The Aurora (Aurora Saga, Book 1) (3 page)
Walter added, ‘I remember Violet saying you looked too pretty to be in trouble. She knows best!’
Violet continued, ‘We never told you, Londuo, but while you were recovering you kept calling out a name, James. We knew then we’d made the right decision not to call the police.’ She paused a moment. ‘He must mean a lot to you.’
Londuo thought of James.
‘He did. For the short amount of time we had together, he made me very happy. He was a very special person, so different to all the others. I’ve missed him so much.’
She was trying not to cry.
‘Why don’t you go and find him? I’m sure you can get back together.’
What do I tell them?
‘
It’s complicated.’ Londuo paused. ‘I’m not sure you’ll understand.’
‘It’s all right, Londuo. You don’t have to tell us anything,’ Violet said.
I’ve got to tell them.
‘No, I owe you the truth, but you probably won’t believe me, anyway,’ Londuo said. ‘You see, I’ve never belonged here. You could say I was shipwrecked. Our spaceship, the
Aurora,
crashed.’
Walter said, ‘That night; I’ll always remember that night when you arrived. A few hours before we found you in the front garden there was an explosion. The sky lit up and the ground shock.’
Londuo nodded.
‘That was the
Aurora
. James died in the crash.’
‘I didn’t realise,’ Violet said, with surprise in her eyes. ‘You poor thing. I thought you two had split up. I’m really sorry to hear James has passed away, Londuo.’
Londuo took a deep breath.
‘He was only seventeen. We spent about six weeks together. He saved my life more than once, but I could do nothing that night to save him.’
‘But there was nothing in the news, Londuo. No spaceship or anything.’
‘I think I remember reading about an earthquake,’ Walter added.
‘Why didn’t someone find James or this spaceship, then?’ Violet asked.
‘I don’t know. I’ve been back there, but there’s nothing left. Maybe the military took it away; maybe the ship dissolved completely. The only thing left is a large crater. I lost everything that night: My notepad, diary, everything.’
‘That reminds me!’ Walter said. He got up and went to a chest of draws nearby. ‘Now, where is it? I found it about four weeks ago.’
‘He’ll never find it,’ Violet said. ‘He’d lose his head if it wasn’t on his shoulders!’
‘I found it out on the hillside, towards the weather vane,’ he said, rummaging through the contents of the top draw. ‘It’s not very big. At first I thought it was a small red cigarette lighter, but it just seems to be a piece of metal with some strange writing on it. I couldn’t work out what it was.’
What does he have - something from the ship?
‘Here it is.’
Walter showed it to Londuo.
‘My diary; you found my diary!’ Londuo said, recognising it.
Walter handed it to her.
‘As I said, looks like a piece of metal to me. A bit small to be a diary, isn’t it? Where do you write anything?’
He sat back down.
‘It’s a recording device; it holds data,’ Londuo replied.
‘But it’s not even half the size of a cassette tape,’ he replied.
‘This single cartridge can hold the entire contents of all your books here on Earth,’ Londuo said. ‘Unfortunately I’ve no way of using it.’
We don’t even have any computers at the space centre capable of interfacing with it. I’m going to have to wait if I want to use it.
Walter and Violet acted like they were not surprised.
They don’t believe me; not a word. I’m not sure I should tell them any more, but I said I would tell them the truth. Oh well.
Londuo continued, ‘It’s not just that the
Aurora
crashed here. You see, this is not my time. I’m from the future. The galaxy was in great danger; including Earth. James and I travelled back in time to change events.’
‘But that’s impossible, Londuo. You’ve been reading too many books,’ Violet said.
‘It’s possible.’
‘We all wish at some time in our life we could go back and change what’s already happened, but why would a young woman like you want to do that?’
‘My planet, Qintaino, was attacked by a race of plant-like creatures called the Treitans. They killed everyone. We went back in time to destroy them before they could attack us. The Treitans are evil; their population is out of control. They’re spreading across the galaxy, wiped out hundreds of planets. They are even going to attack Earth.’
‘What could anyone possibly want from Earth?’ Walter said. ‘We can’t even stop fighting ourselves.’
‘Your oceans; they live on water. They will take all the water and leave the planet lifeless.’ Londuo said. ‘Look, what I’ve told you is the truth.’
‘Londuo, I have to say, you can tell a very good story. All those strange words; Treitans, Qintaino and to top it all, you’re from the future.’
