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I couldn’t bear to see her off when she departed for the States. She phoned me from time to time during the intensive phase of her training. I ignored her calls; read her emails; deleted them. In the outside world, the hype surrounding the launch reached fever pitch. Marooned in Corbyn, I nursed my broken heart, watched her crops wither and die.
I answered Bridie’s last call on the eve of her voyage, wished her luck.
‘I love you, Jasmin.’
Yeah.
‘Remember me.’
Sometimes I’d sit on the deck gazing towards that distant dull red dot. I’d stare at the ring on my finger, its jewels twinkling like tiny stars.
Then one day I picked up my phone.
‘Mum?’
My voice croaked through lack of use.
‘Jasmin? Is that you?’
The line crackled. She seemed so far away.
‘Mum…Mum—’
