Page 110 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘Can I join you on that sofa? I feel a long way away over here.’

‘Sure.’ I scooched over to make room.

He sat facing me, took my hand and held it between both of his. My insides sparked with nerves as I tried to work out what was running through his head.

‘I can’t imagine how tough this was – is – for you,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ve only just learned about her, and I already feel her loss. From now on, a part of me will always be missing. I wish I’d known her. My daughter.’ He whistled between his teeth. ‘I had a daughter.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ By now I’d lost count of the number of times I’d said it. And it would never be enough. Never make up for the child he hadn’t had the opportunity to love. ‘She was incredible. She looked a little like you. Wait, I’ve got a picture beside my bed.’

I went inside to fetch it and noticed that a weight had shifted from me. I felt as if I’d found the missing piece to complete the jigsaw of Brontë’s life. Perhaps this might be the start of a new friendship for the two of us; but even if that wasn’t to be, I felt better, knowing that both of her parents had had this chance to grieve for her together.

With a sudden burst of clarity, it occurred to me that this was the conversation my heart had been burning to have since her death – with him, her other parent, the most important person she’d never know. Finding him, telling him her truth was going to give me the sense of peace that I hadn’t known I needed.

I returned with the framed photo and let Jackson see his daughter for the first time.

‘Taken in our garden last summer.’

‘Hello, beautiful.’ Jackson examined it for what felt like an age. ‘Brown eyes?’

‘Like yours, yes.’

‘She looks happy in this picture. Was she happy?’

My chest tightened. ‘Oh yes. Apart from when it was her turn to wash the dishes.’

He gave me the ghost of a smile. ‘She probably got that from me.’

‘She had a wild, adventurous streak,’ I told him. ‘She got that from you too.’

‘The Maggie I met in the year 2000 was pretty adventurous,’ he pointed out. ‘And you’re here travelling solo like you did back then.’

‘Well, yes, but only because that was what she planned to do. I’m here because of her, doing the trip that she never got the chance to take for herself.’

‘So when you said your daughter brought you here, that was what you meant?’ His eyes were liquid pools and I could see he was on the edge of tears. ‘She would have been here, in Bali?’

‘She would, and according to her boyfriend she was hoping to find you through Utt.’

‘What?’ he said, half laughing with shock. ‘That would have been …’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘That would have made me so happy.’

‘She had her whole itinerary planned out in a book. I’ll be able to show you tomorrow.’

I explained about the loss of Brontë’s book and how it was being flown from Australia to Bali.

‘How about I take you to the airport, we can fetch it together?’ he suggested.

His obvious interest to learn more about his daughter made me want to cry; I couldn’t have asked for a nicer response. ‘I’d love that.’

He stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Listen, I’m starving. Have you got plans for dinner, or shall we go and pick up some nasi goreng and bring it back here? There’s a great place not far from here.’

‘No plans,’ I confirmed. ‘But I can’t believe you still love nasi goreng.’

‘What’s not to love?’ He spread his hands out. ‘Is that a yes?’

‘Yes, but are you sure you don’t you have to be back for someone?’ I held my breath.

‘Shit.’ He slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Yes, I do.’

The disappointment hit me like a brick. I tried not to show it. Of course he was going to have responsibilities. He wasn’t a kid anymore, surfing his way around the world, footloose and fancy-free.