With the first dance at an end, a different Polynesian performer strode onto the stage, his long baton lit on one end only. Olivia’s jaw hung loose as, in mesmerised silence, the audience watched the fire-eater begin his repertoire. Over and over, he swallowed the blazing pole, and when the show concluded Olivia made as much noise in appreciation as everyone else in the crowd.
‘Come on. They’re opening the imu!’
Alani grabbed Olivia’s hand, skipping off to where her grandfather was getting ready to perform the ceremony of opening the underground oven in which the kalua wrapped in banana leaves had been baking for hours. The mouth-watering aroma of roast pork and baked potatoes snaked through the air.
‘We don’t have kalua often enough!’ lamented Alani, digging into a plateful of food, her eyes bright with appreciation. ‘I adore it, but you’ve got to try it with a dollop of this, Olivia. It’s a traditional Hawaiian dish we call “poi”.’
Olivia wasn’t sure she wanted to taste-test the unappetising-looking, purple-grey sauce, but this trip was all about trying new things, breaking out of her comfort zone and experiencing life outside her carefully constructed bubble. In fact, she was beginning to relish the challenge her travels had brought to every one of her senses and realised that her life over the last ten years had become dull, drab and mundane.
Once again, an image of Nathan floated across her vision and a whoosh of contrition followed in its wake when she saw his kind eyes filled with pleading for her to spend some time indulging in all the good things life had to offer with him instead of stubbornly putting her career before anything else.
Had it been worth it? She now knew the answer to that.
‘Olivia, are you okay?’
‘Oh, sorry, yes, I’m fine. So, what is this exactly?’
‘It’s made from the root vegetable called taro. We bake them, like potatoes, then mash them into this paste. It’s believed that when a bowl of poi is on a Hawaiian table we are dining with our ancestors.’
Under Alani’s watchful gaze, Olivia wrapped her tongue around the offered fork. Inbred politeness, especially after hearing of the food’s connection to Hawaiian culture, prevented her from spitting it onto her plate, but try as she might she couldn’t control her facial expression.
Alani let out a shriek with laughter. ‘Disgusting, isn’t it? My grandmother absolutely refuses to prepare it with added sugar or milk. Prefers it the traditional way. Why don’t I go and get us some drinks?’
‘That’ll be great, thanks, Alani.’
Olivia watched her young friend float off towards the house, stopping every now and again to chat to a guest, giggle with a relative or deposit kisses on the cheeks of her grandparents. With her eyes still filled with the flashing swirls of fire and her mouth rancid from the poi, she decided to take a stroll around the expansive gardens to continue her contemplation of how her outlook on life had changed, but only because change had been forced upon her.
If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in other people’s woes, she could have been surfing the Waikiki waves, drinking Mai Tai cocktails under the brooding shadow of Diamond Head or enjoying freshly roast pork straight from the traditional pit oven – accompanied by home-baked pineapple bread and aromatic sticky rice – with Nathan by her side. With a blast of agonising insight, she knew that she was still in love with him, that he was and always would be her soulmate, the only person she would ever want at her side as she travelled down life’s highway.
She was ashamed of the drastic lengths he’d had to go to for her to see the light, and, in a way, the delivery of the divorce petition had been a gift, an unwelcome one at the time, but one that had sent her on this journey of self-discovery. Even in his darkest hour, Nathan had still put her wellbeing first. Tears sparkled along her lower lids and she suspected she might have lost her grip on her emotions had Alani not skipped into view.
‘Ah, there you are!’ she cried, handing her another glass of Maui blanc, completely oblivious to Olivia’s flirtation with sadness. ‘So, tell me, how did you get on with Jacques? What a guy, hey? What he doesn’t know about the institution of marriage is not worth knowing – and he’s gorgeous too!’
Alani’s giggles rang out into the night and the flickering ribbons of amber from the torches reflected in her dilated pupils as they strolled back to join the party via the impressive swimming pool, its surface shimmering aquamarine from the coloured backlights. The whole estate was stunningly beautiful, and Olivia chastised herself for her dalliance with gloom when she should be taking advantage of the friendship that was on offer at the Newalu home. She pinned a smile on her face and tuned back in to Alani’s chatter.
