It occurs to me I’ve never asked him how he’s feeling about the whole episode. I know he’s devastated about how he behaved, but I do wonder if he regrets the decision to terminate. If he also thinks about the what ifs, as I do every single day, every single time I close my eyes. I suppose I don’t want to ask because right now I don’t want to know. I hardly have the strength to pull myself through this and I simply don’t have enough energy left to deal with his grief as well. Perhaps when we get settled in Christchurch, perhaps when we’re more stable, perhaps then I’ll be able to ask, and he’ll be able to tell me. Right now, I’m basking in his support. Ironically, I need it. I need him.
These past three months have been filled with lots of sorting out and lots of goodbyes. I’ve resigned permanently from work. That was a great day - walking into the office and handing Jonathan my letter of resignation. I maintained a cool head, even though I was tempted to ask him to turn round and bend over so that I could stick my letter up his arse, but I didn’t. Instead I consciously kept my nose clean as I worked out my notice, so that he would give me a good reference and I could leave the door open for potential re-employment in the future either back in his team, or back in our company in a different office.
Our final few nights were spent with Michelle, David and baby Jessica, and Melanie and Lynne came up to town to share a final family dinner, Lynne having returned to the UK to spend some time with her newest grandchild. In between some further caring contracts, she’s planning to spend Christmas in the UK with both her daughters and little Jessica.
“Can you take these photos and letters to Dad please, Christopher?” Michelle had asked at our final dinner, holding out a bundle of letters and a slim photograph album filled with photos of Jessica’s key moments from her first six months.
“On second thoughts,” handing the letters to me instead, ”probably best if you take them, Victoria.”
“No problem,” I’d said, while Chris rolled his eyes in mock sarcasm.
“…and these ones are to go to Dean and Lisa.”
“Again, no problem. I’ll keep them all safe and give these to your dad, and either hand these to Lisa in person if we hook up with them in the next few weeks, or I’ll post them up to the North Island when we get there.”
“I can’t quite believe you’re both leaving. It’s seems like you’ve only just got yourselves settled here in the UK - finally,” Melanie had said, plonking her elbow on the table and catching her chin in her hands. Her observation not lost on Chris and I. Our gaze had connected briefly out of the corner of our eyes, the secret that we’re both carrying hanging heavy in the air between us. He’d squeezed my hand in support. A tight-lipped smile passed briefly across his lips, which failed to hide the sadness emanating from his own eyes. Perhaps he does feel the loss as much as I.
It does seem strange to those around us that after only just getting set up here in the UK, renting a flat in London, I taking on a new job, gaining a promotion in the process and Chris beginning to gain some traction in his car business, that we would want to up sticks and do it all again on the opposite side of the world. Especially when I won’t be able to earn an income and Chris will have to build up his business dealings again. Although he has used the past few months to purchase and ship another six cars across the world. They’re on the sea now and will arrive a month after we land. Once sold, their profit will essentially provide us with our income for the foreseeable future, so a lot rides on those deals selling well.
Mel had continued, “It still doesn’t feel real. That you’re going to live in Christchurch… and I’m still here.”
“Well you can come and join us anytime you want, Mel,” I’d said, “it is your homeland after all.”
“I will come home one day,” she’d said flicking her hair back with her hand, “but I’m still having too much fun here at the moment.”
Although we’re not sure, Chris and I believe Melanie has a new boyfriend. She’s not been down to the Gray’s as much during her free time, so we think the relationship with the farmer has fizzled out and she’s being courted by someone else, but she keeps her cards so close to her chest, no one knows for sure.
Saying goodbye to my own family was exceptionally tough. Granny Fenwick, my last surviving grandparent, is very old now, and the thought of not being able to get home quickly if something were to happen to her is very unsettling and my mum is distraught. You’d think I was dying. I think she believes I’m going to leave forever and she’ll never see me again. On the way to the train station after my trip north to say my final goodbyes, we had to pull the car over, so she could physically vomit. I’ve told her my current trip to New Zealand is only going to be a three or four-month sabbatical. An opportunity to tour the country from North to South, before coming back to the UK in the Spring, when in fact we plan to stay in New Zealand over Christmas until their autumn arrives, then head from there to the US to cross the states west to east, driving Route 66 in our planned trip of a lifetime. If we time our arrival in the northern hemisphere when their summer arrives, spending next May, June, July and August touring the US, then if we were to return back to New Zealand after that, there’s a good chance we might catch three summers back to back and avoid the cold of winter for the next 18months.
In another year’s time I’ll finally be able to gain New Zealand residency and therefore able to work and earn an income. By then, we will have eaten our way through all of our savings and the profit from the current shipment, so we’ll have to make a firm decision about which country we’re going to settle and work in. I know I could walk into almost any half-decent business travel job in London, but I have no desire to rush back to the pollution, noise and overcrowding of the UK Capital, but deciding to immigrate to New Zealand permanently in another year’s time is another huge leap. I’ll need to be totally 100 percent confident that Chris and I really can go the distance before I make that decision, although I think secretly that is what Chris is hoping for. Whatever job I accept next and in whichever country, it needs to be a solid addition to my CV. Otherwise I’ll get a reputation as someone who doesn’t stay anywhere longer than a few months which could damage my career prospects long-term. As it is, for this trip, I can only stay in NZ on a tourist visa, meaning I’m going to have to leave and re-enter the country every 90 days. I’m unable to work while I’m here and other than some of my own savings, I’m now also reliant on Chris financially.
