While the girls were doing their homework, I quickly sent an email to Ombeline, telling her about our trip and explaining my plan. Although I couldn’t go and just live there with the children until she managed to find somebody, I could certainly pop in and have a look at how things were going with the orphanage for a couple of weeks. At least that way she’d know from someone she trusted how her precious orphans were getting on.
When I’d finished, I popped next door to invite Mrs. Brinkley to dinner. It took a moment to persuade her that she wasn’t imposing, and after letting her promise to bring a desert of some kind, she finally accepted.
When we were all seated and served, I looked around the table and smiled.
“Does anyone mind if I say a blessing?”
The girls looked at me in amazement and even Mrs. Brinkley looked startled. Clearly I needed to work up my visible gratitude a little more often than I’d been doing.
“But it isn’t a special occasion Mummy,” said Grace, her eyes wide.
I couldn’t contain myself any longer – I’ve always been terrible at keeping secrets, especially ones as amazing as this. Given that I’d spent the last year or so manically taking care of all of the non-frivolous, extremely essential basics like finding an apartment, working, taking care of my family, I was practically drunk on the idea that I’d done something so impetuous as buying airline tickets to extremely foreign destinations. It reminded me of the first time I drove a long distance with the girls after the divorce. Prior to that, my husband had done all of the driving, and I’d completely lost confidence, but once I was in the car and behind the wheel, a certain exhilaration took over at the fact that I was indeed capable of driving after all.
“Actually, my dears, it is a special occasion. I thought you might like to know that I have some very good news. We’re going on holidays. To Africa.”
I quickly explained to the girls about Ombeline and the travel agency. Grace whooped with delight, thrilled that she was going to be able to implement her plan to give away all of her toys. Even Lillia smiled happily, as if there might actually be something to look forward to in life.
Mrs. Brinkley smiled fondly at us all.
“That’s splendid news, my darlings. You’ll have a marvelous time and I can’t wait to hear all of your adventures. Oh, Africa! So wonderful.”
I took a breath and prayed that what I had to say next would come out right.
“Actually, Mrs. Brinkley. I have to ask you a rather big favor. Would you mind terribly taking care of our dog while we’re away? It would have to be here in the apartment – he’s too old to get moved around. Would you mind staying here for a few weeks? Then, when we get back, we can help you to find somewhere else but at least you’d be set for as long as you want to be. And I’d feel so much better about having someone I trust here while I’m gone,” I added hurriedly, knowing that she wouldn’t accept if there was the slightest impression of charity.
Grace and Lillia jumped up and ran over to her.
“Please say yes! Say yes!” they chorused.
Mrs. Brinkley smiled over at me and hugged both girls.
“Oh, you’re angels, all of you. Of course I will. Thank you so much. This is just perfect. Of course I’ll stay here and keep everything just so, but you must promise me that you’ll have a marvelous adventure.”
I went over and joined the group hug.
“At this point in time, I don’t see how it can be anything but!”
The next ten days flew by in a rush of packing and organization. There was so much to do, between organizing visas and finishing up the few work commitments that remained.
Ombeline and I corresponded almost non-stop via email. She was so grateful that I was going – even if it was for a holiday – that she sent constant emails with instructions and arrangements. Grace managed to pack up every single toy in her room – four large packing boxes full, while Lillia organized a collection at school of old textbooks and supplies – pens and pencils and notebooks. Thanks to the girls, even the PTA got involved, offering us a computer to give to the orphanage school, as well as an invitation to become a sister school. Our little holiday became quite an event, especially after Grace presented her project about Uganda.
In the midst of the madness, we also packed up Mrs. Brinkley and put her furniture into storage. I gave her my bedroom and slept with the girls, at least the little I did sleep. You would have thought I’d be exhausted by all of the preparations, but for some reason I graduated from junior to fully-fledged insomniac.
The night before we left, I was practically bouncing off the walls. We had to leave for the airport at the ungodly hour of four in the morning, and I knew there was absolutely no way I was going to get a wink of sleep. I worked a bit, tried to read and watch a film, checked the bags and tickets and passports, smoking like a chimney all the way. By eleven thirty, I was down to one cigarette, so I scrawled a note for Mrs. Brinkley and grabbed the car keys.
As I drove out of the garage, I realized that I really was hoping to cross paths with the handsome angel I’d met during the last cigarette crisis. There was no other reason to put on lip-gloss and my nicest jeans.
Fluffing my hair, I took a breath and walked into the bar. It was quieter tonight – in fact there was practically nobody there. I made my way to the bar and ordered a glass of wine and a packet of cigarettes. When the barman bought everything over, I asked him if Mr. Angel would be playing tonight. He looked at me strangely for a moment and I wondered if he got lots of requests for the handsome musician.
“No Ma’am, he won’t be playing here anymore. That was just a one night gig.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help myself. “But he was so good. Do you know if he’s playing elsewhere?”
God, how desperate did I sound? A middle-aged groupie, that’s what I was.
The barman kept polishing his glass, undoubtedly wondering what to say to the madwoman with the crush on the guitar player.
“Actually, he was just on holidays here. From what I understand, he’s gone back home.”
He smirked up at me.
“And no, I don’t know where home is. Sorry.”
I finished my wine and picked up my cigarettes, leaving a bigger tip than was warranted by my embarrassment.
Out in the car, I shook my head. What kind of a fool was I, drag-netting bars for men? It was a stupid idea, and I was an idiot for coming out for anything other than cigarettes. In a fit of temper, I threw them out the window. Maybe now was a good a time as ever to quit. That way, the next time my loneliness got the better of me, I would have to find a new excuse to behave like a teenager.
Driving home, I tried to work out what had been going on in my head. Maybe all the coincidences and impetuosity had finally pushed me over the edge. Maybe I had a secretly slutty side that had been lurking under the surface all these years, just waiting for the right moment to break out and trawl the bars. Or maybe it was just that I was so very lonely these days, lonely, I had to admit, for a man. No, not just a man, but a life partner, a special someone with whom to share our adventures, to share our lives. Not that I wasn’t thrilled to be doing this trip or indeed anything else with my little family, but when the children went to bed at night, I wanted someone to turn to, someone to discuss the day with. A partner. Someone who knew my state of mind by what I didn’t say. Someone who knew me and loved me anyway. Someone to love and be loved by, grownup love at its best. But there wasn’t someone, there wasn’t anyone. It was just me, and as my mother would have said, I wasn’t going to meet my soul mate in a bar, for heaven’s sake.
Putting the car in gear, I resolved to focus on what lay ahead. Surely an African adventure was enough to keep me satisfied for a while. And anyway, I’d had love once. That was more than some people had in a lifetime. And if I didn’t ever have that romantic, soulmate kind of love, I had the precious love of my children and family, and that was worth more than all the soulmates on earth or in heaven.
Far too keyed u
p to sleep – although curiously not nervous or apprehensive in any way - I spent the rest of the night writing up the little diary I had decided to keep. In fact, Mrs. Brinkley had surprised each of us that evening at dinner with a beautiful, leather bound diary.
“I want you to promise me that you’ll write down everything. Every day. I don’t want you to miss a moment of this journey.”
She turned to me.
“I’m counting on you. This is the first day of the rest of your life, and one day, you’ll want to remember every moment.”
The girls woke up before the alarm even went off, and Mrs. Brinkley got up to wish us a safe journey. As the taxi drove away, I had the strangest feeling that I was leaving something behind. I double-checked the passports and tickets. Everything was there, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had closed a door on something. Mrs. Brinkley’s words from the night before echoed in my head. This was the first day of the rest of my life.
10
Another land, another life