by Jon Rance
Jack and I had a ceremony for the baby. We planted a little shrub in Kensington Gardens and we both said a few words. If anything good has come out of this, it’s that I feel closer and more in love with Jack than ever before. I know we’ll try again and I hope next time things will be different. Hopefully you’ll be there too.
I really can’t wait to see you. Sorry we can’t be there for you at the airport, but we’ll see you as soon as we can. Pre-warning, I’m going to cry a-lot! Have a safe flight home.
For the last time,
Love Em X
Kate
‘It’s just something I’ve been thinking about,’ I said.
‘That your life is essentially over?’
‘I didn’t mean that at all. I just meant that we need to have something to look forward to. We can’t stop trying otherwise what’s the point?’
It was the last conversation I’d have with Jez. I was about to get on a plane for Los Angeles and he had a few more days in Peru before he headed to Argentina. We were at a small café in Cusco drinking coffee. I’d just told him my thoughts on travelling. One of the reasons why I came travelling was because I was worried all the good times were behind me. It’s the trouble with getting older: we have far less to look forward to. People are always looking back on their school days, their sixth form days or their university years and saying they were the best times of their life, but surely that can’t be right. I finished university at twenty-one – was that it? Were my best years really behind me?
‘That’s why you’re going back to university, to relive the old days?’
‘No, the exact opposite, actually. I want to make new days, better days, and it’s fine to look back nostalgically, but shouldn’t we always be trying to make life better and more exciting? I don’t want to be one of those sad, middle-aged people who regret not doing things. I don’t want to end up bored, with four kids and a husband I no longer have sex with and wishing I was eighteen again. Wishing I’d done everything different.’
I stopped speaking and Jez was looking at me.
‘Can I say something?’
‘Depends what it is.’
‘It’s good, hopefully.’
‘OK,’ I said and felt nervousness ripple down my spine.
‘I think I’m falling in love with you, Kate. Am in love with you, actually. I know this is a bit soon and you’re about to get on a plane to Los Angeles, but I wanted you to know. I love you.’
I didn’t know what to say. A part of me wanted to reciprocate and tell him I loved him too, but the truth was, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to raise his hopes or make him think something that wasn’t true. I could love him, I knew that much, but it was too soon and, more importantly, I still loved Ed. The more I thought about it, the more I realised how much of what I was doing was because of my father. If I chose Jez and left Ed, I would still be running. I didn’t know how to explain that to him, but as he looked at me with his gorgeous face and beautiful blue eyes, I knew I couldn’t choose him. I couldn’t keep running. I couldn’t be like my father.
‘Jez, look . . .’ I started, but I could see the sadness fill his eyes.
‘Kate, it’s OK, you don’t have to explain. I understand.’
‘I don’t think you do, Jez. I’m not choosing Ed either. The truth is I don’t know what I want. I know I don’t want to go back to my old life. I want to start over. I need to work on me, make me happy and right now I don’t know who that involves.’
‘It just definitely doesn’t involve me?’
‘You’ll find someone much better than me, Jez. Someone who loves you more than anything in the world.’
‘She just won’t be you,’ he said, showering me in guilt.
‘No, she won’t – she’ll be better. Look, Jez, I like you a lot. More than a lot, actually, and I want you to be happy, I do, but I don’t think that’ll happen with me.’
‘But how can you be sure?’ he said, his voice suddenly louder and full of emotion.
‘I can’t. You of all people should know that. We can’t be sure of anything in life; we just have to follow our hearts and hope the choices we make are the best ones.’
‘And your heart’s telling you I’m not the one?’
‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘But right now, at this moment, I can’t be what you need. I just can’t.’ I started to cry. Slow, steady tears slid down my face. Jez reached across and wiped them away. I reached up and held his hand for a moment. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Jez, finally with a smile. A wilted, forlorn smile, but a smile nonetheless. ‘You were worth the shot.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ I said, playfully sniffling up tears, trying to lighten the mood.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I do.’
We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping our coffees and taking in our surroundings. Cusco was beautiful and I didn’t want to leave. The idea that I would be in Los Angeles soon filled me with dread. I’d left Jez once before and it was even harder the second time around.
‘You know, Richard would have been so proud of you.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you found the perfect way to remember him and say goodbye and I feel so proud, so honoured to have been part of it.’
Jez looked down for a moment. He was trying to hold back his own tears now, but I saw one drop and fall somewhere beneath the table. I reached across and held his hand. He squeezed it and then looked up at me, the sun suddenly catching the side of his face and making me squint.
‘He would have loved you,’ said Jez with a smile.
‘I think I would have loved him too,’ I said.
We drank our coffees and walked around a small market, waiting for my departure time.
Eventually I left. We kissed and cried at the airport, and then I was on a plane heading towards Los Angeles.
As the plane took off and I looked out of the window at the ground below, it felt almost unreal that I’d been there with Jez and we’d hiked to Machu Picchu together. It was something that continually baffled me about travelling. Everything I did and every experience I had was so much in the moment that almost as soon as it was over, it felt like it hadn’t happened at all.
