Now Is Our Time

by Jo Kessel

  “No, I don’t have a legal leg to stand on. Claire could arrange for the airline to chaperone her and that would be even worse, but I still wouldn’t be able to change it.”

  The bottom line was, when Miriam wasn’t with him, Claire was in charge and vice versa.

  “You know,” Ali cocked her head sympathetically, “Claire has already had to come to terms with having me in Miriam’s life. I’m a total stranger to her and yet she has to trust me. It must be incredibly hard, I’m not saying it isn’t, but you’ve been lucky that she’s not been with anyone sooner.”

  “It’s not just that,” admitted Anthony. “It’s the whole America thing. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “Have you met Jonah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you like him?”

  He hated him. He hated everything he represented.

  “I don’t know him.”

  “What are you worried about?”

  “What if Claire decides to move to America and take Miriam with her?”

  “There’s no way she’d be able to do that. Miriam’s life’s here. Her father’s here. Her school’s here. Her family’s here.”

  They were both criminal lawyers, but nonetheless Ali had a basic understanding of family law.

  “I know,” Ali continued, chewing her lower lip the way she did whenever she was hatching a plan. “Why don’t we go to America for our holidays too and that way you can pick up Miriam yourself and check out the situation? There’s no law against that.”

  Eureka. Anthony crashed his lips into Ali’s.

  “I love you,” he said appreciatively. “That’s a brilliant idea. And you don’t mind all that long haul travel with Jasper? He’s ever so little.”

  “I’m sure we can make it work,” Ali insisted.

  In less than a second Anthony went from being as tense as a tightly wound coil to feeling euphoric. He liked a plan. A plan made him feel in control. To win, that’s what was needed, and if there was one thing Anthony didn’t like, it was losing. If there was one thing he was never going to lose, it was his daughter. The very concept was unthinkable.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CLAIRE

  “Babe,” said Jonah, struggling to squeeze Claire’s toiletry bag into the suitcase. “The zip’s going to break. You’ve got to take something out.”

  Claire was anxiously peering through the stained-glass window adjacent to her front door, willing her mother to hurry up. Her mother had insisted on driving them to the airport. “I’m not going to see you for at least the next two months,” she’d argued, “so the least I can do is to wave you off. Besides, I’ve not seen Jonah for fourteen years and I want to see him again. Is that a crime?”

  It wasn’t a crime, but Claire still had misgivings. Not only did her mother have a bad track-record when it came to timekeeping, she also had a car that Claire was fearing by the second would be too small to accommodate their needs. Crumbs! Even the cases appeared to be unfit for purpose. “Get Miriam to sit on it,” she suggested but Jonah wasn’t listening. He flung the case open and peered at the contents: body lotion, bubble bath, foot cream, hand cream, sun block, three different factor sun creams, shampoo, hair conditioner and a large box of organic tea bags. One by one he deposited them with a clunk onto the wood floor. “I’ve got all this stuff at my place and, if there is anything you’ve forgotten you can always buy it from the shop round the corner. We’re not going to some remote wilderness.” “Ok,” Claire conceded, “but not the teabags. Yours aren’t the same.” Jonah grinned and tossed the box of tea bags back in, closing the suitcase with ease on the next attempt.

  “She’s here,” cried Claire, watching the silver Ford Focus pull up outside.

  The last week had been manic. There had been so much to organise, from visas to packing to touching base with all her clients, arranging to hold video consultations with them from the States. She’d done her last Morning Cuppa broadcast the day before. This had been followed by meetings to bandy ideas around for the weekly segments they would be airing from California. Much to her relief Claire learned that she would have her own dedicated American producer.

  Miriam had celebrated her ninth birthday a couple of days previously with a cook-your-own pizza party at their local Italian restaurant. Because Miriam now knew that her birthday was on American Independence Day she insisted that her girlie guests should each receive a US-themed goodie bag containing a packet of Oreos, a chocolate Hershey bar and, the pièce-de-resistance, a red, white and blue Alice band.

  More importantly had been the ‘chat’. Miriam already knew that she was spending the summer in America with Jonah and his daughter Martha. She was very excited about it but Claire didn’t want any confusion about Jonah’s status in her life.

  “You know Jonah and I are good friends,” she began, wishing there was a divorced mums’ ‘how to’ manual.

  “Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

  Thwack. Claire hadn’t been expecting that.

  “Well, err, yes, err, he used to be, b-

  “Mum, it’s ok. I know he’s your boyfriend again and I’m happy for you. I really like him. I think it’s great.”

  Miriam had then reached up to her mother, wrapping her arms around her neck and pulling her down so that she could kiss her cheek.

  “I’m happy for you, Mummy,” she said. “Daddy’s got someone and I want you to have someone too. Does Jonah make you happy?”

  Tears pricked Claire’s eyes.

  “Yes, darling, he does. But your happiness is more important to me than anything. You’ve had to make a lot of adjustments in the last year and I’m sure it can’t be easy. So promise you’ll talk to me if anything’s ever troubling you?”

