by Clare Revell
See you soon.
Love Connie. XX
Breckenridge. 20th July 2018.
[Birthday card.]
Darling Connie,
I came so close to telling you my surprise, but I haven’t. Anyway, I know this won’t get to you in time. So see you very, very soon.
All my love, Oliver. XX
York. 20th July 2018.
[Postcard of Rose Window, York Minster.]
Dearest darling Oliver,
I leave on Tuesday morning on the 9am train. Paul is doing a late shift at work and driving me to Manchester so I don’t have to change trains. My children have booked me into a hotel for the night in Southampton as they don’t want me missing the boat. Literally. Told them I’ve been taking the train for years, but they cited the heat and delays and I gave in. Gracefully, I hasten to add.
They want me to call them from New York, one of those video call things, so they can see you.
See you very soon. Like 15 days or so.
More love than I can ever write on a postcard or in a letter, Connie. XX
PS. So excited! I finally get to give you a real hug, in person. It’s like a gazillion Christmases and birthdays rolled into one.
PPS. Happy birthday!
Chapter Twelve
Saturday 21st July 2018.
Connie stared at her passport lying on the open lid of her practically packed suitcase. She had to make this voyage—she’d promised when the children had booked it for her. Told Oliver she’d be there.
So why was she having second thoughts? Not to mention third, fourth, and fifth. Nonsense of course. Fear of the unknown she supposed. Fear of travelling. Fear of the fact that the love she had for Oliver wouldn’t come to fruition once he was actually stood right in front of her. Fear that he’d be disappointed in the way she looked. She’d lost her figure years ago and could never find the enthusiasm, or the money, to go to the gym every day.
Glancing in the mirror she sighed. A plump, old woman gazed back at her. The glasses looked dirty, but when weren’t they? She tugged them off and huffed on the lenses, before wiping them on a clean tissue.
Felix jumped onto the bed beside the case and meowed in protest.
Connie put her glasses back on as she reached down and rubbed his ears. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Sarah will take good care of you while I’m gone. And I’ll be back, you know that.”
As if the teenager heard her name, Sarah appeared with a mug of tea. “I wish you weren’t going, Granny. It’s a long way, and sailing isn’t the quickest way to get there.”
Connie took the mug and surveyed her granddaughter. “There is no other way for me to get there. There isn’t a tunnel like there is to get to Europe. And I won’t board a plane since your grandfather—” She broke off. “Besides, this trip is a birthday present and it would be rude not to go. Anyway, I get to see Oliver at the end of it.”
“But you hardly know him, apart from the letters. Anyone would think you were a teenager, not a mature woman in her—” Sarah’s cheeks pinked.
Connie chuckled. “You can say it, dear. Being sixty is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just another number.” She sighed. “Though being nineteen again, like you, well it would be nice sometimes.” Her knees wouldn’t hurt for one thing. She caught another glimpse of her white hair in the mirror. She’d gone grey early and white soon after. For years she’d dyed it, mainly so that Trish, Danny, and Michael wouldn’t be teased in school. But then when she hit fifty she’d stopped, stripped the dye from her hair, and gone grey and then white gracefully.
Or, most days, not quite so gracefully.
Plus, if she were a teenager again, she could have a do-over. Order her life differently. Or would she? Maybe she’d just make the same mistakes again, but as a do-over wasn’t possible, she’d never know. Besides, she’d need to be younger than Sarah to avoid the same mistakes she had the first time around. “Uncle Oliver and I have known each other since we were in primary school. We grew up next door to each other.”
“Really?”
Connie nodded. “He’s the same age as Uncle Matt.”
Sarah grinned. “That’s ancient. Even older than you, Granny.” She scooped up the passport and handed it to Connie. “That’s no good in your suitcase. Unless you want to unpack when you get to the docks.” She tilted her head. “So if he’s Uncle Matt’s friend, why are you going to see him?”
