Chapter Seven
Birdsong wakes me. My eyelids are glued shut, and I struggle, disorientated, trying to work out where I am, and what day and time it is. Finally, I bolt upright. That’s not birdsong, it’s my mobile.
Mum.
It’s my birthday. My thirtieth birthday. She’ll be calling to wish me happy birthday.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Kat, what the hell is going on? What are you still doing in Costa Rica?’
What? I’m supposed to be here for another week.
‘Mum. It’s a two-week holiday.’ And what on earth is she so angry about? I’ve never heard my mother use the word ‘hell’. She’s very conservative. The most she usually comes away with is ‘fiddlesticks’ or ‘fluffing’. She’s not one for swearing.
‘Yes, a two-week holiday you’re supposed to be having with your boyfriend. Do you remember Aidan?’
Oh God. He phoned Mum. How could he do this? That’s a low blow. And what the heck has it got to do with Mum?
‘Mum. I was going to tell you. I’ve just been trying to process it all myself.’
‘Process it?’ Mum’s voice rises a few decibels. ‘That boy came straight from the airport, distraught, saying you’d dumped him, and on an exotic holiday he went to when your friend pulled out. He was doing you a favour, and this is how you repay him?’
Thanks for being on my side, Mum. And if I get my hands on that prat of an ex of mine, I’ll strangle him. Straight from the airport? Poor little Aidan. Dumped.
‘And did he tell you why I dumped him?’ I ask, my voice rising a few octaves to match the pitch of my mum’s.
‘Yes, and that’s even worse. Flirting? With a dive instructor? It’s so degrading.’ She tuts. ‘I thought your father and I raised you better than that.’
Oh no. Don’t bring Dad into this. Dad didn’t share your opinions on many things, Mum, and how I handled myself with men was definitely one of them. He was too sick to warn me about Aidan, but deep down I knew Dad didn’t take to him.
‘Thanks for assuming the worst about me, as usual, Mum,’ I snap, unable to help myself. ‘Why are you so keen to take his side? He’s not even your family.’
‘You were supposed to be moving in together when you got back, so he would’ve been my family eventually.’
‘Well, in that case, I’m so glad we split when we did, as at least we don’t have to sort out that hornets’ nest.’
I know she’s thinking about grandchildren, but seriously, I’m thirty, today. I’m not even a geriatric mother for another few years. I have time. She has time. But if she keeps going the way she is at the minute, she’ll drive an irreparable wedge between us. There’s a reason why I was a daddy’s girl. Dad and I never cared about appearances or keeping up with the Joneses. We just wanted to be happy, appreciate the simple things in life.
‘Katherine MacDonald, you get yourself on a flight home tomorrow and get this sorted out.’
Ooh, she’s wheeled out the big guns: my Sunday name. I hesitate for a nanosecond then say, ‘No.’
‘Excuse me, young lady?’
‘Mum, not that you’ve noticed, or mentioned it, although you’d think you might have recalled your visit to hospital to give birth thirty years ago today, but I’m thirty. It’s my thirtieth birthday today. I don’t need you to sort my life out for me, and quite frankly, you’re doing a pretty poor job of it. I am not getting back together with Aidan.’
‘Now, you listen to me–’
‘No, Mum, you listen to me. This is my life. Aidan is a bully. He’s controlling and he’s mean and he has a drink problem, and I deserve better.’
‘Nobody’s perfect, but that boy was there for you when your father was ill.’
I laugh. ‘Nobody’s perfect? You’re not kidding. He’s far from perfect, and neither am I. But I won’t be dictated to by any man. The most important man in my life never treated me like that, and I don’t expect any other man to do so. And you shouldn’t want that for me.’ My voice is hoarse. I’m not shouting but I’m hardly whispering either.
‘Your father would be so disappointed in you,’ Mum says.
I grit my teeth. ‘Mum, I’m going to say this only once, “Don’t ever say that to me again.” Dad would never have wanted me to stay with someone who treats me the way Aidan has. You don’t know the half of it. Of course he’s come running to you, with his sob story. You’re so gullible, you believe every word that crosses his lips. Just because he has a decent job, you think he’s “good boyfriend material”. Well, he’s not. And we’re no longer an item.’
‘We’ll discuss this properly when you get home,’ Mum says. ‘I’m not happy, and we need to have a proper chat, but I’ll tell Aidan now’s not the right time, and that you need some time to “process things”.’ She has the cheek to use my own words against me.
‘Mum, you’re not getting this, are you? I don’t want to be with Aidan. And what’s more, I’m not coming home. I’m staying.’
‘Y-y-you’re what?’ she chokes out.
‘I’m staying. I have a job lined up and I’ve handed my notice in to Peterson’s.’
