Written in the Stars (40 page)

‘So, I’ve decided I need to be as strong, brave and forgiving as my daughter.’ And she wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek against mine.

‘There is no map in this life, Bea, only your own inner compass.
Samskara saksat karanat purvajati jnanam
. . .’ She laughs at my confused expression. ‘It means, through sustained focus and meditation on our patterns, habits and conditioning, we gain understanding and knowledge of our past and how we can change the patterns that aren’t serving us to live life more freely and fully.’ She slips down her sunglasses over her eyes but her trembling lips give her away. ‘And I haven’t lived as freely or as fully as I’ve pretended to since your father left.’

I swallow and nod as the group in front of us leave the desk and we are called.

We step up to the desk and place our passports and tickets in front of the bemused-looking woman.

‘We’re going on a life-changing trip,’ Loni informs her proudly.

‘How nice,’ the woman says politely. ‘Are you sisters?’

I laugh and go to say yes – just as Loni taught me to do as a teenager, but she gets there before me.

‘No, actually, this is my daughter.’ She takes my hand and squeezes it gently as she turns to look at me. Her face is awash with pride. Then she turns back and lowers her sunglasses as if revealing herself like a celebrity to the check-in girl. ‘Now be a darling, will you, and see if we can have a cheeky little upgrade?’

Chapter 64

When we pass through Goa airport it is more hectic and overwhelming than I ever imagined. The heat is engulfing, sweat drips off my back almost immediately and Loni and I are swamped by men trying to grab our bags, shouting, trying to get our attention, but Loni deals with them all firmly. Then she puts her arm around me, lifts her chin and ushers us through to find the pre-booked car she ordered.

She has already come into her own: on the eleven-hour flight she pulled out various snacks and gave me a herbal sleeping tablet that I referred to as a horse tranquilliser when I woke up because it knocked me out immediately. God knows what was in it but I slept better on the plane than I have for weeks. I came to as we were descending into the hazy Indian heat and I felt like something momentous was about to happen.

And that feeling continues as Loni and I climb into a white mini-van and we set off towards Baga, where Loni lived with my dad many years ago when they were young and in love. And where she’s told me I was conceived.

So if I wanted to go back to where it all started, there is no better place than this.

Loni is quiet for once, gazing out of the opposite window. There’s only the sound of the wheels on the road, Indian music playing from the radio and her bangles jangling as our car bounces through gigantic potholes on the wide road. The arid, heat-soaked countryside stretches as far as the eye can see, only punctuated by the buzzing of small motorbikes whizzing by, with helmetless, shirtless Indian men driving them, sometimes with girlfriends riding pillion, their colourful saris billowing in the breeze. Occasionally I gasp aloud and close my eyes as giant lorries overtake cars and seem to head straight for us. It seems the rules on these roads are that there are no rules. It’s frightening and invigorating all at once. I have never been anywhere that has felt so alien but at the same time so alive.

‘Are you OK?’ I nudge Loni.

She turns and gives me a fleeting smile. ‘I just feel like I’ve slipped through some sort of vortex and you’re my only proof that the last thirty years ever happened. Nothing has changed here, and yet everything has.’ She squeezes my hand and smiles wistfully.

‘Is this going to be too weird for you?’ I ask. ‘Seeing Dad, I mean? Maybe we shouldn’t do this,’ I say quickly, suddenly feeling my old panicky, indecisive self returning. Loni shakes her head and puts her arms around me. ‘Darling, we’re not backing out now. No more running away, hmm? We both need to do this.’

Forty-five minutes later we are cruising down Calangute Road and into a bustling street awash with colour and noise and smells that attack every one of my senses. I’ve never seen so many people in such a small space. Cows wander in front of our car as motorbikes weave past. Palm trees, market stalls, shacks and whitewashed houses line the street. At one point an elephant strolls past. My neck is aching from craning to see in every single direction. I have never seen so much life, and so much poverty. We finally pull up in front of a small, white, colonial-style guest house that has a rickety old sign with
Sarah’s
in gaudily painted italics.

Loni gets out, pulls out a handful of rupees that makes our driver smile, and thanks him. He gives us our luggage and sets off in a cloud of red sand.

