by JJ Marsh
Shaking so hard, I could barely turn the door handle, I entered the house and scanned the coat and boot racks. On the bottom shelf, there was a heavy duty rubber flashlight. I snatched it and with trembling fingers turned it on as I stumbled down to the lake to see only four people.
“What happened?” I shouted, my voice wobbling. “Where’s Dhan?”
No one answered. Mika took the torch from me and shone the beam into the black hole. He walked in a circle, steady and methodical, using the light to scan the water. Clark got to his knees, sweeping an arm into the blackness. Simone repeated, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” growing higher in pitch until Mika addressed Lovisa.
“Take her back to the house, call the police and an ambulance, get dressed and bring us some warm clothes. We’ll keep searching. Gael, help her!”
We had to drag Simone away from the lake, all three of us shivering uncontrollably. Because Mika still had the torch and the guiding lights were extinguished, we couldn’t see the path and lost our footing several times. We staggered inside, each shocked and numb with cold. Lovisa picked up the phone and dialled the emergency services. I dragged on some clothes, ran around collecting winter jackets and boots and left Simone standing by the fire, shivering and saying, “He wouldn’t wait, I was trying to put it on, but he wouldn’t let me, he just jumped, I had no time, it went dark and he just jumped in ...”
When I pushed open the front door, I heard a pop, rather like a champagne cork. Distant fireworks exploded into the sky, their colours blurred by the tears in my eyes. Far off bells were ringing as I blundered my way towards the two figures on the ice and I realised it had turned midnight. That was the start of the new millennium.
Chapter 4: Mika, 2001
Closure. I thought that as soon as we found the body, I would have closure. Don’t tell my therapist, but part of me still thinks that might be true. The fact is, we didn’t find him. Not that night, not the next day, not when the police trawled the lake after the thaw, not during that summer when I spent day after day after day snorkelling around the banks and diving into the depths. Without a body, we couldn’t have a funeral. Without a body, we couldn’t have a death certificate. Without a body, we couldn’t say goodbye. It was absolutely ridiculous. Everyone knew he could not possibly have survived in water that temperature for much more than fifteen minutes, even without a solid sheet of ice above his head. Simone, clutching at straws, repeated over and over again what a strong swimmer he was. I bit my lip. He could have been a modern-day Mark Spitz but without somewhere to swim to, his fate was obvious.
To everyone’s surprise, I passed my exams. Not the stellar grades my tutors had been predicting, but I did get my certificate as an international translator. I can’t tell you how shitty that was. All the miserable crap that happened from January on – the blame from my friends, the shame of my family, the collapse of my relationship with Lovisa, the nervous breakdown – was all well deserved. Only when something good happened, such as achieving translator status, did I feel worse. The afternoon of our graduation ceremony, I hit a wall. Ducking out of the photographs and the champagne receptions, I went back to my apartment, swallowed every single sleeping tablet and painkiller I possessed and washed it all down with a genuine attempt at drinking a litre bottle of vodka.
It was Lovisa who saved me. Of course it was. Sometimes, I think she will always know when to reach out a hand. She was watching me and when I disappeared from what should have been one of the most triumphant days of my life, she knew something was wrong. She called my phone several times and on getting no reply, let herself in. Our split had been amicable and it didn’t occur to me to ask her for the key back. She’s never shared exactly what happened that day and I don’t want to know the grim details. All I remember is waking up to find her sitting beside my hospital bed, her clean face as kind as a nun’s.
In a way, Lovisa saved us all. She suggested the New Year’s Eve memorial two years after Dhan’s death. No one could have faced it before but once we had accepted the legal decision regarding his disappearance, something had to be done. We needed to mark it, to say our goodbyes. That wise Finnish female suggested London, Dhan’s home. We could walk the streets where he grew up, try a curry in Brick Lane, prowl the markets and drink a pint of London Pride in a Soho ale house. I lost count of all the times Dhan’s voice had taken us on a virtual tour of his home town. Finally, two years after his death, we were going to do it without him, to honour the memory of the man.
