrutinized her. ‘Don’t try to tell me that guy’s not from wellbeing.’
Angelie sucked in her cheeks, which Halley had seen her do hundreds of times when thinking hard in an attempt to cover her tracks with one group or another.
‘Just the truth, thanks,’ Halley said, letting her voice grow louder.
‘Shh! And don’t be like that. He’s a psychology Master’s student, and his input on the mental wellbeing app’s been so on point that I decided to loop him in on this one too — we’re struggling with getting the game sticky enough.’
‘Sticky, in that context... oh addictive enough? So he’s dedicating his time to both the improvement of mental wellbeing, and purposely addicting people to their phones?’
‘ Sticky ,’ Angelie emphasized severely. ‘He’s helping us with a positive reinforcement offer. He’s already come up with a potentially transformational reward for the gamer who enables push notifications.’
‘So he knows you’re working on multiple projects?’
‘He knows I’m working on two, and he’s sworn to silence.’
Halley watched through the glass in the door as the linebacker wandered to their refrigerator, removed a pint of yoghurt, and dug into it with a spoon. ‘That’s mine!’
‘I’ll replace it,’ Angelie said rapidly. ‘He can’t help it. He plays football and he’s from Texas.’
Halley gaped at her, then strode into the kitchen. ‘Hey, you! You shouldn’t steal people’s food.’
‘I was hungry, and Angelie said to help myself.’
Halley glared back at Angelie, being intercepted by a girl who looked like she was about to combust. She wondered why, of all the fifty or so people involved in her groups, it was this one she chose to double-up on time with.
‘What’s your name?’ Halley demanded.
‘Ben,’ he said in that southern drawl. He pronounced it Bin , which was apt.
‘The bottom half of the refrigerator is Angelie’s food. Eat as much as you like of that, but leave my stuff alone, Bin.’
Angelie scurried in. ‘How about I bring you coffee in your room, Bu— uh, Halley ?’
Halley ground out a thank you and returned to her bedroom, where her phone was chiming with an incoming call. The astronomy department’s number flashed on her screen, and she eyed it with distaste: there was either a severe emergency, or someone had forgotten it was a weekend. ‘Yes?’ Listening hard, she slipped on a hoodie and grabbed her keys, then remembered that her car wasn’t outside. ‘I don’t have wheels today. It’ll take me a while to get there...’
She waved at Angelie, mouthed emergency , and left the flat, pressing Henry’s contact on her phone.
He answered within one ring. ‘Halley, everything all right?’
‘Yeah. No.’ She took a breath, even as she set a steady pace. ‘ I’m fine, but the fire alarm went off at the observatory. Seems to have only been from a campfire started by some idiot immediately outside, and the fire service are already packing up to leave. But I want to check over all the equipment myself. I’ll probably be late for our video call, but you know I’d rather be hanging out with you, right?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Actually, I got held up myself, and I was going to have to rush to get to the...’
When he didn’t continue, her forehead creased. ‘You’re out and about? I thought we could at least chat while I was on the way, but—’
‘We can,’ Henry said. ‘Now that I can saunter back, rather than legging it.’
‘I’m legging it,’ Halley admitted, jamming her phone between her shoulder and chin. ‘So you’ll have to do most of the talking. In the worst possible timing, I dropped my car into the shop yesterday.’
‘Did I know you have a car? I don’t think you’ve mentioned it before.’
‘Seriously? I don’t use it for going between the apartment and campus, but it’s thirty minutes to walk to the observatory — usually in the dark — so I brought it down from Chicago for my second year. Do you have a car?’
‘No, though I borrow Viola’s periodically. What’s the problem with yours?’
‘Needs new brake pads. Usually I do anything like that myself but I don’t have time right now, and brake issues can’t be delayed, of course. Where are you walking? I want to picture you.’
‘Down Banbury Road — I’m about to pass North Parade. Where we first saw each other.’
‘I dream about that all the time,’ she admitted suddenly. ‘Not like daydreams — well those too, sometimes — but proper dreams. A few nights ago, instead of what actually happened, in my dream you jumped into the taxi beside me, demanded that I kiss you again, and then... things progressed.’
‘Hmm? When you say progress — shit,’ he hissed suddenly. ‘I’m so sorry — are you OK?’ he added, in a rather strangled yell.
‘Henry?’