‘I said you wouldn’t believe me.’
I don’t think it matters what I say, they’re never going to believe me.
Londuo shook her head.
‘I’m sorry, Londuo. It’s too much fantasy. Anyway, when will you be leaving?’
Londuo felt guilty, like she had lied.
They didn’t believe a word I said, and I have no way of proving it. There’s no point in trying to make them understand.
‘Monday. I’m going to leave Monday,’ she said, in resignation.
‘I’ll do you a nice apple pie for you to take with you,’ Violet said.
‘That should last you a few weeks!’ Walter said cheekily.
Londuo smiled.
‘I’m going to miss you both.’
In 1973, Londuo moved to Orlando but never lost contact with Walter and Violet, writing to them every week and visiting them every three to four months. Then, in 1984, Walter passed away at the age of eight-four. Violet was devastated. They had been married for over sixty years, and she had lost her soul-mate: her lifetime lover. Londuo spent five weeks with Violet trying to convince her to come and live with her in Orlando, but without success. She couldn’t even persuade Violet to get a telephone so they could be in contract more often.
Eventually, Londuo went back on her own to her day-to-day life in Orlando and carried on communicating with Violet by writing to her every week. Then, one week, Londuo failed to receive a letter from Violet. She put it down to the postal system, but couldn’t help worrying. She would wait to see if Violet’s next letter arrived the following week; if not, she would drive to Hinsdale to visit her the following day.
*****
Friday arrived and after finishing work Londuo returned to her flat. As usual she picked up the mail at the entrance before walking up the stairs to her flat on the first floor. She browsed expectantly at the envelopes on the way, looking for a letter from Violet.
Bill, another bill, junk mail; nothing from Violet, but what’s this?
She unlocked the door and placed her keys on a table just inside the flat. An official looking envelope had the words ‘Johnson, Lewis and Carter’ printed on it. Londuo tore open the envelope before she fell back onto the large sofa to relax. Inside was a letter from a solicitor. Londuo glanced through the text quickly realising its content.
Violet! She’s gone
. Londuo read that Violet had collapsed in the local store in Hinsdale. She had died the same evening in hospital. Londuo wiped her eyes and read on. The letter mentioned that Violet and Walter had never had any children, and they left the house and car to her.
Why would they leave everything to me? I don’t deserve anything. They were so kind to me; it’s me who owes them everything.
*****
The following week, Londuo attended Violet’s funeral. She was surprised at how many of the Hinsdale residents came to pay their respects. Londuo never realised how popular Violet was.
‘So you must be Londuo,’ an old man said to her, as people were starting to leave the churchyard.
‘Yes,’ Londuo replied.
‘Bill Turner,’ he said and offered his hand to her. ‘I run the local store.’
Londuo shook it gently.
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you for coming, Bill.’
‘She was very fond of you, you know.’
‘Really?’ Londuo said.
She felt uneasy, wondering what Violet might have told people.
‘Violet thought of you as the daughter she never had. It’s a shame they couldn’t have children; she would have been a wonderful mother.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Londuo replied in amazement.
‘I’m not surprised. Everyone here knew, after all it’s such a small community and everyone gossips, but Violet and Walter didn’t like to talk about it. When you arrived they seemed happier; full of life again…’
Londuo felt sad and thought about the past with them. Bill’s words faded into the distance as she daydreamed, but she suddenly awoke from her thoughts when Bill said,
‘You look like you want to be alone. I’ll be off now; it was nice meeting you. If you need anything just drop by the store.’
Londuo nodded.
‘Yes… Yes... Thank you.’
They never told me.
Londuo stood staring at Violet’s grave.
That’s why they were so kind to me.
Londuo thought again back to the time when she was convalescing from her injured shoulder.
*****
She was sitting with Violet out the back of the house, looking towards an old derelict outbuilding. Violet had half-finished a painting of it and Londuo was trying to paint for the very first time.
Walter had just brought them two cups of coffee from the house. He passed them to Londuo and Violet.
‘Thank you, dear,’ Violet said.
‘I think the Chrysler’s going to need another set of new tyres soon,’ Walter remarked. ‘And it’s getting hard to start now.’
‘You’re not still looking at that brochure of the Ford are you?’
‘It’s a nice car. Maybe I can pick up a used one in a few years’ time.’
