Forty-nine
‘Are you sure, Rosie?’
She nodded. ‘But only if you are.’
‘Oh, of course I am! It’ll be wonderful to have you here. I was hoping you’d want to stay.’
‘Maybe I can start ploughing the fields and losing some of this weight.’
Elizabeth pulled a face. ‘We don’t have any fields. And you’re perfect just the way you are.’
‘Thank you, Lizzie, but this isn’t the Miss America pageant. You don’t have to lie for the cameras.’
‘I’m not,’ she insisted. ‘But if you want to live a healthier life, I’ll support you all the way. Even push you along.’
‘You might have to,’ Rosie warned, winking at her. ‘In a wheelbarrow.’
Rosie then looked down at the ground and rubbed her hands together. ‘So listen, I spoke to Sam at breakfast. Jack’s asked if Sam will accompany him to Cape Town. I’m not sure why Jack wants him there or even what that means. I just thought you should know.’
Elizabeth considered the news. ‘Think they’ll come back here when they’re done?’
‘I think Sam might, but I’m not sure about Jack. There’s something about him at the moment. He’s not himself. He seems … heavier. Whatever this Cape Town thing is, it’s serious.’
‘I know. The closer he gets to leaving, the quieter he’s becoming.’
‘And he still hasn’t said anything?’
Elizabeth frowned. ‘I asked him again, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I didn’t have the heart to push him. You know what Jack’s like. He hates to speak about his personal life at the best of times.’
‘Any new thoughts on what it could be?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘Do you want to know what I think?’
‘Of course.’
‘I think you should give him a compelling reason to come back here.’
‘Like what?’
‘What do you mean like what? Like the fact that you’re in love with him.’
‘No,’ Elizabeth replied, shaking her head.
‘No, you’re not in love with him? Or no, you won’t do it?’
‘It’s not the right time.’
‘What are you talking about? There is no more time. It might be now or never.’
Elizabeth opened her mouth and then closed it again. ‘Lizzie, you need to tell him.’
‘I’ll tell him if he decides to come back.’
Rosie sucked in her cheeks at that. ‘That’s one hell of a gamble. You realise he might not return?’
‘I do,’ she replied, looking away.
‘I really think you should do it now.’
‘I just can’t. Not yet.’
‘Can I tell you something that you’re probably not aware of?’
She nodded.
‘Jack Everson loves you. Whether he knows it or not. He loves you, Lizzie.’
Fifty
Jack’s final days in Sutherland had slipped by like the last embers of a glorious summer. Trying, in part, to make the most of what little time remained, not only had he worked on the farm for long stretches – constantly setting new tasks for himself – but he had even spent a weekend at Joseph’s home helping to erect a new roof. When he wasn’t working, he could mostly be found sitting out on the veranda at the back of the farm, watching the sun set over the hill. The hours spent there, often on his own, were both precious and painful for him, inspiring and suffocating in almost the same degree.
As the date of his departure had crept closer, he had withdrawn further into himself. It wasn’t that he had consciously made the decision to retreat from the group but rather that some instinctual part of him knew that it was the right thing to do. He realised now that it was as much for their benefit as his own so he had done what he could to disguise his detachment as general fatigue brought on by all the hard work.
Of course, he had no idea whether or not anyone had bought his performance.
Hefting his suitcase out into the morning sun, he wasn’t at all surprised to see that both Elizabeth and Rosie were already standing beside the car, waiting for him. Sam, for his part, was loading his bags into the trailer.
‘You can’t stay for one more day?’ Elizabeth asked, hating herself for how desperate she sounded.
‘I’d really like to, Lizzie, but I need to get to Cape Town in good time.’
She nodded, unable to conceal her disappointment.
Jack was thinking of what he could say to her when he noticed Sam turning to Rosie. ‘Look after yourself,’ she said to him. ‘Try to stay out of jail.’
‘It’ll be tough, but I’ll do what I can.’
Rosie lifted onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek. He offered her a smile that conveyed so many of the things that they would never say openly to each other. Then he turned away and walked over to Elizabeth. ‘Take care, Lizzie. I’m so glad you’ve chosen to stay on at the farm. It’s absolutely the right thing for you. For both you and Rosie.’
She leaned forward and rested her head against his shoulder. ‘Please be safe, Sam. And let us know when you get there.’
‘Will do,’ he replied, tapping his fingers against the phone in his pocket.
Jack then lifted his own bag into the trailer and shut the lid. Turning to Rosie, he opened his arms and closed them around her. ‘That bicycle ride,’ he said quietly.
She nodded and, at once, emotion slowed her words. ‘I hope that whatever’s waiting for you in Cape Town doesn’t keep you there for good.’
Not certain how to respond, he dipped his chin in acknowledgement before kissing her lightly on the top of her head. He then moved over to Elizabeth and, for a while, neither of them said anything.
‘I hope that whatever this is … it stops hurting you.’
‘You don’t have to worry about me, Lizzie. Everything’s fine.’
She looked down at the ground and shook her head. ‘You’re a horrible liar, Jack. It sits badly on you.’
