by Jane Tara
“The BMR offers wonderful information on some of this country’s grandest love stories.” Julian actually seemed impressed by the museum. “Dreadfully under funded though. Such a pity.” He glanced down at the application form she’d quickly filled in when she arrived. “Says here you also volunteer at Highgate.”
Nell nodded. “I do tours in the West Cemetery.” Nell paused and realized Julian was waiting for more information. “I have a thing about graves,” she explained.
“You start the newspaper at the obituaries.”
“Is that on my resume?”
“I’m also obsessed with old cemeteries,” Julian explained, “and would never consider reading the news before the obituaries.”
“Where does the sport rate?”
“Very low, I’m afraid. I’m not particularly athletic.”
“I’ve never owned a pair of sneakers,” Nell admitted.
“I bought a pair in the mid-nineties. Was arrested soon after. The police said it was a crime against fashion. The case is still pending … New charges have been laid – the bow tie apparently.”
Nell laughed. She liked him a lot. He had a rare and admirable passion for history, and a self-deprecating sense of humor, so while she had absolutely no interest in dating him, which was obviously her grandmother’s main motive for setting up the interview, she decided then and there that she’d really like to work for him. Nell turned on her considerable charm and set about winning Julian over.
“I’ll be honest with you, Julian. I was hesitant about coming here today.”
“Would that be because our grandmothers set this up, or because your heart lies at the BMR?”
She was amazed he’d pegged her so easily. “Both. But now that I’ve met you, I think I’d learn a lot working with you. And I’d enjoy it, which would be a bonus.”
Julian stretched a skinny arm across the desk and extended his hand. “I think we’ll work well together.”
Nell noticed the emphasis he placed on work. “Does that mean I’ve got the job?”
“Of course you’ve got the job. You could’ve arrived here covered in tattoos and speaking in tongues and I’d still give it to you. My grandmother is like yours: not a woman one argues with.” Julian gave Nell a friendly wink. “I’m just lucky you’re also perfect.” He looked horrified. “For the job, I mean. Perfect for the job.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then began to laugh. Whatever the future held, Nell was certain she’d just made a new friend.
Chapter Twenty-two
Carry comfrey for protection when traveling
Calypso and Taran pulled up in front of the King and Mistress just as Nell was hopping off the bus. The two sisters flew into each other’s arms. They hadn’t seen each other for days and had lots to catch up on.
“I’ve missed you,” Calypso squealed.
“You too, Callie. And guess what? I got a job!”
“It’s not with that guy Gran was raving about, is it?”
“Yes, and he’s lovely.”
“Really.” Calypso’s eyebrows shot up. “Lovely-to-shag lovely?”
“Callie! Lovely-to-work-with lovely.” Nell stepped back and stared at her sister. She looked from her sister to Taran and then her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh …!”
Calypso shrugged nonchalantly, but was obviously thrilled. “He’s under my skin. Like a rash.”
Taran nodded in agreement. “She’s like a boil – I can’t stop squeezing her.”
Nell wrapped her arms around Taran. “Do you have any idea what you’re in for?”
“I’m a masochist.”
“Don’t ever say I didn’t try to warn you.”
They made their way to the entrance, excited about sharing their news with their parents. Instead, they found the pub shut, with a scrawled note stuck to the door apologizing for any inconvenience and promising to reopen soon.
“Okay, weird,” Calypso said, immediately worried. “They never close. This’ll be on Ripley’s Believe It or Not.”
“Perhaps they’ve decided to take the afternoon off,” said Taran.
“There’s more chance of a comet hitting London tonight,” Calypso said.
Nell took her sister’s hand. “Let’s go around the side.”
They used Calypso’s key on the side door and walked through the dining rooms and into the bar. All the lights were off and it was deathly quiet. Then they heard someone crying.
Calypso tilted her head to one side. “It’s upstairs.”
“It could be Enid,” said Nell.
But as they reached the bottom of the stairs it became clear that the sobs belonged to Batty. Calypso charged up the stairs two at a time, Taran and Nell were right behind her. She ran along the third floor landing and flung open the door to her parents’ sitting room. There, curled up on her husband’s lap, completely inconsolable, was Batty. Alf looked both relieved and horrified as his daughters and Taran stormed into the room.
“What’s going on?” Calypso demanded.
Batty was roused from her hysteria and tried to smile, but it only made her look like a meerkat that was about to attack. “Oh hello, dears. Nothing. Everything is fine. I’m a bit hormonal, that’s all.”
“Bullshit! Why are you crying? And why is the pub shut?” Both rare events.
Nell looked frightened. “Has something happened to Eleanor?”
“No, no,” Batty assured her. “I’d hardly be this hysterical over Eleanor, would I?”
The sisters watched as their mother tried to put on a brave face, but her chin continued to wobble. It was incredibly disconcerting as Batty rarely cried, and certainly not in front of other people. Then Calypso noticed that her father had been sitting in stony silence since they entered, his usual cheerful demeanor completely absent.
“Is something wrong, Dad?”
She knew by the look on his face that it was.
