Page 39 of Somewhere Only We Know

I’m getting emotional, so let’s talk about the One World project. I’m more than halfway through my time here already. It is flying by; I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt so busy. The children start arriving while we’re still having breakfast. We see them jostling to be first through the gate, while their parents and carers stand and chat. Some little ones are brought by older siblings, who abandon them as soon as they arrive. But everyone looks out for each other, so it’s not a problem. There’s no free nursery care here, which was why Tiff and her partner set up this charity project: to help parents get back to work. There are four groups of children and a qualified nursery worker in each one. The volunteers act like extra pairs of hands. We each have a buddy. Mine is Colin, who is great fun and a real sweetie. He has fallen for the eldest sister of one of the children and always makes sure he’s at the gate when she arrives. He and I like working with the older kids best. They adore him and hang off him like monkeys, climbing up his legs. They have a quieter relationship with me, bringing me flowers, taking me to see things they’ve found, or scrabbling onto my lap if they’ve hurt themselves or they’re feeling sad. When that happens, I read them a story to cheer them up. Before long I have a little gang leaning in to listen.

You used to do that, do you remember? Bath, bed and as many books as you could persuade me to read. You knew all the words to How Much Do I Love You? and you insisted on looking at every detail of the illustrations before I was allowed to turn the page.

I shouldn’t have favourites, but there’s one boy who melts my heart, called Hom. He’s a shy little thing, with the most beautiful brown eyes and lashes. He brings me a gift every day. Sometimes a marigold, sometimes a leaf, or a shell. He took my hand and brought me to meet his mum yesterday. She can’t be much older than you and she is clearly a devoted mother. Meena told me that she lives with her father, who is very strict and does not want her to go to work and thinks she should stay at home to look after him. It makes me realise how lucky I am to have grown up in a country where I had the choice of what to do with my life. I chose to have you and I’d choose you every time.

Today is Sunday and the other volunteers have gone on a trip to the national park. There’s a trip most weekends, so the kids see as much of their host country as possible. I also think it’s because Meena and the rest of the staff need a break from their exuberance and noise for a day or two. They were picked up in an open-sided jeep after breakfast and headed off for a safari and won’t be back until this evening. I’ve stayed behind, not only because I heard they have tigers here, but because there’s a market in the village this afternoon. It’s run by a women’s empowerment project (something you had on your list to visit!) and everything on sale has been made by local women. I’ve promised Meena I’ll go and have a look. Her sister makes tablecloths and I know I’ll want to buy one.

Meena is an inspirational woman. She has so many plans for the One World project. She wants to start running English classes for teens and reading classes for women. She has such a passion for improving the lives of the people in her community; I’ve no doubt she’ll succeed.

Seeing her run this project has made me really think about my relationship with work. I’ve only been gone from ShopSwift for a few days, but Anna is feeling my absence. It has been a real boost to my confidence to know that I’m needed by someone now that you’re no longer here. Do you remember us joking that you’d always need me even when you were seventy, that you’d still be phoning to ask how to get grass stains out of your socks. Without you, I’ve been relying on work to fill that sense of feeling needed. My job has always been a route to financial security for you and me, but it has never been a passion like it is for Meena. And being dependent on work isn’t a healthy way to live, is it? I’m beginning to think that I’m going to have to find something more to pour my love into. Because a job is never going to love me back.

I must go, but I need to tell you about the kittens. The camp cat, Bob, has become the most dedicated mother to her five kittens. Naomi and Izzy made them a proper home in one of the sheds, so we were able to move them out from under my bed. They are tiny, and haven’t opened their eyes yet and Bob has barely moved from their side. One of the kittens wasn’t doing well and couldn’t latch on, so I risked getting in close and helping it out. I thought Bob would rip my hands to shreds but she closed her eyes and laid her head back down. Poor thing is exhausted. I remember those early days of motherhood and I only had one baby! Being with the cat family takes me right back to the day I met your dad. Except on that occasion, it was puppies rather than kittens. Anyway, you know the story, and you’ve read my diary. But I wanted you to know that the memories I have of him are still with me. They always will be.

I’m sitting in the yard beside the children’s play area in the sun right now. Kat says it’s been snowing at home – and here I am in a T-shirt with factor fifty on my face. It’s been a while since I’ve considered myself the lucky one, but today is coming close. Meena is waving to me from a window, which I think means it’s time to head into the village. I must remember what you said about not going wild when I go shopping.

I love you, darling, you’ll always be my baby, even if we can’t be together. I was worried that my memories of our life together would fade, but they get brighter every day. Thank you, sweet girl, for sending me this trip. I’d never have had the courage if it hadn’t been for you.

Love

Mum xxx

Chapter 12

Nepal

‘A lot of people came to our village after the earthquake,’ said Meena. ‘They had nothing. Many women and children settled here, but the men had to leave to find work. Some of them send money back to their wives, but not all. For the women it is hard to work and care for their families. At first there were no jobs.’

Meena and I were walking along the main street towards the community hall where the market was being held. It was the first time since she’d shown me to my room that we’d spent any time alone. She was quiet on the outside, but I’d seen her deal with two drunk men who tried to break into the camp last week. This woman had a core of steel that I wouldn’t want to mess with.

‘The village feels quite buzzy now, so I guess things have improved?’

She nodded. ‘The tourists have found Chitwan. And mostly this is good for us. They have money to spend in our shops, they buy food and drink at our restaurants.’

‘Only mostly?’

‘It makes our young people feel restless and want to leave the village. They see people on holiday with money to spend. Even the volunteers who come to help us are only here because they can afford to work without wages. We have lost many of the younger generation to the cities in search of adventure and better pay. And we need them here to bring money into the community.’

‘Young people will always be restless,’ I said, pulling Meena out of the path of an ox and cart plodding stealthily past us. ‘Always wanting to see whether the grass really is greener on the other side.’

‘This is true.’ She laughed. ‘In Sanaura, if we want rice, we grow it, we harvest it, we lay it out to dry in the sun. Only then can we cook it. Kathmandu offers rice today without the work or the wait. Young people prefer the rice from Kathmandu.’

The image made me smile. I remembered planting sunflower seeds with Brontë one year. Every day she would run outside expecting to see a fully grown sunflower in the garden. We had to start growing mustard and cress in the end for faster results. But the day the sunflower finally flowered, she had been beside herself with excitement. She fetched her soft toys out into the garden and set up a picnic by the edge of the flower bed to celebrate. Such a sweet memory.

Suddenly a small boy leapt out in front of us and flung himself around my legs.

‘Maggie!’ exclaimed my favourite little boy.

‘Hello, Hom!’ I squatted down to his height and looked around for his mum. She was hurrying towards us, a heavy bag of vegetables over one arm.

‘Namaste,’ I nodded to her.

‘You have met Shila?’ Meena said, introducing us.

Hom’s mum nodded shyly. ‘Namaste, mam.’

Hom tugged his mother’s arm and whispered something in her ear. She set her bag on the floor and reached into her pocket.

‘For you,’ she said, in hesitant English and held out a necklace identical to the one she was wearing.