The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  “I think that’s the Jewish cemetery,” she said, breaking the silence as they regarded row after row of memorials. “It’s not part of the crematorium.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “Jewish tradition is to be buried, not cremated. Respecting the body is very important. And of course now there are memories of the Holocaust, so burning a body is a very disturbing idea.”

  She shuddered. In this pretty street, under a cloudless summer sky, such dark things seemed hard to fathom. She turned her attention to the other side of the road, to the large complex of red brick buildings that made up the crematorium. The arched details over the windows and below the eaves, the diamond patterns set into the brickwork, and the rosette window in the chapel building made her think of pictures she’d seen of Florence. Over everything loomed a square bell tower. She tried not to think about the bare facts of what went on behind the elegant architecture.

  It was only as they passed between the imposing brick gate-posts that it struck her. Having told a lie—a white one, surely—about why she was here, how would she explain it if they did come face to face with the American? Now she was torn between desperately hoping to find him, and desperately hoping they wouldn’t.

  So when Mattias asked who in particular they were looking for, she replied with a rather muddled story about how Gemma’s family thought they had a relation in 3P, but weren’t sure who. It sounded completely bogus to her, but Mattias (having no reason to doubt, after all) gave his customary nod and turned his attention to the map they got from the office. Once he had his bearings, they set off for section 3P. She dragged her feet just a little at the prospect of Mattias puzzling over having to give Livi’s satchel to an American they just happened to meet over the ashes of Gemma’s distant relative. Oh, what a tangled web…

  They passed the crocus lawn, a broad grassy expanse this late in the year. She couldn’t help noticing how lush the grass was, though it seemed inappropriate to mention it. But Mattias noticed too. “Well fertilised,” he commented. She held her tongue.

  When they got to the grass of 3P, of course, there was nobody. As she had suspected, known, dreaded. And most recently, with Mattias tagging along, hoped.

  He turned the map over. “There’s some information about famous people here. So, what about 3P…” He scanned through the list. “Yootha Joyce?”

  She was startled by such an unexpected name. “Oh, George and Mildred! So funny. An old sitcom,” she explained, but he just shook his head. Obviously the Ropers had made it as far as New Zealand, where they were endlessly repeated, but not to Sweden. She had no idea if the programme had screened in the States, but even if it had, it was difficult to imagine why her American would be interested in Mildred. Unless she was his relation…

  “Anyone else?” she asked, and he continued running a long finger down the list.

  “Keith Moon.” He looked pleased. “I know who that is.”

  Another rock star. It seemed a pattern was emerging. “I can’t remember which band he was in.”

  “The Who.” He was thrilled to have the answer. “He was the drummer. One of the greatest drummers of all time. So they say.”

  That’s right, she thought. Her dad had an album at home, vinyl of course. Looking at the grass, a thought struck her. “Keith Moon and Yootha Joyce. What a strange pair, to be scattered together for all time. What would they think of that? What on earth would they have to say to each other?”

  But with no fond memories of the goings-on in Peacock Crescent, the absurdity of it was lost on Mattias. “I don’t think they’re chatting down there.”

  “Do you think they just sprinkle the ashes any old how, so they mix together, or do you think they put them carefully in their own zone?”

  “I don’t know. Would you like to go back to the office and ask?”

  At first she thought he must be joking, but he was straight-faced. “No, that’s okay thanks,” she answered. She looked around, wondering how much longer she could drag out the visit, just in case the American was on his way.

  “Do you think your friend is related to either of them?”

  She suddenly remembered the ‘reason’ they were here. “Um, I don’t think so. But maybe, I suppose.” To keep up the charade, she took a few token photos with her phone. “I’ll send her the pictures, and the map with the information, and she can follow it up.”

  As she reached out to take the map, their fingers touched, and he clasped her hand, scrunching the paper in between. “Livi…” he began.