We were all raw and emotionally bruised after the previous twenty-four months, yet there were moments of lightness and laughter. I couldn’t say that particular New Year’s Eve was an unqualified success because we were all at different stages in the grieving journey, each taking small unsteady steps while scared to hold each other’s hands. I had just begun to recover financially and as my bank balance crept up in tiny increments, my resentment, in equally tiny steps, started to fade.
We didn’t go to Trafalgar Square to mingle with the drunken, excitable crowds. Instead, we walked the drizzly streets to London Bridge and watched the fireworks from the South Bank. Lovisa unzipped her rucksack and handed each of us a miniature bottle of sparkling wine. I hesitated, after being dry for seven months, and unscrewed the cap. After all, this was for Dhan. The bells rang, the whoops echoed across the river and the fireworks began. We raised our bottles, yelled ‘to Dhan!’ and drank. We hugged each other, some tearful, some peaceful, and stood in silence watching colours fill the sky.
The next day we walked in Greenwich Park, taking photos and talking with more ease than had been possible for many months. Underfoot, frosted blades of grass crunched under our boots and our breath made clouds in the air.
Gael linked her arm into mine and Simone’s. “We should do this again,” she said. “Not every year, we’ve got our own lives to lead. Why not every other? To tell the truth, I wasn’t initially convinced by Lovisa’s idea. But it did me good, even if I speak only for myself.”
“Me too,” Clark agreed and we all murmured some kind of assent.
“So how about doing this again in 2003? We’ll go somewhere nice together, catch up with each other’s lives, celebrate the New Year and remember Dhan.”
“That’s a lovely thought,” said Simone, her pretty nose red with cold. “We should never forget him or our friendship. Also I would do anything to have a valid excuse to have a break from my family over the Christmas season.”
As newly independent graduates, we all agreed with that sentiment. And so it began. A New Year’s Eve tradition; both benediction and curse.
Chapter 5: Lovisa, 2003
Kefalonia was probably the first time each of us spent the New Year celebrations actually celebrating. It was the five of us, same as last time, but much less painful. Of course the grief was in the foreground, but the foundations were stronger. Each of us was happier and more stable than the last time we had met. I was able to see Mika without feeling that desperate loss which made us both miserable. More than all of those things, Simone’s choice of location worked its magic.
I had read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, and I expect you have too. Louis de Bernières’s novel talks about the light, the quality of limpid air and the peculiar softness it lends the landscape. That year, we were all earning decent salaries and decided to book a villa, rather than hotel rooms. I couldn’t wait to escape the Northern European winter to enjoy some sun, sand and optimism.
It was exactly as I hoped. We walked along cliffs and beaches, ate outside traditional cafés, teased each other and marvelled about how far we had come in three years. It was that time of our mid-twenties when we thought we had arrived at adulthood. Youthful energy fuelled us, and of course informed us, but ignorance is bliss. The combination of achievement and endless potential struck me hard while spending time with this group of people. The inspirational feeling of power, the dominance over life, all the successes still to be experienced. Looking forward. We’d earned it, hadn't we? The thoug
ht of Dhan’s potential crossed my mind on more than one occasion, tempering my optimism for the future.
Kefalonia was running on a small flame. Just locals and a select bunch of tourists, either die-hard fans of the Greek island or groups with an agenda like ours, inhabited the local bars and restaurants which had not closed for the winter. The touristy part wasn't of interest anyway, and the calmness of Greek-style towns had something magical. The masses had abandoned the island, but those who remained shared an even closer bond. That included strangers like us. All that counted was being here, now.
One afternoon, we collected some driftwood and made a fire on the beach. We grilled some seafood, brought some salads and flatbreads, and drank rough red wine, while watching the sun sink into the sea. The chill of the evening crept over us and although Gael and Clark dragged more wood onto the flames, I grew cold.
Using a need for the bathroom as an excuse, I stuffed all our Tupperware and aluminium cooking trays into one big bag and trudged up the sandy path in the direction of our villa. A brisk breeze ruffled my hair as my toes squished into the white sand. By the time I got to the top, I was breathing hard and took a break. I stared out at the sea, inhaling the restorative powers of the ozone and looked up at the stars. Never one of those people to believe dead relatives are twinkling down at me from a long distant planet, I didn’t feel it was an emotional moment. At least, not from the perspective of the one event that connected all five of us.
