by Ali Harris
It would have happened anyway, Bea! You have to stop believing that you caused Elliot’s death, and start believing that you saved my life.
I put my hands over my ears because suddenly I can hear everyone in my head. Loni telling me we make our own paths and that we can’t save other people, only ourselves. Milly telling me that the main thing she’s learned from years of working in finance is that the only thing worth investing in is love. Dad telling me in his diary to always look up and ahead, not down and back. And Adam telling me he loves me over and over again. I think of the compass I was standing on earlier and how it felt like a symbol: one life, so many different directions. The infinite What Ifs we live with every single day. The possibilities at each pole, the confusion at the crossroads, the excitement when it feels like life is going our way, the sorrow when it doesn’t. And that’s when I realise no one ever truly knows where they’re going. No decision is easy. Loving, or leaving, saying yes or no. We can waste our lives wondering if we’ve made the right choices; or we can own them. Stop looking at the other routes and just follow our inner Siri, or in my case, listen to Loni and realise that being happy is the only decision we really have to make.
I look up, thinking about my dad all of a sudden. I may never know if his choice made him happy, but I have to stop letting it make me miserable. He left his diary for me to help me to come to terms with his choice. So, for the first time in ages, I take my long-lost Dad’s advice and gaze at the infinite galaxy of stars shimmering above me. I realise then that I have to trust my instincts. Follow the path my heart has taken me on so far and know that, no matter what detours I may make, I will always end up exactly where I’m meant to be. I just have to trust myself.
And with that, I turn my back on the pier and my past – ready to embrace the future I’m now completely certain I want.
February
Dear Bea
The winter is nearly over and all around you new shoots of promise are beginning to appear. It’s time to come out of hibernation, to stop thinking of your garden as bare and see what is growing beneath your feet, what has been there all along. You will see drifts of dwarf iris and early crocuses piercing the earth, not to mention beautiful, bright cyclamens and camellias rampaging through the garden like Pink Ladies on an adventure. Soon the wild narcissus – a flower that grows best in the sun – will parade its golden petals once more before the other perennials that always seem overshadowed by it.
There is much to do in the garden this month, but I see February as a comma, a pausing point, a breath between a hard winter that is on its way out and a spring we’re waiting to meet. Maybe you are not ready to forget what has gone before, you are still feeling the effects of being out in the cold for so long, but I’m sure there are also moments when the pale sunshine touches your face and you can sense brighter days ahead.
I don’t have to be with you to know you have such a bright future before you, Bea.
Love, Dad
Chapter 63
Bea Bishop is Going to Goa (Goaing?)
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As my taxi pulls into the airport I notice that there are thick, bulbous clouds hanging like blimps in the gun-metal grey sky. The day feels broodingly heavy like a sullen teenager desperate to unshackle him or herself from their studies and sod off to sunnier climes.
I climb out of the cab and the taxi driver smiles as he hands me my backpack from the boot and waits for me to scrabble about in my purse for the fare. He’s been a good companion, chatty without being intrusive, offering more personal information than he took. I’ve heard all about his two adored teenage daughters, how much he worries for them and how he insists on picking them up when they’re on nights out, no matter what job he’s on – or where it’s taken him.
‘I’d go to the ends of the earth for those two,’ he’d laughed at one point, glancing at me in his rear-view mirror as I’d smiled weakly at him, as if he was assessing whether I’d caused my father as much concern. It had sent a pang of pain through me to know the lengths some fathers go to for their children.
Then I’d comforted myself with the thought that Loni had done the equivalent of running solo around the world for Cal and me. And after all that, she’s still supporting me in my quest to find Dad. Even though I can’t imagine what it’s doing to her.
This trip was Loni’s idea. After I’d shown her the address of where Adam had traced Dad to that Milly had given me on Christmas Day, she’d taken everything in hand, made me organise a week’s holiday from the flower shop. I told her I couldn’t, not when Sal had just had her baby, but Loni went ahead and called her and Sal told her immediately that of course I should go. She said that her dad would happily run the shop for the week I’m away. So Loni booked me a ticket and arranged for me to stay with an old friend of hers.
