Chapter 22
Thailand and Jackson and me. Every time I thought about it, my insides fluttered with a thousand butterflies.
It felt right, and I had no reservations as I gripped onto the side of the rickshaw which would take me into the nearest town to find a phone to call home.
I was on my own today. Jackson was scuba diving, doing his final test for his PADI licence.
My other friend, Hannah, had flown home yesterday.
I had been here a month! When I’d booked this trip, I’d worried that a month so far away from England would be too much.
How wrong could I have been? If anything, it wasn’t long enough.
Now there were only two days left in Bali, but instead of going home, I’d be heading to actual Thailand with my amazing Jackson.
So much for telling him that I did not ‘do boyfriends’.
I very much did boyfriends now. I’d been walking on air since deciding to go with him.
Being with Jackson was exciting; he was changing my outlook on life for the better.
He was impulsive where I was cautious; he expected everything to turn out well while I’d learned to look over my shoulder, always waiting for something to come along and ruin my fun.
I liked the new me: this girl who for once in her life was following her heart and taking a risk and letting spontaneity be her guide.
We’d be travelling by train all the way north and starting our trip in Ko Tao, which he promised I would love; I already knew I would.
The only flaw in my plan to extend my trip was that it was going to be so much harder to leave him behind.
I kept having to remind myself that I was only twenty-two, still a student, that I’d fallen fast and deeply in love with him precisely because we were in paradise.
There was literally nothing not to love about being here with him.
But then every so often, my inner romantic whispered in my ear that I’d fall in love with Jackson even if we met at a bus stop in the rain and I had a hole in my shoe.
My inner romantic was big on detail, and it was hard to ignore her.
I’d left it until the last minute to tell my mum and my sister that I wasn’t coming straight home after my month in Bali.
I knew Kat would be disappointed and if I hadn’t got my new ticket sorted before speaking to her, I’d probably cave in and go home after all.
It hadn’t been easy rearranging my flights, but there had been a very patient travel agent in Denpasar who’d managed to do it for me at very little cost.
I hadn’t brought my mobile phone to Bali with me.
It probably wouldn’t work; it had been third-hand when I bought it and had very limited battery life.
Anyway, God knows how much it would have cost to call the UK.
Which was why I was on my way into town, where there was a funny little phone shop where you could sit in a booth and pay to make a call.
The rickshaw driver dropped me right in the centre of town.
I had a wander around first, stocking up on jewellery and buying one last T-shirt with a Balinese design on it.
I’d probably never come back, and if I did, it would be decades from now.
Not that I wouldn’t want to come back here, but this trip had given me a taste for exploring the world.
There was so much of it to see, so much to do that when I did get the chance to travel, I knew I’d want to go to new places and not revisit the old.
I stopped at a fresh coconut stall where the stallholder lopped off the top with a huge knife and dropped a straw into it for me.
I headed to the phone shop sipping on the sweet coconut water and was shown into a booth.
Okay, Mags, brace yourself , I thought as I dialled the landline number at home.
No one was going to be thrilled that I wasn’t coming straight home: Kat because she’d be fed up dealing with Mum on her own, and Mum because I’d told her I didn’t have any spare money to give her, and now she’d be annoyed that I clearly did.
The phone didn’t even ring. Instead an automated voice said, ‘Sorry, we can’t connect your call.’
Frowning, I tried again, this time concentrating on the number, making sure I got the international code right. Still no joy, just a repeat of the message.
I paused for a few seconds, considering my options and not wanting to rack up more cost by trying a third time.
Maybe the phone line was down or, perhaps even more likely, we’d been cut off again.
Either way, I didn’t have an option to abandon the task.
Time was running out. Tomorrow was our last full day in Bali and Utt had organised for his cousin to take us out on his boat.
He’d become quite fond of Jackson and me and had suggested the trip to thank us for our hard work. I didn’t want to miss that.
I was going to have to call my father instead and ask him to get in touch on my behalf.
If it came to it, and our phone line didn’t get fixed, he’d have to do the ninety-minute journey and deliver my message himself.
I didn’t have a choice; his was the only other number I knew off by heart.
I recited his number aloud to make sure and then dialled.
‘Hello, Magnolia.’ I could hear the surprise in his voice, and not in a good way. ‘Aren’t you off on holiday somewhere?’
‘Bali, yes,’ I spoke quickly, conscious of the cost of the call.