Inside the villa, all was silent and dark. I lit citronella mosquito candles before putting on the lights. In the kitchen, I was running hot water to clean our greasy tableware when the French windows opened and Gael came in, her face glowing from the afternoon’s sun. She grinned at me and switched on the stereo and the sound of the Red Hot Chili Peppers filled the room with energy.
Moving with the beat, we cleaned all the crockery and cutlery, washed up the glasses and replaced everything back in the cupboards. We took the remnants of a bottle of red wine onto the terrace to wait for the others returning from the beach.
“Today has been wonderful,” I said. “For me, the pain is still there. Perhaps it will never leave. But it’s not as all-consuming as it was two or three years ago.”
We stared out at the restless ocean, allowing its ebb and flow to soothe us. “You’re right. It gets easier and a location like this helps. Great choice by Simone. The funny thing is, Dhan would have loved it here. I can just imagine him getting all excited about building a fire on the beach, can’t you?”
“Hmm.”
Gael looked at me sideways. “What is it?”
I’m not sure what provoked it but I wanted to tell someone. “My counsellor suggested that kind of thinking is not helpful to me. Projecting what Dhan would have liked, or hated, or whatever. I’m not criticising you, just stating my own situation.”
“Right.” She was silent for a while. “Why does your counsellor think it’s unhelpful?”
“What I have begun to realise is that there are two different kinds of Dhan. There is the imaginary, perfect version of the man he should have become. The wonderful father to Simone’s baby, the caring husband, the loyal friend, the life and soul of every party. Then there is the real Dhan. Our memories of that young man are filtered through the tragedy. We recall a joker, a comedian, a good friend who sometimes did bad things. I’ve only recently acknowledged this to myself and later shared it with my counsellor. She advised me to start with forgiveness.”
She exhaled. “We forgave each other a long time ago, Lovisa. It was not our fault.”
“I’m not talking about forgiving ourselves. Where I need to start is by forgiving Dhan.”
“Forgive Dhan? For jumping?”
“No.” I spoke in a rush, keen to get it all out before the others returned. “When we went to Prague, I was a seething mass of fury. I didn’t show it because it wasn’t anyone else’s problem but Dhan’s.” I took a huge inhalation of night air, memories tightening my chest.
Gael must have sensed a story brewing, so emptied the bottle into our glasses, sat back and listened.
“You and Simone were fluent so you weren’t in the French tutorials. Together, the five of us only ever spoke English. You probably don’t remember how poor Dhan’s French was but I can promise you, he was dreadful. After he failed his first year, he had to pass the first semester of our second year, otherwise he was out. He asked me to coach him. Dhan was not a good student and I became frustrated with his laissez-faire attitude. To be fair, he saw me as a girly swot and thought I should loosen up a little. If it had been only that, a difference in attitudes to study and education, it would never have been a big deal. I know I’m a girly swot, I can live with that.”
I noticed a small pile of tissues growing beside my wine glass. My fingers were shredding one of the napkins I’d brought back from the beach.
“Girly swots are like tortoises. They get there in the end,” said Gael.
It was a weak effort but it came from the heart. I gave her a smile. “I don’t suppose anyone else was aware of the details. After all, we’re talking over four years ago. Monsieur Rochat rejected my French paper at the end of that term. He could have failed me on French for that semester, but he gave me the opportunity to present something else before the end of the year. That’s why I had to spend every spare minute over Christmas translating a completely different text. Two days before we flew to Prague, I faxed him my paper. He accepted it and gave me a B grade. That one mistake dragged down my whole average.”
Gael shook her head so vigorously, her earrings waggled like puppy tails. “No way! Rochat rejected one of your papers? I’m sure I’d have remembered that. You were his favourite, a shining example of the perfect translator. What the hell did you do wrong?”
