Chapter 21
Australia
Harry’s uncle lived in a small house surrounded by forest. From the inside, it was like sitting high up in a treehouse.
It was charming and rustic and owned by someone who cared more about the outdoors than interiors.
The backyard consisted of a patch of ground populated by random buckets, pots and even an old bathtub stuffed with herbs and vegetable plants.
The area was enclosed by some of the largest ferns I’d ever seen, and it felt as if it wouldn’t take much for nature to smother the house entirely, like the castle in Sleeping Beauty.
‘I was a ten-pound pom.’ Pete sprinkled his bottle of beer liberally over the barbecue coals and hooted with glee at the sizzle. ‘Best ten quid I ever spent in my life. Left Liverpool when I was eighteen, never looked back.’
Pete was divorced, retired and living his best life. I don’t think I’d ever met someone so content with his lot than this bushy-bearded, cuddly man. He reminded me of a koala bear, complete with the hairy ears.
‘That must have been quite an adventure for someone so young,’ I said, sipping my own beer. I’d stopped off at a shop and bought a couple of bottles of wine for my host. He’d accepted them graciously before popping the top off an Australian lager and shoving it into my hand.
‘And one long adventure ever since,’ Harry said, adding, ‘if you believe all his stories, that is.’
‘Oi, cheeky.’ Pete flipped some prawns over on the barbecue. One fell onto the ground. He picked it up, brushed the grass off and replaced it on the grill.
‘You won’t look back either.’ He waved his tongs at me. ‘I can tell when a woman’s happy; I’m an expert. There’s a flush to your cheeks. You love it here – don’t deny it.’
I surreptitiously touched my beer bottle to my face to cool them down and wondered upon what basis he’d decided he was an expert.
‘Maybe if I was young, like Harry,’ I said. Or like Bronte would have been if she’d come here instead of me. ‘But I have a job to go back to – so as much as I love it, I’ll have to go home eventually.’
‘Ah, work.’ Pete threw his arms in the air. ‘Ruins all the bloody fun, doesn’t it?’
‘Only if you’re in the wrong job.’ Harry held a platter out while his uncle piled on griddled tuna, prawns and vegetable kebabs.
Pete laughed. ‘Very true, mate, very true.’
‘Not that I know exactly what work is,’ Harry added.
Pete wiped his hands on his apron and mussed up his nephew’s hair. ‘You take as long as you need. You’ve been through the mill.’ He met my eye. ‘You both have. Come on. Let’s eat.’
We ate at a solid wooden table on stools that Pete had made from logs.
It wasn’t quite sunset but the sun had sunk below the trees and the light had taken on a soft golden glow, making our al fresco setting feel very romantic.
The food was delicious. Vegetables bursting with flavour, the fish and seafood fresh and the salad Harry had made with an Asian dressing set my tastebuds alight.
‘Actually, I have sort of got a job,’ Harry said, once we’d finished eating. ‘I’m an accidental influencer.’
‘Instagram?’ I asked, remembering the encounter with the bookshop owner this morning.
He nodded sheepishly. ‘I started posting about four months ago. I’ve got about thirty thousand followers.’
‘Fiddling about on your phone is a job, is it?’ his uncle teased.
‘Not on your phone, maybe,’ Harry shot back. ‘Uncle Pete’s phone will be in the Imperial War Museum one day, as part of the early communication devices exhibit.’
‘It makes calls, which is all I ask of it,’ replied Pete, getting to his feet. ‘And talking of which, nature’s calling, so excuse me. I’m off to point Percy at the porcelain.’
‘Sorry about Uncle Pete.’ Harry winced. ‘He’s great but he doesn’t have a filter. I think he’s lived on his own too long.’
I laughed. ‘I’d better take note, or that will happen to me. He’s a lot of fun, which is probably what you need.’
Harry nodded. ‘I do. He’s got me laughing again, that’s for sure. But I also need to learn to express my feelings better too. You can’t keep them locked up inside your head forever. It’s toxic.’
‘That was the mistake I made,’ I told him.
‘When I came back to work after taking compassionate leave, I asked my boss to ensure that no one mentioned Bronte. I didn’t want to talk about her at work.
But it must have looked weird seeing me acting as if nothing had happened, and it meant that they weren’t able to show me any sympathy, which probably made them feel awkward.
And as for my friends, I cut myself off entirely. ’
I could see now how unhealthy it was. All it would have taken was for me to have one conversation about Bronte with each of them, and then we could have all moved forward with Bronte’s death being part of my narrative instead of a taboo subject.