‘All right for some,’ he grumbled. ‘And I thought students complained about being poor.’
I bit my tongue, not having the time to get into my finances right now.
‘Dad, I need your help. I can’t get hold of Mum or Kat. Their phone isn’t working. Can you get a message to them?’
‘It wouldn’t be working.’ He sniffed. ‘Because they’ve been evicted. Phone line’s probably been cut off too. I saw it coming. Your mother seems to lurch from one—’
‘Evicted!’ I gasped with a surge of panic. ‘When? What happened? Where are they now?’
‘Unpaid council tax, unpaid rent, taking housing benefit and not passing it on to the landlord. Bailiffs turned up last week, so that’s that. Perhaps the shock will do your mother good, teach her a lesson in acting responsibly.’
Last week . I put a hand to my throat, gulping for oxygen, feeling as if I couldn’t breathe. Mum would breeze through this, but Kat … She’d be devastated. ‘How did you find out?’
‘Kat rang me to tell me, although I’m not sure what she thought I could do about it. They’re staying with a neighbour for the time being.’
I clenched my jaw angrily. Wasn’t it obvious what he could do about it? ‘They’ll be at Phyllis’s.’
‘That’s the one.’
She was a kind lady who’d often stepped in over the years with small gifts of a cake, or a casserole she claimed had been going spare. Her husband had died years ago, and she said doing things for others made her feel needed. Taking in Mum and Kat was exactly the sort of thing she’d do.
‘Poor Kat, have you seen her?’
‘No, I haven’t seen her. I’m busy with my allotment this month. And the grass – I turn my back and it’s grown two feet.’
The grass was his priority? Unbelievable. ‘But you’re going to help out?’
‘Not this time, Magnolia.’ His tone was curt. ‘I’ve helped your mother enough over the years.’
‘Jesus Christ, Dad!’ I blew up at him. ‘You just said you saw it coming, so why didn’t you step in? We are your children . I can look after myself, but Kat is still at school.’
She’d finished her A-levels but officially she was at school until 31 August.
‘Is she? Blimey,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve got Phyllis’s number if you want it. I’m sure Kat would like to hear from you.’
‘How helpful of you,’ I seethed.
The thought of Kat trying to pack her things, leaving her home, nowhere to go, with only Mum to look after her …
I started to sob, huge wrenching sobs. My poor sister.
Meanwhile, here I was in paradise, blissfully in love, oblivious to her ordeal.
The guilt came crashing down, burying the freedom, the happiness, the laughter of the last few weeks.
And alongside it, anger. I was angry with Mum for not staying on top of the bills, for not putting her youngest daughter’s security at the top of her list; and with Dad for not caring enough to be there – if not for his ex-wife, then for his kids.
I ended the call with Dad and phoned Phyllis immediately. Mum wasn’t there but Kat came on the line.
‘Oh Mags,’ she wailed. ‘I was so scared. The bailiffs only gave us a few hours to leave. Mum tried to talk them out of it for ages, but they weren’t interested. I had to pack all your stuff too.’
‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, sis. Sounds like you need a hug.’
‘It’s okay. At least it has happened at the end of your trip. When are you coming home?’
My throat burned with disappointment as I mentally waved goodbye to my dreams of Thailand with Jackson and gave her the answer she needed to hear. ‘Tomorrow, Kat, I’ll get a flight home tomorrow.’
Mum’s Gap Year
My sweet girl, this trip has taught me so much; thank you for showing me the way.
It’s proved to me that I can cope without checking my emails every five minutes, that I can make snap decisions and be excited about what might come next.
I can keep busy, see new places, have new experiences.
Life shouldn’t be about marking time, waiting for it to pass so that I can get into bed and close my eyes and my mind to the world.
And I see now that that’s what I’ve been doing since you died.
But even a full diary can’t make up for the fact that there’s so much emptiness in my heart. I shared my life with you, sweetheart. I rejoiced at every achievement, pushed you to do the hard stuff as you moved through the phases of your life, so mine changed along with you.
What next for me? One day I’m going to read the last page of your gap-year book and from then on, I’ll be travelling alone without you. That heart of mine needs filling – I need someone to love, and I want someone to love me back.
I know this will make you happy, and I think it might make me happy too.
Love always
Mum xxx
P.S. Harry is such an amazing young man.
P.P.S. I’ve got myself a hashtag – #MumsGapYear!