Anyway, here I am, back home again, missing them all terribly, and wondering what you are up to. Is the Kalk Bay Moon Circle performing some ancient rite on the beach tonight, I wonder? Perhaps I should open a branch here – that would certainly give the neighbours something to talk about! I can’t face going out, so I am going to have my supper and then tuck myself up with hot milk and honey, and the cats. It’s not what I thought I would be doing a few months ago!
But enough of that! Tomorrow, you will be glad to hear, I am going to begin again. I am going to count my blessings – my family, my friends, and thank God, my health – and try to see this last year as something that was wonderful while it lasted, but was always doomed to end – a sort of unexpected sunset cruise. The one thing I know for certain is that I am just too old for any more heartbreak, so no more romance for me! My New Year’s resolution is to put this whole year behind me and think sensibly about the future – which might very well mean that I’ll decide to move. Will keep you posted.
I’m going to switch off all the phones now because I do not want cheerful messages from anyone at midnight. I’ll phone you tomorrow instead.
Happy New Year and love as ever,
Johanna xxxx
I did not hear the bells and horns, or see the fireworks of New Year, because I had earplugs in my ears and a mask over my eyes. Also I had, for the very last time, cried myself to sleep. I wept for the loss of Albert, for his voice in the night and his arms around me, and for all the adventures we might still have shared. And when I woke to a stone-grey winter day, I pulled on several layers of clothes, thrust my feet into fur-lined boots and my head into a woollen hat, and went for a long and thoughtful tramp along the shore.
There was no one else about – even the dog walkers had decided it was too early and too cold. The far side of the lough was shrouded in mist and the Cave Hill had the icy sheen of frost. Somewhere out of sight, in a jumble of red brick houses, Albert would still be sleeping. Or perhaps he was in his kitchen, drinking tea and savouring a little peace and quiet before the New Year’s Day round of friends and family began. I realised now that the idea of the two of us sharing a house in loving companionship in our declining years had always been deeply unrealistic. I didn’t doubt that Albert had loved me, but he was, and always would be, too tightly bound by family ties and convention, and too fearful of upheaval at this stage of his life, to make any permanent changes.
I, on the other hand, had little choice. I wasn’t just getting older, I was lonely, and I no longer had any family on this island. Ellie would either stay on in London or resume her travels, and the twins were unlikely to return for more than fleeting visits. I had good friends, certainly, but they would manage very well without me – or, like Rita, who thought nothing of flying half way round the world for a weekend, would have no difficulty keeping in touch. Sticky Wicket would easily find another tenant and be happy to inherit Tiger Lily and Archie would find another assistant, or better still, embrace a life of retirement. He might even join Sticky Wicket and Albert at cricket matches where they could have the occasional nostalgic conversation about Johanna and the upheaval she had caused in all their lives – then sigh with relief that peace and normality had eventually been restored. In short, it was time to go.
I turned back towards home feeling curiously cleansed and empty now that I had come to a final decision. I would cut my losses and move to England in the spring, to be closer to Finn and Marta. I would be a doting grandmother to the new baby and to Pippa; I would visit museums and galleries and go to concerts; and I would make new friends and stay in touch with old ones. But this time when I left the north of Ireland, I would not return.
‘That’s the spirit,’ said the voice of Granny van Heerden in my ear. ‘Put it all behind you and move on!’ And I sensed Great-Grandmother Daubenton nodding in agreement.
Back home I made a pot of tea, then I sat down at my computer to complete the section of my book that dealt with County Down. I doubted that the rest of it would ever be written now, but that was just too bad. I was soon absorbed in my task, and not at all pleased when half an hour later there was a tap at my door. It would be Sticky Wicket, I knew, looking for milk or aspirin.
But it wasn’t Sticky Wicket who stood in the hallway – it was Albert.
‘Your front door was open, Johanna.’
‘Oh, I must not have closed it properly when I came back in.’
‘You’ve been out walking?’
‘Yes.’
‘So have I.’ There was a pause. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I just dropped by to give you something …’
I held the door to my flat open. ‘Come in, if you like.’
He looked nervously over my shoulder. ‘If you’re sure it’s not inconvenient?’
‘If you mean, am I alone, the answer is yes. Who did you think might be inside? Sticky Wicket?’
‘Well, I wasn’t sure. After speaking to your ex-husband …’
‘Forget Socrates. There was never the slightest chance of us getting back together. But you might at least have checked with me.’
‘Yes.’
We stepped inside.
‘And you and Carmel? Any chance of a reconciliation there?’
‘None whatever, I’m glad to say.’ Another silence. ‘I’ve put the house back on the market, by the way.’
‘Oh good. We’ll both be moving then.’
‘You’re moving house?’
‘Yes. I’m going to England to be closer to my children. As you can imagine, there’s not much reason to stay here now.’
Albert appeared to be trembling. It was all I could do not to put out a steadying arm as I waited for him to speak.
‘The thing is, Johanna, that I feel so bad about the way things ended between us … I was hoping there might be some way I could try to make amends.’
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Well, to apologise for a start. To say how sorry I am that I let you down, that my inability to manage things properly caused you so much pain.’
‘Anything else?’
‘That I have missed you more than I can say.’
The ghosts of grannies van Heerden and Daubenton were beginning to squawk with alarm but I closed my ears to them and held my breath. I was waiting for Albert to make the final, unequivocal, declaration of love and commitment. Instead he patted the pockets of his coat in a distracted manner and eventually extracted a small package, which he handed silently to me.
Inside the wrapping was a book – The Traveller’s Guide to Ancient County Antrim. I opened it to find the following inscription: ‘To Johanna, with all good wishes for your future travels, from the author, Marc Heaney’. Beneath that, in pencil, were the words, ‘And from Albert, who was lucky enough to share your earlier travels. Love always.’
‘It came out just before Christmas,’ Albert said. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t have it yet.’
‘And you got him to sign it for me?’
‘I tracked him down through your friend Agnes.’
‘Oh Albert!’ I whispered.
‘Yes, well, I’m more sorry than I can say that you’ve decided to move. I don’t suppose there is anything I can do now that might persuade you to change your mind?’
I turned the pages of M. Heaney’s book reflectively. The silence lengthened. Then I sighed.
‘Well, it’s probably going to take me a while to put my affairs in order – a couple of months, at least, I imagine. And in the meantime, I don’t suppose one or two outings would hurt – according to M. Heaney there are a great many things in County Antrim that should not be missed.’
‘Not to mention Armagh, Derry, and Fermanagh,’ Albert said.
‘And Tyrone,’ I finished for him. ‘In which case, I suppose I could be persuaded to stay on a little longer …’
I saw through the window behind him that snow had begun falling lightly. The far side of the lough had disappeared, as hidden from me as my future, which was probabl
y a good thing, because in my experience people don’t change much once they’ve reached a certain age, and I had no doubt at all that there would be any number of difficulties ahead. Then the view was blocked by Albert as he held out his arms and stepped towards me, and for the time being, my thoughts ceased.
Reader, life is not perfect; we rarely get exactly what we want, so we must all learn to make the most of such happiness as comes our way. After all, as my sister Frederika would say, ‘It is better to travel with the Wind of Hope in your sails than to be becalmed in the Sea of Sorrow’. Or something like that.
The Traveller's Guide to Love Page 12
