I could happily live here for quite some time, but I’m leaving in the next couple of days. Going to Ireland to catch up with Carla – so excited to see her again! Remember Carla? The girl I met and travelled with around India and Thailand? She’s been back in Ireland for a few years. We keep in touch by email occasionally. She’s settled back in the same little town where she swore she would never return. I’m going to go and stay with her for a few weeks, she said she’ll take me to Dublin and show me around.
After that I’m on to the UK, going to try and get a job there.
Glad to hear that Rosie scared the intruder/potential burglar away. It worries me that something could have happened to you. I don’t remember things like that happening when I was growing up, but I guess times are changing and the world encroaches on even the most peaceful places. Promise me you’ll always lock the house at nights? And maybe get one of those alarms that you can hit the panic button if anyone were to ever break in?
Love you so much,
Ivy x
(Handwritten on piece of paper – April 2009)
Dear Mum,
I can’t believe I forgot. For almost an entire day I had no idea.
It wasn’t until I just happened to read the date on the top of the newspaper that Carla’s dad was reading at family lunch that it hit me.
Your 50th birthday.
What should have been your 50th birthday.
It’s hit hard
I’m angry all over again, just like I was when it happened. Angry at how much you’ve been robbed of. IT’S JUST NOT FAIR.
I told Carla I needed to get drunk and we spent the afternoon at her local pub. But the more I drunk the more sober I got. The memories of that night have been rushing back in waves. Someone dropped a glass at the pub and I screamed. Had to leave then. Couldn’t stand the crowd any longer. Stumbled home through some paddocks under a starry sky, cursing everything I saw. Cows, hedges, fence posts. All felt my wrath.
It sounds comical but it really wasn’t.
Now I’m lying here writing this by the light of the fire I will use to burn this when I am finished. Carla is crashed out snoring on the couch. Her mother seems accustomed to her arriving home in this state and barely batted an eyelid when we eventually crawled through the door.
I should be drunk with you, mum. You should have had the chance to throw a big party and dress up and celebrate this huge occasion with everyone who loved you.
Today I feel as if the last few years never happened. I feel as raw and angry as I did back then.
You should be here.
I miss you so much. I just want the chance to tell you how much I love you, just one more time. To see your face and tell you that you mean everything to me, that you are wonderful and beautiful and I am lost without you.
Please.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
2nd June 2011
Re: do you still understand kiwi English or have you started speaking cockney
Dear Granddad,
Tried to think of some witty English slang to say there but couldn’t - guess I’m still a kiwi girl at heart.
I’m so excited that you’re coming to see me soon. Three weeks and counting! I’ve planned out our itinerary, not too tight just some things I think you need to do/see,the rest of the time is ours for catching up with
The girls at work say they’re sick of hearing me go on about your visit but they’re just jealous that I’ll have TWO WHOLE WEEKS OFF WORK. Even though I’ll be on annual leave I promised them we’d pop in so they can meet you, they want to meet you – the wonderful grandfather I keep banging on about.
I can’t wait!
Ok, I’d better go. The boss is looking my way and keeps walking past my desk to see what I’m doing.
Love you and SEE YOU SOON!
Ivy x
(Handwritten on piece of paper – 27th July 2011 – then burnt in the back garden)
Dear mum and June,
Who’d have thought it. After all these years I am finally feeling homesick. All this time and it never bothered me, being away, because you guys weren’t there and it didn’t feel like home anymore. You both were my home - my shelter, my sanctuary, my support. But seeing granddad again has hit hard. He’s changed a lot since I last saw him in San Francisco.
He’s getting old.
It was so wonderful to see him and spend some time with him. I hadn’t realised how much I miss being hugged by someone who is related to me, but I do.
I’m confused now. When I think about going home I get scared. I don’t know how well I will cope being back there, even after all this time. But granddad is getting older and frailer and for the first time I find myself wondering how much longer I will have him in my life.
The thought terrifies me.
On our last night, sitting right here in this garden, enjoying tapas and wine, he asked me if I knew when I might be coming home.
It was the first time he’s ever mentioned it. And it’s made me worry that there’s something he’s not telling me. Something he’s hiding. About his health. Maybe he’s just feeling his age? I don’t know.
But I’m worried.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
12th December 2011
Re: I miss you
Dear Granddad,
I miss you too.
Love,
Ivy x
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
4th September 2012
Re: Hope you’re ok love
Dear Granddad,
Yes, I’m fine. Sorry if I didn’t seem so chipper (oh god the English slang is starting to set in – argh) on the phone the other night. I’m finding it a bit hard to motivate myself into feeling anything at the moment.
I just can’t believe it’s been almost ten years since they died.