I stared out across the moonlit water as a burst of laughter reached us from down at the beach. “Nothing. I did nothing wrong. Someone else had submitted the exact same paper three days before. I was accused of plagiarism and would be penalised with a fail grade unless I submitted an original piece before the end of the year.” My face flushed as I relived the embarrassment. I faced her, willing her to understand.
The tumblers finally fell into place. “Holy shit! Dhan stole your work?”
“Yes. Dhan stole my work. It wasn’t difficult. He knew my lecture timetable and when I was in the library or at Mika’s place. All he had to do was ring the bell and say he’d come to see me. One of my housemates would let him in. He copied my work verbatim, complete with the mistakes I corrected in the final draft.”
“And you didn’t tell Monsieur Rochat? He knew what a lazy sod Dhan could be. We all did. But to copy your work and drop you in it? That’s unconscionable.”
“Would you like some tea? Or another glass of wine?” I went into the kitchen without waiting for a reply, filled with an urgent need to move, to pace and break the tension. There were no more wine bottles open, but we did have a bottle of port. I made a pot of peppermint tea and filled two liqueur glasses with ruby port. It didn’t look ruby red, cherry red or scarlet, but the blackish red of arterial blood.
“Here we go. Tea and port instead of wine. No, I didn’t tell Rochat, although he gave me the opportunity to explain. At first, I went looking for Dhan, to confront him and force him to confess, but he’d already gone home for Christmas. He left me no choice but to redo the paper. I was so angry and hurt; I swear I could have killed him.”
Gael stared at me, her expression outraged. “Dhan must have known he’d be putting you in an impossible position. Either you took the hit or you exposed him as a plagiarist. He counted on your honour and human decency to save his skin. Bloody hell, Lovisa. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but what a shitty thing to do.”
I had no answer to that and sipped my port.
“So when we met in Prague was the first time you’d seen each other since you found out what he’d done?”
The port was sweet and thick in comparison to the wine, but perfectly drinka
ble. I closed my eyes, picturing the scene. We were taking photographs as we crossed the Charles Bridge in Prague and noticed we had lost the others. That was my moment to challenge him.
“He laughed, Gael. He actually laughed. He said he knew it was, and I quote, ‘a bit cheeky’, but that my grades were so good, one failed paper wouldn’t do me too much harm. I tried to explain the impact that could have had on my career if I hadn’t spent my Christmas working on a new submission. He applauded me and said he knew I’d pull something out of the bag. He didn’t care. So long as his arse was covered, I could go whistle.” My voice cracked a little and I wished I hadn’t shredded that napkin.
We sat there for a long time in silence, gazing out to sea but our minds on the past. Voices drew closer, giggling and singing.
“Sounds like they finished the wine,” I smiled.
Gael reached out to rest her hand on mine. “Thank you for trusting me with this and I’m sorry you had to go through such a crappy experience. Your counsellor is right. You have to forgive him, but in your shoes, that would take me a very long time. You’re a good person, Lovisa.”
I wasn’t.
Chapter 6: Clark, 2005
2005 was a very different celebration because I was the organiser and we were going to Berlin. I was looking forward to it way more than I had anticipated Kefalonia. The language was not an issue; I spoke German with confidence, if not 100% accuracy. The key element that excited me was a city break for young people in a vibrant place, not another granny tour of an island. Sure, Dhan is dead. But we’re not. We’re alive and about to embark on a whole new twelve-month of chances. New Year’s Eve should be an opportunity for hope and optimism, and letting go of the past. And if that includes nightclubs, dancing, drinking and probably narcotics, so much the better.
The second thing I introduced that year was the plus ones. If we only ever focused on the five of us and the missing number six, we would never move on. I suggested inviting significant others, mainly because I wanted to squeeze every last drop of joy from Juanita. Women like her never stick around for long. At first it’s intense, passionate and they’re all over you. Then they get bored and move on to the next adventure without even a backward look. That’s why I wanted to include strangers this time around. No one responded to my suggestion. I thought the idea was dead in the water until Gael invited her sister. Yes! Dynamics – all change.