“Now, it’s nothing to get worked up about,” said Alf.
“Mum obviously thinks it is.”
“Well, I’m telling you it’s not,” snapped Alf.
Nell sat on the lounge beside him and slipped her small hand into his large one. It gave him the courage to continue.
“I was diagnosed with a melanoma … Nasty bastard of a thing on my leg.”
Batty began to cry again. Calypso slumped into a chair opposite her father. This wasn’t good and she knew it. She’d heard hideous stories about melanoma, especially during her time in Australia.
Nell looked confused. “That’s not very common here, is it?”
“Thirteen thousand cases a year apparently,” Alf said. “I spent a lot of time in the sun when I was in Spain.”
“I told you to wear a hat,” Batty wailed.
“He can’t wear a hat on his leg, can he?” Calypso snapped.
“Can’t they just cut the melanoma off?” Nell asked.
“They already have,” Alf said. “Didn’t quite get it all so I had to go back again. Carved the thing out.”
“Twice,” Batty cried. “And he didn’t tell me. I thought he was having an affair.”
Calypso shook her head. “How did you make that leap?”
“We hadn’t made love for a month.”
“Glad I asked.”
“We’re all adults here.” Batty sniffed.
Alf ignored his wife and continued, “They got it all from the leg. That’s the good news.”
“And the bad news?”
“There are some spots on my liver …”
Calypso paled. “What sort of spots?”
“He owns a pub … of course he has spots on his liver,” Batty interrupted.
“I had a biopsy. It’s melanoma.”
Calypso felt like she was having an out of body experience. “I don’t understand. How does it get there?”
“It’s a secondary cancer, Callie. It spread from my leg.”
Nell clutched her father’s hand. “What are your options?”
�
��I’ve decided on surgery. They’ll remove three-quarters of the liver.” He gave his daughters a cheery smile that did nothing to hide his fear. “Apparently it rejuvenates …”
“We should post that on the wall of the pub,” Calypso said. “‘The liver rejuvenates, so drink up.’”
“Are there risks?”
“Of course there are risks. But there are more if I don’t do it, Nell.”
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier, Dad?” Calypso was beside herself with fear. “I can’t believe you waited until now.”
“I wasn’t going to worry you until I knew everything,” Alf said.
Taran shuffled uncomfortably. “If I could say something.”
Alf locked eyes with him, protesting with a stern shake of the head.
Taran stood firm. “I believe honesty is the best policy.”
Alf waved his hand in front of his mouth – universal speak for “Zip it.”
“I understand why Alf wanted to keep this to himself until he knew more.”
Alf cut him off. “Because that’s what men do … keep things to themselves. Right, Taran?”
“Yes, Alf, and sometimes that might hurt the people they love.”
“Not if they don’t know.”
“Well, we know now,” snapped Calypso.
“Good God, son, first rule of survival for men in this family is to know when to quit: while you’re ahead.”
Taran backed off a bit. “I just want to clear the air—”
“Excellent idea.” Alf stood abruptly and marched over to the window. “I need air.” He yanked open a window and stuck his head out. “There’s too much talking. We just need to get on with it.”
Taran knew when he was defeated. He retreated to his chair in the corner.
There was a moment of silence and then Nell quietly encouraged everyone to make some decisions. Under her guidance they quickly decided that he would have surgery as soon as possible, that Megan would run the pub for a few weeks and that the restaurant would be closed until further notice.
“Who wants to tell Eleanor?” Nell asked.
Silence.
“Fine, I’ll let her know tomorrow.”
“Does she need to know?” Calypso asked.
Nell looked appalled. “Of course she needs to know.”
“Perhaps we can tell her at Christmas, when it’s all over and done with and your father is in the clear,” Batty suggested.
“I’m happy if we don’t say anything at all,” Alf said. “Unless I die … then she’ll need to know.”
Calypso shrugged. “If we tell her now she’ll make it all about her.”
Nell glared at them all in disbelief. “This is about her, as much as any of us. I’ll deal with Gran.”
Nell continued to make a list of people who needed to be contacted. Then she called the doctor while everyone listened, and confirmed her father’s date for surgery.
At that point the past came back to haunt Calypso with a vengeance. She watched her mother’s face, twisted with grief and fear, and it was like looking into a mirror. She’d been there. She’d looked like that. She’d experienced both grief and fear, and of course loss. And all she could think was how would she survive, how would any of them survive, if her father died?
Calypso felt ill. She looked at Taran, sitting in the corner, his impossibly handsome face etched with concern. Yes, she’d fallen for him, but it wasn’t too late. She could get out now.
The whole situation was so surreal. Was it only an hour ago that she was ecstatically happy? It’s absurd how quickly life can snatch that away. It was happening again. And all she could feel was herself sinking, sinking, sinking …
Chapter Twenty-three
Use alcohol to sterilize a wound
Calypso sat in the front pew with Scott’s family during his funeral. She remained stony-faced as his parents and sisters cried. Behind them sat two hundred family and friends, some she knew, many she didn’t. Sobs and sniffles filled the room. But Calypso refused to cry. If she let go now she would never survive. She had to keep it together and get out of there.
