Page 30 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘We’ll pick you up in an hour,’ said Tiff, sliding open the door for me.

I climbed out and waved them off and, taking Brontë’s gap-year book from my bag, I’d let her be my guide.

Brontë’s Gap Year

The Boudhanath Stupa!!

I’m not one for bothering with tourist traps but I’ve seen this come up so much on TikTok that I know I’ve got to see it. It’s meant to be very spiritual. It’s basically a massive monument said to house the remains of Buddha and people walk clockwise around the perimeter all day long, either praying or taking it all in. The huge white building in the centre looks like a mandala from up above and there are gold bits too. It probably cost millions to build and it’s centuries old. There’s a place high up where you can get drinks and if it’s not packed, I’ll go up and take photos, do a bit of people watching. See if I can spot any good-looking Buddhist monks.

Top three things to get pictures of: the prayer flags which are strung right up to the spire at the top, the gold tower with the painting of the all-seeing eyes and the spinning prayer wheels.

There’s a mantra that people chant while they’re walking round: Om mani padne hom. I looked this up. It literally means praise to the jewel in the lotus. But really it’s about trying to find the Buddha in ourselves.

I can’t believe I’m writing this down, but I’ve been wanting to explore my spiritual side recently. We’re not a religious family, so I haven’t been brought up with the rituals of the church.

I asked Mum once what she believed in and she said love, taking care of others and saving ten per cent of what you earn for a rainy day. I agree with those (although she has the saddest love life known to humanity), but I’d like to think there was something bigger than us out there, someone with a master plan making sure we don’t do anything stupid like blow up the entire planet to win an argument.

Maybe I’ll become a Buddhist. At least I’d get to be reincarnated and live forever. I’d like that, as long as Harry joins me. Or maybe I’ll light a candle while I’m there and send loving thoughts to my mum who’ll be missing me. I might light one for my dad too. I wonder what he believes in.

Chapter 8

Nepal

‘Dhan-ya-bad, Lila,’ I carefully enunciated an hour later, climbing back in the minibus.

‘All good?’ Tiff’s eyes narrowed.

She must have been able to tell I’d been crying, but she didn’t say anything.

‘All good,’ I replied, getting my guidebook out of my bag to avoid looking at her.

I’d read Brontë’s words while sitting quietly with a coffee in the rooftop café overlooking the magnificent white dome. I thought about Harry, how he was coping with his grief, and what he was doing with his life. It melted my heart the way she managed to weave his name into most of her itinerary entries. They’d been together for three years and I’d got to know him well during that time, but they were young; I’d never really considered that they’d be each other’s ‘happy ever after’. Now reading her thoughts about him, I wondered if I’d been too dismissive of their relationship. What if they had gone the distance and he’d eventually become part of my family? I forced myself to recall those first few days and weeks after the accident. I’d been too numb to think about anyone or anything. In my head Harry was badly injured, but he’d mend; his parents would still have their son in their lives. My Brontë, on the other hand, was gone forever. I made my mind up, sitting alone above the stupa, that I’d get back in touch with him, check how he was doing, let him know that if he wanted to talk about my daughter, I’d be there to listen.

I’d watched the monks deep in contemplation while I finished my drink, smiling to myself when I saw a good-looking one. I’d listened to the hypnotic chanting of a group of women connected by the repetition of their mantras and I’d taken pictures of the fluttering prayer flags. Before leaving I’d lit a candle for Brontë, and thanked her for bringing me a moment of peace amidst the chaos of this beautiful place; and then I’d lit one for her dad because she would have liked that. Should I have done more to find him? I closed my mind to the guilt and reminded myself that I’d done the best I could at the time. There was nothing to be gained by questioning my decisions now.

I left the candles burning and joined the pilgrimage for one lap around the stupa. I leaned into my grief for once, allowing my tears to fall freely instead of keeping my emotions locked inside. And it had felt cathartic.

‘Where now, mam?’ Lila asked.

‘Here, please,’ I said, showing him the page in my guidebook for Shree Pashupatinath, the oldest Hindu temple in Kathmandu. ‘It’s not on Brontë’s list, but I’ve read about it and if there’s time, I’d like to go.’

‘Maggie, it’s a wonderful temple, but it’s also a site for funerals.’ Tiff pursed her lips. ‘I don’t think you’re ready.’

‘You’ve known me less than twenty-four hours and you’re making decisions for me?’ I said, bemused.

‘I’m looking out for you, that’s all,’ she replied. ‘I know that place well, and I think experiencing the raw grief of others won’t be healthy for you.’

I felt a rush of warmth for this new friend of mine. ‘Thank you, I appreciate that. But this trip is forcing me out of my comfort zone. I can cope, I assure you. Sorry Lila, Shree Pashup … er …’

‘Okay, mam,’ said Lila, solemnly.

‘He agrees with me,’ Tiff murmured.

‘Tell me more about the project in Chitwan,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘And your job in the US. Who do you work for now?’

‘I work for the only woman who can put up with me.’

‘Your mum?’