The Traveller's Guide to Love

by Helen Nicholl

  Archie shut up shop for the week, to avoid having his windows broken by over-excited members of the populace and to devote himself to getting to know his kittens, whom he had named Jasmine and Rose. Sticky Wicket had called his Fred, in honour of my sister. Meanwhile, Albert and I took ourselves off to remote corners where we were least likely to run into marching bands.

  It was on one of these excursions that we finally conquered Slieve Croob. I had studied the map with care, and by taking the Dromara Road from Ballynahinch, through Massford to Finnis, we found the way at last to the car park on the slopes of the peak.

  It was a wild and windswept place, but an easy enough walk, and by following the track right round the front of the communications towers that crown the summit, we found ourselves looking out at a breathtaking panorama of the Mournes. We stood there, arm in arm, watching the light play on their velvet slopes and on the distant sea.

  ‘According to M. Heaney, Slieve Croob used to be a Lughnasa assembly site, where people came to celebrate a sort of harvest festival dedicated to the sun god, Lugh,’ I informed Albert, as we retraced our steps to the car park.

  ‘An invaluable source of information, Mr Heaney,’ said Albert. ‘I’m looking forward to his next book.’

  I had told Albert about my unexpected meeting with the author on the day of my visit to Agnes and the Giant’s Ring, and I was looking forward to the Guide to Ancient County Antrim as well – not least because we had by now pretty much exhausted ancient County Down and I was planning to extend our travels into other counties, not to mention other countries.

  It was with this in mind that I broached the subject of my birthday some days later.

  We had driven down to Seapark, where we left the car, one sunny Monday morning, and were about halfway along the coastal path from Holywood to Bangor. This is a favourite walk of mine, and there is a particular bench, hidden from the path by a bank of shrubbery, which has a lovely view of the bay and is a good place to stop. It is also an excellent spot for undisturbed conversation. Or so I thought.

  At any rate, it began well: Albert’s arm was around me, my head on his shoulder, the air full of birdsong and the gentle lap of water in the cove below us. I sighed with pleasure, and marshalled my thoughts. Uppermost in my mind was the sale of Albert’s house: in my more optimistic moments I imagined it going through in time for us to have moved into our own home by Christmas, but with everything on hold over July, I had reluctantly decided that it was a little soon to expect any major developments. Besides, I had more immediate matters to raise.

  ‘Albert,’ I said, ‘we need to decide on a date for our trip to Paris.’

  ‘Oh there’s still plenty of time,’ he replied.

  ‘But hotels and flights get booked up so quickly at this time of year. I don’t mind going online to see what’s available’ – Albert, despite being perfectly able to use his computer, still tended to regard it as an instrument of the devil – ‘but I do need to have some idea of when it suits us both to go.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And I also need to book my flight home to South Africa.’

  ‘Well, why don’t we think about going to Paris at the end of September?’ Albert suggested. ‘Or we might even wait until October: autumn in Paris is a beautiful time.’

  I straightened up and spoke firmly. ‘No, Albert, October will not do. I have set my heart on September. Of course, if you’ve changed your mind …’

  ‘Johanna, my darling, of course I haven’t!’ Albert took both my hands and raised them to his lips. ‘South Africa might have to wait a little longer, but there is nothing I want more than to take you to Paris. It’s just that there are a few domestic matters that might tie me up for the first half of the month.’

  ‘What sort of domestic matters?’

  ‘There’s a lot of urgent work that has to be done on the house,’ Albert said. ‘Painting and plastering, and the loft needs to be insulated. It will take a couple of weeks at least, and the man who usually helps me out rang yesterday to say he’s not free until September …’

  I softened temporarily: after all, he probably hoped that all these improvements would help to secure a better price. Besides, it always touched me that Albert took so much pride in diy – and was surprisingly good at it. It had formed another unexpected bond between him and Sticky Wicket. But even as I looked at him fondly, I had a sudden and distinct memory of an earlier conversation between them on the very subject of loft insulation – a subject Albert had been well up on. And the reason for his being so well informed, I now recalled, was that he had only recently insulated his own loft. I withdrew my hands and fixed him with a steely eye.

  ‘It is your house that we’re talking about?’

  Albert looked at his shoes.

  ‘I see. You want to postpone our trip to Paris, my birthday trip to Paris, because you have undertaken to do some work, not on your house – the one that is supposed to be up for sale so that you and I can move into a new one together – but on your estranged wife’s house. Carmel’s house. Have I got that right?’

  I’m not sure what Albert would have said in response because it was at that moment that we became aware of voices on the path above us, and a moment later two people stepped around the bank of shrubbery and halted in their tracks when they saw us sitting on the bench.

  ‘Good heavens!’ Albert gave a feeble laugh. ‘Norah and Kevin!’

  I had only seen Norah on that one occasion at Chestnut Avenue and I hadn’t realised how pretty she was. Either that or her looks had improved: her dark hair shone and her cheeks had that rose-petal blush that is one of the few benefits of living in a sunless climate. She was in better humour too because she greeted me quite cordially before embracing her father and sitting down beside him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘Walking to Bangor,’ Albert replied. ‘Are you doing the same?’