‘You’re right, Alani, he is incredibly handsome.’
‘But what I want to know is, why are you and Rachel so intent on researching marriage? Why not research the positives of remaining single – that’d be a great project! There’re loads of benefits – the freedom to travel wherever you want, to study abroad, to go wild, to simply sway in the unpredictable current of life without having to allow for someone else’s dreams. I love my independence and I don’t intend to give it up for anyone.’
She cast a glance over to where Mahina and her fiancé were holding hands as they toured their guests, accepting heartfelt congratulations and warm wishes for lifelong happiness.
‘Not like my cousin over there. And Keon. Look at him – he’s like a cow-eyed puppy! Although I suppose he is ancient. Did you know, he’s chucked in his stockbroking career in Manhattan to come back home and get married? What an idiot! But then, I suppose when you get to thirty-five you can’t hang with the in-crowd anymore.’
Olivia cringed, feeling like the resident elderly aunt. She was grateful for the low lighting as she felt her cheeks grow hot.
‘I intend to squeeze every last ounce of fun out of life, to party until the “peeps squeak” as my brother says. Poor thing, he’s already under pressure from my parents to settle down.’
Olivia took in the stubborn tilt of Alani’s chin, which then froze as her new friend’s eyes landed on Brett who was laughing with Steve and a bunch of fellow firefighters at the pool bar. Mmm, she thought, doth the young lady protest too much?
Alani realised Olivia had seen her reaction and smirked.
‘Rules are made to be broken, though, aren’t they? I met Brett at high school after his family emigrated here from New Zealand. But then, as you know, I travelled over to the UK to go to college and stayed on to do my post-grad doctorate at UCL. We didn’t see each other for five years. Now he’s a firefighter and a surfer, and well, how can you not feast your eyes on those abs! Catch you later!’
Olivia received a quick hug before Alani flounced off to join the riotous gathering of her friends and she continued her saunter towards the house. The music had switched to a serene lull and as she stepped onto the wooden veranda that during the day afforded the most panoramic view, she considered ordering a taxi back to the hotel until she was snapped out of her reverie by the return of Alani with Brett and Steve in tow.
‘Let’s dance!’
And before Olivia could marshal her arguments, she had been dragged onto the dance floor to be taught the hula. She was completely useless, but grateful the instruction wasn’t in the art, or was that the science, of fire-eating! She possessed no discernible rhythm but was able to add yet another unique emotion to her treasure box – that of true abandonment to the poetry of music, with the assistance of copious Maui blanc and Mai Tai cocktails, of course.
Steve, on the other hand, was a fabulous dancer, his muscular physique evident as he gyrated his hips in sync with Olivia’s under the guise of demonstrating a difficult move. Unlike her experience with Niko, with whom she had felt a connection, Steve made her senses zing with what could only be described as physical desire.
And yet, still there was something missing, something that took her a while to put her finger on – and when she did her cheeks glowed with embarrassment. Steve was twenty-five, s
he was thirty-nine, and whilst she had nothing against an age gap in a relationship, the sad fact was that they had absolutely nothing in common; he had not asked her anything about herself, nor had she been in the slightest bit interested in finding out more about him beyond showing her the next dance moves.
Back at the Pink Palace, she threw herself across her bed, exhausted yet exhilarated, all traces of her earlier melancholy eradicated by the soothing antidote of dancing, laughter and friendship. She glanced at her bedside clock and was shocked to see it was 3 a.m. Tomorrow was her last day and she had to be up early as there was no way she was going to leave Hawaii without visiting Pearl Harbor and paying her respects to the USS Arizona Memorial.
Chapter 15
Olivia walked out onto the balcony, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and hugging a cappuccino to her chest. She felt privileged to be there, to witness the apricot fissures of dawn break over the inky black of the Pacific Ocean whilst she stood in quiet contemplation of the day ahead. The USS Arizona Memorial was one of the reasons a visit to Hawaii had topped her bucket list. Her grandfather, Arthur John Hamilton, had served with the Royal Navy in the Second World War, and although deeply reluctant to talk about his experiences, he had shared one story with her father, recited on numerous occasions as dementia thrust his memories back to the past.