I’ve been reading that a lot of survivors are going back to Bali for the anniversary. It’s something I never thought I would do, but lately it’s been playing on my mind a lot. Maybe I need to go back and face it.
I’ll let you know what I decide either way.
Love you so much granddad,
Ivy x
(Handwritten on piece of paper – 12th October 2012 – folded and set afloat with a flower and candle in the ocean off the coast of Bali)
Dear mum and June,
I’m back here in Bali. Somewhere I never thought I would be again.
It was such a hard decision to make, and a hard step to take getting on the plane. I’m not ashamed to admit I spent most of the flight from the UK in tears.
Ten years today since you both were taken from me. Ten years seems such a long time, but it hurts just as much now as it did then. Yes, the pain dulls over time. I have learnt to live with it just as I live with the physical scars that still mar my body from that night. I’m not ashamed of them, they are war wounds.
Being here, feeling the tropical heat, smelling the spices in the streets and seeing the smiles on the faces of the beautiful locals, it all feels so familiar. We had a great few days before it happened. I had forgotten that part. I remember the three of us shopping on our own the day before you died, trying to choose from all the colourful sarongs. We laughed so much that day.
Oh god it hurts. It hurts so bad.
Do I feel a sense of healing being back here? I honestly don’t know. Not yet anyway. All I feel is sadness. At least I’ve been able to let go of the anger. That has to be a positive step in the right direction.
It’s been an unreal feeling to see other survivors, some without arms or legs which brought back fresh visions of horror from that night. And the families of the deceased, at first I found it hard to look them in the eyes, worried I might see a resemblance to someone I walked over to get out of the Sari club that night.
But we all have a connection. There’s a sense of camaraderie.
I watched some surfers take to the ocean for a paddle for peace. It was one of the most moving things I’ve ever seen. Silhouetted against the pale orange and pink of the sky they held hands in unity. I felt….immense pain and relief then. Pain that there are people in this world who carry out evil deeds such as the bombings and claim it under the name of their god. And relief – relief that they are greatly outnumbered by peace loving people.
It’s been one of the longest days of my life, emotionally. I sat through ceremonies, and I walked the streets where the Sari Club once stood. A child who lost an uncle in the attacks placed a small angel doll at the site, and the innocence of the gesture nearly broke me. She couldn’t have been more than six, had never even known her uncle and would only ever know him through stories and photographs. It really hit home then that when, if, I ever have children of my own they will miss out on so much. A nanny and an aunty. How could I ever do justice to your memory? Teach them about how wonderful you both were? It’s a mammoth task and I’m not sure I’m up to it.
Perhaps the hardest part was seeing your names on the memorial to the victims. It feels as if a part of you will remain here always, and I don’t like the thought of that.
And now I sit here watching the sun go down on this day of remembrance. As I do I reflect on the thousands of sunsets I have seen over the last ten years in my travels. From the tops of mountains, rooftop gardens, hills and parks and other, equally as beautiful as this, beaches. But I know I will never forget this sunset. The beach is lined with people ankle deep in the calm waters, holding candles and reflecting upon what happened here ten years ago. A peace sign of candles in small jars on the sand burns bright. The tide is out but pockets of water remain on the sand and the vividness of the sky is reflected in them. Flowers are placed randomly; offerings to lost family members.
When I finish this I will join the rest of the people. Perhaps it is time I start celebrating that I survived, instead of mourning that I did not die with you. I’m not the only person who lost someone they loved that day, but I have been insular in my grief.
I smell the flowers again, mum. The same ones I smelt in Thailand right before the Tsunami hit, the scent that saved my life.
And I know you are both still here, all around me.
Somehow.
(Recorded message left on Leo’s phone – January 2013)
BEEP
“Hey granddad, it’s me. I’m getting worried. I’ve tried to call you three nights this week and got no answer. Have you suddenly developed a raging social life? Please flick me an email so I know you’re ok. I love you.”
END OF RECORDING
(Handwritten on piece of paper – February 2013 – and burnt in fireplace)
Dear mum and June,
It’s times like this I really struggle without you guys. I feel so lost. I guess I can trace the feeling back to my trip back to Bali last year. Nothing I can put my finger on, just things haven’t been quite right since then. Not that they were before either, but everything seems harder in a different way now.
I feel lonelier, if that’s even possible.
I broke up with Ben tonight.
Strangely, or perhaps not given that we were only together such a short time, I don’t feel overly affected by it. We had another argument, I couldn’t even tell you what it was about now but it was just enough, finally. We both recognised it. Said our goodbyes relatively politely and now he’s gone. Back to his flat, to his life, to his friends – while I’m left alone in this tiny flat where the walls are so thin I can hear which TV programme the old lady is watching next door. Eastenders, if you’re interested.
It’s hard to find motivation to do anything these days. I feel in the worst funk I’ve been in since you died.
