by Lucy Vine
I’m still in Australia and it’s still hot.
I’m just here to say that I’ve put my mum on AWOL because I thought it would be funny. Everyone follow her @FionaEdwards, but please don’t send her porn because that wouldn’t be funny. Or would it?
6 Comments · 153 AWOLs · 239 Super Likes
COMMENTS:
Alice Edwards
Replying to Alice Edwards
| For real tho, it wouldn’t be funny.
Eva Slate
| Welcome to AWOL, @FionaEdwards! So glad you’re here with us.
Alice Edwards
Replying to Eva Slate and Fiona Edwards
| I’m glad too :)
Fiona Edwards
| Dear Alice, I hope you are well. Thank you for helping me to join the AWOL. I am now following @MariahCarey and @kanyewest and have asked them to message me about a possible duet. I will let you know when they reply to me. Yours lovingly, your mum xxxxxx
Alice Edwards
Replying to Fiona Edwards
| I’m sure it’ll be any second now.
Karen Gill
| Right, that’s it, I’m putting Mammy on here. We can have an AWOL mammy-off.
‘HELP ME I’M GOING TO FALL,’ Mum is screaming from the rock face, sweating as she clings on, frozen and clammy-faced. Except she is maybe two and a half feet up, and nobody told her to climb up it.
‘OK, down you get,’ I say as nicely as I can, pulling her off by her backpack. She collapses dramatically to the ground.
‘I don’t think we should rock climb, after all,’ she says, as I offer her my hand and hoist her up.
‘Good idea, Mum,’ I say, trying not to laugh.
Driving to the Blue Mountains National Park was her idea, but if I’d known she was going to be such a mad person, I’d have left her at home.
It has been a slow, careful and brilliant week. Mum and me have been moving around each other like new friends on a playground. Circling each other warily, sharing eager smiles whenever our eyes meet, spending long nights talking until the early hours.
The big thing is that we both want this to work so much. We are being kind to each other, and both trying really hard. It’s so good, so nice. I can’t describe how I feel every time I look at her. Hope is probably the closest to it.
For the first few days we just hunkered down together in her living room, doing a lot of normal mum-daughter stuff: watching daytime telly, drinking sherry at six o’ clock in the evening, and generally worrying about sofa cushions not being plumped enough. But we eventually decided to get out there and do things. So we went to look at Sydney Harbour and the Opera House, where we bickered over whether it looked more like a shark or a toilet roll holder. Cultural chat, y’know.
Then this morning, I woke up to find her and Hannah grinning from ear-to-ear, dressed in what they obviously thought hiking gear looks like. By which I mean, very expensive trainers and khaki-coloured jumpers. Hannah is also wearing what can only be a bee-keeper hat.
‘It’s dual purpose,’ she told me when I asked. ‘It keeps out the mosquitoes, but also blocks government radio waves. I bought it online from my NASA contacts.’
‘Is your NASA contact also a part-time bee-keeper?’ I asked innocently but she ignored me.
The Blue Mountains are an hour’s drive from my mum’s house in Sydney and I was promised waterfalls, forests, hiking tracks, cliffs, canyons and caves. But mostly so far it’s just been Mum trying to do dangerous things and then falling over. Bless her, I think she’s trying to impress me.
‘C’mon you two,’ I say as Mum brushes herself down. ‘Let’s just go get on the cable car. That’s probably enough exertion.’
‘Cable cars are too easy to track,’ Hannah mutters from underneath her bee-hat.
I pull up the map on my phone to figure out where we are, as Mum strides on ahead, still eager to impress me with her obvious wilderness skills.
I watch her disappear into the trees and feel a surge of love and gratitude. I am so happy we’re here together, slightly lost, laughing together. It’s so nice.
There have been moments, of course, these last few days, when it hits me how much time we’ve lost. The guilt screams through me and I am wracked with it. But I refuse to let regret ruin this time. I can’t let what’s been lost too far into my head. We all make choices, and they are the ones we make. There’s no point looking back and wondering what if. We do what we had to do in those moments. I just have to be relieved I was able to overcome my own stubbornness and be here now.
