Island in the Sun

by Janice Horton

  As I gaze at the precious photograph in my hand, I can’t help but wonder if I will ever get to meet little Isla? I must send a message straight away to Mr Smith, my lawyer in Grand Cayman, asking him to send an international telex message on my behalf.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Kate’s Journal – 1995

  Pearl Island

  Following the birth of Isla, I have received letters and photographs from Maggie on a regular basis. I, in turn, send birthday cards and Easter greetings and Christmas cards, and in each one I pop inside a few dollars as a gift for my darling granddaughter. I slipped up only once, when I wrote on Isla’s fifth birthday ‘happy birthday to my granddaughter.’ Maggie immediately sent a letter back, making fun of me and saying that I’d spelt ‘goddaughter’ wrongly and insisting that the $100 bills I keep sending for Isla are far too generous.

  In the same envelope, there is a drawing that Isla had done on her very first day of school. In the drawing were three ‘stick’ adults and a little ‘stick’ girl with yellow hair. Two of the adults were standing either side of the girl and the other adult in the background standing in a yellow circle with her stick arms up in the air. The drawing has ‘my family’ written on it in a child’s writing.

  Maggie went on to explain in her letter that the stick person in the circle was meant to be me.

  I was standing on my island and waving at them.

  I love it so much that I now have it in a frame on the wall in my study.

  Kate’s Journal – 1996

  Pearl Island

  I today received an unexpected visit from Mr Smith. He came over on the supply boat and he brought with him a telex that his office had received that morning from the UK. He told me that he’d brought it over straight away because he was assured by the sender it was urgent.

  I went into an immediate panic. What could be so urgent that it warranted a telex?

  I asked Mr Smith to open it for me and to read it aloud. He did as I asked and, of course, I could tell by his face that it was bad news. Maggie and her husband Jim had been killed in a car accident.

  Isla had apparently been in the car too, but she had been on the back seat and strapped into a child seat. The seat had saved her from injury. The telex had been sent by my son-in-law’s parents, who said they were totally devastated at their loss and not in the best of health, so they were asking me, as Isla’s godmother, to be her principle guardian and caregiver.

  On hearing this, I’m told I fell forward and hit my head on the porch railing and when Grace heard the commotion of me crying, she came running to take care of me, while Mr Smith summoned Nurse Rose from the clinic to treat my head injury.

  John came to offer his support and he broke the news to me that the telex also gave information about the funeral arrangements. Their joint funeral was to take place in just three days’ time, after which I was expected to collect Isla and bring her back with me to Pearl Island.

  I’m told that I went hysterical at that point and had to be sedated.

  I don’t know what to do. My Maggie and her husband are dead and their funerals are in just three days’ time. John tells me I must look to God and to pray and so I do.

  ‘Yes, let us pray. Let us pray for a miracle.’

  ‘Pray for strength, dear Kate. Pray to the Lord and he will help you to find the strength within you to help little Isla. She’s our priority now and Jesus told us in Matthew 14:19: “Let the little children come unto me, and do not hinder them, as the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”’

  I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life before and I can tell you that I’ve done some pretty hard praying. A miracle is what I thought it would take for me to leave Pearl Island and fly to England to attend my daughter and her husband’s funeral. The thought of leaving the safety of the island terrified me but taking a boat over the sea and two or more airplanes back to England, I feared would surely take more courage than I possibly had.

  Yet somehow, I had to do it, because this wasn’t just about me. It was about little Isla.

  ‘I have an idea…’ I said to John, after we had prayed together. ‘What if I ask Nurse Rose to give me something to knock me out for the entire journey? That way I could go to sleep here and wake up there and I could do the same on the way home?’

  John smiled at me sympathetically but also shook his head. ‘I don’t think that would be practical. I mean, who would look after Isla on the way back?’

