Just after midnight on Christmas day, she sat inches from the television, rigid.

The final time the spacecraft circled the dark side of the moon, gravity demanded they fire the engine that might propel them back to Earth. If all went as planned, they’d regain radio contact within fifteen minutes.

Apollo 8… Houston…

Silence.

They’d been given a 50/50 chance. They might safely return home; they might crash into those brittle grey, peaks, one of which Jim had christened Mount Marilyn in her honour. They could be consumed in a ball of flames, trailing the rocket like shards of sun. Or their engine might fail, leaving them stranded in orbit, lost to the constellations.

She allowed herself to imagine life without him; frozen in time, Christmas 1968.

A hiss. A crackle.

Then, his voice.

Her Jim.

Houston, Apollo 8… Please be informed that there is a Santa Claus.

She knows that today, 238,900 miles away, her husband will find a special dinner in the spacecraft’s equipment bay. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and a small bottle of brandy for each of the three-man crew. A gift apiece, sent from their wives. Jim will open from Marilyn a pair of Moonstone cufflinks. He’ll receive a message from her through Mission Control, promising roast beef and Yorkshire pudding upon his safe return.

The children open presents, wrapped before his departure. A Magic 8 Ball. A yellow helicopter. A pogo stick.

After breakfast she answers the bell, where a chauffeur hands her a box. Blue foil paper with styrofoam balls, painted like the Earth and the moon, miniature rocket circling the latter. A rustle of tissue. Her breath catches as she lifts a mink coat from within. She holds its softness to her cheek, imagining she detects the faintest trace of his aftershave lingering in its fibres.

She opens the card:

To Marilyn. With love from the Man in the Moon.

She wears the coat to church that afternoon, despite Houston temperatures topping 60°F. She hugs it tight as she listens to Jim’s voice on the T.V. feed as he speeds through space towards home. She wears it as she portions choice servings of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, packing them into a Tupperware container, which she slides into the freezer for safekeeping.

‘Christmas From the Dark Side of the Moon’ by Kelleigh Greenberg-Jephcott