During the first year of the war, Arthur had served with an Australian midshipman by the name of Frederick Garrett. Freddie was a poet and a skilled strummer of the guitar. He was also an accomplished narrator, constantly regaling his fellow soldiers with stories of his trips to see his elder brother who had emigrated to join their aunt and uncle in Hawaii. Many a wretched night in the Atlantic had been survived by listening to Freddie’s Aussie accent curl around tales of pretty girls and exotic food.
Her grandfather had survived the war and, in 1946, had gone on to marry the nurse who nurtured both his physical health and psychological well-being as he recovered from the amputation of his left leg. Arthur and Dorothy Hamilton produced one precious son, Malcolm, and had been married for fifty years when breast cancer stole Arthur’s beloved Dottie, an event which launched the beginning of his downward spiral of spirits even the war had not crushed. He’d died six months later with a smile on his face, secure in the knowledge that he was on his way to join his beloved wife.
During her father’s visits to her grandfather’s care home, the story of Freddie Garrett had often been repeated, sometimes three times in an afternoon. Her father had not objected, but the main thrust of Arthur’s reminiscences was a request that his son find out for him what had become of Freddie and his brother, Charles. As Olivia’s mother, Julie, had recently registered on a course to trace her own family tree, she had volunteered to undertake the task, not realising the complexity, or the heartbreak, she would encounter.
Olivia knew the story well. Freddie had survived the war, too, and had been relatively easy to trace as he’d gone on to publish some of his poetry before moving on to song-writing. Sadly, his brother Charles had not fared so well and his name was amongst the 1102 engraved on the white marble of the USS Arizona Memorial. Olivia had made a promise to her father, and sent up a silent assurance to her grandfather, that she would pay her respects to Charles Donald Garrett who’d died serving his adopted country on the seventh of December 1941.
The Visitor Centre at Pearl Harbor opened at 7 a.m. and she intended to be first in line to grab one of the two thousand tickets made available on the day. Although she would have preferred to spend as long as possible visiting all four of the historic sites and to catch a cab from there straight to the airport, she decided to store her meagre luggage with the concierge because the increased security measures demanded a strict ‘No Bags’ policy. Olivia was repulsed by the thought that anyone could even consider attacking such a memorial.
Her first glimpse of the white, bow-tie-shaped memorial floating in the middle of the deep-blue harbour would remain forever imprinted in her mind’s eye. After viewing the documentary film depicting the attack on the harbour and taking the audio tour of the exhibit recited by Jamie Lee Curtis, she boarded the first US Navy boat of the day to shuttle visitors to the offshore memorial. Their volunteer guide informed them that the permanent monument had been formally dedicated in 1962 and that over one and a half million visitors came to Pearl Harbor in a pilgrimage of commemoration, honour and respect each year.
‘The memorial was designed by Oahu architect, Alfred Preis, and consists of three main parts: the entry, the assembly room where you are all now standing, and the shrine. Notice the seven, open barrel-shaped windows on each side of the walls and the ceiling. You may also like to take a look through the floor, which overlooks the sunken hull of the USS Arizona. We ask you, please, not to throw floral tributes into the water, but you may leave your offerings on the guard rails around the shrine.’
Olivia moved over to one of the windows to stare down into the depth of the waters, still bleeding black tears of oil from the sunken carcass of the battleship, and the voices around her became muffled by sadness. At the far end of the assembly hall, behind red velvet ropes, was the shrine. She struggled to gulp down her rising emotions as she contemplated the enormity of what had taken place there whilst reading the inscription:
‘TO THE MEMORY OF THE GALLANT MEN
HERE ENTOMBED AND THEIR SHIPMATES
WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES IN ACTION
ON DECEMBER 7, 1941 ON THE U.S.S. ARIZONA.’