I smile. Now it feels real. I’m going to be a resident of Costa Rica for the foreseeable future.
‘Kat, you can’t do this. You can’t take off and settle for some bar job in some godforsaken backwater. We expected more for you.’
‘That’s good, because I’m not working in a bar, although technically you could say I will be working in a backwater, or a swampy area, or at the very least a rainforest. I start volunteering at a sloth sanctuary tomorrow, and I couldn’t be happier.’
‘A sloth sanctuary. Are you out of your mind?’ she screeches. ‘A volunteer? What will you live on if you’re not earning? Are you having some sort of mental breakdown?’
‘No, Mum, I’m having an epiphany. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have stuff to do. Oh, and, thanks for wishing me happy birthday.’ I wish I had a rotary dial phone so I could slam the receiver down like you could do when my folks were young. It would be so much more satisfying. Unfortunately, technological advances and the advent of mobile phones has made that possibility obsolete. I settle for pressing the red button and imagine her face, lobster-red as she cottons on that I’ve hung up on her. I’ve never hung up on my mother in my life. I wouldn’t dare. I was too well brought up. Now it’s my turn to use her words.
I’m fuming. Happy birthday to me, indeed. I sit down on the bed and burst into tears.
Five minutes later, I wash my face and blow my nose. I’m not a pretty sight. I may actually have to wear some makeup today, so I don’t look totally awful. I mean, I’m not one for posting on Insta or TikTok, or TokTok as my mum calls it, but I still don’t want it to be obvious I’ve been sobbing my heart out. No, I can wipe the evidence of my self-pity away and get on with my birthday. Best to compartmentalise the showdown with Mum and take stock of the fallout tomorrow.
I turn off my phone and head down to breakfast.
I stare out at the ocean as I sip my agua dulce and toy with my plantain pancakes. The water is as calm as I’ve ever seen it, in contrast to my turbulent emotions bubbling away just beneath the surface. How dare she? How dare he? And on my birthday, too.
This move to Costa Rica really is for the best, for a multitude of reasons, but now I’m adding to it: a chance to reassess my life as a whole. How have Mum and I grown so distant from one another? I know my stronger parental relationship was always with Dad, but how did we reach this place, where she believes my boyfriend over me? Where she fights his corner, not mine? Anger flows through me at her comment that Dad would have been disappointed in me. I know it’s not true, but with him gone it’s not as if I can ask him. No, my gut instinct about Dad has always been right. And he always wanted what was best for me. Ironically, that’s how I’ve ended up here. I know, in my heart, to my very core, that he would agree with all the decisions I’ve made this week, and I promise myself that I’ll continue to make him proud of me.
After breakfast, I walk through the hotel grounds. I want to remember every detail of this incredible resort.
I spot a toucan almost camouflaged by the leaves of the tree it’s hiding in, but the red stripe on its bill gives it away. I fumble in my bag for my phone and turn it on, keen to take a few shots of it. I’m no photographer, but when I finally return to Scotland, I’d like to have documented my stay here with some tangible proof.
Bing. Bing. Bing.
Messages.
Happy birthday, gorgeous girl. Thirty! You’re so old. I love ya. Wish I was there. Have a ball, Becca xx
Hey, birthday girl, see you later. Get ready to swim with the fishes. I say that in a non-Marlon-Brando way. Ed.
Happy birthday, Kat. Hope you have a wonderful day, Dexter.
Someone told me it was a special birthday for you today, Kat. Happy birthday, Sofia and Carlos.
A few more messages have come in, from friends at work, friends from school and university who’ve noticed on Facebook it’s my thirtieth. I almost well up at everyone’s thoughtfulness. So I’m not totally alone, and I have my dive today, which is exciting. It’s good to know I’m in safe hands. Ed wouldn’t take me out if he didn’t think I was ready.
The leaves rustle in the tree beside me, reminding me of that toucan I wanted to photograph. I’m surprised he’s still there, although why would he move; he has as much right to be here as I have, if not more. Even the toucans do things at a leisurely pace in Costa Rica.
I snap away, taking a few shots of him before he gets bored of his surroundings, then I meander down to the water’s edge, enjoying experiencing life at a slower pace. I paddle in the sea-foam green waters, and it’s bliss. I can almost taste the salt on my tongue, and the lukewarm water is so inviting, it’s too much. Fortunately, I had the foresight to put my bikini on under my clothes. I peel off my shorts and T-shirt, bunch up my things, together with my phone, and set them on a lounger, then walk into the water until it’s around my waist. I swim in fluid strokes for a bit before I turn onto my back and float. Happy birthday to me. Mum may not have wished me happy birthday, and Dad may no longer be around to do so, and naturally, Aidan wasn’t going to, but I have all my new friends, and I’m in this incredible location, and I’m going to enjoy every single moment.