‘And you don’t mind? You won’t mind if I find him and manage to build a relationship with him?’
‘Oh Bea, you don’t know how much I wish that for you, what joy I would find in that!’ Loni’s eyes had filled up then and I’d cried and hugged her tightly. ‘Remember, darling, to dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily, but not to dare is to lose yourself.’
‘Thank you, Mum,’ I said quietly. Calling her that made me wonder when I had stopped using that word. And made me want to start using it again.
‘Ooh don’t call me that, you make me sound so old!’ she said, kissing my forehead, and I laughed. But I noticed her eyes were glistening with tears. Had that been another adapted story for my benefit; she making it look like she didn’t want to be called Mum, when actually, she found it hurtful that I didn’t call her that? Or was it her choice? I’m amazed that one person could protect another so fiercely that they wouldn’t care about hurting themselves. She is incredible, and part of me wishes that she was coming with me on this trip.
Cal hadn’t been interested, even though I asked him to come. ‘I understand why you want to, sis,’ he said. ‘But I’m not willing to leave Lucy and the kids to go on some wild goose chase. This is your journey and I hope meeting him helps you see what I’ve always known. That our childhood, our lives have been the best version they could be because of the choices both he and Loni made.’ He stopped then and I saw him get a bit choked up.
The terminal is abuzz with excited holidaymakers; couples looking to escape the cold British weather (and no doubt their respective families) after the long Christmas break, parents with young kids on half-term in search of winter sun. Others probably off for fabulous city breaks or going back home to their own countries after a Christmas in the UK. So many people looking to escape their lives – or return to them.
I’m not entirely sure which I’m doing.
I gaze up at the departures board as people stream past me and I get momentarily tangled up in a family or a conversation. I feel like a bobbin, spinning uncontrollably in the effort to keep still as everyone else seems to weave easily around me. The electronic letters on the board are clearly spelling out destinations and flight numbers and gates but they blur in front of my eyes and I suddenly feel completely overwhelmed by this journey I’m taking alone. What am I doing flying to India to find a man I haven’t seen in over twenty years to see if he can find the answers to my life? I wish Adam were here; he’d make this better, I know he would. I want to tell him everything I’ve gone through since last April to get to where I am now. I want him to know that I haven’t forgotten him either, that he’s always been there, that it wasn’t him I was running from – or our relationship. I was running back to everything that had happened before. I’ve tried to get in touch with him since Milly told me what he’d done for me, but he won’t answer my calls. Milly says he’s out of the country but I think finding my dad was his final act of altruism, helping me because he still thinks I can’t help myself.
I head for the check-in desk slowly and take my place at the back, feeling self-conscious in my solitude and yet empowered by what I’m doing. I’m in control for the first ti
me in my life. I hear a commotion from the automatic doors but I don’t turn around. I just want to focus on getting to the front of this queue, get through the gate and onto the plane. I’m worried that if I turn around I’ll make a run for it (it is my party trick after all), get in a cab and go back home.
‘Mind out of the way, please! Lady with a lot of luggage on her way through!’
I turn just as she appears like magic at my side.
‘Ta-dah!’ She presents herself with a little shimmy, jewellery a-jangling in time with her body.
‘LONI?!’ I gasp as she plonks down her rucksack, takes off her fedora and shakes out her batshit-crazy hair as she grins at me.
‘The one and only.’ She bows as what feels like the entire queue, the entire terminal of travellers, turn and look at her. She is dressed in a floor-length tie-dyed skirt that she’s wearing with battered old boots she’s had since the 1970s. On top she’s wearing a white vest – and a loose-fitting jumper that has slipped off her shoulders. At least six necklaces adorn her neck, she has on gigantic hoop earrings and rows of beads are wrapped around her wrist. She’s also wearing an Afghan coat. She looks incredible.