On our final night in London we’d stayed in the Russell Square flat, on the trusty old airbed in the middle of the living room floor.
“This is how it all started,” Chris had said at the time, “on an airbed in the middle of my sister’s living room.”
“I know. Who’d have thought it? Almost two years later I’d be about to embark on a new life on the other side of the world. God I’m scared, Chris.”
“Come ‘ere, ya olde goose,” he’d said pulling me in closer. “What on earth are you scared of?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I’d replied, a hint of sarcasm in my voice, “I’m about to get on a plane tomorrow and fly halfway around the world, to live in a country where I know no one.”
“You know me,” he’d replied, “…and Dean, and Lisa.”
“Erm hardly. I’ve only met your brother and his wife once and I have no income and won’t be able to work.”
“You may have only met them once, but they’re family and you don’t need to work. I’ll look after you. Next question?”
“I’m going to be a long long way away from my own family. If anything happens, I’ll not be able to jump in the car and be home in a few hours.”
“OK I’ll give you that one. But how many times have you been back north in the past nine months. Twice? Three times maybe? And if you really did have to get back quickly, you could just jump on the next flight and you would be home within 36 hours - if it really was that much of an emergency.”
“OK,” I say finally, “you win.”
What
I don’t add is the unsettling feeling in my gut that instead of this move being a new start for us both, I could be isolating myself even further from any of my own support network and could be putting myself at greater risk of being hurt by Chris. But I knew we had to try something.
The last weekend we’d spent hanging out with Michelle, David and Jessica, as pleasant as it was, had also been torturous when we had to say goodbye to little Jess. She’s six months old now and although she’s not yet quite crawling, she’s shuffling around all over the place on her bottom. Her language is coming along, and although not yet formed into coherent words, she still spends every waking moment babbling in her own little way. Smiling, cooing and pointing at everything as she delights in all the wonders of the world around her. The sounds of her sweet little voice ga-ga-ga-ing or ba-ba-ba-ing is magical. It’s the sweetest sound to my tired and worn out heart. Even when she cries, when she’s tired, or upset or just plain grouchy, my mothering instinct with her is so strong, I naturally want to comfort her and take her pain away, just as she does mine.
“You’re so good with her, Victoria,” Michelle had said as I’d played on the floor with her on one of our last days. “We’re both going to miss you so much when you’re gone.”
And you have no idea how hard this is going to be for me, I had thought to myself at the time.
“I’ll write you an update and send you pictures every couple of months,” Michelle had said.
“That would be lovely, Mich. Thank you.”
In the three months since making the decision, I have often asked myself if I’m just running away from all my problems, only to bring all the same baggage with me? Will just changing countries solve the issues between Chris and I? Will it help me heal my grief? Or is this unbelievable sorrow and guilt my own eternal burden to bear? Will putting some distance between myself and Jessica make me heal faster, or leave yet another hole in my heart to be healed?
I’m not 100 percent sure taking this leap with Chris was the right thing to do but staying where we were wasn’t an option either. Every passing day felt like a little bit more of me was dying inside.
“Almost there,” Chris says, leaning across me to look out of the window. “That’s Sumner Beach down there, and Lyttelton Harbour. God, I can almost smell the fresh New Zealand air already.”
I watch the waves rolling shoreward below, beckoning us to come and play. I look out the window and wonder what’s to come. Am I still searching, or is my search finally over? Is this it? Is the pain behind me? Have I found where I belong, where I’m meant to be? Or is this just another step in my journey?
I turn and smile at Chris. His energy has been fizzing ever since we left Bangkok 14 hours ago and we boarded for the final leg of the journey back to his homeland. I wonder how long it will be after we land before he’s off in his wet suit.
“Shall we take a trip to New Brighton tomorrow, you can play in the waves and I can soak up the sun?” I offer. “I think both of us will benefit from a bit of R&R after the craziness of the past few weeks and the long journey to get here.”
“Sounds like a perfect plan, followed by an overnight up at Hammer sometime this next week. I can’t wait to soak my back in those hot pools,” he replies.
“Me too. Then it’s only two more weeks until Christmas. Yay!”
“I know. Welcome to your first Christmas in the sun,” Chris says, gesturing outside to the big yellow orb in the clear blue cloudless sky. “This is going to be awesome, Vicky,” he leans over and kisses my cheek lightly.
The plane jolts violently as the wheels touch down onto the tarmac, bouncing us in our seats. Instinctively we both place our hands on the back of the headrest in front of us as we brace ourselves for the sound of the reverse thrust of the engines as the pilot applies the brakes, throwing our weight forward in our seats.
What a great metaphor for throwing me forward into this chapter of my life, I think to myself.