The thing that’s bothering me the most? That I have no clue what is next for me. This whole time I’ve been travelling I’ve had an inkling of where the road might next take me. Not this time. I’ve become stagnant here in the UK, without even meaning to. I have a job I dislike, and as of tonight, no love life to speak of.
What’s keeping me here?
Love you guys so much
Ivy xx
(Recorded message left on Ivy’s phone – June 2013)
BEEP
“Was that the beep I wait for? I don’t know if that was the one I’m supposed to start talking after. What? Well how should I know?”
(Muffled conversation in background)
“Er, I hope this is working. Ivy? Ivy dear? It’s Mrs Frost from back home, Hazel Frost? I play bingo with your granddad. I used to know your grandmother when she was alive, we took you shopping once and you dropped your ice cream in the street. A terrible fuss you made too, I’ve never heard anything like it…what? Hang on dear….
(More muffled conversation in the background)
“Right, yes, well I’m just calling my girl because frankly I think somebody should. Even though he told us all not to interfere, Cheryl and I know he’d like to see you. Your grandfather is in the hospital, he’s had another…..
BEEP
END OF RECORDING
(Handwritten on the back of a receipt for magazines at Heathrow airport– June 2013 – and left in passenger lounge)
I’m going home.
Part three
The collision
Chapter twenty one
Stepping off the bus into the village it was the smell that hit her first. To anyone else, indeed to the tourists who had arrived on the bus with her, the smell was revolting. The tide was out and the mud flats were exposed, their egg stench wafting over the village. But to her, born and bred here, the smell was comforting. It was the smell of her childhood and she closed her eyes and took in a deep lungful of it, letting it soak into her body, weary after the long flight.
She felt a stirring of excitement. She was home. And it wasn’t until now that she was here, seeing familiar sights and breathing in the familiar air that she realised how much she had missed it.
Her grandfather wasn’t home but she knew where the spare key was kept, under the rock shaped like a dolphin in the garden under the kitchen window, and she let herself into the house. She hadn’t told him she was coming; had thought it would be a wonderful surprise. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
Home.
Nothing had changed; everything was in the same place as when she had left all those years before. She was both relieved and unsurprised to see this. The place was like a time capsule, perfectly preserved and awaiting her return.
She left her suitcases at the bottom of the stairs and made the difficult journey to the first landing. Not difficult physically but emotionally, because she had to brace herself to see her mother’s room. The door was closed, and when she opened it the smell of dust and moth balls lay heavy in the air. Apart from the obvious stuffiness though everything was just as she remembered it.
Her grandfather hadn’t thrown away anything. Perhaps he didn’t think it necessary, she wondered. Or maybe he had simply been leaving it for her, hoping that one day she would come home and face up to the past.
Well here she was, she was home. That was enough for now.
She wandered around her mother’s room, fingers tracing circles in the dust on the dresser. She picked up her mother’s pearl handled hairbrush, remembered nights laying on the bed, watching her mother’s reflection in the mirror as she brushed out her hair. She was a big believer in one hundred strokes of the brush a day. Do it, she would tell the girls, and your hair will be thick and healthy and glossy. And perhaps there had been something in it, as her mother’s hair had certainly been much admired by many.
The bed was still made up in the pale rose coloured linen her mother had dressed it in the day they left for Bali. It was her favourite linen set, and closing her eyes Ivy remembered standing in the doorway and watching her mother tucking in the sheets and arranging the pillows until the bed looked cosy and inviting.
“There’s nothing better than coming home to a freshly made bed” her mo
ther had said.
Ivy curled up on the bed, lost in her memories. She only intended to lay there awhile but soon she had fallen into a gentle sleep. It was there that her grandfather found her when he returned home from the supermarket.
Seeing the suitcases at the bottom of the stairs he blinked, frowned and tried to remember if he was forgetting something. Was he expecting a visitor?
Climbing the stairs he saw Pat’s door opened and the figure on the bed, her back to him and dark hair sprawled out all over the pillow.
It couldn’t be.
He stood in the doorframe, supporting himself against the beam with shaky hands.
“Pat?” he asked
The figure stirred.
“Is that you Pat?”
The figure rolled over and he gasped when he saw the familiar features of the face.
“Oh my girl,” he said, his voice breaking, “you’re here, you’ve come back.”
The woman got up off the bed and came to embrace him.
“Hi Granddad,” she smiled through tears, “sorry if I gave you a fright.”
He blinked again, “Ivy?”
“Yes granddad, it’s me.”
“Oh. I thought for a minute…” he shook his head. “Of course not, forgive a foolish old man.”
Ivy realised he’d thought she was her mother and she felt horrible for frightening him like that.
“I’m sorry granddad.”
When Stars Collide Page 11
