The Last Road Trip

by Gareth Crocker

  Because nothing else in his life would ever matter as much.

  There was a knock at the door. Faint at first, then more insistent.

  Blinking away the heaviness in his eyes, Jack looked down at his watch and realised he had been asleep for more than three hours.

  ‘I’m coming,’ he groaned, pushing himself up off the bed.

  Patting down his shirt, more out of reflex than concern for how he looked, he pulled open the door. Sam was standing in front of him, two large brown bags under each arm.

  ‘Oh, damn it. I’m so sorry, Sam. I fell asleep.’

  ‘Figured as much. Don’t worry about it,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘Seeing that it’s New Year’s Eve, I thought we could do something a little different tonight.’

  Jack hoped that Sam wasn’t about to suggest that they join the soon-to-be drunk twenty-year-olds downstairs. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘It’s probably better just to show you,’ he said, glancing down the passage.

  ‘Do I need anything?’

  ‘Just a jacket. I’ve got everything else.’

  Wanting only to go back to bed, Jack had to force himself to go along with Sam.

  ‘I really don’t feel like dealing with crowds tonight,’ he said, shutting his door.

  ‘Good. Neither do I,’ Sam agreed, walking past the elevator and heading for the stairs.

  Curious now, Jack followed behind him as they ascended to the top floor of the hotel. When they reached what appeared to be a locked door, Sam turned around. ‘You’re not the only one who can organise things, you know.’

  With that, he pushed open the door and stepped out onto the roof of the hotel.

  Ahead of them sat two deck chairs separated by a cooler box brimming with drinks.

  Sam held up the bags and shrugged. ‘I thought this might be a good place to usher in the new year. A few cold drinks accompanied by some even colder pizza.’

  Jack slipped his hands into his pockets, a wry smile drifting across his lips. ‘That would be just fine, Mr Lightfoot. Just fine.’

  And, right then, Jack knew that the little that had been wrong between them no longer was.

  Fifty-three

  ‘Time?’

  Jack looked down at his watch. A few too many drinks worse off, it took him a moment to make sense of what he was seeing. ‘I make it a couple minutes to midnight.’

  Sam nodded, sipping at a tall bottle of lemonade. He looked out across the bay and shook his head at the sheer beauty of it. The rain and mist had long since cleared away, and the lights of Cape Town glimmered fiercely against Table Mountain. In the black abyss ahead of the city, flashes of gold, green and crimson pulsed from half a dozen ships anchored in the bay.

  ‘This is a great ending, isn’t it?’ Sam asked, unable to take his eyes off the lights. ‘To our trip, I mean.’

  Jack glanced across at him. ‘Yeah, Sam, it is. It’s the perfect ending.’

  ‘I want you to know something.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That this trip of ours has been … well, you know … kind of bloody magnificent.’

  Jack nodded in the darkness. ‘I’m just grateful that you agreed to come along. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.’

  ‘That’s the beer talking.’

  Jack’s mouth curled into a smile. ‘Not a chance.’

  They were quiet for a while, until Sam shifted in his chair. ‘What do you think Rosie and Lizzie are doing right now?’

  Jack had been thinking the same thing for some time already. ‘Don’t know. But I’m glad they’ve got each other.’

  Sam nodded and raised his bottle to the sky. ‘To Rosie and Lizzie. Two of the best.’

  Jack hoisted up his own bottle. ‘Rosie and Lizzie.’

  For the next few minutes they contented themselves by listening to the muted sounds of the revellers beneath them, their drone-like music pulsing softly through the concrete at their feet. From their vantage point, the revellers were out of sight, which suited Jack just fine.

  And then, all at once, people began to shout a countdown.

  Ten …

  Nine …

  Eight …

  Seven …

  Six …

  Five …

  Jack reached over and held out his hand to Sam. ‘To a beautiful ending, old man.’

  Sam gripped Jack’s hand and shook it hard. ‘Damn right.’

  Four …

  Three …

  Two …

  One …

  At that moment, as expected, people began to cheer and scream, their cries of Happy New Year! ringing out. Within moments, a kaleidoscope of fireworks had lit up the night. Sprays and fountains of colour exploded around Table Mountain, from the promenade and even from some of the ships.

  Enchanted, Jack and Sam watched as an old year died and a new year was welcomed in. There was a wonderful energy to the moment, but, Jack realised, there was sadness as well. He was trying to sort through his emotions, when something quite remarkable happened.

  Large paper lanterns, the size and shape of box jellyfish, lifted up from the promenade and soared up high into the night. By the heat of their candles and the current of a shared wind, they drifted as though connected to one another. As though following a tide that only they could feel.

  Fifty-four

  Elizabeth answered her phone on the third ring. ‘Jack.’

  ‘Morning, Lizzie. Did I wake you?’

  ‘No. Not at all. I’ve been up for an hour or so already,’ she lied, sitting up in bed. ‘I’m so pleased you called.’

  ‘I just wanted to wish you and Rosie well for the new year. Did you have a good evening?’