“When he moved to the States, I promised I’d write. We’ve been writing to each other for a very long time now. Forty-eight years. I’d say we know each other pretty well.”
“Do you have a photo?”
Connie reached into her bag and pulled out a creased envelope. Her bag and its contents were the only things that had survived the fire. She pulled out two dog-eared pictures. “These are the only ones I have now. He offered to send a more recent one several times, but I don’t need one. This picture was taken the summer they moved. I was thirteen and Uncle Matt and Oliver were sixteen. That’s your Auntie Sandy the other side of me. She died a long time before you were born.”
A tinge of sadness flooded Connie at the sight of Sandy’s beaming face. They hadn’t always been best buddies—what sisters were—but even now, almost thirty years on, she missed her.
Sarah studied the picture. “She’s pretty. And wow, he’s cute.” She laughed. “No, I don’t mean Uncle Matt.”
Connie handed her granddaughter the other photograph. “This is when he was in his twenties.”
“Wow…long blond hair. Who’d have thought he’d wear his hair like that given what he does now? Was he a hippy before he joined the church?”
Connie laughed. “No, dear. Wrong decade. That was the sixties. This would have been when he was at university or just after.”
Sarah studied the photos then handed them back. “Nice. But you don’t have a recent one. How will you recognise him when you see him? You could email him and ask for an up-to-date picture.”
“I’ll know him,” Connie replied. “I remember what he looks like from the photos he sent before the fire. Now I need to finish packing or I’ll never be ready by the time Uncle Paul gets here to pick me up.”
“It’s only Saturday, Granny.” Sarah laughed. “He isn’t coming until Tuesday morning and even then your train isn’t until half past twelve. How much more stuff are you packing?”
Connie grinned. “I have to make sure I have all the ingredients I need to make peppermint creams. I’ve been promising him those for years. And for that I have to pop up to the shops. Tell you what, come with me and I’ll buy you one of those caramel latte things you are so fond of.”
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Only if you make us some peppermint creams, as well. It was your birthday yesterday.”
“And you had some then.” Connie laughed. “But I guess a few more won’t hurt.”
Her granddaughter nodded enthusiastically. “After all, grandchildren are always spoiled here according to your fridge magnet. And the best way to do that is by feeding us…”
“…Peppermint creams,” Connie finished. “Then we’d best away and buy two lots of everything.”
Saturday 21st July 2018.
Oliver spent almost the whole nine-hour flight from Denver International Airport to London Heathrow reading his Bible, finishing his sermon for tomorrow, and praying. As the plane finally circled England’s capital city, he eagerly watched from the window as landmarks he hadn’t seen in decades came into view, along with a few new ones. Such as the rebuilt Wembley Stadium, and the London Eye.
If only he had time to go and visit, just to be an incognito tourist. To stand beneath Big Ben as it chimed, to watch the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace and at Horse Guards Parade, to walk over Tower Bridge, take a boat trip down the River Thames and see the Globe theatre, maybe even take in a show there. Oh, and stand in Trafalgar Square.
One year, Connie had sent him a photo of her and the three children standing next to the huge Christmas tree in the Square,
outside the National Art Gallery. She said the Christmas lights in London far outdid any she’d seen anywhere else.
Perhaps he could see them with Connie one day. He wished for a moment she knew he was coming. That he’d arranged to meet her in London rather than New York. They could have booked a couple of hotel rooms and spent a day or two exploring the capital. But the whole point of this trip was that she didn’t know. A birthday surprise, as he had to be in England anyway.
But maybe Anthony was right and he was crazy after all.
The tannoy chimed. “Ladies and gentleman, this is Captain Archer. We’ll shortly be arriving at London Heathrow. Please ensure your seats are in their upright positions, all tray tables put away, and all loose objects stored safely. The temperature in London is a rather warm 31 Centigrade which is 87.5 degrees Fahrenheit. The humidity is currently 88 percent. Have a pleasant stay and thank you for flying British Airways.”