‘What it is?’ Londuo asked.
‘He’s been drooling over a car. The Ford Mustang. I think he wants to be a teenager again and tear around the countryside!’ Violet said. ‘Don’t know why you want a convertible though. Not very practical, is it?’
‘No, dear,’ Walter replied. ‘I’m going back inside to read the newspaper. Have fun painting.’
He walked back to the house.
‘There’s no harm in wanting to feel young again,’ Londuo said, knowing that Violet was never going to allow Walter to have the car. ‘After all, the only place you go is Hinsdale and that’s just once a week. He needs something else to occupy his time. You have your painting, while he doesn’t have a real hobby. He only reads books or does gardening.’
Violet smiled.
‘You’re probably right, Londuo. Maybe he does really want this car.’
Londuo looked at her blank canvas.
That’s a big area to paint.
‘Now, I’ve squeezed a number of acrylic colours onto your easel,’ Violet said. ‘It’s up to you how you mix then together. If you need other colours they’re in the box on the ground between us. There’s plenty of water in these jars to clean the brush.’
Londuo was unsure where to start. She mixed a blue with white and apprehensively started to paint the sky. Violet continued with hers. Londuo stopped and watched her for a while before saying,
‘I want to paint that building, but how do I know what colours to put where? Your painting seems to come to life; how do you do it?’
‘Look at just one part of the building. For example, take the door, Londuo. What do you see?’
Londuo studied the building in front of her.
‘I see an open wooden door which is old and rotten. About half of it’s in sunlight.’
‘What colours do you see?’
‘Mainly shades of browns, with some black and a bit of grey.’
‘Try to see past the basic colours. Look, there’s blues from the sky, greens from the grass. I can see some purple; not just the dull colours. Look at the yellows where the light hits it.’
Londuo could now see other colours, but was finding it hard to visualise how she could paint it.
‘Also how do you feel about the door? Is it happy, sad or full of energy? Think what would bring it to life.’
‘I believe I can see what you mean. It looks happy, even if the rest of the building is falling apart around it. It wants to be opened and closed.’
‘Good. Don’t be afraid to paint what you see and feel Londuo. Remember you’re not trying to create a photograph.’ Violet placed her hand over her own heart. ‘It’s what’s inside you that will bring it to life.’
*****
Londuo looked around. Everyone had now left the churchyard.
Paint from the heart, that’s what Violet meant, but my heart is still with James.
She thought of James.
I wonder if he tried to paint when he was on Earth.
As she walked slowly back to Walter’s Mustang, she thought back to the
Aurora
and James.
I miss him. He told me he lived in England before we met. Now where was that place? Brampton. Yes, it was Brampton, in an area called Cumbria, I think. I’m sure that’s what he told me.
Deep inside, she felt a need to be closer to him, even if it was just a passing reference to his life.
There’s nothing to keep me here now except my job. I could go to England to see where he lived.
Londuo pondered and then with great determination said,
‘I’m going to go to England!’
Londuo sold the house, but kept all of Violet’s paintings and her artist equipment. A year later, in 1985, she moved to England and bought a cottage in the small village of Brampton, in Cumbria, where James had lived before they met. The following year she imported Walter’s Ford Mustang.
Inspired by Violet’s paintings, which she had now hung around the cottage, Londuo used the surrounding landscape as subjects for her paintings and created many works, some of which she started to sell. Then, one day while painting, she wondered what they might have created back on Qintaino had they used similar methods and techniques. And so she started to experiment by mixing her technical know-how with paints and other materials.
*****
A few years later, the art world was suddenly amazed by a new artist, Jane Packard, an American who had created a new type of painting called a magnogenic canvas. Londuo had managed to charge particles of paint with a magnetic field. This allowed the paint to literally rise from the surface of the canvas to predetermined heights proportional to the charge held within them. This meant the flat canvas, once powered, was transformed into a three-dimensional painting. Suddenly, everyone wanted this new expressionist work. Her paintings were based upon her memories of pictures she’d seen of Qintaino, using very vivid colours; reds, oranges and yellows. Some depicted huge brightly coloured buildings, others strange looking animals and flowers. Londuo tried to avoid too much attention; the technology was very simple to her, but seemed to cause a lot of press releases.
Londuo felt great satisfaction; she had created works that would last many years or even centuries. She felt very proud of herself.
