A Year of Chasing Love

by Rosie Chambers

  ‘Okay, I promise I’ll do Paris, and then write up my final conclusions and let you have everything by the end of November before I return to work on the first of December. But please – no interviews with esteemed French professors or ex-students. I’d prefer to just wing it in Paris, soak up the atmosphere, hunt out the nooks and crannies of love at leisure. After all, I did honeymoon there, remember?’

  ‘Okay, it’s a deal.’

  What Olivia couldn’t know was that Rachel had her fingers crossed behind her phone.

  ‘Speak Monday. Tell Malcolm and Julie I said “hi”.’

  Chapter 21

  Olivia always felt heavier after a visit to her parents’ home in the Yorkshire Dales. Her mother was from the school of thought that preached happiness is a sausage casserole, or a plate of roast beef and Yorkshire puddings followed by a generous slab of treacle sponge and home-made custard, especially now that autumn was well into its stride. Julie Hamilton had taken one look at her pale, fragile daughter and scuttled off to the understairs pantry to whip up a red velvet cake, one of her childhood favourites.

  She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn’t undertaken the trek up to Longthorpe village six months ago when her mother would have been more than justified in resorting to the culinary route of parental love. However, as Olivia pointed her car in the direction of the motorway for her return trip to London, she felt nurtured and loved without question or reservation.

  Of course her parents were upset about her divorce. They adored Nathan and had accepted him as the son they’d never had. However, they hadn’t criticised or judged – that wasn’t their style. When they had celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary the previous year it was the only celebration in her bulging diary that she had made sure she would not miss by forcing herself to book three days’ leave from work and organising a lift to Newby Hall, the grand stately home near Ripon, with Rachel and Denise – there was no way her friends would entertain being late for Malcolm and Julie’s special day, so that meant neither would she. And what a truly emotional, yet inspiring day it had been. In fact, thinking back, it was the last time she could remember she had spent more than twenty-four hours in Nathan’s company.

  On this trip, though, she was alone, and she had been weak with guilt and sadness when she had offered to join her father in the garden to drag a rake over the lawn and help him collect the first sprinkle of autumn leaves for his compost heap. Her father had chosen that moment to disclose that Nathan had continued to pop in to see them over the last year whenever his work commitments took him north. The pin on her ‘Neglectful Daughter’ badge stabbed painfully at her chest. Nathan’s career was easily as time-sapping as hers and yet he still managed to find the time and energy for a visit to see his in-laws. Shame had spread through her veins, resulting in her devoting all her strength to tidying her parents’ garden and preparing it for winter.

  But as the roads heading southwards, now slick with a coating of rain, reflected the amber lights of the motorway, her overwhelming emotion was regret. Why hadn’t she learned from her parents’ example? Forty years as a couple and they still sat together on the ancient pink velour sofa she remembered from childhood, hands entwined, content in each other’s company and sheltered from the worst of life’s surprises by the umbrella of mutual love and affection.

  Why had she gone jetting off around the world when all the answers for Rachel’s research were on the doorstep of her own family home in Yorkshire? Her parents had been overwhelmed when she had produced the printed confirmation of the trip that she had booked for the three of them to visit Hawaii the following summer and her heart had ballooned with gratitude that she was able to do this for them.

  ‘You should go to Copenhagen, love, it’s a beautiful city. Your father and I went for the weekend six months after we were married – for an Easter break.’

  Strangely, her mother had giggled and blushed, then cast a sidelong glance at her father who had returned a slow, steady smile.

  ‘What?’ asked Olivia.

  ‘Well … why your mother is embarrassed to tell you I don’t know, but you were actually conceived in a tiny B&B in Jutland. Denmark and Copenhagen have a special place in our hearts.’

  Her reaction had been so strong it had whipped the words from her lips. Even now, as she concentrated on navigating the exit road from the M1 onto the M25, tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She had not known this golden nugget of information. Why had it never occurred to her to ask her parents this most fundamental of questions?

  ‘I didn’t know that, Mum.’