My time in America turned out to be nothing more than a decompression chamber for my return to England. I didn’t have the energy or enthusiasm to do much and I couldn’t really be bothered to meet anyone new. I met a couple of girls who were just starting out on their trip and I envied them. They still had South America, the Cook Islands, New Zealand, Australia, Thailand, Vietnam and India left to do over the next twelve months, while I was almost done. My trip was almost complete and already I was starting to feel slightly depressed. I felt in between everything. In between travelling, in between life and in between relationships; Los Angeles was my purgatory.
As the plane took off, I looked out of the window at Los Angeles disappearing into the distance, the brown tint of smog lying over the city and the clearer mountains beyond. Next to me was a woman probably in her sixties, and next to her was a businessman who had his laptop on as soon as the plane was ten feet off the ground. I couldn’t imagine being like that. What made people want to work so hard and so aggressively when they could travel, relax and enjoy life? Sadly, it reminded me of Ed. I could already imagine him at the arrivals gate in a suit with a bunch of overly expensive flowers, hoping to continue just where we’d left off. He’d have me back to work in a week and it would be like the last six months had never happened.
‘Some people, eh,’ said the woman next to me, nodding towards the suit.
‘I know, right.’
‘Can’t turn off their phones and laptops for two seconds just in case they miss an email.’
‘It’s pretty sad.’
‘It is, dear, not like you though, eh. Been travelling have we?’
She had a sweet northern voice, maybe from Manchester or Bolton.
‘How can you tell?’
>
‘No offence, dear, but you don’t look like you’ve been on a two-week holiday.’
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but then I had a flashback to the airport. I’d popped into the toilets to freshen up before the flight and when I looked in the mirror, I barely recognised the face that stared back at me.
When I’d left England six months before I was kitted out with all new travelling clothes: pretty summer dresses, sandals, cut-off jeans, T-shirts and lots of bikinis. Now I was dressed in a T-shirt I’d bought in Thailand. It was orange and had the words, ‘Phuket, I’d rather be in Thailand!’ on the front in purple. I had on an assortment of necklaces. One from a market in Bangkok, one from Byron Bay and two that I’d got in Cusco. My hair, once cut religiously every month in London, straightened and moisturised, was now longer, wilder and unkempt. My face, devoid of make-up, but much darker due to six months of sunshine, looked older somehow. Around my wrists I had a jumble of different bracelets I’d picked up along the way and I was wearing baggy purple hippy trousers I’d got in Cusco – a present from Jez. The nice old lady hadn’t had to guess I’d been travelling because it was emblazoned across every square inch of my being.
‘None taken and yes, I’m on my way back home.’
‘My daughter went travelling in her twenties, said it was the best thing she ever did. You kids are so lucky nowadays. I would love to have gone travelling.’
‘You’re travelling now. Making up for lost time?’
‘Something like that,’ she said and then the air hostess came around with drinks and snacks. Before long the woman next to me was asleep, the suit was still staring intently at his laptop and I started watching a film.
The rest of the flight was a mixture of fitful sleep, attempting but failing to read, watching bits of films and eating the meals that all seemed to merge into one. Eventually though, as the sun came bursting through the small cabin windows, we were almost home. I couldn’t believe that six months had come and gone so quickly. I didn’t know what to expect when I got off the plane. I didn’t know if Ed would be there, where I would go if he wasn’t and what I was going to do next. Travelling was supposed to be something I got out of my system before I settled down, but instead it had thrown up more questions than it had answered. As I prepared to get off the plane, I turned to say goodbye to the woman next to me.
‘Safe travels.’
‘Oh, you too, love. I hope you have someone special waiting for you.’
I smiled back, but the truth was I didn’t know. I didn’t know if he was there or if he was even special anymore.
After the anxious wait at the luggage carrousel for my backpack, I finally made my way through customs and then I walked into the arrivals area. For some reason whenever I walked through arrivals, I always felt a bit like a celebrity: everyone looking at me, hordes of unfamiliar faces and all I was doing was trying to find my special face, the one who was there just for me.
I walked through and the sunlight from behind the gathered crowd hit me. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the Snow Patrol song ‘Chocolate’ and I smiled; a flood of memories came back in a second. Our song. The song that had been playing the day I met Ed in the student union. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I kept walking, looking and not knowing. Then, just as I was giving up hope, I saw him. I stopped dead in my tracks because there, about ten feet in front of me, was Ed and he looked different. Very different.
I didn’t know what to do. Should I run to him or should I not? What was I going to say? The only thing I knew was that he looked better. Younger. Like the Ed I used to know. It wasn’t until he started walking towards me that I realised the music was coming from Ed. He was carrying an iPod with speakers. The Snow Patrol song got louder as Ed walked towards me, until eventually, when he was right in front of me, the last line rang out.
‘Our song,’ is all I could say.
‘I’ve missed you,’ said Ed with a dizzy smile.
‘Missed you too,’ I said, looking at him quizzically. ‘What’s with the circa-two-thousand-and-four outfit?’
‘I’ll explain that later. Fancy a drink?’
‘I’d love one.’
