When Stars Collide

by Tammy Robinson

  Why are YOU still here? she imagined the chairs were saying.

  One night the voices got so bad she couldn’t bear it any longer, so she dragged the chairs out to the back garden and she poured lighter fluid on them and set them alight. Then she watched the flames consume those chairs like other flames had consumed their once occupants. She stood as close to the flames as she could handle and felt the now familiar crawl of the heat against her skin. Not for the first time, she tried to imagine the terror and the pain her mother and sister had felt. Had they suffered? Did they know they were dying? Had they lain there and waited for help to arrive? The thought sent her into an emotional frenzy and she looked around for something to add to the flames, something to take her anger out on. By the shed was a small pile of timber left over from various construction projects of her grandfathers. She fed them to the fire, and it devoured them hungrily.

  Her grandfather watched on, helpless, knowing she was hurting but with no idea how to reach out to her, how to help her.

  “Ivy my darling girl, please don’t do this, it’s dangerous –” he tried, but her eyes were glazed and if she heard him she gave no sign of it. He was debating whether he needed to call someone for help, Craig perhaps, when she stopped mid way through throwing another piece on the fire. She was making an unusual noise and at first he thought she was crying but then she turned to him;

  “Do you smell it?”

  He sniffed the air, unsure what she was talking about.

  “That smell,” she said, “it’s like, Christmas?”

  The he realised what she meant. “Pine,” he told her, “that last lot of wood you threw on was pine.”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and her body and demeanour calmed as he watched.

  “It’s beautiful.” she said.

  He nodded, “I’ve always loved the smell of pine. Your great-grandfather worked in the forests and would come home with the smell of it in his hair and on his clothes.”

  “She loved Christmas,” Ivy said quietly, all energy spent. “It was her favourite time of the year.”

  He didn’t need to ask who she was talking about.

  “I know,” he said. “I remember when you girls were small and she and your grandmother would bundle you up on Christmas Eve to go to the midnight service. It was her favourite night of the year. I don’t know why she stopped when your grandmother died. Perhaps the memories were too painful.”

  “I wish I could remember.”

  “You might not remember those nights, but you have so many other memories of your mother to bring you comfort. I know it seems like you’ll never get through this but you will, I promise. When your grandmother died I thought my world had ended. And I’m sorry love, but the pain never really goes away. It does get slightly easier to live with though, I can promise you that.”

  She walked over to him and put her arms around him. The first touch she had initiated with someone else since it had happened. It felt good, the familiar feel and smell of him.

  “Thanks granddad,” she said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so hard to live with.”

  He kissed the top of her head, “It’s ok my girl, you take all the time you need. Just don’t forget I’m here for you.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good girl. Now, how about you go fetch the garden hose and we dampen this thing down before it spreads to your grandmothers roses.”

  The next morning, with the smell of pine smoke still lingering in her hair, Ivy joined her grandfather at the breakfast table. He could tell she had something on her mind as she was twitchy but more alert than she’d been since she came home. He watched quietly as she sat down to butter herself some toast, then halfway through abandon it to jump up and boil the jug. She spooned coffee into a mug then while she waited for the whistle on the jug to go off she jiggled from foot to foot, gazing out the window and biting down on her lip thoughtfully.

  Finally, coffee made, she sat back at the table, picked up the butter knife in front of her and stared blankly at it, as if seeing it for the first time.

  “Ok what’s up?” he said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest.

  “Sorry?” she frowned

  “There’s clearly something on your mind.”

  “That obvious huh?” she smiled ruefully

  “My dear I have known you your whole life, I can tell when you’re planning something.”

  “Ok,” she put the knife down, “you might not like it though.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  She took a deep breath, “I want to go away for awhile.”

  “Ok,” he nodded, “I can understand that. Where were you thinking?”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know exactly. I just know that I need to get out of this place. There are too many reminders of mum and June, everywhere I turn.”

  “What about my sister, your great aunt. I’m sure she’d love to have you stay for awhile.”

  She shook her head, “No. I’m sure she’s nice but I don’t even know the woman. Besides, she’s a two hour drive away tops. I was thinking somewhere a little further afield.”

  “Like where?”

  “Don’t freak out,” she warned, “but I thought I might start somewhere in Asia and then go from there.”

  “No,” he pushed his chair back, upset. He got up and took his plate to the sink where he turned the tap on and started to scrub at the plate fretfully, even though there were barely a few crumbs on it.

  “How can you even think about travelling over there after what just happened?” he asked, his back still turned to her.

  “I’m not going back to Bali granddad, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel ready to go back there. I just need to –” she stopped, frustrated, trying to find the right words to explain how she was feeling.

  “You know I’m not a religious person,” she said, “but I feel like I need some answers. I need to figure out what kind of world I’m living in where this sort of thing can happen. Does that make any sense?”

  “No. You can do that right here. Talk to someone, a doctor or a priest. There’s no need to travel away from your home, from me.”