  ‘We’d love to go back, but with your dad’s knees being as they are, we can’t contemplate a trip at the moment. But if you could go it would be marvellous. You could take photographs, visit some of the places we went to, meet new people, new friends? I’m sure your dad will forgive me for saying that I thought the men in Denmark were very handsome.’ Julie Hamilton rolled her eyes at her daughter’s stiff-lipped expression at the mention of potential romance. ‘Don’t you think you should consider starting to date again, love? If Nathan has a new friend, and I know how hurtful seeing him like that must have been for you, then maybe that’s your cue to move on too. Not courting, just a drink after work or dinner?’

  ‘Mum, I’m just not ready to date yet,’ she’d argued, despite the fact that she had penned Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 6. – ‘In order to have a long-lasting relationship, you have to first of all find a date.’

  Olivia knew her mother had hoped when she had married Nathan that she had formed a partnership for life. Nathan had become an ideal son-in-law, whilst she had taken on the role of thoughtless daughter. It was time to change, time to move on to the acceptance stage of the grieving process.

  ‘Okay, Mum, if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll date. Now, I love you both and I promise to come up to Yorkshire for Christmas this year.’

  That had been an easy promise to make – she had nowhere else to go. Their apartment would be sold by then and it would be her first Christmas as a newly separated woman. She harboured no illusions about how happy the happiest time of the year would be for her, and she knew she would need their comfort blanket to wrap around her shoulders.

  ‘Have a wonderful trip, darling. Me and your dad want regular bulletins.’

  Bloody bulletins! she thought as her eyes lolled and she aimed the car at the nearest Costa for a revitalising espresso before she caused an accident. However, her trip back home to Yorkshire had provided her with another valuable lesson to add to her list.

  Olivia Hamilton’s Lessons in Love: No 13. “A long, stable marriage produces happiness and contentment.”

  Yet the argument she had posed to Rachel still circled her brain. If that were true, then why did happiness-busting Denmark top the divorce league table? She sighed; her decision was made. She would go to Copenhagen, especially now that her mother had told her she was a product of the land of plastic building bricks and fairy tales. Perhaps Professor Andersen was even related to the famous storyteller himself.

  She decided she would wait until the following morning to call Rachel and tell her the news. Anyway, Rachel was so overburdened with work, how could she refuse when she had all the time in the world on her hands? However, despite her mother’s urging, she had no intention of dating – anyone. She prayed Peter Andersen was either sixty years old or married with four children under ten. Then she smiled. What was the likelihood of the latter when his homeland was awash in broken marriages? As she collected her takeaway coffee, she made a mental note to grill Rachel on his background.

  The journey from Yorkshire to Kensington was one of the longest and most tiring she could remember. Throughout the final thirty minutes, rain lashed the windscreen as she fought to concentrate on the road, the swish of the wipers lulling her mind into introspection. When the blades swung to the left, she was plunged into dark thoughts of loneliness and despair for her future; to the right, and her spirits soa
red with the pleasure of accomplishment. But these diametrically opposed vacillations no longer upset her – they were part of the landscape of her life now.

  Eventually she arrived at her flat, tiredness dragging at her bones as she pushed open the heavy glass door into the foyer before pausing to gather a stash of envelopes from the mailbox. She shoved the bundle under her arm and made her way towards the elevator, hauling her overnight bag, plus an additional trolley containing a cornucopia of her mother’s home-baked goodies that any contestant on the Great British Bake Off would have been proud to present to the discerning judges.

  The apartment was silent and dark, empty and cheerless. When had it been any different? As raindrops continued to splatter on the windowpanes, she tossed her keys into a fruit bowl, which had never been blessed with a display of fresh fruit. With a heavy heart, she popped the kettle on, sloshed boiling water onto a spoonful of coffee granules and stirred. There was no milk, but what was new?