I mean, it’s not totally there between us. We’re not inside a fairy tale, so of course it can’t be perfect. A happily ever after is whatever we make it and it takes work. We’ve missed a lot and there is still a lot left to work through. I know I still have things I need to forgive, and so does Mum. And, honestly, I still don’t know really how I feel about Steven. I feel weird every single morning when Mum calls or visits the hospice. I’m not ready to see him because I’m not ready to feel sorry for him, to pity him. I’m not sure if I ever will be ready. Mum says that’s OK, and I hope she means it.
Life is complicated but we’re trying, which is what matters.
‘Oh! Hello there!’ she shouts now, from up ahead. Hannah and I follow, almost tripping over a group of people sitting in a clearing, mid yoga class.
‘God, sorry to interrupt you . . .’ I begin but the instructor is smiling benignly, waving off my apologies.
‘Can we join in?’ Mum says eagerly, already throwing her bag off her shoulders.
‘They’re in the middle of things!’ I protest weakly but several lotuses have already shouted yes, waving us over and into their midst.
Mum bends forward into a stretch a bit professionally, as I pull off my coat. ‘Oh, a bit good, are you?’ I say, amused.
‘Well actually,’ she replies coolly, ‘I’m a fully trained yoga teacher.’
She is? Wow, I really have missed a lot. Before I have a chance to reply, the instructor has leapt up. ‘That’s wonderful news!’ she shouts at Mum. ‘I’ve pulled something in my leg, so I’m struggling to effectively lead this class. There’s only fifteen minutes left, could you finish them off for me?’
Mum gapes at her, her mouth opening and closing as the limping woman bustles her up to the front.
‘It’s mostly ashtanga, with just a bit of lyengar,’ she tells Mum casually, waving her hands at the group of thirty-strong yogis. ‘And then I was thinking I might end with some core work to release the kundalini energy? Thanks so much!’
She positions my gormless-looking mum at the front, and she looks directly at me, like a rabbit in headlights. It is in that moment that I understand. Of course.
She was faking it. She’s not a yoga teacher. It was more of the rock-climbing stuff – more showing off to try and impress me.
I watch in slow motion as Mum gets whiter and whiter, staring dumbly round the expectant group.
She suddenly looks at me again, standing up straighter, a new expression in her eyes. Determination.
Oh fuck.
‘Right,’ she says, clearing her throat. ‘Let’s do this then, shall we?’
There is a long pause.
I am seized with panic. What should I do? I glance frantically at Hannah for help, but she doesn’t seem worried. She’s sitting cross-legged, waiting expectantly. She’s still got her bee-keeper hat on.
Mum clears her throat again. ‘Right,’ she says once more, her voice only faintly shaky. ‘OK, you lot. Everyone on all fours.’
The group responds obediently.
She’s really doing it, she really is. That’s it, Mum’s on her own.
‘Now,’ her voice is high. ‘Do a . . . forward roll.’
I spot a couple of people glancing nervously at each other. Three of the teacher’s pets at t
he front do it without question. I couldn’t even do a forward roll when I was a kid, so I just sit back and watch.
‘Ow,’ says a muffled Hannah beside me, who is halfway through the exercise, bee-keeper hat trapped under her boobs.
‘Great, er, very well done, everyone,’ Mum says, regarding the group again. Off at the side, the original teacher is starting to look a bit nervous.
‘Up next,’ Mum is nodding confidently now, even smiling a bit. ‘Is the downward . . . crouching, um, camel.’
A young woman at the front sticks her hand up like the goodie-two-shoes she definitely always was at school.
‘Excuse me, could you demonstrate that one for us?’ she says, looking blank.
Mum stares at her, a little bit hostile. ‘I could,’ she replies at last. ‘But then . . . how will you learn?’ She nods over in my direction, like I get it.
‘But . . .’ the woman looks confused. ‘But . . .’