  ‘Yes, it was quiet but lovely. We had dinner outside on the patio. I don’t think we actually made it to midnight though. How about you?’

  As Jack took her through a précis of his evening with Sam, she could hear that all was still not well with him.

  ‘Those lanterns sound wonderful,’ she heard herself say. ‘I’ve only seen them in films.’

  ‘They’re spectacular to look at, but a pretty dangerous idea in general. You just need one of them to land in a dry field,’ he said, and then stopped himself. ‘God, listen to me. I sound a thousand years old.’

  ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she replied. ‘You sound wonderful.’

  The words were out before she could catch them. She closed her eyes and bit down on her lip. A second passed. And then another.

  ‘Sorry for phoning so early. You must think I’m losing my mind.’

  ‘No. Of course not. You can call me any time, Jack. You know that.’

  Another pause.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she ventured.

  ‘Everything’s fine, Lizzie.’

  ‘You sure.’

  ‘Uh-huh. How’re you doing?’

  I’d be so much better if you were here, she thought. ‘It’s getting easier. Little by little.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad.’

  Worried that he was going to end the call, she reached for the first question she could find and then cringed at the banality of it. ‘So how’s the weather?’

  ‘You know what it’s like down here. If you don’t like the weather just wait twenty minutes.’

  She smiled at the joke. Suddenly, she wanted to tell him that she could no longer sleep soundly knowing that he wasn’t under the same roof as her.

  ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about your father’s canvases. Can’t seem to get them out of my mind.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘I’m so glad you got a chance to see them. I mean, just imagine if you never made it back to the studio. What a tragedy that would’ve been.’

  ‘All thanks to you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Lizzie, that’s not what—’

  ‘I know, Jack. But it’s the truth. And I wish you would take it on board.’

  Uncomfortable, Jack tried to deflect the attention. ‘Anyway, even just for your
father’s sake, I’m really thankful that his daughter got to see his most important work. That it wasn’t in vain.’

  Elizabeth stared down into her lap, tears stinging her eyes. ‘Damn it, Jack. Only you can make me cry like this.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie. I didn’t mean to make you emotional—’

  There was a sudden impatience in her voice. ‘Is it nearly over, Jack?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘This thing of yours. Is it almost done with?’

  Jack nodded slowly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then what?’

  He considered the question and then offered the only response that made sense. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What kind of answer is that?’

  ‘It’s all I’ve got right now. I’m sorry.’

  There was a final lull before Jack spoke again. But Elizabeth already knew that her curt tone had put paid to any further conversation.

  ‘Listen, Lizzie, I’m meeting Sam for breakfast. It’s probably best I get going.’

  Damn it. She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.’

  ‘Not at all, Lizzie. It’s perfectly fine. Really. You have every right to be irritated by all of this. I really am sorry.’

  She reached out and dug her nails into the top of her leg. ‘Send Sam my love, will you?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘And take care of yourself, Lizzie.’

  ‘I will. You too, Jack.’

  Fifty-five

  As Jack headed for the dock, face downturned, the hood from his jacket pulled over his head, it was obvious that the already inclement weather was only getting worse. Not only was it raining harder than before, but a strong wind was now buffeting the yachts and fishing trawlers, causing the normally placid vessels to jag and bob harshly against the harbour walls. White horses cut and slapped against their hulls.

  Heading straight for the offices that controlled the tourist boats, Jack’s heart sank when he realised that all but one of them were closed. Trying not to dwell on the fact that the other operators had either already shut down for the day or not bothered to open in the first place, he noticed a lone man huddled over a desk.

  He walked over and knocked on the glass window.

  ‘Yes?’ the man replied gruffly, clearly annoyed by the intrusion.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Jack said, opening the door. ‘I was just hoping that you’re going out today.’

  The man, middle-aged with a shaven head, frowned. He pointed out the window. ‘In this? Not even the damn fish want to be out in this.’

  Jack took a step closer to the man’s desk. ‘I’m afraid it’s terribly important that I get on a boat today. If it’s a question of money—’

  ‘The thing about money is that it’s pretty useless when you’re at the bottom of the ocean.’

  Annoyance prickled up Jack’s spine. ‘Isn’t that a little over the top? It’s not that bad out there.’

  The man glared back at him. ‘When it looks like that in the harbour,’ he said, his eyes flicking to the window, ‘it’s five times worse out on the open sea. Our boats aren’t built for these conditions. Now listen, I’ve got work to do here. Why don’t you come back in a couple days? Maybe the weather will have cleared.’

  ‘A couple days? What about this afternoon?’

  The operator flashed an insincere smile. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘This weather isn’t going anywhere today. Trust me.’

  ‘Is there no one else who could take me?’

  ‘None of these boats or their skippers will go out in this. Most of them have pushed off already. Now, please … I think it’s time you—’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Jack snapped back at him. ‘You don’t understand. It has to be today.’

  Now the man looked more nervous than annoyed. He slowly reached out for his phone. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you, mister. And I don’t much care. But I want you to leave my office right now. I’ll call security if I have to.’

