The Traveller's Guide to Love

by Helen Nicholl

  I disengaged my hands. ‘Thank you, Susan. I am grateful for your concern, but I am curious to know how you came to be so well informed?’

  ‘It was your ex-husband Socrates, actually, who told me what had happened.’

  She was beginning to look slightly uncomfortable, but as I didn’t trust myself to speak, I simply raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue.

  ‘He came into the shop some time ago and introduced himself,’ Susan explained. ‘Now, I know you have had your differences, Johanna, and of course there are always two sides to every story, but if you could have seen how deeply concerned he was about you …’

  ‘Really? You amaze me.’

  ‘Johanna, please don’t take offence. I hope I recognise genuine concern and sincerity when I see them, and your recent unhappiness has tortured him. He feels things so deeply – that Greek sense of family …’

  ‘Socrates hasn’t got a drop of Greek blood in his body,’ I interrupted. ‘He was named after a footballer.’

  Susan looked briefly taken aback, but ploughed on all the same. ‘Well, be that as it may, it was very plain to me that he still loves and worries about you. Of course, we all have our different ways of coping, but at times like these it’s so easy to let oneself get … erm … run down.’

  ‘Susan, what exactly did Socrates say?’

  She wrung her hands, while I fought the inclination to wring her neck.

  ‘Well, he mentioned that you might be drinking rather more than usual. It just slipped out, Johanna, that he’d run into you in the middle of the day with a bag full of bottles and you were looking very dazed and unwell. Perfectly understandable in the circumstances, of course, but he just wanted to make sure that your friends were keeping an eye on you, with all your children being so far away, and he himself so busy setting up in business again …’

  ‘And I don’t suppose he suggested that you might like to make a little investment in one of these businesses?’

  ‘Certainly not! Well, not yet, anyway … but I can’t help admiring him for having the courage to start all over again after losing everything in Africa. But that’s neither here nor there, the main thing is that he’s worried about your health, and I just feel I’d be failing you as a friend if I didn’t do what I could to help.’

  I can hardly blame other women for falling for Socrates’s charm – I did so myself – but I’d heard enough.

  ‘Well, Susan,’ I said, ‘I hope you will believe me when I tell you that you have nothing to concern yourself with other than your extreme gullibility and your unfortunate tendency to interfere in other people’s business. But if you do still want someone to worry about, you can worry about Socrates, because the next time I see him, I’m going to kill him.’

  It was probably a good thing that Professor Humphrey chose that moment to dislodge a whole row of weighty tomes which crashed to the floor, narrowly missing his ancient head, and giving me a good excuse to go to his aid. By the time order had been restored, the shop had filled up with customers and Susan and I were able to avoid any further reference to personal matters.

  As luck would have it, however, I was alone that evening, sitting at my computer with a blameless cup of cocoa, when my doorbell rang. For a moment my heart stood still – I had just been writing about one of my journeys with Albert and my immediate thought was that it might be him. When I opened the front door, however, it wasn’t Albert who stood on the top step, but Socrates.

  ‘Johanna!’ He beamed at me and flung open his arms expansively. Socrates has put on a bit of weight over the years, and his hair has silvered, which is a shame because it makes him look more trustworthy.

  ‘I was hoping you might be in. I was just on my way back to Dublin when I thought, why not stay up in Belfast one more night? Give me a chance to nip down and look in on Johanna – so here I am.’

  ‘And were you thinking of staying here?’ I enquired.

  ‘Well now, that’s not a bad idea. It’s been a long time since we had a chance to catch up properly.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘Probably not since the time we all had to go into hiding for six weeks.’

  ‘Oh well, if that’s the way you choose to see things, there’s not much that I can say.’ Socrates gave a sorrowful shrug – the very picture of a man accustomed to cruel and unjust accusations. ‘I just wish for your own sake that you could learn to put the past behind you, Johanna. You only hurt yourself when you bear grudges – but I won’t go on, I can see you’re at a bit of a low ebb right now. That’s why I called round, actually: I thought you could probably do with a bit of company.’

  ‘How very kind of you,’ I replied. ‘Your concern is overwhelming. In fact, I understand from Susan that you are particularly worried about my drinking.’

  He had the grace to look slightly disconcerted. ‘Ah now, Johanna, of course not, she must have misunderstood me … I was only in there having a bit of a chat about things in general. I’ve been thinking of getting involved in the charity business myself, you know.’

  ‘Have you really?’ His expression of earnest good intention would have done credit to a vicar. ‘Well, at least it explains your sudden interest in rekindling our relationship. What were you planning? To use the Good Intentions model as a front for one of your dodgy enterprises?’

  Socrates looked hurt. ‘Ah now, Johanna, there’s no call for that. I may have had to cut a few corners in my time, and I’m the first to admit I’ve made the odd error of judgement, but that’s the nature of business – you have to be prepared to take some risks.’ He gave another shrug. ‘We all make mistakes when we’re young – the thing to do is to face up to them like a man, then put it all behind you, and move on. And be honest, Johanna, even you would have to admit that we had a lot of fun along the way.’