  She slit open the first envelope and a short spasm of surprise shot through her body. The estate agent had received an offer for the flat! It was 10 per cent below the asking price but in the current climate they recommended acceptance. She cast her eyes around the open-plan room that served as kitchen, dining room and lounge. Clinical, impersonal and drab would have been in the sales blurb if she’d been charged with drafting the particulars. The kitchen was as pristine as the day they had moved in; the gaping stainless steel mouth of the dishwasher revealed the plastic envelope of the Bosch Instruction Manual and warranty, and the only appliances they had used were the kettle and the microwave.

  It wasn’t a home.

  But had it ever been?

  She had never had the time to lavish on interior design. It had been Nathan who had bought the sofa and the scatter rugs – even chosen the bed linen. She looked at the curtain-free windows. Which items had she browsed for? Or purchased to enhance their home?

  None.

  Clarity launched its attack with an accompanying injection of remorse. Oh God, she had been a terrible wife. Her contribution to their marriage in the last few years had been minimal and she had been totally dismissive of the need to spend time together, mooching around the cathedrals of consumerism in Central London picking out items that made them smile. She knew they would have had fun, giggling at all the kitchen gadgets they never knew existed let alone needed.

  She thought of her parents’ easy togetherness. Their mutual knowledge and understanding of what made each other tick made them smile, made them happy, and she groaned with self-disgust that all she’d had to offer Nathan were the crumbs of her time. The last nine months had taught her a great deal. Not only the factual information on enduring marriages and the lessons in love that formed her ‘bulletins’ home, but the essential emotional elements of a lifelong union, which she had seen with Niko’s family in Malta, with her parents in Yorkshire, with Nathan’s parents, and with Katrina and Will. She even understood Nathan’s need to begin dating again – human beings craved attachments.

  She reached for the second envelope in the pile of mail, running her finger under the flap and carefully withdrawing the formal-looking document. A jolt of shock slammed into her abdomen, sending a blast of blood to her brain. Her breath caught in her throat until tears began to trickle down her cheeks to release the pressure.

  Notice of Pronouncement of Decree Nisi – Eleventh of December.

  It was the day before her fortieth birthday.

  She had been expecting this letter at some point; she knew the process. But nothing, no insider knowledge, could prepare someone for seeing the words in black-and-white. She thought she had moved on to the final stage of her solo journey towards a new chapter – acceptance of how life was now – but she had been wrong.

  Chapter 22

  Olivia glanced out of the window, the dark indigo of the pre-dawn sky reflecting the image of a woman who could do with spending a little more time on her appearance, starting with a decent haircut before she went to Copenhagen. She fixed herself a black coffee and grabbed her mobile, fingering the screen for a few seconds. It was only six thirty but she knew Rachel was an early riser and would be getting ready for her commute to work.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, the decree nisi must have come as a huge shock. I’m sure Nathan doesn’t know about it yet or he would have called you.’

  ‘No he wouldn’t, Rachel. Why would he? We’re getting divorced. He doesn’t owe me anything, not even a fleeting thought.’

  ‘Maybe. Anyway, what better way to escape this miserable drab weather than a jaunt to Copenhagen?’

  ‘Isn’t the weather colder in Denmark than it is here?’

  ‘Ever heard of hygge?’

  But Olivia wasn’t listening.

  ‘Oh, and guess what I found out when I was up in Yorkshire this the weekend? Mum just casually dropped into the conversation that I was conceived in Denmark. Why did I not know that?’

  ‘No way? Fate, destiny, call it what you will! You’ve got to go now, Liv! I’ll call Professor Andersen to finalise the arrangements. You’ll have to go to the university to meet him. His time is precious.’

  ‘Is he married with five kids, an overweight Great Dane and a mild Manuka honey habit?’

  ‘Actually, no. Unsurprisingly, I suppose, his Facebook page says that his current marital status is divorced. In fact—’ Rachel laughed ‘—if you apply those bulletins of yours to yourself, I reckon he could be your perfect partner. Just saying.’