  Uh-oh. She thought she knew what was coming. Before he had a chance to say any more, she extracted her hand. The map floated gently to the ground, but they let it fall between them.

  She presented her most regretful face. “Mattias. My heart is just not in it.” Well, it was true. She tried to sound as rueful as she could. “I’m sorry. It’s just the way I feel.” She held up her hands as though it was a mystery to her too, but there it was, there was simply nothing to be done…

  He squared his shoulders. “I understand,” he said. “The heart cannot be given orders.” His face betrayed his feelings with the same blush she had seen in the restaurant, but he was stoic. “So it is.”

  Now she did feel properly sorry. But she was grateful for his manners. He would certainly never make a scene or a fuss. She wondered if he’d end up with an ulcer, from keeping everything so determinedly internalised. But he probably had complete control over his insides as well as his outsides—there would be no gastric rebellion allowed under his command. Or if there was, he’d have all the information needed to deal with it swiftly and efficiently.

  He bent and picked up the map, smoothed out the crumples, and presented it to her. “Shall we get back then? It’s been a long lunch break for both of us.”

  She scanned the grounds one more time, in the last-minute hope that a jeans-clad figure would appear from around a corner. But the only person in sight was an old woman, bundled up in a knitted cardigan, stepping carefully down the sunny path with her walking stick. Livi shook her head and turned to follow Mattias back to the gates. As he strode along, the satchel bumped against his hip in a rhythmic reproach: goose chase, goose chase, goose chase…

  Eighteen

  All Livi wanted to do that night was get home, put on her pyjamas, and collapse on their least uncomfortable settee, within arm’s reach of a bottle of wine and the chocolate-filled shoebox. After the fruitless effort that day, compounded by the awkward Mattias moment, she was going back to sensible. It had suddenly occurred to her on the way home, passing the shuttered ticket office at Blackhorse Road, that she could have just handed the satchel in, entrusted it to the lost property office, and gone on with her life.

  What had she been thinking? Or not thinking, obviously. She wondered why Steve and Cass hadn’t suggested it. On second thought, she knew why Cass wouldn’t have suggested it. But it was one thing to hunt about in London and nearby, another to turn it into a cross-Channel exercise. She wanted to go to Paris one day, sure. But it definitely wasn’t in her budget right now. Especially not on such an idiotic, futile mission. Paris ought to be special, magical, enchanting—not a dead rock star in a cold bath.

  So tomorrow she’d get rid of the satchel, and the far-fetched idea of the fated man. Now the whole thing seemed so embarrassingly adolescent she could hardly stand to think about it. Tomorrow. Tonight, she was in dire need of a chocolate-induced serotonin boost and some mindless television watching. No reality TV contests—she still couldn’t stomach it. Something soothing, involving antiques or archaeologists, or maybe even Rick Stein, in honour of Mattias.

  But halfway up the stairs she heard voices, and her heart sank. Her mother’s laugh rang out, followed by a hearty belly-laugh she didn’t recognise. Thankfully, it sounded like a woman. TV might be off the agenda, but at least there wasn’t another Len awaiting her. She carried on up the stairs, leaving her bag and the satchel just inside the door, and popped her head into the living room. “Hello?”

&n
bsp; A vision of pattern and colour rose from the sofa. Strappy slave sandals, African-print harem pants, and a muslin peasant blouse, draped with tie-dyed scarves of every colour, led up to a crinkly-kind face topped with flowing grey hair. The woman opened her arms encouragingly, jangling rows of turquoise-studded bangles, and beckoned Livi in.

  “Yes, your mother was right,” she said, her American accent giving Livi a start—they were everywhere lately. Then she was gathered in for an alarmingly close hug. Long strands of fragrant silver hair stuck to her face as she tried to twist around, sending a ‘help me’ to her mother. But Evelyn just watched and smiled, entirely pleased.

  After what felt like an entire rotation of the Earth, she struggled free. “Um…hello.”

