Chapter 42
Bali
We’d arranged to meet Lola outside the terminal where the taxi drivers wait for their passengers.
We found a space at the barriers and scanned every face.
Scout sat down good-naturedly between us, Jackson keeping a tight hold of her lead.
The flow of passengers pouring out of the doors was fast and furious.
I’d met Lola once in the coffee shop in Leura but even so I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pick her out in a crowd.
‘Maggie?’ called a voice eventually.
Scout jumped to her feet and began wagging her tail.
A petite girl in linen dungarees stood at the opposite side of the barrier, waving. Her hair was arranged in two long braids; a layer of frizz had escaped, revealing little curls all along her hairline.
‘Yes! Lola, lovely to see you.’
She shrugged off her rucksack and pulled out Bronte’s book.
My eyes welled up with tears at the sight of it. ‘I thought I’d lost this for good.’
She handed it to me immediately. ‘You have no idea how scared I was in case I got my bag stolen. I mean, can you imagine the pressure to return this amazing book to you in one piece? Well, of course you can – you were the one who lost it in the first place.’
‘Thanks for reminding me.’ I clasped it to my chest. I was never letting it out of my sight again.
Jackson hooted with laughter. ‘Brutal.’
Lola blushed. ‘Sorry. I’m nervous.’
‘It’s fine, I’m nervous too. Thank you, thank you.’ I closed my eyes for a brief second, overwhelmed with relief. I’d got my girl back. I couldn’t wait to immerse myself back in her world again.
Lola looked at Jackson and back to me.
‘This is Jackson,’ I said. ‘And his dog Scout.’
‘I’m Bronte’s father,’ he added. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
There was the slightest crack in his voice as he said it. It would have been the first time he’d introduced himself as that and it looked like the experience had really moved him. Seeing his reaction moved me too.
Her eyes widened. ‘That is so cool. So you managed to find him without Bronte’s guidance? That is so … so romantic.’
‘You’ve read her book?’ It was so personal to her and me. And then of course, there were my own journal entries, words written from the heart, a love letter to my daughter, meant only for her.
‘Yes,’ she squeaked, slapping a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, but it was a long flight and I read the whole thing. Bronte is amazing; you must be so proud of her.’
‘We are,’ said Jackson gruffly, squeezing my hand.
I loved that he’d said we . All through my pregnancy and throughout Bronte’s life, there had been no we , only I . Whatever happened now, even if I left Bali and never saw him again, I’d know that we were both her parents; we shared a special connection.
‘I’ll come round,’ said Lola, and darted off to join us on our side of the barrier.
‘You’re so kind to do this for me,’ I said, giving her a hug.
‘Harry asked me and …’ She looked down at her feet. She was wearing a pair of the Birkenstocks that Bronte got for her last birthday, the ones with the closed-in toes. ‘And I kinda like being part of the story. You’re Insta-famous now.’
I raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘I don’t think so, but thank you, and thank you for agreeing to bring the book back to me.’
She bent down to give Scout some fuss, who promptly rolled onto her back to get her tummy tickled. ‘Seriously. Like, you have almost as many followers as Harry now.’
I stared at her in disbelief. ‘I have?’
She nodded. ‘The whole Mum’s Gap Year thing has caught on. Even my mum knows who you are, and she only follows Michael Bublé and the Royal Family. Can we get a selfie?’
‘Sure.’ I tucked my arm around her waist to get in close.
‘You too, Jackson, and Scout,’ Lola said, waving him to stand next to her.
Jackson picked up his dog and we all huddled together for the picture.
‘I’m gonna get us something to drink. Scout’s thirsty. Anyone else?’ he asked.
We both asked for water and he and the dog wandered over to the vending machine.
‘I’m sending this to Harry,’ said Lola, tapping at the screen. ‘He’s waiting to hear from me.’
‘He’s very lucky to have you as his friend.’
‘Yeah,’ she said quietly.
‘But you’d like to be more than friends?’ I guessed, observing the wistfulness in her voice.
Lola blinked at me. ‘This is so awkward. I mean, you’re Bronte’s mum.’
I nodded. ‘Which is why I know what a decent guy he is and why he deserves a lovely girl in his life.’
‘I think he still loves her.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Which is cool, but there’s no way I want to come between him and her. Oh God, that sounds crazy.’
I thought about Harry and I stargazing in the Blue Mountains and how we’d agreed that we’d both try to find love again.
‘He might be feeling nervous about starting another relationship, maybe not knowing what a long enough gap is after losing Bronte. So my advice is to tell him how you feel when you get back. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘He freaks out and runs a mile?’
‘That won’t happen; he’s a nice boy. I’m sure that even if he says no, he’d let you down gently.’ I gave her my most reassuring smile. ‘And the best?’
She visibly melted. ‘He says yes, and we fall in love and … well, you know what I mean.’
I nodded to where Jackson was pumping money into a vending machine. ‘I wished I’d told him how I felt when I had the chance twenty-four years ago.’
She pulled a face. ‘That’s so sad, but it’s not too late, is it? You two seem comfortable with each other, like you’ve been together for, like, forever.’
‘Honestly? I don’t know whether it’s too late or not,’ I said.
Jackson returned with three bottles of water and we both took one. ‘Lola, can we give you a lift somewhere? It’s the least we can do.’
