The Backpacking Housewife: The Next Adventure

‘Oh, please, call me Lori.’

‘We’ve brought you a warm coat, Mum. We guessed you’d be getting off the plane in summer clothes!’ Josh was now helping me take off my small backpack, so that he could wrap a padded jacket around my shoulders, to save me from freezing to death.

‘Oh thank you! I feel so ridiculously underdressed. Oh, that feels lovely and warm!’

It smelled of a young person’s scent: light and fruity and fresh.

‘And thank you, Zoey. I assume this is your coat?’

‘Yes, but I have others, so you can keep it for as long as you need.’

Then I saw her looking down in sympathy at my stone-cold blue-tinged toes.

And I could tell she was wishing that she’d also brought me some socks and boots.

I turned to Josh for an update on my mother’s condition.

‘How is your Gran? Can we go straight to the hospital to see her?’

When I saw Josh and Zoey exchange uncomfortable glances my heart dropped like a stone.

Tears filled my eyes and I was now shaking so much I could hear my teeth rattling.

Clearly, I’d arrived too late and she was gone. I’ll never see her or speak to her or hug her ever again. There would be no joyful reunions here or in the Caribbean. I’d never be able to tell her about all my adventures and the people I’d met over the past year.

There is no time left in which to celebrate or to tell her how much I’ve missed her.

None of that was ever going to happen now. I was too damned late.

I let out a sob of grief and felt a great stab of sorrow and guilt rip through my breaking heart.

I’ve been so heartless and selfish in abandoning my family when they’d needed me here.

What had I been thinking? Taking off without a care or a thought for my loved ones?

I’d behaved appallingly. I’d thought of only myself, when one year ago I’d grabbed my handbag and my passport and ran from the house to get as far away as possible, thinking of nothing but leaving behind my adulterous husband and treacherous best friend. When, what I’d really done, is to selfishly abandon my whole family. I’d ran away and left my kids and my mother to deal with the aftermath of what happened that day and then to face the mess of divorce without me here. What must my kids think of me now?

Selfish? Indulgent? Weak?

For a whole year I’ve been travelling all over the world looking for purpose and happiness when that purpose and happiness was right here all the time – with my family. I hadn’t really needed to travel great distances or pray in golden temples or take guidance from monks in saffron robes or find ways to make a difference in the world. I’d already made a difference. I might not be a wife anymore, or a housewife, but I was still a daughter and a mother.

The full impact of this realisation and the consequences – that I’d never see my lovely mum ever again – was more than I thought I could take. I just stood there with tears streaming down my face. ‘Oh, Josh! I’m s-s-s-so very sorry!’

‘Mum. No. It’s not what you think!’ Josh responded rapidly to my deathly reaction. ‘Gran’s fine. In fact, she’s just been discharged from hospital. We feel badly now, for telling you over the phone that she’d had a heart attack, when actually it just turned out to be bad indigestion.’

I stood speechless and in shock with my mouth open for what seemed like an age.

I’m relieved, of course, that my poor mother isn’t dead or on death’s door, but part of me is now also somewhat annoyed. I’ve just flown half way around the world in a terrible state of panic. I’d left Ethan in a very bad situation and I’d practically given myself a coronary in my rush to get to the airport and onto a flight immediately after getting Josh’s phone call.

I hadn’t stopped to think. I’d just reacted.

And I suppose that’s exactly what I did this time last year too.

My instinct to run has by fate and circumstance brought me right back here.

And now the gruelling flight is over, and the awful panic dispersed and the weight lifted from my shoulders, I feel like I’ve just woken up from a nightmare and with a terrible hangover.

Maybe I’m suffering some kind of post-traumatic stress?

‘Come on, let’s get you out of here before you freeze to death,’ said Josh, rattling car keys.

We walked briskly outside of the terminal and crossed a dark wet and busy road filled with the noise of screeching taxis and the roar of busses and the clatter of people dragging enormous suitcases or pushing precarious piles of luggage on stiff wheeled trollies. Josh fed a parking ticket machine with notes and coins. When I saw how much it had cost him to park the car, I searched for my purse, before realising I didn’t have any money in Sterling to offer him.

‘Oh, can we stop at an ATM? I had meant to go and swap my dollars for pounds.’

‘No problem. I’ve got it. We can sort that out later, mum.’

I slid into the back seat of the car and soon we were driving away from the airport. It was the morning rush-hour and I peered out of the window at the foreboding sight of shiny slate grey streets and a background of darkness. It’s as if I’ve been transported from a world of technicolour into a one of monochrome. It was raining hard. I watched Josh’s head move from side to side in sync with the windscreen wipers as he negotiated the heavy traffic, checked the rear-view mirror, changed lanes and twiddled with the air con all at the same time.

‘We’ll soon have you warm, Mum,’ he said, setting the dial to red and the blower to full.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself by staring down at the goose bumps standing to attention on my bare knees and wondered if I’d ever feel warm again.

It had been thirty-six degrees C when I’d left Grand Cayman.

It was, of course, the middle of winter in the UK, so what could I expect?

But had it always been this awfully dark and dreary looking?

‘We’ll go straight over to Gran’s.’ Josh said. ‘She’s got the spare bedroom ready for you. She’s looking forward to having you stay with her until you get yourself sorted.’

I bit down on my lower lip and realised I was a homeless burden until I ‘get myself sorted’.

Sorted with what? My own place? I suppose that all depended on how long I stay.

And then I realise that I’m already contemplating leaving when I’ve only just arrived.

In the same front room of the small terraced house where I’d been born forty-eight years ago, my mum was sitting in her armchair with a cup of tea and a shortbread biscuit when we arrived. The house was warm, the TV was blaring, and she was watching Good Morning.

Her face broke into an immediate expression of joy when she saw me, and she leapt to her slipper-shod feet without any hesitation. ‘Lorraine! You’ve come home!’

‘How are you, Mum? You gave us all quite a scare.’ I said, hugging her tightly.

She ignored my comment and insisted on pouring me a cup of tea to warm me up.

Then she fussed over us and force fed us cakes and biscuits. When I asked how she was feeling, she replied that she was ‘feeling much better now’ but wouldn’t look me in the eye.

Then my younger son, Lucas, arrived and it felt so wonderful to be in the same room as both my sons again. I’d missed them so much that I didn’t want to stop hugging them. I found myself stroking their shirt sleeves and touching their faces and ruffling their hair. Checking they were real. And of course, it was lovely to meet and chat to Zoey, and admire the engagement ring she was wearing. Even though it made me emotional and tearful on two counts. I was full of joy for them both, but I couldn’t help but to be reminded of Ethan and the ring he’d offered me.