Afterwards, everyone went back to Scott’s parents’ home for tea and lamingtons. Scott’s friends drank beers and told hilarious stories about their mate. Calypso was somewhat comforted to see how much support Scott’s family had. She’d grown to love them over the years, and knew they’d survive this.
Unlike her. She was alone now. Yes, she had her own family in London, and good friends scattered around the world, but Scott was her anchor, her home, and her soulmate. Was. Now he was nothing but ash.
Scott’s family circled Calypso warily. They weren’t sure how to comfort her. They didn’t really know her without Scott attached to her side. But mostly, she was a glaring reminder of what they’d lost. Calypso only existed in their lives because Scott had fallen in love and morphed into the entity that was “Scott and Callie.” All they could do was watch the beautiful redhead as she seemed to sink deeper and deeper into her silent grief.
A few days after the funeral, when Scott’s ashes were returned to the family, Calypso perched on a stool in the kitchen, staring first at the urn and then at a big bowl of Nutri-Grain sitting beside it. She was sure Scott would approve. She had decided on Nutri-Grain for a number of reasons. It was, so the commercials said, the breakfast cereal for real men, iron men, sporty men: men like Scott. But it also had a hint of sweetness, just like Scott. And, because Scott would appreciate the humor, it tasted fabulous in the morning ...
Scott’s mother, Patricia, appeared and placed a hand on her shoulder. She was pleased to see Calypso with food in front of her. She hadn’t eaten a thing since Scott died.
“Are you hungry, Calypso?”
“No.” Callie stared at the cereal. She was certain he wanted this. He’d said so on numerous occasions after he’d been mugged in Thailand. She’d laughed at the time, but he’d been adamant. “This is Scott’s wish.”
“That you eat some cereal?”
“Yes … with his ashes sprinkled on it. Just so he can be inside me one last time.”
Patricia held the counter to steady herself and watched Calypso for a moment.
“I don’t think he really meant it, Callie,” she said finally
“How can we be sure? If he meant it, I have to do it.” Calypso had always said she’d do anything for him. “I can’t let him down.”
Patricia took Callie’s hand. “You couldn’t let him down if you tried.”
Calypso finally voiced what had been haunting her for days. None of her spells, her powers, her connections to the other side had helped one iota when it really counted. “I already have let him down. I couldn’t save him.”
“You need to concentrate on what you did for him, not what you couldn’t do.”
“What did I do for him?”
“I’ve never seen someone so young love so well,” Pat said gently. “Or so deeply.”
It was true. Calypso loved Scott, exposed her soul to him, placed her trust in him, all in a way the average person is incapable of doing. Most people aren’t even aware such a level of surrender exists, yet Calypso reached deep inside until she found the edge and then she took herself there, over it, and stayed there. All for him. And in return, he also did the same for her. Theirs was an intense and deep love.
Patricia sighed, a sigh filled with heartbreak only a mother can feel. “And really, Callie, he’s gone. So it doesn’t matter.”
Calypso looked at her with all the wisdom of one who sees beyond the veils. “But he’ll be back. And I’ll have to explain why I didn’t do as he’d asked …”
She stopped short. Patricia had never been entirely comfortable with her psychic abilities, and certainly wasn’t ready to talk about them now. Calypso tipped the Nutri-Grain into the sink. She couldn’t bear the thought of placing a spoonful of the fine gray dust in her mouth. She couldn’t stomach the idea that the man she adored would enter her in this manner. That their love had come to this: that
he, in their final physical experience, would be the weaker one, so weak that a simple breeze could whisk him away.
“You’re right. Even if he knew, he wouldn’t care.” It was true. It no longer mattered. Scott was but a pile of dust and nothing, not even the return of his spirit, would ever change that.
They stood in silence for a long time, staring at the urn, both aware that they, Scott’s mother and his soulmate, were the two suffering the greatest loss. Despite this, they still couldn’t help each other. How could either of them help? Could Calypso bring the dead back to life? Could Patricia turn back time? Could they wake each other from this nightmare? No. They felt for each other and shared a common pain, but grief was a relative thing. The greatest tragedy was always one’s own and their personal loss was so great neither felt they’d survive it. They were, and always would be, two islands alone in the same sea of despair.
Patricia finally spoke. “Would you like some of his … ashes? To take with you?”
Calypso nodded.
“I’m not suggesting you leave. You’re welcome to stay, for as long as you want.”
“I have to go, Patricia.”
“I thought so. Will you be okay?”
“No.”
Patricia gave Calypso’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Nor will I.”
The following morning, clutching a small portion of her beloved’s ashes, and leaving only a note for Scott’s family, Calypso left for the airport. She was headed for Ash Cottage, where she would stay for eight months.
It was there that she finally cried.
Chapter Twenty-four
Jagermeister is an excellent digestif
Taran reached for Calypso the minute she closed her bedroom door, but she placed a hand on his chest, and put some distance between them.
Taran stepped back and sat on the bed. “Not quite the night we expected.”