  ‘We’re going in the opposite direction,’ said Norah. ‘It was such a nice morning we decided to take a day off and clear our heads.’

  ‘Had a bit of a party last night,’ confided Kevin. I don’t think I’d heard him speak before – his voice was unexpectedly attractive, with a soft country accent. Then he leaned towards me and hissed, ‘Did you see the ring?’

  Norah giggled and held out her left hand in the sunlight. On the fourth finger a diamond sparkled.

  ‘You’re engaged?’ I felt a rush of happiness for them – I’ve always been a pushover for romance. ‘Congratulations! When did this happen?’

  ‘Didn’t Daddy tell you? It was just after Rosie’s birthday. We couldn’t let her hog all the limelight!’

  ‘Well, I’m delighted for you both. And have you set a date for the wedding?’

  ‘December,’ said Norah.

  ‘December? This year?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve got Christmas jobs in a ski resort in Scotland, so we’ll be having a working honeymoon.’

  I knew that Norah was a physiotherapist, that Kevin had some sort of job in IT, and that they had been saving hard to buy a house of their own. I also knew they shared a passion for the more vigorous type of outdoor activity – in particular, winter sports – so I was genuinely pleased for them that they had been able to make such a sensible and satisfactory arrangement.

  Then Norah laughed and patted her father’s knee. ‘Poor Daddy, though – he’s going to have his house full of relatives again, and most of them will probably stay on for Christmas!’

  They left soon after that to continue their walk, while we sat on in a lengthening silence.

  ‘Johanna?’ After several minutes Albert reached for my hand, but I folded my arms. ‘I should have told you before this. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you should have.’

  ‘Look, I know it means I can’t put the house on the market just yet, but spring is probably a better time altogether. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I was waiting for the right moment. And what can I do, sweetheart? It’s Norah’s weddi
ng, after all.’

  ‘I suppose that’s why you’re all tied up in September? Getting everything shipshape for the celebrations?’

  ‘Johanna, don’t be like that! And it’s not just the house, there’s another problem: Carmel has to go into hospital, and I more or less promised I’d be around in case of emergency.’

  ‘Is it something serious?’ I tried not to sound too hopeful.

  ‘She’s having her gall bladder removed.’

  ‘Well, you never know, it might improve her disposition. Major surgery or keyhole?’

  ‘Keyhole. But she’s very nervous.’

  ‘She’ll be out in a day,’ I said. ‘I was. And does she not have sisters, friends – never mind daughters – who can hold her hand?’

  ‘Of course she does, but I feel an obligation, Johanna. After all, we’ve been married for so many years.’

  ‘Indeed,’ I replied, ‘so many unhappy years – for the last five of which you have been separated. And what about me, Albert? Do you think it’s fair to keep stringing me along? To make all these promises, and then disappoint me?’ I had started to cry now, the tears trickling down my face. ‘I told my friend Rita that you were an honourable man, but I see that I was wrong. You are a dishonourable man, Albert Morrow, and I don’t believe that you were ever going to take me to Paris, or sell your house at all!’

  There was more. Trust was mentioned, so was love; I regret to say that I may even have spoken of a broken heart – once started, I found it hard to stop. Albert himself said very little, possibly for lack of opportunity, and in the end I was silenced by my tears. So I gathered such pathetic tatters of my dignity as remained and started back the way we had come.

  Of course, I realised almost at once that to have embarked on a passionate argument when on foot and far from home had been singularly ill-advised, especially when the object of my fury had no alternative but to take the same path back – and that both of us were bound to be continually accosted by cheerful fools intent on wishing us a good day. Fortunately, I had a pair of sunglasses with me – at least they hid my eyes – but we must still have made a sorry sight, as I stumbled back along the path with Albert trailing after me like a disconsolate shadow.

  Chapter 14

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  Dear Freddy,

  Thank you for listening to me sob. I feel a bit calmer this evening but I haven’t heard a word from Albert for days. Oh Freddy, what am I going to do? I want to hear his voice so badly I can’t think of anything else. Part of me wants to pick up the phone and make it up, part of me is furious that he could leave me suffering like this, and part of me wants to think it’s just a storm in a teacup. I suppose all I can do is wait for the storm to pass.

  J

  From: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  To: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, darling – it’s about learning to dance in the rain. Be strong! He’ll ring. Speak to you later xxx

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  Well, he rang. After leaving me in despair for days. He said that he hadn’t been well, that the stress of being torn two ways is unbearable and that perhaps what we need to do is take a little break from each other. He said perhaps it isn’t possible to sustain a relationship of such intensity – he talked about breathing spaces and emotional demands. And so on and so forth. I talked about honesty, broken promises and commitment. I said we were both too old for this sort of nonsense, and if he didn’t love me enough to make up his mind, there was nothing more to be said. Then I put the phone down.

  Sticky Wicket is off for the weekend watching cricket somewhere so I am cat-sitting but I am crying so much that Tiger Lily and Fred are both avoiding me because I am making them damp. Ring me when you can.