  Ignoring the man’s threat, Jack placed both his hands on the desk. He leaned forward and shook his head in frustration. ‘You just don’t get it. It has to be today.’

  Fifty-six

  As Jack pulled into the hotel parking lot, he could recall almost nothing of his drive back from the harbour. Shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear his mind, he climbed from the car and stepped out into the rain. Still on autopilot, he slowly made his way to the hotel’s rear entrance. Once inside he headed for the emergency stairwell, both unable and unwilling to share an elevator with other people, particularly groups of high-spirited holidaymakers.

  Reaching his room, he immediately set about packing a small bag. He knew there was no danger of forgetting anything important. Only three items were required. When he was done, he sat down on the bed to gather himself, to prepare for what was to follow.

  He had been waiting so long for this moment that, now that it was upon him, it hardly seemed real. The silence drummed in his ears. He was aware of the beads of sweat needling through his skin despite the cold. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that he still had almost two hours to wait.

  He reached into his pocket and fished out his phone.

  Taking his time, he carefully drafted two text messages, one of which was to Sam. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket, lay down on the bed, and waited for the world to turn.

  Sam struggled to hold on to his umbrella, such was the strength of the wind and rain at his back. Squinting, he could just make out the vague outline of a man sitting on the bench where the promenade met the beach. This is madness, he thought.

  Leaning against the wind, he cautiously made his way towards Jack, mindful of his footing on the wet bricks.

  ‘Christ, Jack,’ he called out, nearing the bench. ‘What are we doing out here?’

  Jack, staring out over the storm-tossed sea, didn’t even turn to look at his friend. His hood was pooled uselessly around his neck, and thick veins of water streamed down his head and face. His arms were folded. ‘Have a seat, Sam.’

  Sam frowned, pursed his lips together. ‘You’re scaring me, Jack. What is this? Is this the thing? What you’ve been keeping from us?’

  ‘What? Sitting out on a bench in a rainstorm?’ he asked, and then shook his head.

  ‘Then what? Can’t we go inside and get something warm to drink?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Jack replied, without hesitation. ‘Today. At this moment. We have to be here. Right here. Nowhere else.’

  He then turned to Sam, and what had been a stern look softened. ‘Besides, there are worse places to be than sitting out here watching all this. Don’t you think?’ He looked out at an old canoe that had been pulled up onto the grass embankment beside them. ‘I was even thinking of going out for a little paddle. But it’s full of holes.’

  Sam looked into his friend’s eyes, searching for some insight into what was happening, but found nothing. He had no idea what he was doing sitting out on a bench in the pouring rain, courting pneumonia, but it suddenly didn’t matter. If Jack wanted him there – for whatever reason, sane or otherwise – then that’s where he would be. He looked up at his umbrella and then reached for the lock mechanism. Depressing the small catch, he snapped the umbrella shut and tossed it into a small wire bin opposite them.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening here, Jack, but I’ll stay here with you. Whatever this is. For however long you need me.’

  Once again, Jack’s gaze was locked on to the sea. He nodded, but said nothing.

  For the next few minutes they sat side by side, watching the rain and the clouds and the waves as they danced together, surveying the phantom ships as they pitched and swayed in the bay, their noses pressing into the wind.

  Sam was trying to imagine what it must feel like to be out on the ocean in this weather when he became aware of footsteps on the promenade behind them.

  W
ondering what sort of person would wade out onto the beach in these conditions, he turned around and cupped a hand over his eyes.

  Blinking through the rain, he saw, first, a woman’s coat, long and tan. The woman was holding a yellow umbrella over her right shoulder, leaving her left shoulder exposed to the deluge. As he widened his perspective, he saw that the woman was angling the umbrella to keep her daughter dry – a child no older than seven or so, clinging to her waist.

  As Sam tried to focus through the downpour, attempting to make sense of what he was seeing, Jack leaned over and whispered to him. ‘I’d rather regret the things I did, Sam. Than those I didn’t. I hope you understand.’

  Sam turned to Jack and then looked back at the woman and her child.

  And then, at once, his eyes widened and his lips parted, not to speak, but to allow the breath to escape from his lungs. He felt himself stand up.

  ‘Dad,’ the woman uttered, pressing her hand to her mouth. ‘Dad …’

  ‘Sarah?’ he managed, before glancing down at the child.

  She nodded.

  ‘C— Casey?’

  The young girl blinked at him and Sam managed a step towards them.

  Struggling to contain his emotions and not wanting to scare Casey, he instinctively dropped to his haunches. Staring at his granddaughter, he reached for a smile.

  ‘H— How are you, Casey? You are so very beautiful.’

  The girl, wearing a beanie and swathed in a heavy pink jacket, met his eyes. She then looked up at her mother. ‘Grandpa?’ she asked softly, pointing at Sam.

  ‘Grandpa,’ Sarah agreed, in tears.

  Casey looked back at him and then, without uttering another word, let go of her mother’s hand and ran towards him. Sam spread open his arms, closed his eyes, and waited for the embrace that he had been dreaming of for so long.