Oliver slid his Bible into his flight bag and pushed it under the seat in front of him. He fastened his seatbelt. Maybe he should have packed his phone. But he honestly hadn’t missed it. The guy next to him had been glued to his the whole flight. So much of life seemed tied up in those tiny handsets—miniature computers these days—that people stopped noticing what was going on around them.
The engine noise changed and the ground grew closer. He gazed out over the city below him. A nervous excitement twisted his stomach. What if he literally missed the boat? What if he never found her the whole of the trip across the Atlantic? It was a huge cruise ship after all, the flagship of the entire fleet, not a tiny cabin cruiser.
Perhaps he’d be able to convince the purser, or hotel manager to give the officer his correct title, to let him have Connie’s cabin number. Or at least tell him if she was aboard. On occasion, his fame could be used to his advantage, but he hated to go that route. Or beg a favour as he was the Captain’s uncle. He wasn’t even sure he wanted Johnny to know he’d be on board, just in case that encouraged special favours.
But that was a few days away yet. First he had the visit to Lyme Regis, Dorset.
The current minister of the church he was preaching at would meet him at the train station in Dorset, which was his first port of call. He didn’t need a new job to move to the UK to be with Connie. He could simply retire. But the old adage said, ministers never retired, they simply moved on to pastures new and harvested a different crop.
A slight bump, a squeal, and the engines shifting into reverse told him they were down on the ground. After 48 years, he was back in England or Blighty as the natives called it.
Luggage collected, he followed the signs to the Underground which would take him to the heart of London. From there he’d transfer to the main line and catch a train to Dorset. He allowed himself a small smile at the thought of doing something normal. Anthony would have hired a car, probably a driver as well. But Oliver much preferred the simpler way of doing things.
Tuesday 24th July 2018.
Connie sipped her cup of insipid railway tea and grimaced. She should have known better and bought the coffee. She’d been on enough trains over recent years to know the railway tea was nothing but hot, almost flavourless and sometimes dusty water. Why were the buffet cars incapable of making tea? Perhaps she should have brought a flask or one of those refillable cups that were all the rage these days and bought a drink from the branded coffee shop on the station forecourt.
Funny how things go full circle. When she was younger, there were no take out cups. And when you went shopping you always took your own bags. Veggies came in paper bags. Meat in tiny plastic bags or kitchen paper as it was called. Now it was all coming back into fashion.
She glanced down at her left hand. Over the years the white stripe had darkened and tanned to the same colour as the rest of her fingers. She’d taken off her rings the day of Ezra’s funeral. She hadn’t missed them, or him. And she no longer felt guilty for not trying hard enough to make him love her. Not even a little bit. He’d given her five children, who in turn had given her ten grandchildren. The only thing he hadn’t done was love her.
The phone in her handbag rang. It took her a few seconds to find it and remember how to answer the call. Landlines were so much easier.
“Hi, Mum,” Dorcas said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Connie replied. “I’ve only been gone an hour. If that.”
“I meant to ask you. Uncle Oliver…his surname is Voight, right?”
“You know that, dear. Why?”
“I looked him up on line, Mum. Sarah recognised him from that old photo you showed her. He’s the Oliver Voight. Why didn’t you ever say something?”
“If you’re trying to ask if he’s the evangelist, then yes, he is.” Connie sipped her tea. “The same Uncle Oliver I’ve been writing to the past forty-eight years. And I didn’t say anything for a very good reason. You kids didn’t need your perception of him changed at all.”
“I can’t believe it. The man is almost as famous as Billy Graham. His preaching is vibrant and legendary, not to mention brilliant. Jeff was converted under his ministry, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.” Connie smiled. “And I’ll let you into a little secret. I’ve never even heard him preach. That’s Oliver, not Jeff.”
“Really?” Dorcas sounded shocked. “His sermons are all over the internet. Just go to—”
Connie laughed. “You know I don’t do computers. I only email and type on them because I have to. You attach files and download stuff for me. I can barely use this smart phone as you call it, and that’s only because you got the easiest one you could find. All I need is a book, a ball of wool, and a crochet hook and I’m set.”