He summoned up what he hoped was a smile.
‘Jack, I want you to know that this trip … this journey of ours, well … you have no idea what you’ve done for me. For Albert. For Rosie. For all of us.’
Jack wanted to say something back to her that was worthy of the moment but knew that his words would fall short. As they stood apart, Elizabeth looked up at him and, for a second, he sensed there was something else she wanted to say. Something important, maybe. But then the look on her face changed and the moment was gone.
‘I arranged a camera from Joseph,’ she finally managed, pointing to the table behind them. ‘I want a photograph of us together.’
‘Of course,’ he said, nodding, studying her.
Retrieving the old Canon, she carefully positioned it on the boot of the car, then ushered everyone into position in front of the tree. Once the timer was set, she leaned over to check the viewfinder and took her position between Jack and Rosie.
As they waited for the flash to discharge, Elizabeth tried to hold back her tears.
‘To life,’ she whispered.
Fifty-one
As Bruce Springsteen fought to be heard above the hum of the tyres, Sam finally spoke.
‘So how’re you doing, Jack?’
Lost in thought, Jack blinked and then glanced over at Sam. He seemed to have forgotten that his friend was sitting beside him. ‘How am I doing?’
Sam nodded, his eyes narrowing. ‘All right, I guess.’
‘Really? Sure about that?’
‘Pretty much. Why?’
‘Well,’ he replied, shrugging, ‘I was just wondering about it, considering that we both know you’re far from all right.’
‘And you know this … how?’
‘Couple of reasons. For one, whatever game your mouth’s playing, the rest of your face isn’t in on the act. Especially your eyes, Jack. They’re telling a completely different story.’
‘That so?’
‘Then there’s the way you’ve been acti
ng these last few days. Always heading off on your own. Going to bed early. Gone in the mornings before anyone’s had a chance to say a word to you.’
Jack tried to shrug off the accusation.
‘It’s like you’re a different person. It hardly takes a genius to work out that you’ve been avoiding us, Jack. The question, really, is why?’
While Sam waited for Jack to respond, Springsteen sang about how rough his hands were from working on a dream.
‘Fine. You win, Sam. I haven’t been myself of late. What do you want me to say here?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t. But given that you’ve asked me to come with you to Cape Town without so much as a stitch of information, maybe the least you can do is admit that something’s wrong and not treat me like some kind of damn imbecile. Some stranger who doesn’t know you.’
The Chrysler lifted over a swell in the road. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t told you about Cape Town. I just assumed that you understood about that. I really need you to respect my wishes—’
‘You’re missing the point, Jack. I don’t have a problem not knowing what your big secret is. A man has a right to keep things to himself. What I don’t respect is you telling me that nothing’s wrong when something clearly is.’
Jack felt a spark of anger flash through him. ‘Fine. Point taken. I apologise again. Now how about we drop this?’
Sam considered the question and then ploughed right over it. ‘In a minute. First tell me something. How do you think things went at the farm this morning? I mean the way things ended.’
Jack threw him a bemused look. ‘What do you mean? It was difficult. Obviously.’
‘What’s so obvious about it?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s a simple question. Why is it obvious that it was difficult?’
Jack sensed that he was being led into a trap, but was too tired to try to think his way out of it. ‘We were saying goodbye. It was sad. Which made it difficult. The end.’
Sam feigned surprise. ‘Was it difficult saying goodbye when you left the farm to help Joseph with his roof?’
‘What?’ Jack asked, his patience running thin. ‘Of course not.’
‘Why?’
‘Sam, I’m really quite tired. How about you just land your fucking plane.’
‘It wasn’t difficult because you knew you were coming back.’
Jack opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again. So that was the trap.
‘So you’re saying that this morning was tough for me because I know I’m not coming back?’
‘Bingo,’ Sam sighed, his tone bitter. ‘And that’s why you’ve been avoiding us.’
‘Listen to me. You don’t understand what’s going on here. This isn’t what you think.’
‘I’m going to ask you one last question here, Jack, and I want an honest answer.’
Sam’s patronising tone was beginning to grate on Jack. ‘Are you sick?’
‘Am I what?’
‘You heard me. Are you ill?’
‘No. Not at all. But it’s ironic that you should ask that of me. How about we talk about your health?’
Sam held up his hands as if to suggest that it was open territory. ‘If it so pleases the king. Go right ahead.’
‘Why don’t you tell me the real reason you haven’t gone for treatment?’
Sam folded his arms and pulled a face. ‘I’ve told you this already. It’s too late.’
Jack nodded, but not because he was agreeing with Sam. ‘I don’t believe that.’
‘You calling me a liar?’
‘You know what, Sam? This is long overdue.’ Jack stood on the brakes and the Chrysler snaked to a halt. Without offering another word, he flung open his door and stepped out into the middle of the desolate road. ‘What you told me before … it doesn’t add up.’
‘Oh this should be good,’ Sam said, following him into the road.