‘What are you doing here?’ I gulp.
‘I’m coming with you, of course, darling!’ She laughs, throwing her arms around me as my jaw drops open. She pulls back and strokes my face. ‘How could I miss the chance to show my baby girl a place I’ve loved for years, that runs through my blood and yours, through my work, my every breath! I want to support you, to be there for you when you meet your dad . . . this is just as much my mess as his.’
I’m about to speak but she holds her ring-covered fingers up. Only one finger is bare. Her wedding ring finger. I clasp her hand.
‘Loni, you don’t have to do this. I know how hard it’s going to be for you.’
‘I want to do it,’ she replies. ‘Not just for you, I’m not a total martyr.’ She winks and I can’t help but smile. ‘I need to. I’ve realised that I can learn a lot from you, my darling. I need to face up to my past before I can move on, too. Roger – you remember Roger, don’t you, darling?’ she says coyly. ‘He was there at Christmas. Beautiful man, silver hair, voice like silk, moves like Jagger?’
I see she is blushing – I have never seen Loni blush.
‘Well, it would seem he is rather interested in me . . .’ She leans forward and whispers in a voice louder than most people’s shouts, ‘And not just sexually! He wants a relationship. You know, to be serious, go steady or whatever the word is these days. But anyway, I can’t, you see. I haven’t been able to let myself fall in love with anyone since . . . well, you know. Since your dad left.’
I nod and take her hand. I can see she’s finding this hard to talk about.
She clears her throat and smiles. ‘In many ways I’ve been in limbo as long as you have. I’ve just got better moves . . .’ She throws her head back so her hair almost brushes the floor and starts displaying some of them. The people in our queue begin to clap and she stands up and puts her hands in prayer position and bows before looking back at me.
‘So, I’ve decided I need to be as strong, brave and forgiving as my daughter.’ And she wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek against mine.
‘There is no map in this life, Bea, only your own inner compass. Samskara saksat karanat purvajati jnanam . . .’ She laughs at my confused expression. ‘It means, through sustained focus and meditation on our patterns, habits and conditioning, we gain understanding and knowledge of our past and how we can change the patterns that aren’t serving us to live life more freely and fully.’ She slips down her sunglasses over her eyes but her trembling lips give her away. ‘And I haven’t lived as freely or as fully as I’ve pretended to since your father left.’
I swallow and nod as the group in front of us leave the desk and we are called.
We step up to the desk and place our passports and tickets in front of the bemused-looking woman.
‘We’re going on a life-changing trip,’ Loni informs her proudly.
‘How nice,’ the woman says politely. ‘Are you sisters?’
I laugh and go to say yes – just as Loni taught me to do as a teenager, but she gets there before me.
‘No, actually, this is my daughter.’ She takes my hand and squeezes it gently as she turns to look at me. Her face is awash with pride. Then she turns back and lowers her sunglasses as if revealing herself like a celebrity to the check-in girl. ‘Now be a darling, will you, and see if we can have a cheeky little upgrade?’
Chapter 64
When we pass through Goa airport it is more hectic and overwhelming than I ever imagined. The heat is engulfing, sweat drips off my back almost immediately and Loni and I are swamped by men trying to grab our bags, shouting, trying to get our attention, but Loni deals with them all firmly. Then she puts her arm around me, lifts her chin and ushers us through to find the pre-booked car she ordered.
She has already come into her own: on the eleven-hour flight she pulled out various snacks and gave me a herbal sleeping tablet that I referred to as a horse tranquilliser when I woke up because it knocked me out immediately. God knows what was in it but I slept better on the plane than I have for weeks. I came to as we were descending into the hazy Indian heat and I felt like something momentous was about to happen.
And that feeling continues as Loni and I climb into a white mini-van and we set off towards Baga, where Loni lived with my dad many years ago when they were young and in love. And where she’s told me I was conceived.
So if I wanted to go back to where it all started, there is no better place than this.
