It was a hard-won climb. The attic stairs steep and twisting. Tiny tumble weeds of soft dust and debris gathered in every corner. It was a seldom visited place, now. Daphne paused, waiting, catching her breath, and listening to the steady beat of her labouring heart. She stood, motionless, holding on to the curved handrail, solid and secure beneath her fingers. Then she took a breath and pulled herself upwards. She could hear him, a few steps below, his breathing slow and measured. She had wanted to walk behind, thinking she could possibly push him upwards if the going got too much, but he was one step ahead of her, as always.

“And what if I fall, what then?” he wheezed, his grey eyes lost among the smiling wrinkles.

“Humpty dumpty time then, isn’t it, or maybe even Jack and Jill, no brown paper will patch us up though….”

Daphne had opened her mouth to protest, to say that might be for the best but remained quiet, he was right of course. She could picture them both falling, tumbling down and down, a mess of arms and legs, like something from a comic book, except there would be no fixing, not for them. She shrugged instead, agreeing and took his hand.

“Let’s go then, we’ll take our time.”

The feel of his hand had never changed, that firm but gentle pressure, covering hers. She still remembered the first time she ever held his hand, so so long ago. It was dark and there had been quite the crowd that night, gathered together to watch the eclipse. Some more serious than others, carefully arranged tripods and picnic blankets strewn across the deer cropped grass.

Daphne had gone with a friend, a girl she shared a flat with. She wasn’t really bothered about the eclipse, the first since the moon landing but the weather was fine and there was a festive summer atmosphere, carnival like, with strangers smiling and talking to each other in excited voices, so they packed a small bag and set off for the park.

She had reached the top of the stairs. The attic door was closed.

“I’m there now,” she called back down.

“Good, good,” he rasped. She knew he was on the little landing a floor below, waiting, breathless, holding on to the handrail. She pushed the door and it groaned open.

The last rays of summer light were falling through the enormous shuttered window, lying in slanted bars across the dusty floor. This room was the reason they bought the house, she remembered them taking the stairs two at a time, laughing and lying beneath the open window. Watching, as the moon travelled its ancient path above their heads, slow breaths of summer air lifting her hair and tingling their way along her arms.

It had always been the heart of the house, filled with children’s laughter and then late at night when the house began to silt up with silence, she climbed the stairs to find him. Watching the stars, dreaming of a world of light and dark, walking in slow motion across the moon.

She made her way to the window, taking her time, stepping carefully in the half light, and began to fold the shutters back. The sun poured in, like molten honey, finding the dark corners, chasing the shadows away. She opened the window, she could hear the birds, robins, thrushes, blackbirds, filling the air with beauty and song. Then she heard his step, a shuffle, he was at the door, he’d made it. She smiled at him, brushing away her tears.

He was the astronomer, not her. He had set up a telescope that night to watch the lunar event in the park and as darkness fell, enveloping the people, the crowd became silent. A great hush descended as though the world may never brighten again. She was standing, looking skyward when she felt his gaze in the velvet black.

“Would you like to see?” he asked, taking her hand, guiding her steps across the grass.

In the attic the telescope stood beside the open window. Daphne had found the old rocking chair and pushed it across the floor for him. She was fixing blankets and wondering if the night air would be too cold.

“Don’t fuss Daphne, I’m fine, we’re fine, aren’t we?

Daphne looked away; she went back to the telescope beside the window.

“So, what do I do now? she asked.

“Have you never listened to a word…” he began to laugh, and then it turned into a crackling rasp and Daphne was by his side, checking the oxygen cannister, making sure the valve was fully open. He was holding the mask against his face, trying to catch his breath and Daphne kneeled down awkwardly, holding his hand, waiting for the spasm to pass, waiting for his broken lungs to filter air.

In the attic, the light grew dim, as night came on, a soft purple colour against the faded chalk white walls. Daphne checked the viewer again, she could see the moon clearly now, a vast white orb, craters and tiny circles dotting the surface, scars and dust. She thought of his lungs and the way life changed, so quickly, without notice, without care.

“Have you got it in the viewfinder?” he asked.

Daphne nodded.

“What now?” she said eventually.

“We wait,” he replied.

She remembered the walk home from the park the morning after. A hot bright August morning, heavy with the promise of a scorching summer day. The dawn chorus busy, chattering in the bushes and hedgerows, her cardigan slipping from her shoulders as she walked. She was helping him by carrying the tripod.

“Will I see you again? he asked, as they came to the end of her road and she nodded, knowing her heart was already lost to this tall man. She watched him walk away till he was just another figure amongst the strangers on the street.

In the attic the night air was filling the room with the heady scent of summer stock and cool breezes brushed across her face. She looked at him, lying back in the rocking chair, he could be sleeping. The mask tight against his face, tiny breaths fogging up the nose piece. It had been his idea. Just a simple notion that came to him after one of the nurses explained about the oxygen valve on the tank.

“Be careful with this lever, the mix needs to be within this range, too much oxygen and…,” she’d stopped talking then, aware of the silence, the only sound the dry crackling wheeze as he struggled to breathe.

“Imagine, we put a man on the moon but we can’t fix this?” he said to Daphne later than night, but she knew him and she knew the paths his mind was travelling, alone. She argued at first, meaningless words, tears and then the inevitable acceptance.

“My terms Daphne, my terms, time is running low.”

And she knew he was right if he waited too long, life would no longer be his to decide.

The room was filling with darkness now, the moon almost fully gone, the earth’s shadow creeping slow. She looked through the viewer again, with a glassy eye, her tears dropping on the tiny screen.

“Watch for me in the stars,” he whispered. “I will wait for you on the moon.”

The room was silent.