They both chuckled and he noticed for the first time how clear her eyes were and that they were a kind of olive green with brown speckles. He loved how she embraced life and held it tight against her ample bosom, never letting it go.
“You never gave up on me,” he said. “Even though I gave up on myself.” He reached out to hug her. Bernadette hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward. They held each other for a few seconds before pulling away. He would have liked to have held her for longer and the feeling took him by surprise. She fitted against his body well, as if it was a place that she was meant to be. “See you in a month,” he said brightly.
“Yes,” she said. “You will.”
Nathan commanded the traffic. He nipped in gaps, took side roads, skipped a couple of traffic lights on amber. All the time he was calm. He hummed and tapped his finger on the steering wheel to the music that was so quiet Arthur could hardly hear it. “I’ll get you there, no worries,” he said. “My friends are well jell of you, y’know. Everyone wishes their granddads were like you, y’know, adventurous and stuff. I sort of told them you were like a surrogate granddad to me, seeing as I don’t have one of my own.”
It was a role that Arthur was keen to develop further. He had already made a mental note to stock up on icing, flour and those edible shiny balls when he got back, in case Nathan fancied a spot of cake-making together one day.
He sat back and marveled at this transformation in the young man. He had judged him by his hair, and that was a mere fashion that disguised a sensitive nature. “Is your mum okay now?”
“Yeah, thank God. I was worried that I was, you know, going to be an eighteen-year-old orphan. That would have sucked. Thanks for being there for her. It’s good to know that when I go to catering college she has a good friend to look out for her. Scarborough’s not too far away, either.”
“I’ve been to the college,” Arthur said, smiling about the life-drawing class. “The art department is lovely.”
“I can cook for you as well as my mum.”
“That’s great. Though please don’t make me marzipan cake.”
“Don’t worry. I hate it.”
“Me, too. I don’t know how to tell your mum that, though.”
“Me, neither.”
The airport was as bright as a dentist’s studio and the shops were stuffed with jewelry, teddies, clothes, perfumes, alcohol. He wandered around and bought some marbles and a cuddly elephant and a travel book for himself. He opened the front page and there was a map of the world. England was a tiny smudge. There is so much to see, he thought.
When his gate number was called he felt as if he had grasshoppers in his stomach. He joined a line of people and held his passport open on the correct page as instructed. He shuffled away along the queue. A small shuttle bus took him to the airplane. He hadn’t imagined it would be so huge—a shiny white beast with a Roman nose and red tail. A friendly lady with a blond bob welcomed him aboard and he found his seat. He sat down and strapped himself in, then absorbed himself in the activity around him—people finding their seats, announcements, a free magazine in a pocket of the seat in front. The lady next to him offered him her spare inflatable neck cushion and a mint candy. The engine roared up. He watched the cabin crew’s emergency instructions intently, then he leaned back in his seat and gripped his armrests as the plane tilted upward.
He was on his way. On his next journey.
The Future
ARTHUR SAT ON the edge of his sun lounger and dug his bare toes deep into the hot white sand. His cream linen trousers were rolled to the knee and his loose-fitting white cotton shirt was half-tucked into his waistband. The heat enveloped him tightly. It made him feel lethargic, slower. Sweat prickled under his arms and formed on his forehead like tiny glass beads. He liked it, this feeling of being in an oven.
He watched the blue sea lap against the shore, depositing a stripe of white foam. A group of small boys ran in fully dressed, splashing one another. There were wooden boats around him, upturned, the fishermen having already been out to sea and returned with their haul of fish. He could smell it on the barbecues in the shacks along the beach. Soon the tourists would descend, in their brightly colored beach wraps and beads, to eat supper and drink beer from the bottle.
The sun was setting and the sky was already striped with ribbons of fuchsia and orange, like a woven sari. Palm trees reached out like hands to touch the magnificent sky. A rainbow of scarves, sarongs and towels hanging from the beach huts billowed in the breeze.
Arthur stood and walked to the edge of the water. The sand felt like warm dust beneath his feet. In one hand he clasped the elephant charm tightly, and in the other he held his half-read book: A Rough Guide to India.
It had been a difficult decision to choose Goa over Australia. But he needed to come to where his journey had begun, from the phone call he had made to Mr. Mehra. It had changed how he saw his wife, how he saw himself.
He and Lucy had already arranged to go and spend Christmas with Dan. That suited his daughter better, when she could travel in the school holidays.
He opened his hand and the gold elephant shone. As the sun began to dip farther, sinking into the sea, the light slid over the charm and Arthur could swear that the elephant winked at him. “You are getting old,” he said aloud to himself. “Seeing things.” Then he noticed that he hadn’t said, You are old. He had said, You are getting old. He was just on the way there.
“Mr. Arthur Pepper. Mr. Pepper.” A small boy, no more than six years old, ran toward him. He had ears that looked like cup handles and a thatch of black hair. “Sir. It is time for tea back at the house.”
Arthur nodded. He made his way back to the sun lounger, slipped on his sandals and followed the boy off the beach. They passed a cow that stood chewing the frayed leather on the seat of a rusting red motorbike. “Follow me, sir.” The boy led them both through a heavy turquoise iron gate and into a courtyard garden. After having arrived in darkness the previous night, Arthur was glad for an escort back to his host.
Rajesh Mehra stood waiting by a small fountain that was studded with mosaics. Water trickled and looked like flowing silver. A small round table had been laid with a silver teapot and two china cups. He was dressed all in white and didn’t have one hair on his head. His eyes were hooded and kind. “I still cannot believe that you are here, my friend. I am so glad you came to stay with me. Are you enjoying your sunbathing?”
“Yes. Very much so. I’ve never been quite so warm before.”
“It can be stifling. Now, it is not so bad. Miriam used to like the sun. She said that she was like a lizard and she needed the sun to warm her bones.”
Arthur smiled. She’d said the same thing to him. At even a hint of sun she would lie in the garden with a magazine and soak up the rays.
They took their tea in the courtyard. “I am a creature of habit,” Rajesh said. “I like to have my tea at the same time each day. I like my newspaper folded in the same way and I take precisely thirty minutes to sit and read.”
“Then I am spoiling your routine.”
“You are not spoiling it. You are enhancing it. It is good to shake things up.”
Arthur told Rajesh about his own routines, how they had started as a comfort and became a prison. He was about to say that a very nice lady named Bernadette had helped him out of it. But it was he himself who had done it. He had found the bracelet. He had called Mr. Mehra. He was responsible for the change in his life.
“I remember that Miriam was not one for routines. I think she was a free spirit,” Rajesh said. “I think she was a special lady. Did she have a good life?”
Arthur didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said proudly. “She looked after you. She played with tigers. She inspired a poem. She influenced great art. She was a fantastic mother. We truly loved each other. She was remarkable.”