Loni is quiet for once, gazing out of the opposite window. There’s only the sound of the wheels on the road, Indian music playing from the radio and her bangles jangling as our car bounces through gigantic potholes on the wide road. The arid, heat-soaked countryside stretches as far as the eye can see, only punctuated by the buzzing of small motorbikes whizzing by, with helmetless, shirtless Indian men driving them, sometimes with girlfriends riding pillion, their colourful saris billowing in the breeze. Occasionally I gasp aloud and close my eyes as giant lorries overtake cars and seem to head straight for us. It seems the rules on these roads are that there are no rules. It’s frightening and invigorating all at once. I have never been anywhere that has felt so alien but at the same time so alive.
‘Are you OK?’ I nudge Loni.
She turns and gives me a fleeting smile. ‘I just feel like I’ve slipped through some sort of vortex and you’re my only proof that the last thirty years ever happened. Nothing has changed here, and yet everything has.’ She squeezes my hand and smiles wistfully.
‘Is this going to be too weird for you?’ I ask. ‘Seeing Dad, I mean? Maybe we shouldn’t do this,’ I say quickly, suddenly feeling my old panicky, indecisive self returning. Loni shakes her head and puts her arms around me. ‘Darling, we’re not backing out now. No more running away, hmm? We both need to do this.’
Forty-five minutes later we are cruising down Calangute Road and into a bustling street awash with colour and noise and smells that attack every one of my senses. I’ve never seen so many people in such a small space. Cows wander in front of our car as motorbikes weave past. Palm trees, market stalls, shacks and whitewashed houses line the street. At one point an elephant strolls past. My neck is aching from craning to see in every single direction. I have never seen so much life, and so much poverty. We finally pull up in front of a small, white, colonial-style guest house that has a rickety old sign with Sarah’s in gaudily painted italics.
Loni gets out, pulls out a handful of rupees that makes our driver smile, and thanks him. He gives us our luggage and sets off in a cloud of red sand.
‘Come on then, darling,’ Loni says, excitement visible on her face. ‘Let’s get checked in. There’s so much I want to show you!’
It’s nearly 7 p.m. by the time we leave the guest house but the heat has barely subsided. The reason it has taken us so long t
o get out is because I had to take two showers. The first was to wash off the journey, the second to cool down from the heat. Loni was waiting in the little courtyard garden, chatting to ‘Sarah’, the somewhat grumpy Indian owner, who of course remembered Loni and had instantly become a different host entirely. As I hovered in the doorway I saw that she was excitedly gesticulating to show her delight at seeing Loni again whilst Loni must have been giving her a potted history of the last thirty years. They were murmuring quietly and I heard Loni say, ‘. . . although he did give me two wonderful gifts.’ Then she turned and gestured to me, hovering on the step.
Sarah ran across to me, clasped my hands and shook them enthusiastically. ‘You most welcome here in Baga. We love English. We love your Loni. Your mum is good and old!’
Loni stood up and rolled her eyes. ‘A good old friend, you mean, Sarah. Honestly!’ But she put her arm around Sarah and laughed to show she was teasing and Sarah’s face wrinkled like a prune, her bright brown eyes glimmering as she grinned at me. ‘Sarah has already told me that Len has come to Baga regularly in between other travels for many years and stayed here. But this last couple of years he’s stayed longer and now has a place up near Anjuna beach. She says he’s well known in the area and that we’ll find him easily.’
Loni nodded emphatically as Sarah relayed a new barrage of information. ‘He likes Goa. It feels like home to him. And then old British women like him. Him very popular with older women. Though he keep himself to himself. They swamp him like flies round the sacred cows on Baga beach. They think he is some sort of god.’
Loni raised her eyebrows and flashed me a wistful smile. ‘Sounds about right. Your father was a very attractive, sensitive man.’
‘So,’ Sarah continued, ‘he goes to the market on Wednesdays. You find him there.’ I felt my heart tilt and tip at the thought that tomorrow I might finally see my dad.