by Rachel Dann
‘Of course, not all of us is lucky enough to get out of prison and have a knight in shining armour waiting for us,’ Naomi chuckles, leaning back and kicking her feet up to rest on the chair opposite. ‘Oh, that reminds me!’ She jumps up again and starts rummaging around under her chair, finally pulling on to her lap a voluminous, red-patent handbag. ‘I’ve got something for you.’
She reaches into the handbag and pulls out a small, square package wrapped in brown paper with little antique globe maps stamped all over it. A wicked grin spreads over her face at the same time as my heart begins to thud faster in my chest.
‘So, I saw Sebastian yesterday…’ She holds the little parcel tantalisingly just out of my reach, obviously enjoying the moment immensely. ‘I had to go to the embassy so he could give me the last of my paperwork for my journey home. Can you believe I finally got my passport back? It made me feel like a proper member of society again at last…’
Get to the point, I find myself thinking selfishly.
‘…So, anyway, I also took it as a perfect opportunity to mention you,’ Naomi adds, her wicked grin widening.
‘What do you…?’
‘I told him about you and Harry splitting up,’ she continues, looking positively gleeful.
‘Naomi!’
‘And he asked me to give you – this.’
Finally she hands me the parcel.
I stare down at the careful wrapping, turning it over and feeling its pleasant heaviness, its rectangular solidity between my fingers.
‘Go on, open it!’ Gabriela urges impatiently.
‘He already had it there, on his desk, ready to give to you before I even told him about you and Harry,’ Naomi continues smugly, but I’m not really listening to her any more. With a will of their own my hands are ripping away the paper and scrabbling for the object inside. As the globe-printed paper floats to the floor revealing a section of smooth, unvarnished wood, my hands begin to tremble… as I already know what it is.
The delicate, painstakingly carved vine-leaf pattern captures my attention so much that at first I don’t even register the photo held within the frame. I run my finger over the intricate shapes, marvelling at how they bring out the natural swirls of colour within the wood, remembering how this frame had caught my eye for its simple beauty from the moment I saw it in the handicraft shop.
He remembered.
‘Oh, that’s such a gorgeous photo!’ Naomi exclaims, leaning over my shoulder to peer at my gift. ‘Is that your dad? And I recognise the carving – it’s one of Marta’s, right?’
I nod, unable to speak, staring at the photo.
Lewis is up on his hind legs with his paws resting in my lap, tongue lolling out cheekily, his whole face imploring to be fed something from the colourful array of food spread out on the table before us. My hands are buried in his fur and my head tipped back as I laugh openly, in the unselfconscious way that is only possible when you have no idea your picture is being taken. My father is to my right, just inside the frame of the picture, laughing too and looking sideways at me, his face glowing with an expression I don’t remember ever having seen on his face before.
I don’t look like me, at least not the me I see when I look in the mirror every day. I look happier, freer, completely swept up in the moment.
It’s perfect. The perfect photo. And I hadn’t even realised Sebastian had a camera on him that day.
‘Look, there’s a note, too,’ Gabriela murmurs, tugging a piece of paper from the back of the picture frame and handing it to me. ‘Open it, open it!’
I realise it may have been better to open the parcel later, in the privacy of my own room, but it’s too late now. Both girls are practically bouncing in their seats with excitement. I shakily unfold the note and read it out loud to them.
Dear Kirsty,
Before you ask, I paid triple for this. And I know Marta would love you to have it, after all you did for Naomi. Thank you again.
It was a real pleasure to meet you. More than you will ever know. I’m only sorry I won’t get to see you before you leave – as soon as Naomi is safely on her flight, I have to go to a training course in Colombia, and won´t be back until Christmas. From what I understand, you will have left by then. But I hope we can keep in touch… here is my email address.
Love,
Sebastian (and Lewis)
Even as I finish reading the words I feel an inevitable plunge of disappointment – he’s leaving Quito. Until the end of the month. I won’t see him.
But overlapping the disappointment is also a quiet, persistent thrill of excitement, a spark of future possibility. Just maybe, one day…
I scrape my chair back and clear my throat, addressing the open-mouthed, smitten expressions on the two faces before me. ‘Er, I’m just going to…’ I indicate the door. ‘Put this away.’
I stumble from the room, feeling somehow overwhelmed by Sebastian’s gesture and the joyful moment captured in the photo, suddenly unable to look at it for a moment longer. I climb the stairs to my room and throw open my bulging rucksack, ignoring the chaos of socks and T-shirts spilling from its innards. I look at the photo again, and the note, tracing my finger over every swirl and shape of Sebastian’s handwriting. Then I refold it and carefully tuck it back inside the frame again, before placing it inside a soft jumper at the very bottom of my rucksack.
I know I will get it out again, at some point in the near future, and reread it, probably several times… save the email address to my phone… perhaps even start writing an email. But right now, today, as I had promised myself – I have other things to do.
When I go back into the kitchen I see Isabella has woken up, and is making little gurgling, contented sounds from where she is cradled in Naomi’s arms. Naomi stands beaming down at her, swaying gently on the spot with the natural tenderness of someone who has done this before, many times.