‘Me too.’ Harry took a swig of beer. ‘For the first three months after the funeral, I told myself that I needed to accept she’d gone and get on with my life. You know, be a man, get over it.’
‘Oh Harry.’ I sighed. ‘I’m so sad that I wasn’t there for you. I should have helped you more. And grieving doesn’t make you less of a man, it makes you more of a human. I’m sorry I wasn’t around to say that to you.’
‘Thanks,’ he replied. ‘I’m learning that now, but back then I wasn’t thinking straight.
I saw a girl in London once with hair like hers.
I don’t know what happened, but for a second, I was totally convinced it was her.
I ran after her, shouting her name. I grabbed her arm and then the guy she was with shoved me.
Then it all came pouring out of me. I cried for days.
That’s how my Instagram started. Stuff about how I felt.
All the other people on Instagram talking about loss were older than me.
So, I decided to say the words I needed to hear.
Turns out there are loads of young people like me dealing with grief. ’
My chest swelled with emotion. He’d faced his demons a lot sooner than I had, dealt with it a lot more positively too. ‘I’m in awe of you. Bronte would be so proud.’
He gave me a subdued smile. ‘I think so. Especially as it’s starting to earn me a bit of money. It’s not the career I had in mind for myself, but then neither was the last year. I’m going to do it until I figure out what comes next.’
‘It’s a brilliant idea. I’ll have to follow you on Instagram.’
‘I’m called @HarryHurts on there.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘I should warn you, it can get a bit raw. My posts are a safe space for people to express their grief. There’s a whole lot of difficult emotions on display.’
‘If you can handle it, so can I. It sounds like you’re helping others as well as yourself.’
We smiled at each other, and I thought what a great judge of character my girl had been in choosing him.
‘Drum roll, please!’ Pete cried, returning with an enormous dessert. ‘Pavlova. My speciality. Make room.’
‘Wow, I’m impressed,’ I said, stacking the dishes to give him space to put the plate down. ‘It’s a wonder you’re still single, Pete, given your culinary skills.’
‘It’s a mystery, Maggie,’ he replied, wiping his hands on the seat of his shorts. ‘Fancy a slice, do you? The pavlova, that is.’ He nudged me in the ribs and hooted at his own joke.
‘Let me,’ said Harry, intervening when he noticed my bemused look. ‘You’ve done enough work this evening.’
Pete nodded at my phone, which was displaying Harry’s Instagram page. ‘Told you about all his groupies, has he? Not surprising, a good-looking lad like him. He’s got all the ladies after him.’
‘I’m not interested,’ Harry said gruffly, thumping a dish of pavlova in front of his uncle.
Pete pulled a face at me. ‘Touchy subject,’ he said in a stage whisper.
‘Where do you think I should go next on my travels, Pete?’ I asked, redirecting the conversation.
He spread his arms. ‘Why would you want to leave the Blue Mountains?’
‘Good question. I guess because I promised myself that I’d do what Bronte can’t anymore.’
Harry asked if I wanted dessert, but I asked if I could have a glass of wine instead.
While he went inside to fetch it, I told Pete about Bronte’s gap year and how she’d planned on exploring the Gold Coast with Harry.
How doing this trip in her place was my way of staying connected to her, but also giving me a chance to find some peace and happiness for myself.
The outside lights suddenly clicked on automatically and I noticed how dark the night had become. Pete lit candles in a couple of hurricane lanterns and set them on the table. From the kitchen we heard the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle.
‘She must have been a special girl. There are no words that’ll make it better.
’ Pete patted my leg amiably. He lowered his voice.
‘But I do know that in time you will grow from what life has thrown at you. I also know that happiness isn’t something you find, it’s something you make.
A happy life is a conscious decision. That kid’s still working on feeling like he deserves one. Sounds like you are too.’
I was taken aback by his insight and how he had flipped from boisterous banter to tender words of encouragement. My throat felt too tight to reply and I squeezed his hand instead.
‘She and I were planning on getting work in the Hunter Valley,’ Harry told us, returning with a large glass of red wine. ‘There are hostels you can stay at, where they pick you up, take you to the vineyards and drop you off again at the end of the day.’
‘It’s harvest time right now.’ Pete shovelled Pavlova into his mouth. ‘Plenty of work picking grapes for those who want it. And you obviously like your wine.’
‘I do.’ I ignored his light-hearted jibe and took a large mouthful of smooth-bodied Australian Merlot.