Page 98 of Somewhere Only We Know

The monkey swung itself out of reach, taking my mobile phone with it. I sank down on the wall, wondering how, in the space of two minutes, I’d managed to lose so much: my phone, a shoe, a scarf and even the job I loved. Then, picking up my backpack I hobbled back to the car park, my bare foot burning on the hot tarmac.

‘Monkeys take your shoe?’ asked Ayu, my concerned driver, as I dived into the taxi.

‘Yes,’ I gulped. ‘And my phone.’

I knew it was a coincidence, but since I’d lost Brontë’s book, everything seemed to be going wrong. I’d had enough. No more loss. I couldn’t take it.

‘Oh Miss Maggie,’ said the driver, passing me a box of tissues for my tears. ‘Don’t worry. I have shoes for you. But they are not smart like yours.’

He retrieved a worn and dusty pair of leather sliders from under the front seat and handed them to me. A long-forgotten memory surfaced: Utt had had a pair just like these. In a flash I was back at that turtle sanctuary, watching Utt mend the nesting bed after one of the volunteers had crashed into it. Dear, grumpy Utt, who’d known exactly who he was and what he’d wanted to do with his life. The thought made me smile as I wiped away my tears.

‘Thank you, Ayu, you are very kind.’

He shook his head. ‘You come to my country, and we are very grateful. It has been hard for drivers like me to earn money without visitors. We are glad you are here. Keep my shoes and remember Ayu.’

‘I will, thank you.’ I dabbed away fresh tears.

‘Miss Maggie, I can’t give you my phone, but my cousin has a shop in Ubud where you can buy one. Special price for my VIP guests. I take you?’

‘Yes please, that would be wonderful.’ I hid my smile. On the drive here, I’d heard about a cousin who could give me a Balinese cookery class, a cousin who gives such good massages that she has a waiting list and a cousin who would take me up Mount Batur to see the sunrise.

My heart had been beaten and battered today, as if I was losing at life. I was a middle-aged woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders. A far cry from the brave and adventurous and free-spirited Maggie I’d been last time I was in the village on the beach. Brontë would have made a beeline for that part of Bali; I knew she would. I wondered whether she would have had her own ‘Bali moment’ where I had done. Suddenly I knew that I had to go there too. I needed to recapture the magic of my first time on this beautiful island.

I leaned forward and touched Ayu’s shoulder.

‘I’ve changed my mind, Ayu. There’s somewhere else I’d like to go, if that’s okay with you.’

‘No problem, Miss Maggie. Ayu will take you anywhere.’

I felt a rush of nerves as I gave him the name of the village; it was time to go back.

Chapter 35

Bali

We had been driving for forty minutes when Ayu took a left turn at a mini roundabout and pulled into a parking space in front of a bakery store.

‘Here, Miss?’

‘This is it?’ I looked uncertainly at the shops and restaurants that lined the street.

His face fell. ‘Don’t you like it? I can take you somewhere else. Ubud Swing, or the waterfall, for nice photos? No problem.’

‘No, this is the right place,’ I reassured him. ‘It has been a long time since I was here, that’s all. I was only young.’

‘Everything changes, miss, nothing stays the same. Except the ocean, that is always the same.’

My heart squeezed. ‘Yes, I’m sure I’ll recognise the beach. That’s where I’ll start.’

He pointed across the street to a narrow road. ‘Follow the path and you will come to a beautiful beach.’

I got out of the car, and realised that without my phone I was entirely reliant on my driver to wait for me and take me back to Ubud. ‘I’ll see you back here in one hour?’

He flipped his car seat back until he was almost horizontal and pulled his hat over his eyes. ‘Take your time, miss. Ayu rests his eyes.’

I set off down the narrow road that Ayu had promised led to the water. I passed a hostel, a scooter rental place and a pharmacy. Cars and bikes were parked bumper to bumper on either side. But as I walked on, the buildings became houses, the road became an unmade track and the traffic noise from the main street faded to nothing. All the houses had offerings on their doorsteps: bamboo mats decorated with flower petals, marigold heads, coloured rice and a burning incense stick. Offerings made as a sign of gratitude, I remembered.

I leaned closer, breathed in the delicious scent of sandalwood and vanilla and was hit with a sense of nostalgia. The aroma reminded me of home. Not my cottage in Honeybourne, but here. There was something about this place that resonated with me on a deep level.