  I was forced to agree, having just imagined myself completely unconscious in a first-class cabin sitting next to a six-year-old. ‘Okay, so what if I wasn’t actually unconscious? What if I take along a couple of boxes of those cookies you make and nibble on them all the way to England and back again?’

  John smiled again, this time attempting to suppress his amusement. ‘And that would surely get you arrested and detained. Certainly not a good example to set a child.’

  ‘Oh, John!’ I wailed. ‘I don’t think I can do it!’

  And again, it was John who helped me to find fortitude and courage. He prayed with me and then spent the whole night mopping my tears of sorrow and heartache and listening to my deepest woes and regrets and my guilt about Maggie and how I now felt about abandoning her.

  ‘I was no better than a sea-gypsy mother leaving her child on a beach!’ I wailed in my anguish.

  Then finally, as a new day dawned, we took communion and he assured me I was forgiven.

  So we decided on a plan: I would go back to the UK to attend the funeral and to collect Isla and John would accompany me.

  We have packed a small suitcase each. Neither of us had appropriate clothing for travel or for the UK climate and I even expect there might still be snow on the ground in April in Harrogate. When I told John, who is an American from Arizona, he said he was delighted as he’d only ever seen snow once in his life.

  We meditated and practised balancing our chakras on the boat over to Grand Cayman.

  Thankfully, the crossing was calm and therefore I remained calm, breathing deeply and focusing on healing myself physically, mentally and energetically. We are staying overnight in a very nice hotel, where John has arranged for a doctor to call on me and prescribe some pills to help me further with my anxiety problems.

  This morning, we set off to the airport together and John kept a firm grip on my hand. We went through security. I was cleared through without a hitch but John was taken to one side. He was patted down and his hand luggage was inspected. I was nervous and prayed that he didn’t have a bag of weed or a cookie or anything else in his bag or on his person that might not let him through. But after what felt like forever, but was probably only about fifteen minutes, he was cleared to go.

  I suppose border patrol thought that a billowing orange kaftan and a white turban was an unusual choice of travel attire for a Caucasian man.

  At the gate, when they began calling for the first-class passengers to board, my heart was racing and perspiration began to pour from me. I was shaking so much I could hardly stand up. I came over all light-headed and actually thought I might pass out. I was so embarrassed when I realised I was drawing attention to myself and people were staring at me.

  ‘I can’t do it, John,’ I cried, terrified of getting on the plane and terrified if I didn’t.

  John held onto my trembling hands and maintained eye contact.

  ‘We can do it together, Kate. Think of Isla.’

  Again, we focussed on our breathing for a few minutes and I took another anxiety pill. We then boarded the plane and were shown to our seats. Big comfortable seats but in an awfully small cabin that felt extremely claustrophobic. I immediately began to feel too hot. I began panting. I felt dizzy.

  I thought I might pass out again.

  Instantly, John was by my side and a concerned air stewardess approached and asked if we needed anything. ‘Water, please,’ John asked. When she came back he explained to her that I was feeling too hot. Immediately, she made sure all the ai
r conditioning jets above were directed onto me. ‘She’s also a little anxious about air travel,’ John confessed on my behalf.

  And after those words, nothing was too much trouble for the crew. The captain even came out to speak to me before take-off. He showed me our route map and told me how the modern aircraft was all about safety and comfort, and that according to his reports today the skies looked clear for our journey and he expected little or no turbulence at all. But even if they did run into turbulence, it wasn’t going to be a problem.

  ‘Turbulence is a comfort issue not a safety issue,’ he explained to me.

  He went on to say that he’d been a military pilot before a commercial one and that he’d been flying aircraft without incident for over thirty years. He was so handsome and charming that I felt so much more at ease. So much better in fact, that I managed a small glass of champagne and even ate a small meal.

  We had to do the whole thing over again in Miami, as we transferred to our London flight.

  When I wavered, John was immediately reassuring. ‘Imagine yourself meeting your granddaughter, Kate. Hold onto that beautiful thought whenever you feel you might be starting to lose control.’

