Page 6 of Lunar Blackout

“I love a good healthy competition.” Winston smirks.

So do I.

***

That was amazing. He was amazing. I have never done a simulation so perfectly before in my life, we just bounced off each other, worked as one solid unit. Winston was fantastic, of course he was fantastic. But that can’t change anything.

Yes, I’ve agreed to a fresh start, and I mean that, I really do. But I can’t allow myself to get caught up in all things Winston again, that will almost definitely lead to a repeat of the rift. Though trying not to get attached to him again will be difficult, his gravitational pull is like that of a black hole—inescapable.

“So, buddy. Fancy grabbing a drink with me?” Winston almost looks like he is pleading. Buddy is what he used to call me back at camp. Maybe he really does want to go back to how close we were. “I know a great place for cocktails?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I can’t help but smile.

“Fine,” I say in a sarcastically protesting way, “but just the one.” His smile melts my heart. No. I need to keep this platonic, no catching feelings, no fooling around. Winston needs to be kept away from my personal life, we are to be just colleagues, friends at most, but nothing, and I mean nothing more.

He takes me to this bar just off Carnaby Street. It’s a little door that would be easy to miss if there wasn’t a bouncer and a small queue of people waiting to get in. I am surprised as we walk past the queue and straight to the intimidating bouncer.

“Cheryl!” Before I know it, Winston is hugging the bouncer. Cheryl is almost a third of Winston’s height and picks him up, picks HIM up, all 6’4” and pounds and pounds of muscle. If I were into women, I’d probably be turned on.

“This is Iolo—” Again he said it right. “—He’s who I’m going to the Moon with next month.” I go to shake her hand but she stiffens into a salute, and aggressively shoots her hand out.

“I met Cheryl at a holiday resort in Cuba, she beat me in an arm-wrestling contest that was started by this very cocky drunk Jersey man who said he’d buy the whole bar’s drinks for an hour if someone could beat him.” Why does Winston look shy as he says this?

“I made Winnie very poor that evening.” Winnie? I’m saving that for later.

“Cheryl, baby,” he says in a clearly jokey tone, “why you got to throw me under the bus in front of my date?” I am about to blush at him saying this is a date, when it most certainly isn’t.

“Please,” Cheryl protests, “this man can clearly do better than the likes of you.” She gives us a wink and opens the barrier for us. The groans of the queue are louder than the pounding of my heart. Apparently it likes the idea of this being a date, but my brain knows better. This is certainly not a date.

***

Okay so maybe this is a date. He’s refused to let me pay once, he keeps moving closer and closer to me, going from the chair opposite me, to his big, meaty, muscly thigh being pressed against my own.

The bar he’s chosen is adorable, it’s themed like the London Underground, with a 1940s twist, drinks being brought out in cups shaped like notable people of that era, or in cups and saucers. When we arrived, Winston ordered us two Sputnik cocktails, which to my delight came in a cup shaped like a Soyuz capsule.

I’d argued I’d only be here for one drink, and here I am, three Sputniks, two Queen Elizabeths and one Jane Grey cocktail later. I am feeling a little merry and more than a little into Winston. My brain is screaming at me to think things through, but my heart is clambering up to orbit his own.

I want to reach out to him, want to push this to the next step. It’s clearly going in that direction, isn't it? Bringing me here, giving me several very expensive cocktails… I can’t want this to happen, I know it will cause me hurt. But… maybe it won’t? Maybe this is exactly what needs to happen to clear the remnants of the toxicity between us.

I’m about to be brave and put my hand on his thigh when he jumps out of his seat.

“JUSTIN!” He runs off to hug the worst person we could see tonight. He brings Justin over to our table and he sits on the chair opposite us. “Iolo, you remember Justin, he was at the training camp with us.” I was so stupid for thinking this was a date. Of course it isn’t, why would ten years make Winston want to date me now?

“G-rough right?” Justin says in his thick Scottish accent as he leans his hand over to me. This is why I said I can’t let my guard down around Winston. I shake his hand and let go as quickly as seemed acceptable. A waitress brings another cocktail to the table, and I down it in one, receiving applause from Justin, and a strange look from Winston I shan’t dissect. The burn of the short cocktail down my throat is almost as painful as the realisation that, of course, coming here tonight was a mistake. A mistake that is confirmed when Justin reaches his arm over Winston’s shoulders before looking me right in the eye and smirking the same way he did ten years ago.

FOUR

WINSTON

This is so awkward. Iolo hasn’t said a word to me all day through training, apart from essential communication during our tasks, and even then he’s been cold and very controlled. What the hell happened?

Last week was going so well. I took him to a cute cocktail bar I love after we agreed to have a fresh start. I joked with Cheryl that it was a date to see his reaction, which at first seemed apprehensive, but as the night went on, he opened up more, he was the Iolo I knew back in training camp. I swear at one point we would have kissed, our one kiss at training camp is something I have regretted for the last ten years. Not because it happened, but because it only happened the once.

The whole night was going so well, until it wasn’t. I can’t work out why the arrival of Justin turned things sour. As far as I know, Justin and Iolo got on at the camp, the three of us were always hanging out at the pub after each day, laughing over the silly bonding activities they had us do before the serious science kicked in. We thought they were worried about people from the separate nations working together, worried that there might be hostilities between us because of our nationalities, and then there was us three like the start of a joke, an Englishman, a Welshman and a Scotsman walking into a pub.

I noticed Iolo’s shift almost immediately, he downed his drink, his leg started to bounce with pent up energy of some kind, and he just seemed so unlike himself. But it was the first time I’d seen Justin in over a year so I kept talking to him, getting his work updates, found out he designed part of the Spitfire, which means we have our lives in his hands on this mission.

I hoped to comfort Iolo and see what was wrong the micro-second that Justin left to find his own table again, but Iolo remained quiet, said he was tired and we went home. Even Cheryl had noticed a shift in his mood. He went from slightly anal, to fully loosening up, to more rigid than I have ever seen him before. The closest I’ve seen him to this was the final day of the training camp all those years ago. This last week of training has been hell, but at least today is the final day before launch in a fortnight.

“Smith, Gruff, we need to run the take off and re-entry simulation again. Once you’ve finished with your lunch, head straight to the basement.” Teck walks off. She seems to have noticed our newly expanded rift, I wonder what could have given it away? Perhaps that while we are in an empty canteen, Iolo and I are sitting at polar opposites of the room.