The Wrong Star at Closing Time

Aziz made his promise one morning, in a hurry, with a mouth full of toast. His flatmate Zeke stood in the kitchen doorway holding a cardboard tube as long as an umbrella.

"The astronomy club needs a dark place," Zeke said. "Somewhere high, with no street lights and no trees. Your swimming pool has a huge flat roof."

"It's a city pool," Aziz said. "It's next to a car park."

"Exactly. Wide, flat and empty. Please, Aziz. Twelve people have paid for tickets to the star night."

Aziz worked as the evening attendant at the pool. He locked the doors, counted the towels and told teenagers to stop running. He knew the building better than anyone. He also knew that the manager would never allow a crowd on the roof.

"The roof is out of the question," he said. "But the pool deck closes at ten. After that, the building is mine. I can let you in for one hour."

Zeke's eyes widened. "You promise?"

"I promise," Aziz said, and he swallowed his toast. "Twelve people, one hour, no trouble."

It was the kind of promise that sounds small in a kitchen. By the next evening, it had grown teeth.

First, the manager left a note on the noticeboard. It said that every light in the building must stay on until the last member left. The note had three exclamation marks. Aziz read it and groaned.

Second, the big floodlights could only be switched off in the manager's office. The office was locked, and the manager had taken the key home.

Third, and worst, there was the swimmer in lane one. She swam forty lengths every night at nine thirty, without fail, and she did not like being hurried. She was fifty, strong as a rope, and completely unafraid of attendants.

At nine fifty-five, Zeke arrived with his club. They came through the staff door in twos and threes. They wore coats and carried folding chairs, flasks and notebooks. One man brought a camera the size of a shoebox. Aziz counted twelve and felt slightly sick.

Zeke set up his telescope at the shallow end, between the diving board and the lifeguard chair. It was a beautiful instrument, white and silver, with a tripod like a heron's legs. He had saved for it for two years.

"We can't see anything under these lights," he muttered. "Aziz. The floodlights."

"The switch is locked in the office."

"Then break the door."

"I'm not breaking the door!"

At ten o'clock, the loudspeaker clicked and a recorded voice said that the pool was now closed. The swimmer, still in the lane by the wall, did not even slow down. She finished her thirty-sixth length and turned for the thirty-seventh.

Aziz walked to the edge and crouched. "Madam, I am sorry. We're closing."

She lifted her head and pushed her goggles up. "I have four lengths left. Give me three minutes."

"There is a, um, private event."

"Is there?" She looked past him at the twelve strangers, the chairs and the long white telescope. "At my pool?"

"It's the city's pool," Aziz said weakly.

"Then it's partly mine." She put her goggles back on and swam away.

Aziz stood up and wiped his face. Behind him, Zeke was already pulling a folded map from his coat. "Let's look at the sky through the skylight," he said. "There's a glass panel in the ceiling. If we turn off the side lights, we can aim up from here."

He ran to the wall and flipped every switch he could reach. The side lights went out one by one. The ceiling went dark. The water turned black. The sky appeared in the glass panel above them, a small square full of stars.

The club gasped. For a moment, it felt like the best idea in the world.

Then the underwater lamps came on by themselves and lit the whole pool a bright, ghostly green.

"What is that?" a man asked.

"Safety lights," Aziz said. "They can't be switched off. It's the law."

Zeke closed his eyes and counted to five. When he opened them, he turned the telescope toward the skylight and began to adjust the tripod. He worked fast, like a man trying to save a ship. At last, he straightened up and pointed.

"There," he said. "That's Vega. The brightest star in this part of the sky. It's blue-white, and it has a disc of dust around it. You'll see it clearly."

One by one, the club members climbed the little ladder to look. Each of them gave a small, happy sigh.

"It's beautiful," said the woman with the notebook.

"I can see the colour," said a young boy. "It's blue."

Aziz watched them and felt the knot in his stomach loosen. Zeke caught his eye across the deck and gave him a grateful nod. For the first time all evening, nothing seemed to be going wrong.

The swimmer finished her fortieth length at a quarter past ten. She climbed the steps, wrapped herself in a towel and walked slowly to the telescope. Nobody stopped her.

"What are you all looking at?" she asked.

"Vega," Zeke said proudly. "Please, take a look."

She bent over the eyepiece. A long silence followed. Then she straightened up and looked at the glass panel. She looked back at the tube, then at the panel again.

"That's a nice star," she said carefully. "But it's not Vega."

Zeke's smile cracked. "I'm sorry?"

"Vega is higher at this time of year. I teach a night class about the sky, young man. I have taught it for twenty years." She pointed up, a little to the left. "That bright one is Altair. Yours is a different one altogether."

The pool went completely silent.

Aziz looked at Zeke. Zeke looked at the telescope. A very small, very sad sound came out of him, like air leaving a balloon.

"I aimed it at the wrong star," he whispered. "Twelve people. Two years of saving. And I aimed it at the wrong star."

"Which star is it, then?" asked the boy with the sharp eyes.

The swimmer checked the sky again. "I think it's Deneb. It's very bright, and very far away. Some people say it is one of the most distant stars you can see without help."

"Is it any good?" the boy asked.

"It's magnificent," she said. "Most people never look at it."

Nobody spoke. Then the woman with the notebook began to laugh. The laughter was soft at first, then louder. In a few seconds, every member of the club was laughing. Zeke put his face into his hands, and his shoulders shook.

"I promised you a star," Aziz said to him, gently. "I never promised which one."

"That's a terrible excuse."

"It's the only one I have."

They stayed for the full hour, and then for a little longer. The swimmer took a folding chair and sat at the head of the group. She named every star in the glass panel. She told them where each one would be in three months. The underwater lamps painted her face green, and nobody cared.

At eleven, the club packed up and went out into the night, whispering. Zeke carried the telescope on his shoulder. The swimmer walked beside him, still talking about Deneb.

Aziz switched off the last lamp he was allowed to touch and locked the staff door. He stood alone beside the pool for a minute. The water lay flat and quiet, with one small square of sky floating on its surface. A single bright star moved gently in it.