‘I stepped into the road without looking both ways. Made a cyclist do a rather abrupt emergency stop. Listen, it’s not that I don’t want to hear about how things... culminate in your dream, but it leaves me rather unable to focus—’
‘On the road,’ Halley said, her lips twitching.
‘On absolutely anything,’ he corrected, with wry self-consciousness.
‘Then I’ll wait to tell you sometime when it doesn’t risk your life and limb,’ she said, checking no one was in earshot. ‘Because keeping you alive is the only way to figure out someday if my dream’s as good as reality.’
Henry’s mock groan cheered her up considerably.
* * *
Text messages between Halley and Henry:
Sorry, it’s taking an age to check everything. You OK to stay up late, or shall we move our date to tomorrow? x
If it’s really all right, sweetheart, then let’s say tomorrow? Hope all your equipment’s undamaged? xxx
Everything fine so far, but I’m not taking any chances. ’Til tomorrow, usual time. x
* * *
Sunday, 17 November
Henry
Henry scanned around, appraising the place. It was... fine. He tried again, imagining what Viola would say if she were beside him, and his eyes alighted on the teetering crates of books in one corner. He straightened them before opening his laptop and staring at Halley’s photo outside the Halley observatory in Oxford, which he’d added to her contact. He wished he’d stayed at her side, shortly after taking it, for long enough to confirm the location of the Hope and Anchor. Or even better, that he’d blown off bidding his tour group farewell, cancelled on conducting the later tour, and spent the entire rest of the day with her.
Aware he was delaying the chat because of what was weighing on him, he muttered, ‘Chicken,’ and double-clicked to initiate the call.
Halley was already smiling when she appeared on his screen, but a split second later she gave the biggest grin and her eyes lit up.
‘You’ve moved into the boat already!’
‘Yup — surprise!’ he said, trying to match her level of excitement. ‘Kwame emptied it earlier than planned, so I got the keys Friday night and spent the weekend shifting everything in. I haven’t unpacked much yet.’
She leaned in, so her face overtook his entire screen. ‘Henry, what’s wrong?’
‘How do you...’ He shook his head. It didn’t matter how she could tell.
‘I’m freaking out here. Is it... is your father OK?’
‘He is. It’s good news for him, actually. The hip surgery he’s needed for over two years has finally been scheduled.’ Halley opened her mouth, but he pressed on. ‘Unfortunately, for the twentieth of December. Mum will need someone staying with her during his admission. And while he should be discharged in time for Christmas, they’ll then need at least two weeks of intensive support at home. We’re trying to line up carers to assist with all that, but with Mum so confused and Dad instantly cantankerous at even the mention of support, there’s no guarantee that it won’t all end up on Vi’s shoulders if I’m... if I’m away.’
‘You’re saying... you can’t come here for Christmas?’
Henry compressed his lips hard enough that it was painful. ‘Unfortunately so.’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘If I stay, I can take it in shifts with Viola. We’ve agreed we’ll do every other day, or similar. I didn’t want to talk through all the details until I’d told you.’
He’d been dreading making Halley’s face fall, but she looked contemplative, rather than devastated. He supposed that should make him feel a little less wretched, but instead he was beginning to worry. Maybe she wasn’t experiencing the desperation to be together that he was.
‘If you won’t be busy supporting your parents, like, every minute of every day, what if I come there, instead? I could get on with some dissertation writing every other day, while you’re with your parents.’
Henry couldn’t move.
‘Umm . . . Henry?’
‘I . . . you . . . you’d seriously come here, to . . . to stay on a boat and see me every other day?’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘It’s the practical solution — and infinitely preferable to not seeing you for any days. If you... well, if you’d like that?’
‘If I’d like that,’ he repeated, dazed. ‘I’d bloody love it!’ He’d recognized her brilliance very shortly after meeting her, but sometimes, he mused, it still took him by surprise. ‘You’re amazing, Halley. Coming up with that plan instantly, under the auspices of practicality.’
She shrugged, but was smiling again. ‘It’s decided, then? I’ll book a flight.’
‘I can look into transferring mine to you—’
‘Don’t be dumb. Save it for coming out here as soon after that as you can manage. Now quit making me think someone’s dying, and give me the grand tour!’
He transferred the call onto his mobile and swept it around as he walked into the bedroom, where he’d made up the bed. ‘We’ll start at the front — the bow.’
‘What size is that bed? It’s hard to figure out the scale.’
