"We are not alone," said Gerald

“We are not alone,” said Gerald

“We are not alone,” said Gerald when George first popped his head round his door in the morning.

“We are not alone,” he repeated at breakfast to nobody in particular.

“We are not alone,” he said to Sandra in the minibus.

“What do you mean, Gerald? Of course we aren’t. Mrs. Paternoster is in the next seat, and George is driving.”

“We are not alone.”

Sandra sighed. Gerald Banks was strange but harmless. If only he didn’t keep on going on about not being alone he would be one of the more easily looked-after residents.

“We are not…”

“Gerald, look – can you see? The park! We are nearly there! You like, the park, don’t you!”

“…alone.”

“Shut up you silly old fool!”

“Now come on, Mrs. Paternoster, that’s not very nice. I’m sure Gerald is just trying to make conversation.”

“But it’s all he ever says! It drives me barmy. I mean, I thought the crazy ones weren’t allowed in our residence? Don’t they all go to Regent Hall?”

“We are not…”

“OH SHUT UP TOU DAFT OLD…”

“MRS. PATERNOSTER! It’s not nice to call Gerald such a name! He’s harmless. Why don’t you ask him about why we aren’t alone instead of being nasty?”

They parked, and the wheelchairs slowly made their way down the lift at the back. There were four residents, one of whom could walk, and four members of staff.

Sandra pushed Gerald to the duck pond. He looked at the ducks.

Sandra pushed Gerald to the bandstand. He looked at the bandstand.

Sandra pushed Gerald to the flower beds. He looked at the flowers.

Sandra left Gerald next to Mrs. Paternoster looking at the flowers while she and George went off for a smoke. You don’t smoke in front of residents.

Mrs. Paternoster frowned at Gerald.

“I know what you are going to say. I think you are mad, but anyway – why do you say we aren’t alone?”

Gerald turned to her and focussed.

“Thank you, Barbara. You are the first person to ask me that question.

Mrs. Paternoster’s eye opened wide. “You can talk!”

“Of course I can talk. I’ve been talking for weeks. Telling you we are not…”

“Don’t say it! But – what do you mean?”

“You know, I was an astrophysicist.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Space. I studied space for fifty-five years. I’m a clever man, you know.”

“And a modest one. But go on, if you must.”

“And now they put me to look at ducks and flowers. But my brain is still working inside here, you know.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Do you know when I last saw my son?”

“You have a son?”

“Yes – he’s sixty-eight now. I last saw him on his sixtieth birthday.”

Mrs. Paternoster frowned into space. “I last saw my grand-daughter Abbi two years ago.”

“Do you feel alone, Barbara?”

“What sort of a question is that?”

“But don’t worry, Barbara, we are not alone. We have each other. We have the staff, and the other residents. We are lucky.”

Mrs. Paternoster frowned again.

“But we need to listen to each other. Really think about what we are saying. Thank you, Barbara. Thank you for listening to an old…” and he repeated the unspeakable word which Mrs. Paternoster had used earlier. A slight truant grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“I wonder if you would be interested in a game, or a trick? A kind of practical joke?”

The Paternoster frown returned again. “What do you mean?”

Gerald grinned. “People read so many silly things in the newspapers. They want them to be true. Horoscopes and ghosts and suchlike.”

“I read my horoscope every week, I’ll have you know!”

“Yes, yes, but it’s not real, though it gives you a thrill – am I right?”

“Well – sometimes maybe so. Other times it’s just rubbish.”

“But what if a professional astrophysicist were to let on that he’d… seen something?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the sky?”

“A UFO?”

“Well, it would certainly get people’s attention? What harm can it do? Maybe it would even interest somebody’s granddaughter enough to come and get the story first hand, so to speak?”

“You mean – you’d make up a story and get the press and everyone around?”

“Something like that. But I’d need your help.”

“Me? But I’m just a nasty old lady who…”

“…certainly wouldn’t be taken in so easily by someone she despised!”

Sandra and George were coming back. Barbara Paternoster looked thoughtful, and winked at Gerald. She hadn’t winked at anyone since Michael had died fifteen years earlier, leaving her a bitter widow.

“Hello, Gerald. Hello, Mrs. Paternoster.”

“He just keeps saying it. Ask him what he’s saying it for!”

“Oh it’s just his way, Barbara.”

“I’ve told you before, my name is Mrs. Paternoster. I was married to Sir Michael Paternoster, I’ll have you know! I demand you ask the silly old man what he means!”

“Very well, Mrs. Paternoster. What do you mean, Gerald?”

“I saw them through a telescope when I was a young man. I was working in Hawaii on the big optical telescopes there. It was late at night, and I was alone. But they flew past more than once. It wasn’t a rocket – I checked with NASA. It wasn’t a plane – it was them. Aliens. They landed just a hundred yards away, but left before I could get there. But I did find evidence of their landing.”

Sandra’s mouth was an “o”. It took her a few minutes to regain her professional demeanour.

“I didn’t know you could talk!”

Three months later the story had been on the national news. Gerald’s son Trevor had been interviewed and confirmed some details of the story – yes, his father had been an academic, yes he often worked in Hawaii. Barbara Paternoster’s Granddaughter was very popular with her schoolmates as a source of gossip, and often visited her Gran on the pretence that she was a dutiful granddaughter, but always managed to get a couple of selfies which included the UFO man. She was seriously trending herself.

The story was quickly rebuffed by the leading science commentators and generally regarded as a hoax. There were a couple of features about “The Old Man who Tricked the World” which got some attention. By the time the world media had got tired of the story Gerald had met all three generations of his descendants – his great-grandson Ethan for the first time, a lively ten-year-old who wanted to be an astrophysicist. Slowly the story faded, but by the time Stanley gently passed away at the age of ninety-eight with a faint smile on this face he had enjoyed many quality hours with his family.

They found a box in his room. Just a small, grey metal box decorated with a few dots. It contained photos of his family - his wife, Pat, who had died so long ago. A couple of interesting shells. A silver dollar. A scientific medal.

Nobody thought to look too closely at the box itself, though. It sat on Great Grandson Ethan’s bedside cabinet for a long time.

One day Ethan will train to be a scientist, intending to specialise in astrophysics. But he will become diverted by a brilliant young metallurgist, Abbi Paternoster, fall in love and live happily ever after. But it will mean that he studies not stars, but metals.

One day he will discover that the box is made of a metal never seen before. Not on this planet, anyway.

He will then know that, truly, we are not alone.