  ‘Rachel, I absolutely—’

  ‘Joking, only joking, but I still agree with Julie. You should start dating again – nothing heavy, just coffee, lunch, dinner maybe, a visit to the theatre, an art gallery, Tivoli Gardens …’

  ‘Rach …’

  ‘And who better to start a new phase of the dating game with than Peter Andersen, Professor in Family Law at the University of Copenhagen? He’s intelligent, college-educated …’

  Olivia could clearly picture her friend counting off her arguments on her fingers.

  ‘He’s the same age as you, he’s been married before …’

  What Rachel didn’t go on to add though, was that Professor Andersen also had a reputation for being as tight as primer and paint.

  ‘Look, Rach …’

  ‘He’s in the same field as you …

  Olivia sighed and decided to apply the only diversionary method she knew to change Rachel’s arrow-straight track towards ‘Olivia and Peter’s’ early engagement, their swift marriage and the delivery of three robust Danish-born kids, and then maybe a weekend pod on the Jutland shore.

  ‘How was the competition at the weekend? Did you and Dennie win any medals?’

  ‘We got bronze in the Viennese Waltz. Dennie was delighted, especially as she stumbled across this exquisite gold-sequinned number she wants to wear for the Christmas competition when we were trawling the shops in Brighton. Spectacular, it is. If I only had the legs! We’re practising every Thursday and Sunday night at our local club, and then I’m like a hermit for the rest of the week, what with my teaching commitments and banging out the first draft of this research paper – the fourteenth of December can’t come soon enough. After that, I can put all my effort into rehearsing.’

  ‘What are you planning to do for Christmas? Are you visiting your mum in Bury?’

  ‘I’ll go for the weekend before Christmas and then again at New Year. But it’s heart-breaking, Liv. She has no idea who I am now – asks me all the time why I’m visiting her. Last week, when I went up during Reading Week, she seemed genuinely frightened of me. It feels like my heart is being wrenched from my chest and wrung dry. I’m happier with Tynedale Towers, though. At least Mum hasn’t been returned by the police after wandering the streets of Lancashire in her nightdress. Thank God it was August!’

  Olivia swallowed down a surge of sorrow at the rapid deterioration in Rachel’s beloved mother’s mental health.

  ‘So, as Mum doesn’t know whether it’s Christmas, East
er or Diwali, Dennie and I have decided to catch the ferry to Amsterdam to visit her dad and his new wife. We’re having a traditional Dutch Christmas celebration.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about your mum, Rach. Hey, as I’m spending Christmas with Mum and Dad in Longthorpe, why don’t I pop across and visit Anne whilst I’m up there?’

  ‘Oh, that would be fabulous, thanks.’ Rachel paused for a moment to catch her breath before returning to the matter in hand. ‘I’ll send over your plane ticket for Copenhagen. Thanks again, Liv, did I tell you that I love you?’

  ‘Right back at you, Rach!’

  Olivia ended the call with a surge of gratitude for the unswerving support she’d had whilst going through the trauma of her divorce. Most of her friends had been solicitous and sympathetic, dishing out those cornerstones of female solace: Chardonnay, chocolate, chatter, making sure that she didn’t bury her pain under a mountain of silence where it was bound to fester and probably haunt her until she exhaled her last breath. She wasn’t sure who had said ‘it’s good to talk’, but it was certainly true, and she had taken advantage of all the listening ears that were on offer.

  However, not everyone she had thought was a friend had joined the emporium of empathy. Okay, she was prepared for the fact that a few of the friends she and Nathan had gathered along the way would maybe split into his and hers – and that was fine, except it hadn’t always worked out that way. One couple she had really liked had pretty much ditched her the day after the divorce petition had been served and she had no idea why.

  But she didn’t want to know. Knowledge wasn’t power, it was pain!

  What had actually upset Olivia the most, though, was the reaction of one particular long-time friend, Kate Harris, who had been horrified when she had heard that Olivia was about to become single again. Olivia had suggested they meet for a coffee, but Kate had immediately made some lacklustre excuse about having to visit her grandmother in Scotland. Olivia bought it at the time – she had no spare brain capacity to dissect the veracity of her reasons – until she saw her so-called friend sneaking into Waitrose at the appointed hour.