  She sighed; had known this conversation would be hard. The night before, after the fire was safely down to a bed of smouldering embers and her grandfather had retired to bed, she had sat out on the deck in the hanging seat in the darkness, the moon her only light. It was a touch off nearly full, and bathed the ocean and the wave caps in a beautiful phosphorous blue light. The village had been peaceful. Too peaceful. She would never be able to turn a corner and not run into someone who knew what had happened. Who would tell her how lucky she was to still be alive. As if she should be thankful. How could she be thankful when she had lost so much? She didn’t know how to act anymore, and she didn’t know what to say. She had no idea what people expected from her.

  She just knew that she had to get away, somewhere where she could be anonymous.

  Where she wouldn’t be faced with constant reminders of her mother and her sister.

  Where she could learn to breathe again.

  And so she had made her decision.

  Telling her grandfather was hard but she was resolute.

  “It’s not about talking to someone granddad,” she said. “I’m not doing a very good job of explaining it I know, but just understand that it’s what I have to do. I need to get out of here. Every time I turn around I bump into something that reminds me of them,” she gestured wildly with her arms around the kitchen and lounge. “Look, right there,” she carried on, “I remember being with her when she found those cushions. She thought they were so adorable with the little shiny blue crabs embroidered on the front and she just had to have them. And there, hanging behind the door, the coat she wears to walk the beach when it’s cold or rainy.”

  Her grandfather looked at the offending coat. He was torn. On the one hand he wanted to do whatever it would take for Ivy to stay, to be ok. But he wasn’t ready for the
‘big clean out’ yet. Didn’t know if he ever would be. The way he was feeling right now, Pat’s room could stay as it was until the day they carried him from the house.

  Ivy sensed his hesitation.

  “Granddad I’m not asking you to get rid of everything,” she said, and saw the little sigh of relief as his shoulders released their tension. She looked around again.

  “In fact I’d be upset if you did,” she said. “But I can’t be here, around all this stuff. Not right now. It’s just too soon.”

  Her grandfather thought of something else and changed tack.

  “What about Walt?” he asked her, “that boy loves you, really loves you, and you’re just going to up and leave him?”

  Ah yes, Walt. The lovely, wonderful Walt. Who had waltzed into her life with his cheesy lines and a dimpled cheek and dragged her out from the shell she had built around herself, introducing her to love in both the emotional and the physical sense.

  She would be forever grateful to him. And the thought of leaving him so soon after just finding him made her heart sad, but she had made her decision and since doing so had felt the first glimmer of hope and purpose since the night the bombs had gone off.

  And she was determined to cling to it.

  He would be better off without her, she told herself. All she was doing was dragging him down into an abyss of grief with her. She had been horrible to him, had pushed him away. Probably when the dust settled he would feel relief that she had gone.

  Yes, she decided, leaving was absolutely the kindest thing she could do for him.

  And she even half believed it.

  Chapter nineteen

  One night the light in her window didn’t come on.

  Walt waited, and waited, and waited some more. He went for a walk around the village and came back and still the window remained dark, a big black hole against the pale timber of the house.

  Perhaps she had fallen asleep without the aid of the light, he wondered. And if so, perhaps she was starting to feel a little better. He got excited thinking about this, she might even be ready to start tentatively repairing their relationship. Not picking up where they left off before she went to Bali, he knew things could never ever be the same as that again. But they could work together to build something new, something just as wonderful. He had dreams and plans for them, as he’d had enough sleepless hours lately to imagine how things could be. Yes, they were young. But they had love. And that was enough. That would always be enough.

  He turned to walk home, convinced that inside the house his beloved was sleeping a healing night’s sleep and that tomorrow would be the day he would see her again, she would be ready for him. But just then the wind changed and he caught a hint of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but whatever it was left him cold. Like someone had run an ice cube over his spine. He shivered. Something was very wrong, and he determined to see her. He crossed the road and climbed the stairs and knocked at the door before his courage could have a chance to desert him.

  It seemed to take an age for footsteps to be heard, a light to illuminate the glass and cast a yellow light onto the porch as a switch was flicked somewhere inside.

  “Who is it?” he heard Leo call, and the wobble in the old man’s voice made him regret his decision to come. He should have waited till morning. The last thing he wanted was to scare or worry Leo. Or Ivy for that matter.

  But he was here, and to run away now would be cowardly and probably cause more worry, so he stood firm and answered.

  “It’s me, Walt. I’m sorry to come so late.”

  He heard fumbling at locks and safety chains and then the door was opened.

  “Walt?”

  “Hi Leo, I’m sorry to disturb you. I completely lost track of time.”

  “No no, its ok,” Leo stepped to the side and pulled the door open wider, “come in, quick. It’s cold out there.”

  Walt entered the house, quickly scanning the room for any sign of Ivy, but she was not there.

  “Cup of tea?” Leo asked.

  “No it’s ok. I don’t want to keep you up.”

  “It’s fine. When you get to my age you’re lucky if you can manage a few hours sleep each night. It won’t be my first nocturnal cup of tea, that’s for sure.” He shook his head ruefully as Walt followed him over to the kitchen.

