"Do you have any fantasies?" she said. They were sat in bed, bathed in blue-grey light, all topless and cuddling. He thought for a moment, in the still silence. "I WANT TO DO IT ON THE MOON," he said. "I WANT TO DO IT UP THERE."
The next day he started tinkering in the garden, trying to make a rocket. “Come inside, Tim,” she would say, wrapped up all worried in dressing gown. “We can do it on a beach or something instead. We can do it in hired spacesuits with the crotches cut out.”
"No," he said, welding fins onto a bin lid. "NO." He was determined. She had to tell him. "Tim," she said, one sad arm on his deluded shoulder. "They faked it, Tim."