She and Gabriela look up as I enter the room. ‘Hey, do you want to hold her?’ Gabi offers. ‘I don’t think you’ve even held her yet, have you?’
Only properly admitting it to myself now for the first time, I realise I have been keeping my distance from Isabella since her arrival, limiting myself to helping out with the practical side of things – washing, tidying, keeping an eye out. But on some level I have not let myself actually touch her, for fear of unleashing upon myself a tidal wave of emotion.
But now I take her in my arms, letting Naomi gently position her tiny, fragile head to rest in my hand, feeling the soft warmth and surprising weight of her little body. She looks up at me solemnly with twinkling, dark-grey eyes, and reaches out one minuscule hand to touch the bare skin of my arm. I hold her tightly against my chest and breathe in that unique, perfect, powdery baby smell, allowing myself to feel the familiar plunge of longing. I gaze down at her for I don’t know how long, lightly stroking the impossibly soft skin of her face, allowing various waves of emotion to crash over me, feeling a tear escape from the corner of my eye and fall on to her little pink cardigan.
Just maybe, one day…
Then, with great care and tenderness, I hold out my arms to Gabriela and hand her back.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘Did you know that Baltra Island is one of the most spectacular places in the world to land an aeroplane?’ the friendly Australian girl in the seat beside me says. ‘You can see the whole pacific ocean – look!’ I lean past her to peer out of the window, and drink in the beautiful scene spreading out below us.
The water is a deep azure blue, blending to a lighter jade green as it nears the rocky shore of our destination.
The island somehow doesn’t seem big enough for an aeroplane to land on it, appearing from this height to be no more than a small circle of inhospitable jet-black volcanic rock, surrounded on all sides by the vast expanse of striking turquoise water and frothy, dancing waves at its edges. But as we begin our gradual descent, signs of civilisation start to come into focus – dotted co
lours of buildings and a grey stretch of runway slowly growing in size as it rises to meet us.
Suddenly the captain’s voice crackles through the aeroplane’s stereo system, welcoming us to the Galápagos Islands and wishing us, only a few hours prematurely, a Happy New Year. As his voice fades out, the generic landing music switches to a fast-paced bouncing salsa beat, and two members of cabin crew stride down the aisle, cameras held out in front of them, filming, shouting ‘Last flight of the year – Quito to Baltra, Santa Cruz Island, Galápagos! Happy New Year!’
I find a cool glass of fizzy wine has been put in my hand and turn to see the rest of the passengers also raising their glasses in salute to the cabin crew, cheering and clapping and turning to hug each other.
It’s only late afternoon on the 31st of December but everyone on board has been in a festive spirit since we took off three hours ago – families and couples, and even the odd lone traveller like myself – bubbling with excitement at the thought of seeing in the New Year from one of the most naturally beautiful locations in the world.
I turn and chink glasses with the Australian girl, who also seems to be travelling alone.
‘Do you have plans for this evening?’ She stoops to rummage in her bag, and pulls out a colourful business card showing a photo of a floodlit hotel, framed by palm trees. ‘A group of us are going here tonight – it’s one of the island’s best bars, right on the beach. It should be great. It’s really popular with travellers, if you fancy joining us.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile warmly at her and take the card. ‘I just might.’
I deliberately haven’t made any plans beyond securing a booking at a beachfront hotel that, two months ago, I would have persuaded myself was too expensive. The open space and time stretching out ahead fill me with a thrill of freedom, knowing that, from the moment we land, whatever I do here will be my decision. Perhaps I will head along to – I glance down at the card – Iguana Falls Hotel and Bar, to join the beach party. But likewise I may choose to stay completely alone on my hotel balcony, with a cocktail or iced coffee in my hand, looking out to sea as the New Year dawns.
‘Baltra airport is actually on a separate little island, right next to Santa Cruz,’ the Australian girl – Michelle, I’ve learnt – continues. ‘Once we land we have to get a ferry across to the main island. Get your camera ready, as sometimes sea lions and turtles swim right up to the boat.’
Excitement swells inside me as the plane bumps down on to the runway and I join the eager throng of fellow tourists queuing for the door. We’re met by posters of manta rays and giant tortoises and gilded signs in English and Spanish welcoming us to the Galápagos Islands. As our bags are deposited one by one on to the clunky little baggage carousel, an Alsatian dog trots purposefully between them, sniffing and investigating each one under the close supervision of a man in heavy army uniform. For a second I think of Naomi and shiver, recalling our day in court and the story of the very different journey she began all those years ago from Quito airport.
Then the cool breeze and sound of gulls reaches me through the open doors to the world outside and I push that thought behind me, focusing on the new life that lies ahead for both of us with the advent of this dawning new year.
As I join the queue for immigration and pull my passport out from my pocket I can’t help staring down at it for a moment and remembering whose hands, only weeks ago, had printed these very pages. Suddenly Sebastian’s warm smile and twinkling green eyes fill my memory and cloud my vision, and I stand paralysed to the spot by a sudden jolt of longing, wondering where he will be spending this New Year’s Eve.