Chapter 23
Chris
“Turkey?” Dad asks across the table to Vicky, holding aloft a large slice of the juicy white meat, suspended between his carving knife and fork. A sound like smooth chocolate resonates from the CD that plays softly in the background. George Michael inviting us to remember Last Christmas. The image of the snowy video that accompanies the single, flashes through my brain. The irony of the image against today’s heat not lost on me, as today is turning out to be one of the hottest days of the year so far.
“Yes please, that would be lovely, John,” Vicky replies.
“Help yourself to vegetables,” Susan, Dad’s wife, instructs us all, gesturing with an upturned hand at the enormous spread laid out on her dining room table. The piles of piping hot food threatening to spill over the top of her fine china tureens.
“You really didn’t need to go to all of this effort,” Vicky says, delicately spooning vegetables onto her plate.
Dad guffaws in reply, “But of course we did. I might not sound like one now because I’ve lived here longer than I ever did in England, but I am a Pom remember just like you. I know how important it is to have turkey at Christmas. You being here just gave me the excuse I needed to cook one. Much more civilised than having a barbecue like we did last year.”
“We know that this is your first Christmas away from your own family, Vicky, so we just wanted to make you feel as welcome as possible,” Susan adds, laying her hand on top of Vicky’s and squeezing it affectionately.
“That’s very kind of you both and I appreciate it very much.” Her manners, as always, impeccable,
With Mum in the UK this Christmas visiting Mellie, Michelle and the new baby, rather than staying at home on our own, Vicky and I jumped at the chance when Dad and Susan invited us round for a traditional Christmas roast. Anything to avoid being stuck at home in each other’s company all day long.
I know it’s still early days, but it’s not been an easy transition relocating halfway across the world and since we arrived a few weeks ago now, nothing I seem to be able to say or do appears to be able to lift Vicky out of her permanent gloom. And if I’m honest, it’s wearing me down.
I, like Vicky, had hoped that by making a fresh start in Christchurch we could put some distance between the traumatic events of the past six months, rebuild our relationship and return to the happy place we both were when she last came to New Zealand almost a year ago now. But clearly that has not happened. It’s seems all our baggage still hangs heavy round our necks and instead of bringing us closer together, the ever-present wedge between us seems to be growing wider and wider.
I’m reeling under the pressure of rekindling my business and the need to earn income to support us both. The next shipment is due to land in three weeks and I have a lot of work to do in preparation. Meanwhile, with no job or network of friends, and with mum in the UK, Vicky has been forced to spend a lot of time on her own. For anyone else, a break from routine and responsibility can be a refreshing and reinvigorating change, but to someone like Vicky who likes to be self-sufficient and who has worked every single day of her adult life to give her the independence she craves, it requires her to relinquish control of her career and financial security. Even though this situation is temporary in the bigger scheme of things, I know it is a life that does not suit her. Coming from a small family unit, growing up with a tight knit network of friends around her, lounging around all day with no one to talk to and with no purpose or focus is making her very clingy.
I’m used to being able to come and go as I please, accountable to no one, so her persistent pestering every single minute of every day on where I am, where I’m going, who I’m seeing and when I’ll be back is becoming highly irritating. I’m trying to encourage her to fill her days with her own activities, but with no transport, she’s reliant on me for lifts or has to walk long distances or use our limited public transport network.
It takes so much energy to try and keep her happy that even in these past few weeks, I’ve noticed I’m not rushing to
come home to her. Instead, I’ve been finding excuses to drop off the radar, even if only for a few hours. To disappear round to a mate’s house, drinking beers in the early evening sun, smoking the odd joint and generally passing the time of day. Anything to delay coming home and be met with yet another tirade of questions, or unstable emotions.
I can feel the increasing salivation in my mouth at the smell of the roast dinner piled high on my plate. The aroma tickles the inside of my nose and my stomach growls in protest.
“Well I don’t know about you guys but I could eat an elephant, so if you don’t mind I’m going to jump right in,” I say, spooning an additional portion of roast potatoes onto my plate before smothering the mountain of food in a healthy portion of dark, thick turkey gravy, made only moments before by Susan, from the juices at the bottom of the roasting tin.
“Please do,” Susan waves her hand in permission. “Nobody leaves until there is nothing left on this table.”
“Oi,” Dad says, holding out his cracker for me to pull, “you can’t start your Christmas dinner without a paper crown on your head.”
I dutifully tug the end of Dad’s cracker, which snaps in two with a loud bang, the contents spilling onto the floor, before offering my own cracker across the table for Vicky to pull.
“Would you like to pull my cracker?” I ask, a cheeky twinkle in my eye at the obvious innuendo. She doesn’t react. After another loud bang, splitting the paper and cardboard in two I dutifully place the paper hat on my head as Dad tops up everyone’s wine glass.
“Here, I think you should wear this red paper crown, Vicky. It matches your lovely dress,” Dad says to her, swapping her green paper hat for his red one.
Belonging: Two hearts, two continents, one all-consuming passion. (Victoria in Love Book 1) Page 35