  “Evelyn!” exclaimed the stranger. “Her aura is very interesting. Lots of pastels—you must be a sensitive soul. No wonder all this upset has been hard on you.”

  She couldn’t think what to say to this, but her mum nodded. “She’s always been sensitive. A thinker too. An over-thinker, really.”

  “Mum!” Now she’d had enough. “What about an introduction?”

  “Sorry, sweetheart, this is Journey.”

  Livi couldn’t help the look of surprise that flashed across her face, but Journey was untroubled.

  “It’s not my real name, of course. My passport says Nancy Eichbaum. But we are all on a journey, after all. It’s up to us to choose the way we travel.” She gave them both significant looks.

  Livi had to make an effort not to roll her eyes, but Evelyn was in agreement. “That’s quite right. And you never know where the road will take you next.”

  Journey rearranged the silk scarves. “Exactly. And today my road has brought me to you.” She swept her arms in a great arc, encompassing them both in her expansiveness.

  “Via Royal London,” Livi guessed.

  “Yes. Your mother is a very welcoming spirit.” The two of them exchanged smiles of mutual appreciation.

  “I know,” Livi said. “I’m finding that more and more.” Her tone was dry, but Journey took the words at face value.

  “Yes, this is a wonderful chance for you to find out more about your mother, as she discovers the truth of her own soul. I’m sure your father would want Evelyn to continue on her path to authenticity.”

  Evelyn herself didn’t seem completely convinced by this last comment, but Journey reached out and patted her hand. “Strength,” she added. “Truth.”

  At the mention of her dad, Livi felt a hard tension begin to spread across her shoulders. “You seem to know an awful lot about us.”

  She took it as a compliment. “Well, I know a lot about myself. And you know what, at the core of things we’re all dealing with the same issues. The same desires, the same search for peace. I try to remember the truths of Eckhart Tolle.”

  Mother and daughter looked blank, so she happily took the chance to enlighten them.

  “We only ever really experience the present moment. The past is gone. The future is yet to be. All we have is this present moment. Whatever has happened, or not happened, has brought us to the right now. That’s all there is, and we should find the perfection in it.” She lay her hands out at her sides, palms up, and breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment.

  Evelyn was entranced, but Livi felt a growing urge to jump up and scream. It was like a bad episode of Oprah playing out in her own living room. She addressed the Zen-like figure on the sofa.

  “So, after this present moment, do you have any plans?”

  Journey brought herself back with a little shake of her hands. “Yes, I do. I’m going on a Trafalgar tour of Great Britain and Ireland. Thirty days.” She beamed with pleasure at the prospect.

  Livi had to laugh. “So you know where the road is taking you for the next month, anyway.”

  “Well now, I couldn’t leave the community for too long. I had to make effective use of my time away.”

  “Journey is a facilitator for the Living Simply Association in California,” Evelyn said. “It sounds so wonderful. Tell Livi about it.” And she leaned forward, ready to absorb every word.

  Journey began, with the air of someone completely certain of her convictions. “Voluntary simplicity. It’s a movement, a belief system. It’s about mindful consumption. So many of us have far more than we need, and we’re working ourselves into exhaustion to pay for it all, and going into debt, and doing damage to our Mother Earth in the process.” She shook her head. “It’s not a new idea, but some of us have forgotten what brings real, lasting happiness. It’s not consumer goods. We’re on a quest for less, to bring ourselves more.”

  “Livi, don’t you think that sounds marvellous?” Evelyn said, her face bright with enthusiasm.

  “It sounds very admirable.”

  She couldn’t think of any argument against saving the planet and happiness for all. She might find Journey’s flower-in-your-hair California style a bit hippy-dippy for a Tuesday night in northeast London, but her mum was soaking it up.

  Journey nodded. “More and more people are embracing it, and not just in the places you’d expect, like California or New Mexico.”

  “Or Idaho? Livi is searching for a man from Idaho,” Evelyn said. Seeing Livi’s surprise, she shrugged apologetically. “Cass told me.”