“Speaking of wool. Sarah loves that shawl you crocheted and left here for her. She hasn’t taken it off since she opened it.”
“Good. You don’t mind her housesitting for me?”
“Goodness me, no. Let’s face it, Mum, she’s only next door should there be a spider or a thunderstorm. Do you want me to send you a photograph of what Oliver looks like now?
Connie bit her tongue. It would be pointless saying Oliver had offered several times and she’d refused. “Thank you, dear. But how do you have one?”
“I’ll find one on his website and send it to you now.”
Connie did a double take. He had a website? She avoided the whole online thing as much as she could. The whole world wouldn’t be interested in what she had for dinner or the latest photo of her in the mirror. “You can do that whilst talking on the phone?”
“Of course.” Dorcas laughed. “Put the call on speaker, minimise the call, open another app and off you go.”
That went right over the top of Connie’s head. She never had been very technically minded and it was far too late in life to start now. “Sounds very complicated.”
“It isn’t really. Oh, I say, Sarah is right. He’s quite the hunk, even now, and single. You’d better watch yourself, Mum. Okay, sending it to you now. Do you remember how to save the photo to your phone?”
“Yes.” Okay, they’d had to show her like fifteen times, but that was beside the point. She just reminded them who’d taught them how to use a spoon when they teased her.
“Right, I’d better go and start dinner, Mum. I need to pick the beans from the garden before it rains and peel the spuds. Text me when you get to Southampton. And enjoy the Dolphin Hotel. It’s even older than you.”
“So rude.” Connie laughed even so. “And yes, I will let you know the instant the train pulls into the station. Love you. Bye.” She ended the call and brought up the message screen. It took a few seconds to find the square download button, but she saved the picture. She smiled. Still the same Oliver. Older, greyer, but then so was she. And he still had the moustache and beard. How recent was the photo? Had he shaved it off?
The train stopped. Connie watched as people got on and off. Would this journey be the new start she was hoping for? Or was she reading too much into his letters? He’d
said he loved her, and she’d she loved him. But would it turn into something more real?
Over the years they’d confided in each other, cried for each other and the friendship had deepened. He’d agreed to meet her in New York when the ship docked. He’d show her around for the length of her visit and see her off when she left. In return she’d help him decide what to do with his life and with the institute that bore his name. If everything went well, he might even take her to Colorado to see it.
She looked down at the photograph and smiled. One more week and she’d see his face, properly, for the first time in forty-eight years. A lifetime apart. Separate lives, but so similar in many ways.
The train jerked as it pulled away, heading south. Another two and a half hours before she arrived and then one more night on land. Destiny awaited.
Wednesday 25th July 2018.
For the second time in just a few days, Oliver came to the conclusion that he’d timed this visit so very wrong. He should have taken more time for the whole trip. He longed to revisit his youth in Southampton. Go back to the old house, and go up the field as they used to call it, assuming it wasn’t a housing estate by now. They’d run up the stone path and across the huge grassy area, to the swings and roundabout, then across the stream into the bluebell wood. He’d also like to have walked along the river and checked out the school.
Nostalgia flooded him. A definite sign of old age. The feelings merely grew larger the closer the train got to Southampton. Maybe next time. Maybe he could persuade Connie to fly back to the UK and he’d accompany her. Or he would try to book passage on the ship she was going home on.
Or is this You, Lord? Telling me to move back to the UK? That my life has gone full circle? Despite the 48 years in the States, it’s never been home the way England is. Although having said that, this world isn’t my home. That’s in heaven with You. The preaching went well, and from the comments I received on the door as the congregation left, people liked it. Unless they were being polite. And I got a positive vibe from the elders meeting on Monday and the church prayer meeting I spoke at yesterday. If this is where You want me to be, let me know.
