Chapter 40
Bali
Jackson and I had moved to my patio for some privacy. There, sitting on sofas opposite each other, a pot of mint tea on the table between us, I told Jackson everything about the wonderful young woman we’d made together. From the joyous moment of her birth to the devastating news of her death.
He listened without interruption, emotions lightening and darkening his features.
Features still familiar to me despite the passage of so many years.
He wiped away tears, smiled at the funny stories of her childhood, quizzed me about Harry, and marvelled at Bronte’s academic achievements and dream job offer.
For a long time after I’d finished talking, Jackson said nothing.
He had a lot to process; he’d gained and lost a daughter today, not to mention having me walk back into his life.
As we sat in reflective silence, I studied his face, watching him blot tears with the back of his hand.
He leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows to knees, and dropped his head.
His dark hair had a few silver threads running through it, the veins on the back of his hands were more prominent, his forehead not as smooth, but his presence was every bit as magnetic as I remembered.
Bronte would have adored him.
Finally, he looked across at me, his face etched with sadness.
‘Can I join you on that sofa? I feel a long way away over here.’
‘Sure.’ I scooched over to make room.
He sat facing me, took my hand and held it between both of his. My insides sparked with nerves as I tried to work out what was running through his head.
‘I can’t imagine how tough this was – is – for you,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ve only just learned about her, and I already feel her loss. From now on, a part of me will always be missing. I wish I’d known her. My daughter.’ He whistled between his teeth. ‘I had a daughter.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ By now I’d lost count of the number of times I’d said it. And it would never be enough. Never make up for the child he hadn’t had the opportunity to love. ‘She was incredible. She looked a little like you. Wait, I’ve got a picture beside my bed.’
I went inside to fetch it and noticed that a weight had shifted from me.
I felt as if I’d found the missing piece to complete the jigsaw of Bronte’s life.
Perhaps this might be the start of a new friendship for the two of us; but even if that wasn’t to be, I felt better, knowing that both of her parents had had this chance to grieve for her together.
With a sudden burst of clarity, it occurred to me that this was the conversation my heart had been burning to have since her death – with him, her other parent, the most important person she’d never know.
Finding him, telling him her truth was going to give me the sense of peace that I hadn’t known I needed.
I returned with the framed photo and let Jackson see his daughter for the first time.
‘Taken in our garden last summer.’
‘Hello, beautiful.’ Jackson examined it for what felt like an age. ‘Brown eyes?’
‘Like yours, yes.’
‘She looks happy in this picture. Was she happy?’
My chest tightened. ‘Oh yes. Apart from when it was her turn to wash the dishes.’
He gave me the ghost of a smile. ‘She probably got that from me.’
‘She had a wild, adventurous streak,’ I told him. ‘She got that from you too.’
‘The Maggie I met in the year 2000 was pretty adventurous,’ he pointed out. ‘And you’re here travelling solo like you did back then.’
‘Well, yes, but only because that was what she planned to do. I’m here because of her, doing the trip that she never got the chance to take for herself.’
‘So when you said your daughter brought you here, that was what you meant?’ His eyes were liquid pools and I could see he was on the edge of tears. ‘She would have been here, in Bali?’
‘She would, and according to her boyfriend she was hoping to find you through Utt.’
‘What?’ he said, half laughing with shock. ‘That would have been …’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘That would have made me so happy.’
‘She had her whole itinerary planned out in a book. I’ll be able to show you tomorrow.’
I explained about the loss of Bronte’s book and how it was being flown from Australia to Bali.
‘How about I take you to the airport, we can fetch it together?’ he suggested.
His obvious interest to learn more about his daughter made me want to cry; I couldn’t have asked for a nicer response. ‘I’d love that.’
He stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Listen, I’m starving. Have you got plans for dinner, or shall we go and pick up some nasi goreng and bring it back here? There’s a great place not far from here.’
‘No plans,’ I confirmed. ‘But I can’t believe you still love nasi goreng.’