  Unfortunately this was also true, and he must have seen a momentary softening in my expression, because he made the mistake of stepping closer.

  ‘Come on, darling, why don’t we just bury the hatchet and let bygones be bygones? If I can do it, so can you!’ He gave his old disarming smile. ‘After all, we’re none of us getting any younger, sweetheart, and I don’t mind telling you that every time I see you, I think what a fine-looking woman you are. That old flame still burns, you know.’

  ‘Well, let’s see if this will put it out,’ I said. And bending down, I picked up the jug of water I had meant to empty into the birdbath earlier, and which was still waiting just inside the door – and I emptied it over Socrates instead. Then I slammed the door shut in his face.

  It was reprehensible, I know, and childish. But it was deeply satisfying.

  Chapter 17

  Time trundled on. I stopped waiting for the phone to ring – indeed, the few times it did ring, it was usually one of the children making tactful enquiries about my state of mind, Socrates having told anyone who would listen that I was showing alarming signs of going off my head. I also made plans to visit Finn and Marta for Christmas, and I worked away at my book. By the time November came round I had achieved some sort of equilibrium. And that, of course, is when I bumped into Albert again.

  I was walking up from the city centre, head down against the sleety wind and muffled to the eyeballs, when I cannoned into someone coming round a corner and found myself looking up into the face that I knew and loved so well.

  ‘Albert!’

  ‘Johanna!’

  ‘Albert!’

  This might have gone on for some time if someone else hadn’t shouldered me out of the way. Albert grasped my arm to steady me and the familiar shock ran through me. I would swear it ran through him too because his grip tightened and I thought for one glorious moment that he was going to pull me into his arms. Instead he cleared his throat and said, ‘You’re looking well, Johanna.’

  ‘No I’m not, and neither are you.’

  ‘Well, the last few months have been very hard on me.’

  ‘For me too, Albert – for me too.’ Suddenly I was overcome with
fury. ‘Why haven’t you phoned or emailed?’

  ‘The last time I rang, you put the phone down on me,’ said Albert. ‘And then Sidney said you were in London.’

  Sidney? Sidney? I thought wildly, until I realised he was talking about Sticky Wicket.

  ‘I ran into him in b&q,’ said Albert.

  I’d forgotten their mutual interest in diy Really, it was amazing how well the men in my life got on with each other – he’d be going to antiques fairs with Archie next.

  ‘And then I ran into your ex-husband Socrates,’ Albert continued. ‘He was surprisingly friendly – he told me that you were back together again.’ How like Socrates, I thought, to do his best to ensure that if he didn’t get what he wanted, then neither would anybody else. ‘So there didn’t seem any point in trying to get in touch …’

  ‘Oh Albert, what a fool you are!’ I said sadly, but I got no further because at that moment there was a call of ‘Daddy! We’re over here.’ And looking across the road, I saw three women. Norah and Rosie I recognised at once; the third, who was swathed in a dark green cloak, could only have been Carmel. Even from a distance I could see her likeness to Norah and – honesty unfortunately impels me to admit – her beauty, but any possible doubt as to her identity was removed by the hunted expression that had instantly appeared on Albert’s face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I’ll have to go. It’s wedding business: we’re meeting Kevin’s parents for lunch …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I replied. ‘I wouldn’t dream of detaining you a moment longer. Goodbye, Albert.’ And blinded by sleet and tears I pushed past him and blundered on up the street.

  Archie took one look at me when I came through the door and hurried off to make a mug of coffee, into which he poured a slug of brandy. As I sobbed out the story of my encounter, he murmured sympathetically; then he very sweetly insisted on driving me home.

  ‘I’m so sorry it’s my bridge club party tonight,’ he said. ‘I’d have taken you out to dinner otherwise. Tomorrow, perhaps?’

  I patted his hand. ‘What a kind man you are, Archie. But I’m feeling better already, I promise – it must be the brandy. And I’ve got any number of things planned to do this weekend, so don’t you worry about me.’

  In truth, I had nothing planned for the weekend, and very little to look forward to in the run-up to Christmas, apart from the annual Good Intentions party. Dolores had screeched to a halt outside Archibald’s Antiques that very morning, and lowered the window to issue her invitation.

  ‘Christmas party for all the volunteers: first Sunday in December, my house at seven o’clock. Make sure you come! Yes, I know it’s a bus stop’ – this to a red-coated traffic warden who had suddenly appeared – ‘but this is a vital message I’m passing on, and there isn’t a bus in sight. Anyway, why aren’t you doing something about that van that’s blocking the traffic down the road, instead of picking on pensioners?’

  She zoomed off as he turned to look for the offending van, and by the time he had concluded that it was no longer there – or, indeed, had quite possibly never been there in the first place – Dolores had disappeared around the corner.

