Page 38 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘Yes, although yuk might be a better description.’ Why was all this happening to me today? All I wanted was a decent cup of coffee and another two hours in bed. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be snuggling up in that any time soon.’

‘It sounds like you’ve got your hands full,’ Anna said.

‘I’ll call you later. I promise.’

Izzy appeared at the door as I ended the call.

‘The cat’s giving birth?’ she gasped.

I gestured for her to join me. Both of us lay flat so we could see what was happening. The cat was busy cleaning her babies.

‘Ah. She must have felt safe in your room.’ Izzy sighed wistfully. ‘And that’s why she chose your suitcase. You should feel honoured. If I was going to give birth, I think I’d have come to your room too.’

‘Thanks. I think. Although please don’t.’ We got to our feet. I was now far too late for breakfast, but I did need some water at least. ‘Come on, let’s give her and her babies a bit of peace.’

‘Was that your work phoning you while you’re on holiday?’ she asked as we headed across the yard towards the dining room. Outside the gate, parents and their little ones were already waiting for it to open.

I nodded. ‘Some problem they can’t solve without me.’

‘That must be annoying.’ She looked indignant. ‘People should be allowed to take a break without their employer hounding them.’

‘Actually, I quite like it. It makes me feel useful,’ I told her.

Outside in the courtyard, an old-fashioned bell rang and Izzy made for the door. ‘In that case,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘you’re going to love it here. Come on. Kindergarten has started. Prepare to be extremely useful for the next four hours.’

I stuffed my partly-charged phone in my pocket, wedged the door so that Bob and her kittens could get out and tried not to think about caffeine as I joined my new young friends outside to greet the children. I hadn’t had a clue where Brontë’s itinerary was going to lead me, but I’d certainly never have guessed I’d be a childcare volunteer in Nepal. Which proved that even at my age, life could be full of surprises.

Brontë’s Gap Year

By the time I’m reading this page, I’ll be trekking in the Himalayas. The actual Himalayas. So I’m going to give Future Me a pep-talk to remind myself why I’m doing this …

Brontë, you don’t like heights, you’re not even that keen on walking and you’ve never trekked along mountain trails before. So you were being a bit ambitious when you chose one of the most treacherous routes in the world for your first expedition. But I’m so proud of you for doing it anyway. It’s OK if you don’t love every minute of it, it’s OK if you have a little cry when your boots rub your heels. You’re doing this to challenge yourself and push yourself beyond your limits. And of course to see Mount Everest. It’ll look great on your CV, so Mum will approve once you’ve peeled her off the ceiling when she finds out about it. And Harry is going to be so impressed. He didn’t actually come out and say it, but I think he doubted you’d go through with it. Also, think ahead to when you’ve got teenage kids who think they’re cool and you’re an embarrassment. You’ll be able to whip out the photos and say Now who’s the cool one?

There will be moments in these two weeks where you’ll freeze with fear. (That trek on Day 9 from Gorak Shep looks horrific.) But I want you to remember that thing you read* about leaning into being scared. That doing the thing that scares us the most is how we grow and learn. And there’s that other phrase: failure is not an option. No idea where I read that. But I don’t agree with that one. Failing at things sometimes is healthy. Not that you’re going to totally fail, but I know you’ll beat yourself up if you have a bad day. So remember this. Making mistakes, failing at stuff makes us more resilient. It makes us pick ourselves up and have another go. (Like when you learned to ride your bike.)

You’re going to ace this, Brontë, and you’re going to grow a lot on this trip. I’m leaving some pages free now for you to journal in. I’m not usually a journal type of person, but then I’m not a mountain explorer either and look at me go. Write down your thoughts, so you can remember how you felt when you were on top of the world.

xoxoxo

*I didn’t read it anywhere. It was something Mum said when I came back after a bad driving lesson all shaky because I’d nearly crashed the car at a roundabout, and vowed never to get in the driver’s seat ever again. She was right, of course. Good old Mum, so wise, always there with the right words at the right time. She’ll be missing me by now. And I’ll be missing her.

Mum’s Gap Year

Darling girl,

I’ve reached those pages you left free in your itinerary for journaling, and I hope this is okay, but I’m going to write in them instead.

It is so bittersweet to read your travel itinerary. I can even hear your voice when I read it. I didn’t want to be the one doing this trip – it was yours. I’d rather be at home, missing you, refreshing my emails every few minutes in case you’ve managed to find somewhere with internet. Instead I’m here in Nepal wishing you could have seen the things which you have so beautifully illustrated and written about. I put off looking inside the pages for months because I felt guilty, but I’m so glad I’ve done it now. I feel like I’m learning little snippets of new things about you, how you feel and what’s important to you. Although when you talk about the children you assumed you’d have, it breaks my heart all over again. You’d have made a wonderful mum, and I would have spoiled my grandchildren rotten. I feel a thrill of love every time you mention me, and so far, it has all been good. I especially love the way you leave yourself positive messages. I might start doing that myself. And now we know that I wasn’t as wise as you thought, that I don’t always say the right things at the right time. I asked you to give it another week before committing to doing the gap year, to fully think it through. But of course you’d already given it a lot of thought because that was the sort of person you were. It was me who needed to get used to the idea, not you.

I’m still only in the first of the places you wanted to visit, but already I can see how much you’d have thrived and flourished doing this trip. We use throwaway comments about how short life is and how we should grasp every opportunity to fill our time with joy. But how many of us do that, purposely seek out a life filled with moments of happiness?

It touches my heart to see the other young people I’ve met express their personalities and lose their self-consciousness without the constriction of their lives back home, and I wonder how changed you would have been by the experience.

Okay, confession time. I’m supposed to be following your itinerary to the letter, and you know me, I do like to stick to the plan, but I’ve gone off-piste by coming to Chitwan rather than doing the Everest Base Camp trek. I hope you understand why and you’re not disappointed in me. It was my new friend Tiff’s idea, and – touch wood – it’s working out well.

You’d love Chitwan. I’m the oldest volunteer here, no surprise there, the others are kids. Even Meena the boss is only thirty. They are boisterous and fun and never seem to get hangovers, unlike your lightweight mother. When I first arrived, I thought I’d feel uncomfortable without anyone my own age. Instead, I seem to have become the camp mum and I’m leaning into the role with pleasure.

Sometimes I remember with a jolt that I don’t have a daughter on this planet anymore. I can be having a lovely day and then, wham, there it is. Do you remember that ice bucket challenge and the shock of being drenched in cold water that leaves you gasping for air? That’s the feeling I get. And I get it at least once a day. There are other times when you’re so close by, I can sense your smile and feel the warmth of your love. At those times I feel like the luckiest woman alive.