‘Come on then, darling,’ Loni says, excitement visible on her face. ‘Let’s get checked in. There’s so much I want to show you!’

It’s nearly 7 p.m. by the time we leave the guest house but the heat has barely subsided. The reason it has taken us so long to get out is because I had to take two showers. The first was to wash off the journey, the second to cool down from the heat. Loni was waiting in the little courtyard garden, chatting to ‘Sarah’, the somewhat grumpy Indian owner, who of course remembered Loni and had instantly become a different host entirely. As I hovered in the doorway I saw that she was excitedly gesticulating to show her delight at seeing Loni again whilst Loni must have been giving her a potted history of the last thirty years. They were murmuring quietly and I heard Loni say, ‘. . . although he did give me two wonderful gifts.’ Then she turned and gestured to me, hovering on the step.

Sarah ran across to me, clasped my hands and shook them enthusiastically. ‘You most welcome here in Baga. We love English. We love your Loni. Your mum is good and old!’

Loni stood up and rolled her eyes. ‘A good old
friend,
you mean, Sarah. Honestly!’ But she put her arm around Sarah and laughed to show she was teasing and Sarah’s face wrinkled like a prune, her bright brown eyes glimmering as she grinned at me. ‘Sarah has already told me that Len has come to Baga regularly in between other travels for many years and stayed here. But this last couple of years he’s stayed longer and now has a place up near Anjuna beach. She says he’s well known in the area and that we’ll find him easily.’

Loni nodded emphatically as Sarah relayed a new barrage of information. ‘He likes Goa. It feels like home to him. And then old British women like him. Him very popular with older women. Though he keep himself to himself. They swamp him like flies round the sacred cows on Baga beach. They think he is some sort of god.’

Loni raised her eyebrows and flashed me a wistful smile. ‘Sounds about right. Your father was a very attractive, sensitive man.’

‘So,’ Sarah continued, ‘he goes to the market on Wednesdays. You find him there.’ I felt my heart tilt and tip at the thought that tomorrow I might finally see my dad.

We arrive at Baga beach just as the sun is setting. Loni drags me straight over to a shack with tables right on the beach and orders two beers and a selection of traditional Goan dishes that she promises me I’ll love. Then she pulls her chair next to mine and nods over to the ocean.

We sit in silence as the sun that hangs like a gold pendant in the sky slowly dips down into the water and sets the sky alight, sending a flame of colour across the horizon and making the sea glow ultraviolet. I feel humbled by the sight and so grateful to be here with Loni that tears prickle my eyes and make my throat ache. Even if I don’t meet Dad I know that I’ll never regret coming here. As I look around, I’m trying to get to know him already, to see this place through his eyes. This is where he decided to put down roots after all: it’s his chosen garden, so different from Norfolk. Just as the city I chose to move to was so different from Norfolk too. I feel like I already have so much in common with my long-lost dad; I’m just not sure how much of it is good. Aside from both of us being prone to depression, we have both tried to make new lives for ourselves because we couldn’t cope with – or didn’t think we deserved – the one we had.

‘Are you OK?’ Loni asks gently. ‘What are you thinking about?’

I take a sip of beer. ‘Adam. I miss him so much, Loni.’

She nods and touches my hand. ‘I know, darling.’

We watch a family of four on the beach, just by the shore, cast in black silhouette. They all hold hands as the sun slips away, the tip of it glowing gold like a doubloon before disappearing behind the horizon. I know that both Loni and I are placing ourselves in that picture as if in a snapshot of the family we could have been.

‘Do you ever regret marrying Dad?’