‘I hoped you’d say that,’ said Ed, picking up my backpack with a smile.
To: Emma Fogle
From: Kate Jones
Subject: I made it!
Em,
I’m writing this at the airport in LA. I’m about to get on the plane and come home. It’s so strange to think that in thirteen hours I’ll be landing back in London. It’s even stranger to think that my trip is over. I don’t feel ready for it to be done yet. I want to come back to see everyone, especially you, of course, but I’m so worried about Ed and what I’m going to do next. I guess Ed was right in one respect, it is really hard going back because it feels like I’ve changed so much, done so many things, but I’m going back to the same old London.
I wanted to write you a last email because I want to remember how I felt. I want you to know how I feel right now because I’m sure at some point in the future I’m going to need you to remind me.
I realised something while I was away. Life is short and we can’t spend years and years of it being unhappy because we’re afraid to change. There’s nothing scarier than travelling the world on your own, arriving in new towns, in new hostels and not knowing a single soul. It’s terrifying, but exhilarating at the same time. Life before wasn’t exciting or exhilarating, it was dull and I don’t want to go back to that. I’m not saying I don’t want Ed, but I don’t want our old life. Our old life was shit. Not the bits with you in, obviously, but the bit with me, Ed, our house and jobs.
I’m going to travel more. I’m going to teach English at sixth form and be a positive influence on teenagers’ lives. I’m not going to accept second best and being fairly happy. I’m going to strive to be as happy as I can be. I’m going to be fearless.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if Ed is going to be at the airport when I get back or not, but, whatever happens, I will always be your best friend, Em. Writing these emails and thinking about you and us for the past six months, I’ve come to realise that you are the love of my life. Forget the men; when it comes to it, I can always rely on you. I’ll see you soon. Off to take my last flight. My future awaits . . .
For the last time,
Love K x
Ed
I was ten years old when Dad first took me into London. We grew up in Slough, which was only a short train ride away, but for some reason we never went into the big city. Dad didn’t like it much; too big, too loud, too many people, too expensive, was his litany. London was practically a dirty word in our house.
I didn’t realise then, of course, but it was because he didn’t like to see what he was missing out on. He lived in a dingy part of a satellite town that clung onto the coat-tails of London; he didn’t need reminding he hadn’t quite made it in life. I, on the other hand, loved it. London was everything I was missing in Slough.
Dad and I had an argument the day he took me to London. I wanted a Happy Meal, but he’d brought along a packed lunch Mum had made. I saw other kids eating out with their parents and I wanted the same. I stomped, shouted and screamed like a right little brat until Dad dragged me away. He was probably angry, embarrassed, and I remember being furious with him. Why couldn’t I have what all the other kids had? Why was I forced to eat a jam sandwich and a packet of crisps when the other kids had burgers and fries? I look back now and wince because I realise that my parents just couldn’t afford it. They would have given me the world if they could, but they just didn’t have the money. What I didn’t know then, and what it’s taken me years to appreciate is that although we didn’t have much money, they gave me all of their time and every ounce of their love, which was far more important than any Happy Meal.
I looked into the mirror in the dingy old toilets of the pub Kate and I were in and smiled. I suppose the biggest thing I’d learnt had been that I needed
Kate. Nothing more, nothing less, just Kate, and if I had her then everything else would fall into place. Everything I wanted in life was sitting just a few feet behind a door. I dried my hands, had one last look in the mirror, took a deep breath and then opened the door.
Kate looked different. She still looked beautiful, but not how I remember. Obviously the longer hair, the hippy trousers and her skin being sun-kissed olive instead of pale white made a difference, but it was more than that. She had changed too.
‘How was it?’ I said, sitting down and taking a sip of my pint.
‘It was incredible, Ed. Really, really incredible. I did things I never thought I’d do and met so many amazing people. But more importantly what’s happened to you? What’s with the outfit, the week of stubble and the long hair? What happened to old Ed?’
‘Old Ed got fired.’
‘What?!’ said Kate incredulously. ‘You mean you don’t work at the bank anymore?’
‘Nope.’
‘You’re no longer a wanker banker?’
‘No longer a wanker full stop, I hope.’
‘I, for one, think that’s fantastic news.’
‘I’m glad you said that.’
‘Why?’
‘Listen, Kate, a lot has happened since you left, with me, with us and it feels impossible to tell you about everything, but something’s changed in me. I can feel it. You were right before by the way. I was lost in my job, but now . . .’
‘You’ve seen the light?’
‘Something like that. Let me start at the beginning.’
‘I’m sitting comfortably,’ said Kate with a smile, adjusting herself in her seat.
‘Then I’ll begin.’
I told her everything. I told her all about Georgie, which was difficult but good to get off my chest. I told her about losing my job and how Hugh had made me realise that no matter how hard I worked, I would never be one of them. I explained how I went to see my dad and discovered I was more like him than I’d realised and that maybe I’d spent too long chasing the wrong dream. I explained all about going to see Pete in Nottingham and how it had affected me. I told her how I’d thought back to when we first met at university and I realised that all I really needed, had ever needed, was her.