  Miriam promised faithfully and now here they were, a merry trio, standing next to three large suitcases and three smaller carry-on bags, waiting by the open front door as Claire’s mother walked up the garden path. Jonah stepped forward, arms outstretched as he greeted her. Their soft spot for each other had been mutual.

  “Mrs J,” his voice oozed warmth, “it’s so nice to see you again.”

  They hugged each other and it was almost comical how Jonah’s height swamped her. The top of her head reached barely higher than Jonah’s armpits and Claire made a mental note to ask him later if he thought her mother had aged significantly in the intervening years. Certainly her hair had turned from ‘Bordeaux’ to white.

  “Please, call me Dolores,” Mrs Jackson insisted.

  She’d always preferred Jonah to address her by her first name and he’d always struggled. He’d been raised to call men senior to himself ‘Sir’ and women ‘Ma’am.’ For him, the ‘Mrs J’ tag was already a serious nod towards intimacy.

  “You’re looking very well,” he flattered.

  Claire swore she saw her mother blush.

  “Now, what’s all this I hear about you taking my daughter and granddaughter to the other side of the world? I’ve already got one child in Hong Kong and really don’t want to lose another. You remember I don’t like aeroplanes?”

  Dolores wore a smile on her face and her tone was definitely playful but still there was a level of warning in her words. America was not round the corner and her fear of flying was very real. Jonah couldn’t forget. None of them could. Claire’s father had hilariously recounted the story of how, dosed up on Diazepam to calm her nerves for the one flight Dolores had taken to America, she’d been high as a kite. So high that she’d flirted outrageously with the man at US customs. When he’d refused to stamp her passport she’d started slowly undoing the buttons on her shirt, staging an erotic protest. Her behaviour had apparently been so suspicious that they’d taken her into a side room for further questioning, grilling her like a criminal. She’d giggled uncontrollably. If she’d been sixteen she might have got away with this behaviour but she’d been fifty-six! Eventually the effects of the medication wore off and they let her through but nobody in the family had forgotten this incident. It still made great d
inner table conversation.

  “Mrs J,” grinned Jonah, picking up a suitcase in each hand and heading out to the car, “I hear they’ve made a supersonic boat that can do the trip from Southampton to New York faster than Concord.”

  Claire giggled as she followed him down the path with the third case.

  “Really?” asked Dolores, incredulous.

  “Really,” joked Claire, even though she knew she shouldn’t because her mother always took everything literally and would probably be on the phone to the travel agent that afternoon asking for more details. “And it’s cheaper too.”

  “But how would I get from New York to California?”

  “Train,” said Claire.

  “Greyhound bus,” said Jonah.

  “Another supersonic boat?” suggested Miriam.

  ----------------

  “You’re awfully quiet in the back dear,” said Dolores, as they passed the ‘Welcome to Heathrow’ sign. Claire was quiet. For starters she was uncomfortable. She and Miriam were jammed so tightly into the back of the car that she could barely breathe. The only way Jonah had been able to squeeze everything in was by making the car’s cargo, human and inanimate, into some warped, living collage. Claire had a bag under her feet, a case jammed between her and Miriam, and another nudging at her cranium. The back of the driver’s seat was rammed into her knees, holding her like a vice.

  She also suddenly recognised the enormity of what they were doing. Was this a reckless decision made in haste? What if Miriam didn’t like it in the US? What if Miriam hated Martha?

  These were all legitimate concerns but the real reason Claire was quiet was the conversation she’d just had with Orlando Goodman. She’d failed to reach him in the last few days and, in one final attempt, she’d telephoned from the car and he answered. Whilst he sounded upbeat, what he told her was making her introspective. His doctor had organised multiple investigations: an abdominal ultrasound, organ function tests and blood tests but, to one of them, he’d attributed a number. “The 999,” he joked. “Sounds ominously like an emergency.” Claire wasn’t medically trained, but her work as a nutritionist had taught her not only how to analyse results but also the names of different tests. There wasn’t, as far as she knew, a ‘999’. There was, however, a CA 19-9. This test filled her with fear.

  She was thinking of this as she mechanically helped Jonah load their luggage onto a trolley at Heathrow. She was thinking of this as the lady at the check-in desk lowered her voice to inform: “I’m pleased to tell you, you’ve been upgraded, which means you can also use the VIP lounge.” It wasn’t until her mother pulled her into her arms and told her to be safe that Claire finally snapped out of it.

  “We’ll be fine Mum, I promise. And we’ll video speak on the computer every few days. You remember how to do it, don’t you?”

  Claire had visited her parents home a few days earlier to download Skype onto her father’s laptop and teach them how to use it.

  “Yes, I remember.”

  Jonah held out his hand.

  “Thank you so much for bringing us to the airport, Mrs. J.”

  “Don’t Mrs J me,” ticked off Dolores as she kissed two fingers and placed them onto Jonah’s cheek. “And make sure you look after my girls.”

  “I promise,” Jonah reassured.

  Dolores crouched down, pulling a $10 bill out of her burgundy cardigan pocket and handing it to Miriam.

  “Buy yourself a couple of ice-creams my love,” she told her, “and be good for your Mummy.”