Loni leans forward and cups my face with her hands. ‘How could I? Bea, you have to know that my life has been such a joy because he gave me you and Cal. I’ve always felt like I could cope with anything as long as you two were OK.’ Her eyes mist over. ‘That’s why I found that summer so hard, when you were with Kieran. I could feel you drifting away from me – and then, that night I got the call from the police and I was driving to the pier to collect you, I was scared to death that something had happened to you and I swore if you were OK, I’d never let you out of my sight again. When Kieran left I was so relieved, even though I knew how heartbroken you were. I knew he wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t good for you either. But instead of helping you to brush yourself off and start again, like I should have done, I smothered you. I took you to the doctor’s, he prescribed antidepressants and I was relieved, Bea, I was so relieved. Even though I have never thought they were the answer, even though I could see they were stripping you of your confidence, your ability to make decisions, your desire to get up and try again, I was so grateful to still have you that I welcomed the dull calm that came over you. I didn’t care that you had dropped out of university, that you weren’t going out and that your life had been reduced to lying in bed or on the sofa, watching old films with me. I didn’t care because I still had you. I could look after you. I could keep you safe with me.’ Tears are streaming down her face now and she doesn’t even bother wiping them away. It’s like the floodgates have been opened at last. She doesn’t have to pretend to be strong any more.

‘It’s OK, Loni, I understand.’

I’ve seen her in a whole new light since I discovered the truth about Dad. A whole new
life
. One where she is a woman who had her heart broken but who couldn’t fall apart because of her two kids and so came up with a way to manage her heartbreak in a positive, inspiring way. She did everything she could to bring us all out of a terrible situation and give Cal and me the best chance of happiness. She protected us, yes, but she protected Dad too. She knew enough about being a parent to realise that being there meant taking the good and the bad from us and knowing that both would be calibrated by her unconditional love. I’m in awe of her. With her books and appearances and retreats she’s been a role model to thousands of people: finally I’ve realised she’s
my
role model too.

And I’ve also realised that the reason Cal and I began calling her Loni wasn’t because we didn’t love her like a mum. It was because ‘Mum’ just wasn’t a big enough word for what she was to us. What she
is
. She hasn’t ever just been a mother, she’s been a father, a teacher, a counsellor, a sister, a saviour. My saviour.

‘You really loved him, didn’t you?’ I observe now.

‘Oh so much,’ she says vehemently. ‘I remember sitting here in almost the same spot watching that sunset for the first time with your father and thinking that I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere – or with anyone – else.’

‘So why did you leave here?’ I ask. ‘If you both loved it so much? Do you think if you hadn’t made him come back to England you might have been happy here together?’ I’m clinging on to long-lost possibilities like they’re life-rafts. What could have stopped Dad from leaving? What was their alternative ending?

Loni takes a sip of beer and shakes her head. ‘I’ve realised that I couldn’t have saved him. Our relationship wasn’t enough.’

‘Like me and Kieran’s.’ She rests her head against mine. ‘What do you think Dad’s going to say, when he sees us?’ I ask quietly. I realise that I’m scared.

‘I don’t know, darling, but no matter what, we’re in this together, every step of the way.’

I look at Loni and nod. ‘I wouldn’t want it any other way.’

Chapter 65

The next morning I’m sitting on my balcony, staring down at the dusty road, when Loni knocks on my door, resplendent in a bright pink kaftan and sandals. Her hair is pulled up to the top of her head and she has wrapped an aqua scarf around it.

‘Morning, darling, are you ready then? Have you eaten? Shall we go? We should probably go early, don’t you think?’ She’s anxious, restless, she can’t keep still. ‘Come on, darling, what are you waiting for?’

I drag myself inside reluctantly. I’m tired and sluggish after barely sleeping last night. Not that I’m not used to feeling it. I’m accustomed to long, dark nights spent alone with my thoughts. I’ve suffered from insomnia throughout my life. When I was eleven and had just started secondary school I went through a phase when I couldn’t sleep because I was worrying about my GCSEs. My insomnia increased in my teens until I was lucky if I slept at all. I’d just lie there all night, heart racing and fears swirling round in my head like sea monsters.

Last night, like back then, my mind was whirring like ticker-tape, one thought after another. I kept going back and forth, rewinding and fast-forwarding through every memory I had of my dad and then playing out every possible scenario of what might happen when I saw him today.

Today.

‘Are you ready?’ Loni asks.

My face is scratchy with heat, my hair limp and my shorts and vest top already damp with sweat. I have spent the last hour getting ready but I couldn’t feel less ready if I tried. Frankly, I just want to run away. But that’s always my default setting. And today I’m going to meet the person who made me this way. I take her hand and we walk down the simple white-washed corridor through the small reception area and then out into the dry heat of the morning.