  And so I thought of Isla and I held onto John’s hand. I forced any escalating panic to the back of my mind. I shed a few tears along the way too. I also thought about my daughter and her husband Jim’s funeral and how, in just a few days’ time, I would be responsible for bringing up a child.

  Yet what did I know about such things? What did I know about raising a child?

  I’d once, for a short time, been given a daughter of my own and yet I’d abandoned her.

  And right now, that abandonment felt like a dark empty place.

  When all I had thought about was myself. Thinking I was cursed. Yet my situation, brought about entirely through my own sinful actions, was actually a blessing. I see it now. I see it all so clearly. And I weep in despair and in my grief, knowing this is my karma.

  Giving Isla to me is not a punishment, I realise. Losing Ernest was my punishment. This is my chance at salvation, except for this redemption, I’d had to lose my own child.

  Terrified that I was losing my mind in this all-consuming grief, I explained my thoughts to John, and he quoted John, verses 3:16, from the bible to me.

  “For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten son, so that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

  And I wept and we prayed together for strength and for blessings on little Isla.

  I had insisted from the outset that we only stay two nights in the UK. One night in Harrogate before the funeral, and then back to London for one night at the airport hotel before flying home.

  I just wanted enough time to pay my respects to my loved ones and to collect little Isla.

  Then, once back on Pearl Island, I would start to feel safe and Isla could start her new life.

  Thanks to my prescribed medication, I actually slept for most of the flight from Miami over to London. On the train to Yorkshire, I was distracted by the scenery as we travelled through the beautiful English countryside. I’d quite forgotten how wonderfully green it was in England.

  ‘And did those feet in ancient time, walk upon England’s mountains green, and was the Holy lamb of God, on England’s pleasant pastures seen…’ John sang to me.

  We checked into a hotel in the centre of Harrogate before John and I went to find a Marks & Spencer. We returned with a cache of outfits more suited to the Yorkshire weather which was, of course, wet and cold, and also for the occasion, which was sombre. We then had an evening meal together and called it a night.

  I knew I had to muster all the strength I could to get through the next forty-eight hours.

  After losing Ernest and through my friendship with John, I had learned to embrace many life-affirming principles, but none of these beliefs or these principles had prepared me for seeing the caskets of my daughter and her husband being carried into the church.

  What was the loss of a husband compared to that of a daughter?

  With Ernest, I’d had no coffin to cry over or funeral to attend, only a memorial service for which I’d worn a plain black dress and my double-string of black pearls.

  All the emotions of grief, loss, sadness, joy, love, and shock and guilt, were exhausting.

  John stood reassuringly by my side at the service at the crematorium while I reintroduced myself to my father, who is suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s and didn’t know who I was anymore. After which we went back to my late son-in-law’s family home for tea. Jim’s parents, Jean and Derek, were completely distraught and I was worried for them because they were both so old and frail. I completely understood now why they had wanted me to take Isla. It was at their home that I met my little granddaughter for the first time.

  Seeing her cut right through my grief and brought joy into my heart.

  ‘Who is this, Nana Jean?’ Isla asked, when she saw me smiling at her in wonder.

  ‘This is your Aunt Kate,’ she was told.

  I was about to object and ask Isla to call me Grandma Kate, when I saw Isla’s immediate smile and how she ran towards me with her arms open wide, so I kept quiet.

  ‘Aunt Kate from the sunshine island!’ Isla exclaimed, hugging me.

  I asked for Isla’s things and explained that we were heading straight back to London. This was met with cries of resistance and offers of hospitality from Jean and Derek, who said they had expected John and I to stay with them, that they had a room aired and ready for us.

  Clearly, they thought John and I were a couple, and I didn’t feel up to correcting their mistaken assumptions. I thanked them for their generosity but insisted that we had to meet with our flight out of Heathrow so early the following morning that our immediate departure was all but essential.

