Page 121 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘No.’ I stiffened. ‘I don’t really have much to do with either of them. Not anymore. What about you? How are your mum and dad?’

‘Mom sadly passed away. Dad was heartbroken and lost without her. I persuaded him to join us out here for a month.’ He smirked. ‘Five years later, and he’s still here.’

‘I’m so sorry about your mum,’ I said softly, remembering how fondly he used to talk about her.

He nodded grimly. ‘The worst thing was that I’d been talking about going back to the States to see her for months, but I was so busy that I didn’t make the trip. Then she died and I flew straight back for the funeral.’ He looked at me. ‘Isn’t that crazy? I couldn’t make time for her when she was alive, but as soon as she was gone, back I went. I was so angry with myself about that. I’d give anything for one more chat with her, one more hug, one more slice of her famous sticky ginger cake. But I left it too late.’

His words hit home. That could so easily happen to me. If Mum died, of course I would go to her funeral. Which begged the question that if I would pay my respects on her death, couldn’t I find it in me to repair our relationship while she was alive?

‘We never know, do we,’ I mused, ‘how long we have. We always assume that there’ll be enough time for everything. When so often life shows us that there isn’t.’

I thought of Brontë and how I’d taken for granted that she’d be back at my dinner table a week from that last sushi takeout. How I presumed I would have time to listen to her tell me about her gap year. Now I was doing the same with my own mother. Brontë’s death should have been a wake-up call for me to not put off saying and doing the important things. I’d go and see Mum, I decided, as soon as I got back home, and I’d work to repair some of the fences which we’d both damaged over the years. Maybe we’d never have the close bond that Brontë and I had, but it had to be worth a shot. It was the right thing to do, and I felt a load slip from my shoulders by coming to this decision.

While we’d been talking, I’d been scrolling through my Instagram messages looking for the one from the travel company Harry had told me about. I found one from Independent Travel Club and opened it.

I laughed in disbelief as I skimmed through it. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘Good news?’ Jackson glanced at me.

‘Possibly, it’s from a travel company who’d like to collaborate with me to curate some holidays under the Mum’s Gap Year brand. A brand!’ I laughed. ‘How did that happen?’

‘That’s genius.’

‘They say they’ve been following my journey and think I may have discovered an untapped market. I think I have too.’

My head buzzed with the idea. This could work. The feedback on my Instagram posts proved how much interest there was in a trip like mine. We could do short trips for those who worked and longer ones for those looking for a sabbatical. I might even be able to weave in Tiff’s One World Project and tie in some volunteering and fundraising.

Beside me Jackson laughed, bringing me back to the moment. ‘Look at your face! Sounds like you’ve found something to set your soul on fire.’

I beamed at him. ‘This is insane, but yes, I just might have.’

By the time I’d finished typing a message back to them to express my delight and to arrange to speak to them on Zoom, we’d arrived at our destination.

‘I don’t remember any of this,’ I said, after we’d parked the car and headed downhill past a café and a collection of gift and snack shops.

‘Bali has grown up,’ said Jackson.

‘Haven’t we all,’ I replied.

‘But you’ve improved with age,’ he replied. ‘The same can’t be said for these tourist spots.’

‘Very smooth, Mr Jackson.’

Already I could hear the tantalising roar of the waterfall in the distance. I peeled my dress away from my hot skin, desperate to get into the water. There were several steep flights of stone steps to the water and we joined a steady stream of people downwards. Scout, tugging on her lead, seemed as keen to get in as I was.

At the bottom, we took off our shoes and put our feet in the cool clear water.

‘Bliss,’ I groaned, taking Jackson’s hand for support.

Scout plunged straight in, her muzzle in a wide smile as she doggy-paddled to and fro. Once she’d had enough, Jackson secured her lead to a shady post and she lay down with her head on her paws, panting. We stripped off and waded out into the deep water and closer to the waterfall. I dived under the surface. The noise of the waterfall thundered in my ears and the water was effervescent with bubbles.

‘It’s just as beautiful as I remember it,’ I said, coming back to the surface and pushing my hair off my face.

Last time we were here, he had dived beneath me, grabbed hold of my ankles and tugged me under, and we had burst through the surface gasping for air, laughing and splashing at each other. It had been fun, romantic and sexy too. I wondered if he remembered it the same way I did.

It was too deep for me to touch the floor but not for Jackson and as I swam back to him, he caught me around my waist.

‘I’m not going to dunk you this time,’ he said with a smile.