Chapter 30 #2
‘Same here. But I think if I knew I’d only got one chance at it, and I’d never see her again after tomorrow, then maybe I would.’
‘Yeah,’ I whispered. ‘Maybe I would too.’
For a moment neither of us spoke; I slid my arm around his waist and moved in close enough to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, and we stood in silence watching the show.
I’d never forget tonight, I realised. Never.
How lucky I was to be here with this gorgeous man, experiencing such a beautiful sight.
We turned to each other, he put his hands on my hips and drew me towards him. The fireflies created a halo around us both, and it felt otherworldly and magical and incredibly hot.
I touched the tip of my tongue to my lips, scarcely believing what I was about to propose.
‘Jono,’ I began, ‘shall we—’
‘Yes, Maggie.’ He lowered his face, and his lips brushed mine. ‘The answer is yes.’
Bronte’s Gap Year
If I’m not tanned by now, I’ll be seriously pissed off. I want to be golden and gorgeous when I’m lying on those beaches with Harry. How long will I have been away by now? Six weeks? Two months? Factor fifty on my face and the backs of my hands though. I do not want wrinkles.
So, my itinerary … I make zero apologies for keeping it loose for Australia.
I think it’s the right vibe for down under.
I haven’t even decided how long I’ll stay.
If I fall in love, maybe I’ll stay longer.
If I think it’s time to move on, I will.
Having a plan and being like Mum is great but occasionally I’m going to go with my gut and see where it takes me.
Perhaps I’ll get sick of cold beers and beaches and bikinis.
Or maybe I’ll love it so much I’ll want to stay forever.
Who knows. If I stayed longer, would Harry stay with me, I wonder?
Imagine if Mum and my dad had stayed together and spent their lives by the beach like he said he was going to do.
Where would I be now? I’ll never know. But I do know that Mum has a certain smile when she talks about that summer when she met my dad.
Like she’s lit up from inside. I wish she smiled like that all the time.
Maybe that should be my mission, to find a place on the planet which lights me up like a firefly too.
Mum’s Gap Year
My darling daughter,
I realised something this morning. A good/bad thing, depending on what sort of mood I’m in.
For the first time in my life there’s no one I need to check on, no one reliant on me for money, or support or well-being.
There’s no reason to keep my phone on during the night, in case you were to end up stranded somewhere and don’t know how to get home (remember that train strike in France?), or woke up with food poisoning (the last time you ever ate tinned ravioli).
Even for those closest to me, like Auntie Kat, I would only be – at most – the second person they’d call in an emergency.
After you died, I’d only been able to see the negatives in this life of no responsibility.
But there are positives, I can see that now.
Do I still wish you were here to ring me in the night in a panic?
Yes, one hundred per cent. But you never will again, and every so often, I can appreciate the peace which comes from having no one to please except myself.
I can be entirely selfish if I want to be without taking anyone else into consideration.
Last night I lay in the bath in my hotel for an hour and listened to music, completely relaxed because I knew no one was going to knock on the door and tell me to hurry up because they needed the loo.
This morning I watched the sun come up behind the Opera House, taking photo after photo to make sure I captured the most glorious colours.
Later, I sat and listened to a young girl with a guitar and a hauntingly beautiful voice busking near Circular Quay, and her singing brought me to tears.
Then I took my Kindle and a blanket from my room and lay in the Botanic Gardens for a couple of hours being blissfully lazy.
The big things are still scary and sad. I’ll never get to experience the exquisite sweetness of holding your newborn child – my grandchild – for the first time, or cry tears of joy at your wedding.
I’ve sneaked down on Christmas morning for the last time to take a bite out of the mince pie and carrot you would still religiously set out for Santa and Rudolph.
However, doing your gap-year trip has shown me that there’s still so much joy to be found in everyday moments.
I’ve laughed with the Nepalese children as elephants squirted them with water while bathing in the river; I’ve seen the snow-spangled tops of the Himalayas; and I’ve made love in a forest lit solely by fireflies.
(I’d never have told you that in person, by the way, but I did and it was amazing and I have zero regrets.)
My heart still aches for you, but I’ve noticed that my grief isn’t linear – I don’t wake up expecting that today will be less painful than yesterday. But at least now I don’t wake up with dread at having to face another day without you.
Love from
Your healing, tentatively happy, with a boosted ego Mum xxx
P.S. Thank you for putting this trip together, you’re incredible xxx