‘It’s a standard double,’ he said, as blandly as he could. He resolved to pull out the sofa, later in the tour, to show her that it became a small-double guest bed. ‘I more often use the door in the stern to exit and enter the boat, but there’s also one here to a little covered deck,’ he said, unlocking it and stepping out. He panned in a circle, showing her the canal, with neighbouring boats, and the towpath and then the exterior of the boat. ‘Narrow boats have names, and despite getting hers from the owner before Kwame, it happens to remind me of you. Want to venture a guess?’
‘It couldn’t be called Halley. Nothing has my name — except Mom and the comet.’
‘My email unearthed another dozen or so Halley Harts,’ Henry pointed out.
‘Just as well I knew my name wasn’t unique from birth. Oh God, it’s not a pun on Hart is it? The Heartbreaker or something.’
‘Nooo. Give up?’ He lowered his phone, until it displayed the words rendered in swirling letters just above the water line: Blue Moon.
* * *
Monday, 18 November
Text messages between Halley and Mom:
I was just thinking that it’s nearly your big birthday, Mom. What would you like? Aside from our card, of course. x
Only the card. And a phone call with my daughter, if she can make time.
And what’s with the x? Have you done as you threatened age 15, and changed your name? I’m not calling you Xena!
Of course I can make time for a phone call, Mom. I miss you. (Ignore the x — clumsy thumbs.)
I miss you too, Junior. Talk soon and take care!
* * *
Tuesday, 19 November
From: Halley Hart
Subject: Once in a Blue Moon
To: Henry Inglis
Hey Henry,
What have you done about the tutorials for your student — will you let him stay in one with the girl, only parroting exactly ?
Hope you’re starting to feel at home in the Blue Moon. Such a cool name — though the astronomical phenomenon isn’t as cool as people think. It’s nothing to do with the colour, only that a set of moon phases takes 29.5 days, which means twelve lunar cycles in 354 days. So every 2.5 years a thirteenth full moon is observed within a calendar year, and that’s named a blue moon. (It’s always seemed odd to me that the idiom is once in a blue moon , when there’s one so regularly.) (It should be once in a Halley’s Comet , since that’s genuinely about once in a lifetime.)
I’ve arranged to call Mom on her birthday next week.
Can you do same time, same place Saturday for next date?
Your Halley
* * *
Wednesday, 20 November
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Once in a Halley’s Comet
To: Halley Hart
Morning, Halley,
I’m pleased to hear about the phone call with your mother!
I’ve entirely finished unpacking the galley (full admission: wrote kitchen and had to backspace), and moved onto books. There aren’t nearly enough shelves, but Kwame said I could put more up, so I’ve added that to my ever-expanding list of things to do once term ends.
I went back to consult Rupert on the issue of the tutorials, and he declared, ‘Well, all’s fair in love and war, as they say,’ before petering out, as he does. I chose to interpret that as assent for the two of them to remain in a tutorial together... I must be going soft.
On my end, I told Viola our new Christmas plan and she offered to do extra days with the parentals while you’re here, if I pick up the slack in the weeks before and after your visit. To show willing, I’d like to offer to go down to stay with them this weekend, so she can have one completely free from them. (Feel a bit bad typing that — I should have offered sooner...) Anyway, if so, I can’t make our date on Saturday, but the thought of waiting another week after that is unpleasant. Do you have any other free time next week at all?
Once in a blue moon will never pass my lips again — only the infinitely superior once in a Halley’s Comet .
Henry xxx
* * *
Thursday, 21 November
From: Halley Hart
Subject: Thanksgiving?
To: Henry Inglis
Hey Henry,
As an only child, and lately a pretty lousy daughter, I’m not best placed to advise on the situation with Viola taking more responsibility for your parents. But you seem to be describing feeling a little guilty about it, so of course you should go down this weekend! As for a midweek date — wanna celebrate Thanksgiving with me on Thursday?
I’ve been looking at options for flights. There’s plenty of availability so I thought I’d wait a couple weeks before booking, in case your father’s operation changes date or anything? (I’ve heard all about cancellations in the NHS, because Mom’s really interested in different countries’ health systems.) (She doesn’t talk about NHS cancellations in any insulting kind of way — she’s actually really keen on ‘socialized medicine’.)
Your Halley x
* * *
Friday, 22 November
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: Thinking about you constantly, as ever . . .
