Page 50 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘Sure,’ I agreed – although my enthusiasm was half-hearted. Now I’d experienced the landscape of Nepal and the pride to be had from independent travel, I wasn’t sure I wanted to settle for something as straightforward as a package holiday again. ‘But first I need to find out what’s been going on at work. I’ve had a message from one of my staff threatening to quit and now I can’t get hold of him.’

‘You’re a good boss, Mags, and a good person. I can’t wait to see you.’

‘Thank you. Me too. I love you.’

There was a pause down the line.

‘Oh Mags.’ I heard a wobble in her voice. ‘You haven’t told me that for years.’

‘Yes, I have.’ I frowned. Hadn’t I? Maybe I hadn’t. Thinking about it, I’d become adept at downplaying my emotions. It had seemed safer somehow.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Kat, ever the peacekeeper. ‘You’ve said it now. I love you too.’

At that moment there was a knock at the door and I got up off the bed. ‘There’s someone at the door – probably my room mates. I’ll message you as soon as I know my flight times.’

There hadn’t been a single room available at short notice, so I’d taken a bed in the triple. Last time I was here, I’d met Tiff and that had worked out well, so I was prepared to go with the flow. It was only one night, after all.

I opened the door to let in two women. We introduced ourselves and I sat back on my bed to let them unpack. They were a couple from the UK, travelling together for the first time. Marta was a yoga teacher and Skye had her own catering business.

‘First time in Nepal?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ Marta. ‘Any tips?’

I remembered the list of don’ts that I’d been given at the airport when I’d arrived and shook my head. ‘Nothing you won’t figure out for yourselves. You’ll love it.’

‘Where have you been so far?’ asked Skye. From her rucksack she was pulling out a succession of brightly coloured garments in sharp contrast to Marta’s neutrals.

‘Yes, tell us,’ Marta joined in, making herself comfy on her single bed. ‘I love other people’s travel stories.’

‘Okay,’ I said, pulling Brontë’s book towards me again. ‘It all started with this …’

The two women listened enthralled as I told them what had happened to me since accepting my enforced sabbatical. It wasn’t until I voiced my story out loud that I realised how much I’d been through in the last few weeks. From my decision to follow Brontë’s path to my arrival in Nepal; the shock of reading that my daughter had planned to trek to Everest Base Camp; meeting Tiff; dealing with Diane’s panic attack at 30,000 feet … to volunteering in a kindergarten and the dramas that went with it.

‘A cat actually gave birth in your suitcase?’ Marta and Skye’s eyes were out on stalks.

I nodded. ‘Bob. She was ferocious when I first met her. Hardly surprising under the circumstances. It’s the wild dogs you have to watch for. Especially if you’ve got any food on you. Unless it’s homemade pickle. They’ll soon leave you alone if you feed them that.’

Skye shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you took a cricket bat off an angry man and told him he was ridiculous.’

Marta snorted. ‘You are a legend.’

I laughed. ‘Desperate times called for desperate measures.’

‘Think of all the stories you’ve got to tell the grandkids one day.’ Skye must have seen the look on my face because she clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Maggie, I’m so, so sorry, that was insensitive of me.’

‘It’s okay,’ I reassured her. ‘I won’t have Brontë’s kids in my life, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be other children to wow with my stories. Who knows what the future holds?’

‘That’s a wonderful attitude,’ said Marta, reaching across the gap between the beds and touching my arm. ‘I believe that the universe has endless possibilities waiting for us. All we have to do is notice them.’

‘You might be on to something there.’ I smiled, glad I’d met these two.

‘So where are you off to next?’ Skye asked, nodding to the book.

‘Ooh yes,’ Marta added. ‘After such an exciting adventure in Nepal you must be keen to see what Brontë has written on the next page.’

I gazed down at my darling girl’s book, picturing the intricate drawings and the words which let me into her innermost thoughts. This book held her dream trip, a detailed plan of the things and the countries she’d felt compelled to see. Months of adventure and new experiences, places that no doubt I’d never been, and she’d never go. Then I pictured myself arriving back in the UK, putting the key into the lock and opening my front door to a cold, empty house.

Same old life, same old job, same old me.