‘What’s not to love?’ He spread his hands out. ‘Is that a yes?’
‘Yes, but are you sure you don’t you have to be back for someone?’ I held my breath.
‘Shit.’ He slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Yes, I do.’
The disappointment hit me like a brick. I tried not to show it. Of course he was going to have responsibilities. He wasn’t a kid anymore, surfing his way around the world, footloose and fancy-free.
‘I can sort that out with a quick phone call,’ he continued. ‘I don’t want to leave you yet, I’ve still got loads more questions. But if you feel uncomfortable answering them, let me know.’
I was too wound up to eat, but I didn’t want him to leave yet either.
‘For months after the accident, I could hardly bring myself to say her name. Even now, whenever I talk about her in the past tense I feel an anxiety in me like a low buzz. But this is different; you have a right to know everything about her. It feels good to share her stories with you. And …’ I paused. ‘Thank you for not being angry.’
‘I’m angry with the guy who’s responsible for causing her accident. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my temper if I was to find myself down a dark alley with him.’ He tensed his jaw. ‘But not with you. How could I be? It sounds like you and she had an incredible bond.’
I smiled wistfully. ‘We did. I was her North Star, her constant. Even when she was a teenager and she would throw me a look of pure contempt for setting a perfectly normal boundary, she still knew I’d be there, loving her unconditionally. I was her place of safety and I loved it.’
‘I bet you were a great mom.’
‘Am,’ I corrected him. ‘I still am her mother.’
‘Oh Maggie.’ He looked stricken at his error and pulled me into his arms. ‘Of course you are.’
I leaned into him, savouring the feel of his hands rubbing my back.
I rested my cheek on his chest. I reached my arms around him, the cotton of his T-shirt soft, the muscles in his back taut and firm.
The scent of his aftershave teased my nostrils.
He didn’t smell as I remembered, but my body still curved into his as it once had.
With a flash of alarm, I realised what I was doing. He’d literally just told me that someone was waiting for him at home. I jerked away, embarrassed by my own response to him.
‘I’ll leave you to make your call in private,’ I said, hurriedly. I collected the tea things and took them inside.
He joined me a minute later.
‘Okay, that’s all sorted. Ready when you are.’ He tucked his phone in his pocket.
He wasn’t free, that was clear, but he was all mine for the next couple of hours, and that was much more than I could have dreamed of when I’d woken up this morning.
‘Come on then,’ I grinned, beckoning him in so I could lock up. ‘Let’s revisit our nasi goreng era.’
It was dusk and the streets were busy with tourists and ticket touts drumming up business for the nightly traditional dance show at Ubud Palace. We walked side by side, his hand sometimes reaching to my back as we negotiated people and scooters and stray dogs.
‘This is weird, isn’t it?’ he said, directing me into a side street. ‘You and me, out on the town again after all these years.’
‘Weird in a good way I hope,’ I teased, raising an eyebrow.
‘In a very good way,’ he replied. ‘So, do you mind if I ask you more about Bronte?’
I smiled up at him under the streetlight, watching shadows play across his face. ‘Of course not.’
‘Okay, what were some of her favourite things?’
‘That’s easy,’ I said. ‘Art, especially drawing, which you’ll see tomorrow. Sushi; she loved sushi.’
‘What about music?’
‘All sorts. Everything from Abba to country and western.’
He grinned. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. A country girl, huh?’
‘Yes, like you!’ I’d forgotten that about Jackson, how much he’d loved his country music.
So many moments, so many memories were coming back to me by being close to him again.
This felt like a dream. I reached out and touched his arm to reassure myself that this was real, that I was here with him.
Wordlessly he took my hand and our fingers found their groove just as they had all those years ago, and we continued along the narrow path in silence.
There was so much still to learn about each other, so many gaps to fill in about our lives since the summer we met.
But tonight was about us, our past and the beautiful girl we had created together. Tomorrow was another day. The future could wait for a few delicious hours.