We . He’d said it again. My breath hitched at the implied coupleness of his words.
I wondered whether my feelings were as obvious to him as they were to me.
Were my pupils dilating, was my chest visibly rising?
I needed to make more of an effort to play it cool, at least until I found out more about his personal life.
‘Thanks, but I’m waiting for the rest of my family to arrive,’ Lola told him.
‘Their flight lands any minute. We’re here for my granddad’s third wedding.
’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Are you okay for me to post this picture?’ She showed us her phone.
She’d captured the second that Jackson and I had looked across at each other smiling.
Scout was trying to lick Lola’s face. ‘I mean, it kinda looks like we’re a family, which is cool and weird at the same time. ’
‘Fine with me,’ I told her.
Jackson approved too and asked her to send it to him.
‘Maggie, you won’t tell Harry about our chat, will you?’ Lola bit her lip.
‘Absolutely not, I promise, as long as you promise to tell me how it goes.’
‘Deal. You’re awesome,’ she said, flinging her arms around my neck again. ‘Bye, both of you. So great to meet you.’
‘What was that about?’ Jackson asked as we watched her walk back into the terminal, her head bowed over her phone.
‘She fancies Harry and worries that he might not feel the same way as her,’ I explained.
‘And what did you tell her that was so awesome?’ He squatted down to Scout’s level and tipped his water up so she could drink from the bottle.
‘That she should tell Harry how she feels and that I wished I’d done that twenty-four years ago,’ I said casually. ‘With you.’
Jackson shot me a surprised look. ‘That’s very good advice.’
I smiled. ‘Hindsight is a marvellous thing. You might want to stop pouring water now, by the way.’
‘What?’ He looked down at the puddle of water at his feet and grinned. Scout was licking it straight from the floor. ‘Oh hell. I was distracted for a second there.’
By me , I thought. Two decades on and there was still something there between us.
‘Listen, do you mind if we find somewhere to sit for a few minutes?’ I asked. ‘I’m dying to read what Bronte’s written about Bali in her book.’
‘Sure.’ He got to his feet and looked awkward. ‘Do you want to be alone?’
We both looked at the book in my hands, her illustrations so familiar to me and as yet unknown to him. I could sink into her world by myself, or I could share the next chapter – and possibly the most important – with the man she’d wanted to meet. It was an easy decision.
‘Absolutely not!’ I tucked my arm through his. ‘I think Bronte would love us to be reading it together.’
The three of us found a shady bench and Scout promptly flopped down underneath it.
I gave the book to Jackson to flick through and let his daughter introduce herself through her words and art while I drank my water. Once he’d found the page headed Bali , he held it between us so that we could both see the words.
‘Okay?’ I asked.
‘More than okay,’ he said, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘What a girl.’
‘Indeed. Let’s see what she has to say about Bali.’
Bronte’s Gap Year
Everyone my age wants to go to Bali. It’s Instagrammer heaven.
If it’s not digital nomads, it’s backpackers or volunteers working at kids’ nurseries or turtle conservation or people having the holiday of a lifetime.
But I’ve got a special reason for going.
I’m going to try and trace what happened to my dad.
Mum has never had one bad word to say either about Bali or about Jackson, my father.
Their story is probably the most romantic I’ve ever heard, and it’s always made me sad that they never got to meet up after I was born.
I love to hear Mum telling me how she and he got together.
There’s this golden glow to her face when she talks about him and about Bali.
The older I’ve got, the more curious I am to know more.
Maybe I won’t find my dad on this trip, and if I don’t, I’ll keep looking.
The path to success is paved with failures, as Mum is always saying.
But one thing’s for sure, I bet I fall in love with Bali as much as Mum did in 2000.
I feel so sorry for the older generation trying to do stuff without social media.
It was so easy to lose touch with people in the old days.
Now it’s the other way around. Like the boy from my junior school called Richard who moved to Vancouver when he was eight who still messages me.
I didn’t even like him back then. Now it’s rare that I meet someone who I don’t have at least one mutual connection with.
Anyway, all Mum knew was his name and age and that he was American, that he loved surfing and scuba diving, wanted to travel the world and spend his life living by the sea.
I love to imagine that that was what he ended up doing and it wasn’t the random dreams of a twenty-three-year old.
Having a surfer dude for a dad would be so cool.
Mum only has about six photos of him because phones didn’t take pictures then.
But I’ve seen enough to think that he looks a bit like me.
I think if I meet him, I’ll know straight away whether I’ve got the right man or not.
So I don’t have much to go on. Or so I thought …
Because although the turtle conservation project that Mum stayed at is gone, there’s another new one close by.
Even better, there’s a man Mum used to talk about called Utt and there’s a really old man called Utt who works at the new one.
Coincidence? Maybe. But there’s only one way to find out.
So Utt might have some info on Jackson, and even if he doesn’t, it’ll be cool to meet someone else who knew my dad.
I’ve searched Bali and Thailand (just in case) for anyone with Jackson as his first name but came up with a big fat zero.
I did find one possible, a man whose surname is Jackson, the owner of a hotel for surfers.
So not ruling him in or out at the moment.
But I’m romantic enough to hope that it’s all going to work out happily ever after.