Page 93 of Somewhere Only We Know

I knew of Brontë’s vague plans for the first few days: Harry had been able to tell me that. But no details. He said he knew other things too and would share those when I was ready. I wasn’t. In my heart I knew Brontë’s book was gone for good, but miracles did happen and in case one happened for me, and her precious book was found, I wanted to be able to turn the last pages, read the words written by my daughter and take the final steps of the journey with her. Because I had a feeling that I knew exactly where she would be drawn to.

I’d always been open with her about how she’d come into the world. I’d told her so much about my month doing turtle conservation that she’d known almost as many facts about releasing turtles into the wild as I did. But what had captured her imagination most was her parents’ love story. How we’d fallen under each other’s spell – both too young to make a solid commitment at the time, but with a love so strong it had stayed with me for a lifetime.

From time to time, she’d asked me to take her and show her the Bali I’d spoken so fondly of. And, stupidly, I’d put her off, making excuses about money and not being able to take too long off work. But the truth was that I’d been scared to revisit the place I’d been truly happy, in case it didn’t live up to my memories. How short-sighted I had been. Even if my memories were viewed through rose-tinted glasses, I’d still have enjoyed showing Bali to Brontë. I’d missed my chance. If one thing else came out of this trip, it was that if another opportunity for happiness should ever cross my path I’d embrace it with open arms.

For the next few days, I had very little planned. It had been non-stop in Australia, and I needed some time to catch my breath and process what had happened. I was staying in the Adiwana Hotel, a restful oasis in the centre of bustling Ubud. Brontë’s own choice had been an Airbnb. I’d looked it up online and it was lovely, tranquil and private with a view of the river and the rice fields. But now was not the time for solitude. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt as lonely. I needed to have people around me. I was craving company, even that of strangers.

I got off the bed and explored my room, trailing my fingers over the crisp white bedsheets, the fluffy pile of towels. The bed itself was vast. Two cotton robes hung side by side on the back of the door. There was a vase of fresh flowers, a wooden bowl filled with fruit and a selection of snacks beside a fancy coffee machine. It was gorgeous. I only wished I had someone to share it with.

I walked to the end of the room and slid open a wide glass door. My patio was shaded by tall palm trees and led directly into fragrant gardens lush with hostas and ferns and other plants I didn’t recognise. Through the greenery, I glimpsed a sparkling blue swimming pool, surrounded by sunloungers and deserted except for a woman floating in an inflatable ring, and a sunburned man asleep on a bed with a paperback over his face, the front of his shins and arms the colour of strawberry ice cream.

The water looked so inviting that within a couple of minutes I had slathered myself in sunscreen, changed into my bikini, and taken one of the towels plus my phone down to the pool.

The water felt delicious against my skin, cool enough to revive me, but warm enough not to shock my lungs. I dipped down under the surface and swam, enjoying the stretch in my legs and the pull across my shoulders after the seven-hour flight.

When I reached the wall I came up for air. It was an infinity pool and once I’d brushed the water from my face, I leaned over the edge and looked down into the tropical green valley below.

‘Isn’t it awesome?’ said an American voice.

I flipped onto my back. The woman in the ring was swimming my way.

‘Perfect.’ I smiled, glad for the opportunity to talk, hoping it would distract me from my thoughts. So far today, the sum total of my conversation had been brief exchanges with cabin crew, taxi drivers and hotel staff. Not even Kat had responded to the voicemail of woe I’d sent her last night.

‘I’m Barb. That’s my husband Stanley over there, passed out. Poor chick got up early with me this morning to do yoga and now he can’t stay awake.’ She laughed, cherry-red lips parting to reveal large white teeth. She wore a long-sleeved rash vest and shorts and most of her face was hidden by oversized sunglasses. I guessed she was in her sixties.

‘He looks very relaxed,’ I said, wondering whether to mention his sunburn. ‘I’m Maggie.’

Barb glanced over to the sunlounger where I’d left my folded towel. ‘Travelling by yourself?’

‘I wish I wasn’t but yes, I am.’ I suppressed a sigh.

‘Oh honey, that’s sad.’

‘I should have come with my daughter while I had the chance. She wanted to, but it would have been an expensive trip.’

Even as the words were leaving my mouth, I was aware how ridiculous my priorities had been for so much of my life. What good was money or a successful career now?

Barb nodded. ‘And now she’s all grown and too busy to come along with her mom, huh? On holiday, or are you one of the health nuts, here to “detox”?’

‘She was almost grown-up. I mean, twenty-three is still a baby adult, right?’ I kept eye contact with her. I needed to talk about Brontë. If I didn’t have her book to keep her memories alive then speaking about her would have to do instead. ‘She passed away last year. I’m taking some time out to get over her death. Or rather, get through it; I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I’m calling it Mum’s Gap Year.’ My words had come out in a rush and I could see that I’d startled Barb.

After a moment, she flipped herself off the inflatable ring, paddled her way to me and enveloped me in a hug. I thought back to what Daisy had said, that sometimes you needed a hug from your mum. My mum hadn’t been the huggy type, but I loved hugs, both giving and receiving. Even when they were off bosomy wet strangers.

‘You’re awesome,’ she said, placing her hands on my shoulders.

‘I don’t feel awesome,’ I told her.

‘Get outta here!’ she protested, shoving my arm. ‘Oh look, here comes Indra for our cocktail order. Will Long Island Tea do you?’

‘Oh, sure.’ I didn’t think I’d have much choice in the matter either way.

A young woman with shiny hair and a yellow flower tucked behind her ear approached the edge of the pool. ‘Miss Barb, you would like a drink?’

Barb ordered our drinks and a pot of tea for the sleeping Stanley to be put on her tab. Indra returned almost immediately with a tray and Barb and I moved to the shallow steps to sip our cocktails.

‘I’m not a mom,’ said Barb. ‘Stanley and I weren’t blessed, but I sure am in need of a gap year. I was caring for my mom for years, until she died last fall, and now Stanley’s dad has dementia and he’s had to move in with us. I think I’ve shrunk two inches from tensing up so much. My sister is looking after him while we’re on vacation. We go home tomorrow. Goodness knows when we’ll get away again.’

‘That sounds tough, I’m sorry,’ I said, stirring my drink with the fruit from the side of the glass. ‘And you certainly don’t need to be a mom to deserve a break. Perhaps I mean taking time out, putting yourself first, no responsibilities, no expectations. Lots of adult women care for others, but who cares for them?’