  We looked at each other and shrugged. Then he sighed rather theatrically before continuing on his thankless round, while I let myself into the shop to make a note of the party in my otherwise sadly empty diary.

  My diary might have been empty but at least there were several emails waiting for me when I got home, including one from Frederika, and one from Seamus, who apologised for not being in touch but wanted to know if it was okay if he didn’t pay me the last £50 he owed me until after Christmas. Seamus, in true student fashion, was always paying off debts in instalments to those of his relatives foolish enough to lend him any money in the first place. I dealt with his email first.

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: seamusvanshea@gmail.com

  Dear Seamus,

  Please don’t worry about your several weeks’ silence – or the money. It is true that I am a lonely, neglected and impoverished old pensioner but I don’t eat much, and Sticky Wicket is unlikely to evict me if I don’t pay the rent, so I can probably struggle on until January. And if all else fails I can eat Tiger Lily.

  Love from your mother.

  Then I turned to Freddy, who was in her usual good form.

  From: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  To: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  Hello darling,

  Just back from Zanzibar. Stayed in the most glorious place – white sands, azure water. Paradise! So restoring.

  Next time I’m going to take you with me. How are you doing? And when are you coming home? Thandi says to tell you that the New Year is looking particularly auspicious for travel.

  I miss you!

  F xxxx

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  Dear Freddy,

  I’m not sure I have total confidence in Thandi’s forecasts: the last auspicious date she gave me, there was an airline strike. Still, I’m glad you had such a good trip. The pictures are gorgeous and I am very jealous. The weather here is freezing and the only entertainment I have to look forward to at the moment is the Good Intentions Christmas party. Last year Basil passed out under the table because he had forgotten to take his tablets, and Agnes, who is normally the soul of tact and sobriety, had a bit too much killer punch and told Sybilla’s husband Roger that he was a wart on the nose of humanity. (True.) I can only hope for similar excitement this year.

  I’m sorry I haven’t booked my trip home yet. I miss you terribly too but my life has been so upside-down lately that I just don’t feel up to making any decisions. But I’ll be in London for Christmas with all the children – Nuala and Seamus are going to be there too – so I’m looking forward to that.

  All in all, though, I’ll be glad when this year is over.

  Love

  Johanna xxx

  From: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  To: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  Christmas is still some way off. I hate to think of you so sad and lonely. Have you considered internet dating? That’s how and Robert and Yoweri met. Just a thought.

  F x

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  Rita had the same thought, but she wasn’t very encouraging. Anyway, it’s not for me.

  And don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Off to bed now with Tiger Lily and my book.

  Love,

  Johanna

  But I wasn’t fine. I passed a restless night, due possibly to nightmares brought on by Sybilla’s choice of crime fiction, and when I woke, the rain was teeming down and I’d run out of coffee. The day went on from there: I shopped for food and found I’d left my purse at home; I forced myself to go for a walk along the shore and tripped over an uneven patch of pathway, ripping my trousers and cutting my knee. Not one of the friends I would normally have cajoled into accompanying me to the cinema or a pub was free – Rita was away on business and even Sticky Wicket was out – and I simply didn’t have the heart to work on the story of my travels. By the time I had finished my solitary dinner in front of the television, I felt that things could hardly get worse – and so, in desperation, I switched on my computer, and did what I had vowed I would not do …

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za;

  rita.can@aol.co.uk

  Freddy and Rita, if either of you ever breathes a word of this to anyone I will never speak to you again, but I was feeling so lonely and unloved this weekend that I went online to a dating site. And the upshot is that I am meeting a man called Bill for a coffee on Wednesday afternoon. He looks perfectly normal, he’s a bit younger than me, and he likes country walks and music. If he turns out to be an axe-murderer it will be your fault for mentioning the subject in the first place.

  Johanna

  From ri
ta.can@aol.co.uk

  To: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  Go for it, girl! Even if he is an axe-murderer, he’s unlikely to chop you up in a coffee shop xx

  From: cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  To: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  Harness the power of the cosmos, darling! Have faith in yourself and believe in your right to happiness! Just ring me on Wednesday evening so I know you are safely home.

  Freddy xox

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: rita.can@aol.co.uk;

  cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  How right you were, Rita – he wasn’t an axe-murderer but he was at least ten years older than me, he wore an anorak and a bobble hat, and he wanted to talk about his divorce. I have another date on Friday with someone who is a retired accountant. I expect very little.

  Johanna

  From: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  To: rita.can@aol.co.uk;

  cosmictraveller@yahoo.co.za

  My expectations were fulfilled. We went to The Fox and Fiddle, he put his hand on my knee after the first glass of wine, and apart from asking my name and what I wanted to drink, he did not ask me a single other question about myself. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.

  Johanna

  From: rita.can@aol.co.uk

  To: johannavanheerden@hotmail.com

  Obviously not. You should have snapped up Campbell Pearce while you had the chance. Never mind, at least you’ll be in London over Christmas and as soon as I get back from Paris we’ll go out on the town.