‘Oh fine,’ Mum snaps impatiently. ‘If you really do need babysitting, you can show the class. Stand up on your knees, quick, quick.’
The class suck-up jumps to attention.
‘Then . . . just, um, lean right back, into the . . . camel,’ Mum says waving vaguely. ‘Further, further. Keep going. Now, let me . . .’ She reaches for the woman, already stretched oddly, to press on her shoulders.
I see it coming and yet I still sit there, doing nothing, watching it happen. Unable to say anything.
We all hear the crack.
32
AWOL.COM/Alice Edwards’ Travel Blog
12 July – 8.22 p.m.
Hey.
Does anyone know if Australia has a similar healthcare system to the UK? I mean, just as an example, if we were to, say, dump a person outside an A&E department and drive away, would they get treated for free or turned away for not having insurance? Asking for a friend.
Ta, Axx
3 Comments · 94 AWOLs · 145 Super Likes
COMMENTS:
Eva Slate
| What have you been up to?!!
Fiona Edwards
| Dear Alice, do not worry about a thing, I slipped $30 into her sports bra. Love mum xxxxx
Alice Edwards
Replying to Fiona Edwards
| So we can add sexual assault to the list of crimes we will be charged with. Great.
‘I’m walking in right now,’ I type. ‘And it’s very difficult to walk and type, the only reason this makes any sense is autocorrect. So please stop messaging me, I AM COMING RIGHT NOW.’
I’m not even late for God’s sake. Honestly, there was no way I’d be late. I’m too happy and excited about it.
I’m about to meet up with Joe and Mark.
Joe got to Sydney yesterday and they’ve had a full twenty-four hours together to talk things through and probably do other things – wink. I’m trying not to be too over the top with my enthusiasm because I don’t want to scare Mark. He’s only just starting to let me into this part of his life and I don’t want him running back into his repressed hidey-hole. But I can tell he’s happy. Even just on his texts, urging me to hurry up and get to the hotel already, there is an irrepressibly jaunty tone to his sentences. Like he is smiling and he can’t help it.
I think, y’know, that he might be in love.
So the other day he finally filled me in on Joe and Mark’s Relationship: The Back Story.
They’ve been friends forever, this much I knew. I also knew Joe was madly in love with Mark, but I had no idea for how long. Basically, every now and again, Joe would drunkenly confess his feelings and want to talk about it. But Mark would brush him off, refusing to even discuss the possibility of their friendship becoming something more. He laughed the whole thing off, much like he did with me when I brought it up. So yeah, Joe dated other people and tried to move on, but just . . . couldn’t. He knew deep down that this was it for him. Mark was his lobster. And for some reason he hung on in there all this time, hoping. Which I swear to God would’ve never worked for a straight woman, desperately waiting for a man to change his mind – but this is not the time for a rant about sexist double standards and toxic masculinity.
Anyway, it’s actually happening at last.
I would really like to be able to take all the credit for sparking this whole love-revelation in Mark – believe me, I tried to take the credit – but, to be honest, it sounds like he’d already pretty much reached the obvious conclusion on his own.
They’d become so much closer travelling around Thailand together, and with hindsight, I think a lot of Mark’s grumpiness on the trip was to do with the creeping realisation of his feelings. I guess he was frustrated with himself and struggling to comprehend things. He’d been in denial for so long. But then we went to that Ayahuasca retreat and he says pretty much all of his experiences and hallucinations were centred around Joe.
Which made me feel way better. Sure, maybe I tried to get a selfie with the universe, but at least I didn’t waste my experience mooning over a booooooy.
Either way, it rather forced a more intensive internal conversation for my brother. He could no longer deny how much Joe meant to him.
But because Mark is Mark, still, he fought it.
It was only when me and him had that huge row at the hostel and he stormed off, dragging Joe along with him, that things reached a kind of breaking point. After they left me, they checked into a hotel nearby, where they had their own big fight. Mild-mannered, lovely, ever-patient Joe told Mark that he was being a dick, and that they should never have abandoned me in the middle of Asia. He said it was laughable that Mark told me off for being in denial, when he’s been in his own world of denial for years and years. He said he was done, for good this time, and was going to head off to Australia on his own, to travel up the east coast and ‘cool off’. He packed his bag and left, telling Mark on his way out that things were going to change between them. He wasn’t prepared to be his adoring puppy-dog any more.