Jack held up a finger. ‘One, you’ve hardly lost any weight over the past few weeks. Two, from what I’ve seen around the farm you’re as strong as you’ve always been. Three, nothing about what I see in front of me looks like a man standing at the end of his life.’
Sam’s face drew tight with anger. ‘The cancer’s fucking back! I wasn’t lying to you.’
‘I know it’s back!’ Jack yelled. ‘Then what’s your point?’
Jack took three quick strides towards him and waved another finger in his face. ‘I know what last-stage cancer looks like. I’ve watched, first fucking hand, how it eats away at a person. I sat at my wife’s side and watched it tear away at her. Hour by hour. You could almost see it moving under her skin. What you have … is not last-stage fucking cancer!’
Sam shook his head, trying but failing to look wounded.
‘You told me the cancer was spreading. That there was no hope. That’s bullshit! You lied to me. You could’ve chosen to have the treatment, but you didn’t. I want to know why. Why’d you walk away?’
Sam lifted his hands to his head and glared back at Jack.
‘Come on, Sam … deny it. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m dreaming here. Come on!’
After a long moment, Sam looked away. He lowered his arms and headed back to the car. ‘We’re done here.’
‘Really? You’re going to walk away because you don’t like what you hear? Why can’t you just admit that—’ Jack pulled up midway through his sentence as the truth occurred to him. One moment he had none of it. The next it was standing right in front of him, clear as the midday sun. ‘This is about your daughter.’
Sam was reaching for the door when he withdrew his hand.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Jack heard himself say. ‘I should’ve known.’
Sam moved his hand back to the door but seemed unable to pull it open.
‘She never forgave you,’ Jack whispered. ‘And you never forgave yourself. This is your way out. I’m right, aren’t I?’
In the silence that fell between them, Springsteen sang distantly – and not without pain – about a wrecking ball.
‘Shit, Sam,’ was all Jack could say.
Part 5
* * *
TIDES AND PROMISES
Fifty-two
Jack strode up to the window of his hotel room and stared out over the beach. On a clear day he would be able to see right across the bay to Table Mountain. It was a sight that drew travellers to Blouberg from all corners of the country and, indeed, the world. But this was not one of those postcard days. From his vantage point on the third floor, all he could make out of the Atlantic were the dull and pale ghost heads of the breakers as they pitched and fell through a veil of mist and rain.
He slid open the window and rested his elbows on the cold aluminium frame. Inhaling deeply, he welcomed the familiar smell of the ocean into his nose and, even more so, all the memories that it carried with it. He shut his eyes for a while and journeyed through a raft of childhood holidays, of impromptu adventures as a student and, finally – inevitably – to his honeymoon with Grace.
He had thought that coming back to the hotel where they had consummated their love would have somehow brought him closer to her. But everything about the place – the lobby, the lifts, the restaurant and, of course, the very room he was standing in – had only served to make him feel more alone, more left behind. His mistake had been not realising that what he felt for the hotel had nothing at all to do with the bricks and mortar that held it together, and everything to do with the person he had once shared it with. Without Grace at his side, it felt like a mausoleum. An empty memory.
Standing there alone, trying to force his mind away from Grace, Jack was at least grateful that he had been able to mend his relationship with Sam. Despite all the things that had been said between them out on the road, they were now back on speaking terms. In the end it hadn’t required an apology from either of them, just a quiet understanding that their argument had run its course. That time – and life – was short and better spent on good terms. As they had d
escended into Cape Town together, it felt almost as though their heated exchange had never happened. An advantage, Jack thought, of reaching a certain point in one’s life.
And yet, still, Jack remained distraught about Sam’s decision not to fight his cancer. But the more he thought about it, the more he had come to settle on an uncomfortable truth. Who the hell was he to question another man’s decision on how to live – or not to live? He knew full well that just as every person had the right to cut his own path, people were equally entitled to decide when it was time to stop. At last, to rest, as the saying went. Especially at their age. He knew it better than most.
Trying to shake off a headache that was building in the back of his head, he lowered his gaze and watched as a few diligent souls set about stringing coloured lights over the pergola of a beach restaurant beneath him. He was trying to work out why they were doing it – particularly in the rain – when he remembered that it was New Year’s Eve. In a few hours the promenade in front of the hotel would likely be a hive of activity, whatever the weather.
Young people, roused by the possibilities of another year, would celebrate into the small hours, dreaming of lives rich in love and ambition. In hope. For the likes of him and Sam, the celebrations would feel increasingly like a farewell. A living wake for those whose duty and turn it was to make way – an old tide, for a new one.
As he imagined the crowd milling around below the coloured lights, he could picture his younger self seated at one of the tables, acting beneath himself and drinking too much. He wished he could have a conversation with that young man. He would tell himself to get his head out of his arse and become a better person – fast. To live with more thought and regard for those around him. But, more than anything, he would tell himself that one day when he met a woman named Grace and she complained about pain in her stomach, that he must take her to the hospital at once. That there wasn’t a moment to lose. And that he shouldn’t rest until she was being given the best treatment possible.
The Last Road Trip Page 15