  I didn’t tell them how suffocating it felt to have the weight of my past all around me. How here I was back to being plain Katherine Smith, a woman who wore sensible brogues, a dull tweed skirt and a taupe twin-set. Not Kate Rocha, who’d married well and who lived on a tropical island in the sunshine and who wore couture and diamonds. How, if I stayed here in Yorkshire a moment too long, I felt I’d be trapped forever and unable to go home.

  Isla clung to my skirt and to her teddy bear and stared up at me with those big blue eyes.

  ‘I’m your Aunt Kate and I’m taking you away with me to live on the sunshine island,’ I explained to her.

  ‘How will we get there?’ she asked, her eyes lit with child-like expectations.

  ‘On a train, two aeroplanes and a boat,’ I replied truthfully, scaring myself half to death with this information.

  ‘Will there be unicorns and fairies on the island?’ Isla asked.

  I was about to say no, of course not, when Nana Jean gave me a stern nod of the head and I realised I had a lot to learn about children.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure we have some of those,’ I lied.

  ‘Who is this man?’ Isla asked, pointing to John, who was wearing a Marks & Spencer purple silk smoking jacket over his dark suit, much to the disbelief of Jean and Derek.

  ‘This is our friend John. He is a church minister, my friend and my guru, and he is coming too.’

  ‘What’s a guru?’ Isla asked.

  ‘A spiritual teacher,’ I explained.

  ‘So you two are not actually married, then?’ Jean asked, looking at me and John in turn, suddenly realising in dismay that she had only offered us one bedroom.

  ‘No. Just very good friends and John has been such a support to me during this difficult time.’

  Isla left my side to pounce about on the sofa like a little kitten, until behind a cushion she found what she was looking for – a rag doll. Holding it up, she shouted, ‘This is my John and he’s a guru too. Can he come to sunshine island?’

  And everyone laughed, breaking the tension in the room, by noting how Isla’s John also had long stringy hair and a purple silk dress.

 
‘Oh, for the innocence of a child…’ John said to me, as he helped us with our bags.

  ‘Yet all things truly wicked start from innocence,’ I reminded him.

  ‘John Donne?’ he asked.

  ‘Ernest Hemingway,’ I replied.

  Isla didn’t protest at having to leave and nor did she complain. In fact, she seemed truly happy about the new situation. Clearly unable, or simply too young, to fully understand how all this had come about because of grief and loss; for which I was grateful.

  I took her hand and we said goodbye to her other grandparents.

  Jean and Derek held themselves together as best they could, holding back their tears, knowing that they may never see their darling grandchild again. I promised I would write and send photographs and made sure they had both our address and our geographical coordinates too.

  Isla was a delightful travelling companion. Only once did she ask me about her mother and father. ‘Nana Jean said my mummy and daddy have gone to Heaven, but do you know when they’ll be coming back, Aunt Kate?’

  I didn’t know what to say. Do I lie to appease the child, or should I tell the truth?

  I asked John for his advice and he said that children should always be told the truth, although Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, and fairy stories in general were always the exceptions as they often explained the meaning of life and death far better than adults ever could.

  So, I explained to her that her mummy and daddy were going to stay in Heaven and they would wait for her there, and how, one day, but not for a very long time, we would all go to Heaven and we would see them again. She seemed quite delighted by this explanation.

  ‘And who is waiting for you in Heaven, Aunt Kate?’

  When I said it was my husband, she kissed my cheek and told me not to be sad, and that she would stay with me on the sunshine island until a very long time had passed.

  Isla rubbed her eyes, feeling quite exhausted by all she’d read. She’d been blind-sided by all the drama and the grief and the God-fearing, and had come to realise that poor Kate, who had suffered so much with her agoraphobia and who had been so terrified to leave the island that she’d even avoided her own daughter’s wedding, had so bravely managed to summon the courage to travel thousands of miles to collect her when she’d had no one else able to care for her.