Mark told me he sat in that hotel room, fuming and ranting in the mirror about the both of us, before finally coming to some kind of self-realisation. He followed Joe to Australia and waited in Sydney for his true love to come back to him.
I added the true love part, and je ne regrette rien.
By the time I arrived in the city and shouted at him about never giving love a chance, he was already ninety-nine point nine per cent of the way there.
Oh, but I’m still going to make a speech at the wedding and tell everyone their relationship is down to me.
Anyway, I’m genuinely thrilled, and can’t wait to see the two of them together properly at long last.
I’m bouncing on the spot as I scan the hotel bar and spot them sitting in a corner booth. They are holding hands in that casual way people who have been touching non-stop for days at a time tend to do. It takes me a moment to register the third, random person sitting there in the booth with them, and as I get closer I stop and fully gasp in the middle of the room.
They hear me – apparently I gasp loudly – and all four of us stare at each other from across the room, unblinking.
Shut up.
It is not.
What the fuck. What is GOING ON?
What the fuck is he doing here? It is him, isn’t it?
This can’t actually be real? How is he . . .?
Mark half smiles at me and I can tell he is as baffled as I am.
I slowly make my way over to their booth, but don’t sit down.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I say, and my voice doesn’t sound like my own.
‘I came to see you,’ he says simply.
It’s Uber driver Dom and I do not understand how it’s him on any level.
‘What?’ I say dumbly and he gestures at me to sit down.
‘Hello,’ he smiles and after another long moment of silen
ce, he adds, ‘OK, don’t freak out, I haven’t gone full stalker. I have a friend’s wedding in Sydney but I probably wouldn’t have accepted the invite if not for you. I saw you tagged into this hotel on Instagram, so assumed you were staying here.’
I flop heavily into the booth, no clue what to say as he continues, ‘I spotted your brother here in the bar, I recognised him from your pictures. So I came over and introduced myself.’
‘I can’t believe you’re actually here,’ I say dumbly. This is so weird. My head is spinning. What is going on? First a message from Noah asking me out, then Dom is here, out of nowhere.
Am I . . . am I secretly a fucking goddess? Guys, I think that must be it.
Or, wait . . . it’s way more likely he’s got a terrible STD and wants to tell me face-to-face. What would be the worst one to have? Gonorrhoea? That’s the one that’s popular with footballers, right? I don’t know what it does but it’s a fucker to spell, so it must have some terrible symptoms.
‘Hello you,’ Joe interrupts my shock, jumping up and giving me a long hug. He pulls me closer and whispers in my ear protectively, ‘Is he nuts? Want me to escort him out?’
‘Um, maybe?’ I murmur back, still not sure what to think. ‘Give him five minutes and then we’ll reassess.’ He starts to pull away and I grip him closer again. ‘It’s really good to see you, Joe,’ I add, my voice thick with emotion. I haven’t forgotten why I’m here. He gives me an acknowledging squeeze. I can feel his happiness radiating off him. He deserves this more than anyone.
I clear my throat as I slide into the booth beside Dom, no idea what to do next. To his credit, Dom does look uncomfortable. Like he regrets making an impulsive and bizarre decision without thinking it through.
The thing is, I did actually hear from him a couple of times after he had that tantrum on the rollercoaster and stormed off like a child. We actually settled things, we left it on good-ish terms. He said he was sorry for his jealous rage and I told him it sucked but it was OK. Then he’d said something about wanting to see me again before I left LA and I pointed out that I’d already long-since left LA. I also reminded him that, fun as it was spending time with him, it was only ever meant to be a short-term thing and that it was best to draw a line under it now. We could be pals on Facebook or whatever – and then never speak again, like every other person in the world who’s had a holiday fling.