  “Good luck with that!” Journey let fly a peal of laughter. “Plenty of places in Idaho to get away and follow your own path. A lot of seekers head up there, though I understand you have to get yourself Idaho plates quick as you can, especially if you’re from California. I have a great friend who lives in an underground house, out in the wilds. Crazy guy really, but he’s in good company out there.”

  Livi didn’t like the sound of that. “Are there lots of crazy people there?”

  “Oh, no…” She paused. “Well, sure, there are a few extreme characters. It’s not really constructive to comment on other people’s choices…I’d only say that voluntary simplicity doesn’t consider a firearm an essential item. But then, my Idaho friend had his VW bus stolen, back in seventy-six. Before you were born. And then, it turned up again last year. So you see, things come and go, and come again, just as they should.” She smiled at them both. “It’s a good lesson.”

  Livi supposed it was, although four decades seemed a long time to wait for things to be as they should. When she said as much, Journey waved the thought away.

  “Time is just a construct. I mean, in Living Simply we’re looking forwards and backwards at the same time. Back to the simple, honest ways of the past, for the good of the planet’s future.”

  “But in the present,” Livi pointed out.

  “Exactly!” Journey looked triumphant. “I knew you’d get it.”

  Sarcasm didn’t seem to be on her radar. Livi decided to give up and go to bed. The leftover egg mayo Pret sandwich she’d eaten on the way home would do for dinner. “Well, it was very nice to meet you. But I’ll have to say goodnight, I’ve had a long day.”

  “There is one more thing Eckhart says, that you might find helpful. Would you like to hear it?”

  She figured the line of least resistance would be quicker in the end. “Okay.”

  “So, unhappiness isn’t caused by the situation you’re in, but by what you’re thinking about it. A situation is what it is, and your thoughts about it are something separate. The search for happiness is fruitless—we should aim instead for the absence of unhappiness.”

  She felt very tired. “I’m sorry, that’s all a bit esoteric for me at this end of the day.”

  “Can I just suggest, then…maybe what you think you’re searching for is just something to keep you busy, so you don’t have to look for what you really need to find.”

  There was a silence in the room. Livi and Evelyn looked at each other, then away.

  “Goodnight, Livi,” Journey said, satisfied. “May your dreams bring you clarity.”

  * * *

  She did dream, the kind of anxious, busy dreaming about everything and nothing that see
ms to last all night long. She certainly didn’t feel any clearer when she got up the next morning. Cass was already up, eating jam on toast at the kitchen table.

  “Your mum stayed up late last night,” she said.

  “I hope she didn’t keep you awake,” Livi said, reaching into the cupboard for cereal. “I’m really sorry about all this. We need our living room back.”

  “No, I don’t mind really. Everyone has their share of family dramas. And it’s not forever.”

  “God, I hope not.” She was feeling the strain more than Cass. “I suppose other people’s mothers don’t have the power to drive you mad like your own does.”

  “And, look at all the dinners and dishes she’s done for us!” Cass pointed out. “That actually counts for a lot in her favour. It’s just lucky she’s not working until later today, she’ll need this lie-in.”

  Livi sank into a chair and rested her forehead on the cool Formica next to her bowl of Weetabix. “I wish I could stay in bed too. For the rest of the year, preferably.”

  “That’s a bit dramatic, for you. What’s the story?”

  She sat back up and stabbed at the joyless rectangles, collapsing them into the milk. “Seriously, I have to get my head straight. It’s ridiculous to go to so much trouble to find a guy, probably a guy with a freakish death obsession, who I saw for two minutes on the tube.”

  “But fate! And the bag—”

  “Cass. Why didn’t I hand it in as lost property?”

  “Oh!” Cass looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Really?”

  “I suppose I was excited about finding your man.” She paused. “When you first arrived we could see how sad you were. And you never talk about Rob. We hate seeing you still lonely.”