Then I remind myself that I will see him in just two short months when I return to Quito from my travels. So far we have only exchanged brief, tentative emails but I have told him of my plans to conduct a month’s paid work experience at the Public Defence Office in Quito. In his last email, which I have already opened and reread several times in timid anticipation, he has asked me to meet him for coffee once I am back in the city. Right now, I will have to contain my excitement and wait for that.
It had been wonderfully easy to arrange the work experience, once my mind was finally made up. One of the first things I did after Harry left Casa Hamaca – and my life – that night, was to email Dr Vélez and ask whether his offer of working for a short period in their offices still stood. I remember whipping open Gabriela’s old laptop and firing off the email before I could give myself chance to lose momentum or change my mind. He replied almost immediately, telling me he would be delighted to have me for whatever period of time I chose, and offering me the possibility of shadowing his work on several new cases. All that remained was applying for a work visa, and negotiating a start date. For the first time in years, I began to feel genuine excitement at the thought of my career, the possibility of doing something different and learning about a whole new area of my chosen subject.
That just left one more step… the one that had been tucked away at the back of my mind for so long, waiting to be taken.
After sitting in my little room at Casa Hamaca and submitting seven applications in short succession for the postgraduate Law Practice Course at different universities all across London and the South East, I finally sat back and accepted that what comes next is simply waiting. I won’t hear back from them just yet, as all the courses begin in September or October, with the selection process and interviews taking place in the first few months of this new year. But I surpass all the minimum entry requirements. With my undergraduate degree already gained, and several years of relevant work behind me – not to mention the international experience I will shortly gain in the Public Defence offices in Quito – I may even receive an unconditional offer from some of them. As I hit ‘send’ on the very last application, feeling exhausted but exhilarated, shortly before Gabriela’s laptop crashed in protest… all I could think was you should have done this long ago.
Even then, however, picking up the phone to Angela at Home from Home took me several attempts, as the voices of old doubts briefly filled my mind and held me back. What if you don’t get any of the university places, and can’t find another job afterwards? The fear of finding myself back in the UK with nowhere to live or work almost overwhelmed me. In the end, I realised only one person could help put my fears to rest.
‘Of course I’ll support you!’ my mother’s voice exclaimed warmly after I had explained my plan. ‘You can stay with us as long as you like – I’ll get the spare room ready now. Your sister will be back from uni in the summer but we’ll make space. I’ve been saying to Steve for ages that we need to get a new bed in that room. And you can go on my car insurance, I’ll phone them up now and get a quote…’ As she rambled on excitedly, I stopped really hearing her any more, instead finding myself staring at her little photo on the screen and suddenly wanting to dive into the computer to cross the distance between us and give her an enormous hug.
‘But… Mum, you do realise this means I’ll have to quit my job? And have no income for at least the whole year of the course… possibly longer, if I can’t get a job straight away afterwards?’ The feeling of mild panic at that prospect welled up inside me again. But Mum’s voice crackling out of the laptop speakers sounded different, firmer, and a million miles away from the anxious and fearful warnings I am used to hearing from her.
‘Listen, Kirsty, you already know you have to do this, or you wouldn’t have applied. Plus – I’ve been speaking to your father.’ Her new, businesslike tone reminds me for a fleeting, slightly terrifying second of Liza. ‘He made me realise several things. First of all, we are both really rather relieved that you and Harry have split up. Yes, I know it’s going to be hard for you, and there will be times when you will feel afraid of the uncertainty ahead. But your father helped me see that there has to be some level of risk involved if you are finally going to follow the career you have always dreamed of.’
Reeling, I hadn’t heard much beyond ‘I’ve been speaking to
your father’.
‘So, er, you and Dad are… in touch, now then?’
‘In touch? Yes, we met for lunch the other day so he could show me all the photographs from his trip there. And we arranged to go to that Rolling Stones gig in Tunbridge Wells next week… we both always loved the Stones.’ She pauses for breath. ‘As friends, of course. I wouldn’t touch him with a barge-pole now, you know. He looks much older these days, doesn’t he? But anyway, we both fully support your decision.’
Well, that was that then.
In the end, Angela was very understanding when I told her I wouldn’t be returning to my job after the sabbatical. She even told me I could go back for a few months and work over the summer before starting my Law Practice Course.
‘And you never know, there may be a vacancy here when you finish – as a qualified solicitor,’ she adds, just as I’m about to hang up. ‘Nothing would make me happier – in fact, nothing has made me happier than this phone call.’
I think back to the cryptic message she gave me as I left my meeting with her, months ago before leaving for Ecuador… something about people following different paths to achieve their ambitions. I thank her profusely, grateful to have the option, but secretly doubting I will ever return to work anywhere near Fenbridge.
My sights are set on London.
As the airport doors slide open, a pleasant warm breeze tickling my face and the sound of the waves already audible in the distance, my focus turns back to the weeks and months ahead. Dr Vélez had wanted me to start straight away at the Public Defence offices, but I insisted on waiting two months… because I had already decided, almost from the moment Harry walked out of the bar that night, that there were even more pressing things for me to do.