And, as she ran her eyes down the long list of names, halting at ‘Garrett, Charles Donald’, she could suppress her tears no longer. She hooked the lei she had brought with her around the post and moved away to allow other visitors their moment of solitude.
She stared out over the verdant landscape of Oahu, so at odds with the carnage of eighty years ago, thinking of the sacrifices Charles Donald Garrett, his brother Freddie, and her own grandfather had made to guarantee her and her generation the freedoms they took for granted. It was time to get her life in order – to put her loved ones first, just like her ancestors had done with such tragic consequences.
The experience of the tour, taking in the ‘Remembrance Circle’, the original USS Arizona anchor and ship’s bell, guided by a wheelchair-assisted veteran, would remain etched in her heart until the day she died.
Chapter 16
Alani hugged Olivia, crushing the petals of the ‘farewell’ lei she had just strung around her neck and releasing the pungent odour of the flowers Olivia wasn’t sure she liked.
‘Please, please, please persuade Rachel to come over and visit us, Olivia, especially now that you can report back first-hand just how beautiful Hawaii is.’
‘I will, Alani, and thanks so much for your time and your family’s hospitality. I love it here. I will definitely be back, if not with Rachel, then with my parents.’
This had been a decision she had taken on the short taxi ride from Pearl Harbor to the hotel. She had made herself an unbreakable promise that as soon as she arrived back in London, she would shoot up to visit her parents in Yorkshire. She squashed the squirm of guilt that she had not yet factored a trip to Leeds into her itinerary, but she intended to rectify that straight away. Malcolm and Julie Hamilton favoured the local independent travel agents to plan and book their occasional holidays abroad, and she would arrange for the three of them to honour her grandfather’s memory together by booking a holiday to the Hawaiian Islands.
‘Why not ditch the research into the academics of love, Olivia? All you have to do is let fun to preside over your life choices and happiness will surely follow. Don’t fret the small stuff. Hang loose!’
The young girl planted a kiss on each of Olivia’s cheeks, waved her fingers and sped away leaving Olivia feeling as though she had been discharged from the vortex of a whirlwind. With a rueful smile, she slung the handles of her bulging holdall over her shoulder and made her way towards Departures, but sadly the relief of her release from the high-octane excitement that emanated from Alani di
d not last long.
She had hoped to spend the next leg of her journey from Honolulu to Tokyo – where she had a seven-hour stopover – asleep or at least dozing. However, as soon as she had boarded the plane, a snake of dread usurped her new-found serenity as she wondered what would be waiting for her when she arrived at her eventual destination.
Should she contact Nathan whilst she was in Singapore? Or should she try to ignore the fact he was in the same city and just meet up with Elliot, do some more sightseeing, and then jet off back home?
Whilst she hadn’t tried to call Nathan again, she had sent him an email – short, friendly, upbeat, with a photograph of the view from her balcony out over the Pacific Ocean. But she hadn’t received a reply. Okay, so she knew that he would be busy settling into his new job, a new home, a new life, but she had expected a response, however brief, especially as he would have known she had also tried to call him even if she hadn’t left a message on his voicemail.
She knew the geographical distance from their old lives in London would enable them to discuss their respective future intentions in a civilised and balanced way without the risk of adding to the carnage of their marriage. Knowing Nathan as she did, she was sure they would be able to have an adult conversation over dinner somewhere, which would go some way to ensuring that, after the divorce proceedings had been finalised, they could continue to be friends.
But as she boarded the plane that would take her to Singapore, her confidence started to unravel and she became terrified of what the meeting would reveal. Maybe it would end in the dreaded animosity or, even worse, in the confirmation of that niggle in the back of her mind that was morphing into a giant elephant – that he had met someone else.
She ordered a Mai Tai, and then a second. After her fourth, she promised herself she would stop the procrastination and come up with a definitive decision before the plane touched down at Changi Airport. Irrespective of anything else, the squirm of indecision was nauseating, but it grew until she liberated her luggage from the carousel and made her way out into the scorching July air of Singapore.
A Year of Chasing Love Page 14