  Johanna

  From: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  To: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  Well Snoekie, it looks as though I was wrong about Albert’s aura. I think what you need right now is a complete change of direction: you need to throw yourself heart and soul into some new project. What about an art class, or creative writing, or something like that? I wish I was there right now to help you through this – and I haven’t forgotten it’s your birthday on the fourteenth. Do you want me to fly back? Or do you want to come here? Just say the word if there is anything at all that I can do – and ring me any hour of the day or night.

  big hug and kiss,

  Freddy

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  Dear Freddy,

  I don’t know what I would have done without you this last week, and thanks for the offer to fly back, but it looks as though I’m going to have company on my birthday after all. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Ellie rang. You’re not going to believe this, Freddy, but her heart is broken too!! Carlos has decided that he ‘needs his space’ – is this an epidemic? – so the move to Brazil is off and she’s coming home instead. I’m so sad for her, but also so comforted to think I’m going to see her again in a few days time – at least we can be miserable together! And I’m going to take us out for a slap-up birthday dinner, and to hell with the expense! Sticky Wicket and Archie are both being very sweet to me too, which helps.

  Lots of love,

  Johanna x

  PS Please thank Thandi and Louise and tell them that the idea of a curse is very tempting but on the whole, better not. I’m afraid I still love him too much to want him seriously hurt. But they can put one on Carlos if they want.

  From: ellie3os@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  Dear Auntie Fruitloop,

  Thank you for your lovely message. Yes I am very sad, but my attitude is, if he wants his space, then he’s welcome to it – just as long as he doesn’t expect me to be waiting around when he gets back! But poor Ma – if I ever meet that weasel Albert I will tear him limb from limb! It’s lovely to be home though and we are doing our best to cheer each other up. I’ve been going in to work with her (I adore Archie!) and into the Good Intentions Bookshop that you liked so much, and tomorrow night we’re going out to celebrate her birthday with her friend Rita, which will either kill us or cure us!

  Perhaps you should ask the Kalk Bay Moon Circle to do a protection spell to keep us safe?

  I wish you were here too – I’m so sorry I just missed you but I hope to come and visit you soon.

  Lots of love from your favourite niece,

  Ellie xxx

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  Oh God, Freddy, what a night! We started off in a cocktail bar, then we had an amazing dinner in Chez Patrice – that place is so expensive I wouldn’t normally dare step over the threshold but Rita insisted on paying for everything – and then we went on to some club where I danced away the night with boys who were probably the same age as Finn and Seamus. I’m afraid I may have made an exhibition of myself – but I don’t care: it was wonderful! And Ellie enjoyed herself too. My ears are still ringing and I am a little hungover but I don’t regret a minute of it.

  Love,

  Johanna xx

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  Darling generous Freddy,

  Your birthday present just arrived – what a brilliant idea! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an enormous hamper – just unpacking it was enough to make us swoon! A thousand thanks from Ellie and me – we will be gorging on luxuries for days to come. Although I’m a bit ashamed that we are both so cheered by food! Did I tell you that Archie presented me with a beautiful little antique brooch, and Sticky Wicket gave me a big bunch of flowers? But not a single word from Albert … oh well, I’m going to try to take a leaf out of Ellie’s book and tell myself t
hat if he doesn’t think I am the most wonderful woman on the planet, then he doesn’t deserve me!

  Love,

  Johanna xxx

  PS I think I might see if I can find a couple of cheap flights and take Ellie over to visit Finn and Marta for a couple of days. I haven’t seen them for ages and it might take our minds off our broken hearts – once the contents of the hamper have run out!

  Chapter 15

  On a sunny day at the end of August, Ellie and I flew to London. I gave her the window seat because I didn’t want to look out over Strangford Lough and find myself wondering if one of the little glinting dots moving along the ribbon of road was Albert’s car, and who, if anyone, might be with him. I hadn’t heard from him since the telephone conversation before my birthday and I hadn’t rung him back, or emailed, even though I had been sorely tempted. However, there is one thing to be said for the end of a love affair: you feel so bad that nothing else matters. I found that all the normal irritations and concerns about air travel suddenly dwindled into insignificance; after all, what are queues and searches, restrictions and security alerts – never mind alarming engine noises and the prospect of imminent death – in the face of the all-consuming misery of heartbreak?

  As for Ellie, it wrung my heart even more to see her as thin and drawn as she was then. She is my middle child, sandwiched between Finn and the twins, and until now had dealt with life’s misfortunes with an unflappable serenity, but on that journey – despite our best efforts – we were both sunk in gloom. Still, there is nothing like a change of scene to lift the spirits, and the sight of Finn waiting to meet us was the best of all possible antidotes to our sad condition.

  A year or two earlier, Finn and Marta had started a market-garden business in one of those surprising green patches in the city. Pippa (otherwise known as Pipsqueak) is Marta’s six year-old daughter from a previous liaison and is a delightful child whom we all love dearly. The three of them live with several other like-minded souls in a rambling communal house known to Nuala and Seamus as the Organic Ashram.