To: Halley Hart
Dear Halley,
Would you believe, Ms Oxcited and Mr Exactly arrived at my office for their tute earlier hand in hand . I don’t know what happened so suddenly, but unfortunately he’s so in love that he still only speaks to echo everything she says with exactly , though now with an awed smile. So this development has left him a lot happier (and presumably her too), but not really me.
I totally understand with the flight. And virtual Thanksgiving dinner date sounds amazing — I’m there!
Sorry to keep this short — I’m on the train and arriving soon. Apologies in advance if I don’t get time to message much — I’ll be thinking about you constantly, as ever.
Henry xxx
* * *
Sunday, 24 November
From: Halley Hart
Subject: On a practical note . . .
To: Henry Inglis
Henry!!
I was so excited at the update on your students that I screamed a little, and Angelie sprinted into my bedroom with a fire extinguisher! She thought an intruder (possibly zombified) had climbed in my window, not that there was a fire, but she’d previously identified the extinguisher as a good weapon.
I’m also a little envious of them. They get to hold hands, and we don’t. Not until Christmas. Is it weird that it’s one of the many things I’m actively looking forward to? I don’t think I’ve ever particularly been into holding hands before.
I hope your weekend with your parents has gone OK. I didn’t email yesterday so that you didn’t feel any pressure to write me back.
I’m busy getting my data tidy for the astronomy symposium here in a few weeks. I get to present my work — as long as my advisor signs off on my analysis at our meeting on Wednesday — which is great visibility prior to applying for jobs in academic astronomy. On a practical note, this gave me an idea. . . what if I told him I’d be especially interested in meeting professors from any European astronomy programmes who might have an opening upcoming? Or is it too soon for me and you to be planning for the future?
I’m constantly thinking about you, too.
Your Halley
* * *
Monday, 25 November
From: Henry Inglis
Subject: It’s absolutely not too soon!
To: Halley Hart
Dear Halley,
I’m still grinning — and I read your email eleven hours ago! From my perspective, it is absolutely not too soon. But also, please feel no pressure to do so if it were just an idea. And either way, good luck at the meeting with your advisor!
Emergency SCR meeting earlier, and I feared having to investigate if there’s a straw prank, after all. It turned out to be something quite different — the bursar saw a shadow moving up the outside of one of our buildings. There’s a historic feud with a neighbouring college which we were hopeful had died out, but if it’s been reignited it could be one of their undergrads climbing over — or one of ours heading over there. Unfortunately Hogshoo volunteered me again, this time successfully, and I’ve been deputized to identify the climber if at all possible.
What are we doing for Thanksgiving? My oven’s too small for a turkey but I could roast a chicken or make turkey soup.
I can’t wait to hold your hand, Halley.
Henry xxx
* * *
Tuesday, 26 November
From: Halley Hart
Subject: Thanksgiving dinner-date
To: Henry Inglis
Hey Henry,
I hope the identification of a climber doesn’t mean any climbing yourself? Please be careful!
You don’t need anything fancy for Thanksgiving, just your favourite comfort food. That’s what Mom and I always did, when it was just the two of us. We only ate the traditional stuff when we went to Aunt Edie’s in Florida for the Thanksgiving weekend. (Which we managed occasionally, when other nurses were kind enough to swap shifts with Mom.) (So since I turned 18, Mom has worked most holidays, after swapping with single moms.)
I’m definitely asking about jobs in Europe tomorrow, Henry. I mean, there’s no guarantees. Academic astronomy is poorly funded, so there are never many jobs, and my dull thesis topic won’t set the world on fire. But I wanna try to be close to you, and not just at Christmas.
Your Halley
* * *
Wednesday, 27 November
Halley
‘Halley, come in,’ Professor Tung said, as she hovered in his doorway.
He was bald with a thick neck and small features, so he resembled a thumb with a face drawn on it. Some students nicknamed him Professor Thumb as a result, though Halley had never done so. This was the human being whose opinion of her and her work would have the biggest effect on her future.
She sat on the other side of his desk, and smiled, to keep from looking as nervous as she felt.
‘I’ve examined your data analysis, and I have to say, I’ve always had high hopes for you, Halley.’ He laughed. ‘High hopes, get it?’
High hopes for her because she was an astronomer named after a comet. He absolutely loved terrible gags.
‘Good one,’ she lied.
‘But about your data . . .’ He pulled an apologetic face. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed something . . .’