  Walt sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and tried to look for clues as to how things had been since he’d last been here, but nothing had changed. Everything was still in its place, just as he remembered it. The only thing missing was Ivy. He could take it no longer.

  “Sir, is Ivy ok?” He didn’t want to admit that he had been spying on the house and noticed her light was not on.

  A spoon clattered in the sink. Leo paused, but didn’t turn.

  “Is she asleep?” Walt continued, “only I’d really like to see her.”

  Leo sagged visibly and his breath left his body in a deep and long exhale.

  “Oh no,” he said quietly, and Walt’s blood ran cold. He got up, crossed over to the old man.

  “What is it? Is she ok?” he asked urgently. From Leo’s side he could see that the man’s face had paled.

  “I’m so sorry, my boy –” Leo started to say.

  “What is it? Tell me, Ivy!” Walt called her name and was half way across the lounge before Leo’s words stopped him in his tracks.

  “She’s gone,” he said softly.

  Walt turned back to him, confused, fearing the worse.

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “I thought she had told you. She promised me that she would tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I’m sorry –”

  “Please sir, just tell me”

  “She left this morning. A friend took her to the airport. She’s gone.”

  Walt was confused. “Back to Bali? For how long?”

  “Not Bali. India. She’s gone to India.”

  And even though the words had started to sink in and Walt had begun to realise what Leo was telling him, he still clung to a ribbon of hope.

  “When will she be back?” he asked, and the hope that was thick in his voice broke the old man’s heart.

  Leo shrugged at him sadly.

  “That, my boy, is the million dollar question. The memories here are too painful for her, she says. She was talking about making her way around the world. It could be sometime, years even.”

  And years later Walt could pinpoint that exact moment, in early December 2002, as the moment he locked the door of his heart, slung a chain across and fitted a heavy brass padlock. He vowed to never let himself love anyone like he had loved Ivy.

  That way no one could ever hurt him as much as she had hurt him.

  Part two

  Chapter twenty

  16th May 2003

  Dear Granddad,

  Sorry it’s been a little while since I’ve written. Post offices are hard to come by where I’ve been the last few months. I’m back in New Delhi. Tom and Carla (the friends I made at the first Ashram I went to, I think I mentioned them briefly in my last letter?) are here with me. I’m really lucky to have met them, they are both looking for the same kind of answers I am, although for their own different reasons. We don’t push each other to talk about the past which is good. I’m still not ready to talk about what happened. They know the barest details and that’s all they need to know.

  Tom is American. He’s a really great guy, tall, dreadlocks (yes I know you hate them but he does keep them relatively clean I promise. No rats or fleas in there as far as I know). At first I thought he was a bit pretentious but once I got to know him, he’s not. He’s really fun and laidback. An excellent travelling companion.

  Carla is Irish, from some tiny town somewhere in the middle of nowhere where nothing ever happens (her words). There’s something about the accent that just makes everything she says sound like a joke. I love her, she’s been a fab roommate. Doesn’t take any nonsense from anyone. She says she’
s on a spiritual journey as well but if we’re away from a source of beer for too long she starts to get a touch anxious.

  We just left a place called Amritapuri, the ashram of Amma, the hugging saint. I don’t know what I was expecting but nothing life changing happened there. It was lovely, I got my hug and while comforting and unconditional, it hasn’t healed me or anything like that. It’s frustrating to feel like I’m looking for something but not being sure exactly what. I know I know, you think I could be at home doing the same thing. I am doing ok though, as much as can be anyway. Even though I’ve only been to India so far it’s really opened my eyes to how big this world is and how different cultures can be. The poverty here is horrendous and heartbreaking. But you meet people who have absolutely nothing yet are the happiest people, very content. Really makes you think.

  Tom, Carla and I have decided to stick together for awhile and have pretty much decided to go on to Thailand next, although Vietnam is also tempting. Will let you know for sure once we have a definite plan. I miss you. I’d really like to know how you are and what’s happening at home. I tried to call last night but there was no answer. I’ll try again maybe next weekend, so if you can stay home Sunday night I would appreciate it.

  Oh and PLEASE let Barbara Harper show you how to set up an email account, then we will beable to communicate far more often. It’s really not that hard granddad, I promise, and it will open up a whole new world for you.

  I collected the care package you sent via the backpackers – thank you. The Deodorant was very welcome - the ones they sell here just don’t quite stand up to the heat.

  Ok, deep breath, I am sorry I left without telling Walt, and that I left you to deal with it. Not my finest moment and a regret that’s weighing heavily on my mind. I know I should call him and explain but I just can’t face it. Cowardly – yes. I really miss him, a lot. But he’s part of a different world and to be home and to be with him would just remind me of how happy I was right before it happened. Have you seen or heard from him at all? No wait, don’t tell me. Might be too hard to hear, especially if he’s moved on. Ahh! Don’t tell me. Ignore I wrote that. I would screw this up and start again but paper is scarce here and I had to scrounge this piece off someone.