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  It’s easy to pass each day going through the motions, with every hour accounted for by either a mental note or a scribbled reminder in the diary about what needs to be done. Make packed lunch, take Miriam to school, drop off the dry cleaning, client consultation, devise meal plans, catch up on Downtown Abbey, conk out exhausted, most likely with Downtown Abbey still playing on the TV in the background. A very, very long time ago, or so it felt, Claire had been a free-spirited soul, following her heart and going with the flow. She’d lived in the moment and it had felt good. No fixed plans, no fixed abode, she’d inhabited a space where anything and everything was possible. Something had somehow gone wrong, however, and she wasn’t convinced it could entirely be blamed on the responsibility or constraints of parenthood. Jonah was right, there was no point dwelling on the past; what mattered now was the future. Fourteen hours after their plane left British soil and their taxi pulled up outside Jonah’s home, Claire experienced the strangest of sensations. It was as if she’d been holding her breath for the last decade and now, suddenly, she could breathe freely again. For thirteen years, despite being a vehicle that ran on unleaded petrol, she’d been fed on a diet of diesel. Now, finally, she was being filled up with the right gas again and it wasn’t the economy version, it was the premium brand.

  She’d always loved California. Everything here was bigger and brighter; the sky, the ocean, the sun, and yes, dangerously, the restaurant portions. Even Jonah’s house fitted that bill. He referred to it as an apartment but it was actually a luxury two-floor pale terracotta villa set in a gated cliff-top community in Del Mar, a beachside resort north of downtown San Diego. Beautifully manicured gardens flush with palms and cacti shaded the glorious private patio out back. This was clearly where Jonah enjoyed escaping from the hubbub. A Mexican hammock swung between two tall palms whose trunks were so spindly they looked as if a wisp of wind could blow them over. There was a gas barbecue which was at least twice the size of Claire’s and the terrace boasted not only a table with chairs but a large, plush, wicker sofa suite assembled around a glass coffee table.

  The interior was even more beguiling - pale carpets complementing oyster painted walls and a great sense of space and light flowing through the open plan ground floor. The kitchen spilled seamlessly into the lounge and everything was oversized, from the tropical indoor plants to the beige sofas dotted with bright scatter cushions, to the majestic old-fashioned ceiling fans. A white painted staircase swept from the entrance hall up to the first floor with its stunning bedrooms. First along the hallway was Martha’s room. Claire noted it was decorated in the same neutral tones as the rest of the house which meant she clearly didn’t share Miriam’s passion for pink. Martha was due to arrive the next morning and the briefest of prayers flitted through Claire’s head: ‘please let the girls get along’. There were two pretty guest rooms, both sharing the same grey and fawn décor. The only difference was that one had bright pink starry cushions plumped up on the bed, whereas the furnishings in the other room were blue. Claire knew exactly which one Miriam would select, way before she squealed the inevitable “this one’s mine.”

  Whilst Miriam unpacked, Jonah showed Claire his room.

  “Actually,” he corrected himself, “our room.”

  “Who designed this place?” she gasped. “It’s amazing.”

  “A friend who’s an interior designer,” he answered. “I gave her carte blanche for the whole place.”

  This friend had given the place an inspired Louis 1Vth meets California chic vibe. Whilst his bedroom with its en suite bathroom was way superior to hers at 77 Gladstone Road, their personal boudoirs shared two key similarities. For starters, they both had a sleigh bed although Jonah’s had a more decadent, Marie Antoinette feel, with padded velvet ends and distressed white paintwork. But it was the object perched on a bedside table which caught Claire’s eye.

  “Oh,” she gulped when she saw it, reaching it in three quick steps and placing it on her palm. It was Jonah’s Buddha, still unblemished and free from superglue. She spoke to it as if it were a baby. “Hello. It’s nice to see you again. Next time I’ll be sure to bring your friend. I think he’s missed you.”

  Jonah came to her side, rubbing his hand up and down her back.

  “I love you so much,” she said, tilting her head until it rested on his shoulder.

  “Welcome home,” he said, resting his head on top of hers.

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  “How is it possible that we take off at 10 am and land at 1 pm, when we’ve been flying for eleven hours?” Miriam asked.

  Now, there was a conundrum. Claire tried to explain about time differences and that due to its position on the other side of the world California was eight hours behind London, but it was a hard concept for a nine year old to grasp. Jonah encouraged her to keep busy for as long as possible, knowing that the later she went to bed the more in tune she would become with her new time zone. After unpacking, they all lounged by the communal outdoor pool for a while whilst Miriam perfected her diving technique. When they’d returned to the villa, Claire noted that there was a good view of the pool through their kitchen window.

  The beds were made and the fridge was full, thanks to an arrangement Jonah had with the Mexican wife of the complex’s caretaker, who kept an eye on the villa whenever Jonah was away. After the swim, Jonah made his version of a ‘California Smoothie’, a blend of strawberries, lemon yoghurt and orange juice mixed with crushed ice. Miriam must have drunk at least a gallon of it, declaring it to be her new favourite drink. Soon afterwards she lay on her bed and mere seconds after her head touched the pillow she fell asleep.