Chapter 28

Beth

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes the next morning was Elise the Kangaroo bobbing along the hotel room floor. The large foil balloon Nick had brought with him to the airport had started to wrinkle and deflate, which had hollowed its face and transformed its smile into a downward frown.

The second thing I saw was his note.

I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. Thanks again for last night. I can’t wait to see you when I get back from Copenhagen. Nick x

I felt as glum as Elise the Kangaroo looked. I couldn’t shake the sense of self-pity I felt that I had finally found someone who I connected with, and who seemed to like me too (if his enthusiasm during the last 12 hours was anything to go by), but a scheduling conflict had taken him away – for now, at least. That he would be back for my last night in London was some consolation.

I opened the blinds on a beautiful, sunny morning. There was no point in moping around, I thought. I was in London.

I went for a run through Kensington Palace Gardens and then met Gran and Gerry for brunch. The three of us then made a trip to the Royal Observatory at Greenwich. We arrived in time to watch the large red Time Ball rise to the top of its mast and then drop again, which it had done every day at 1pm since 1833. Now a novel tourist attraction, it was once a critical instrument for mariners and Londoners.

The Royal Observatory was the home of the prime meridian – a geographical reference line from the North Pole to the South Pole that divides the Eastern and Western Hemispheres. A brass strip about the width of my foot, which was laid in the ground, indicated Longitude 0°. This was used as a reference point for all astronomical observations, and became the centre of all world time.

The prime meridian was a completely arbitrary human construct. Its location was chosen in the late nineteenth century by a panel of delegates from around the world. Greenwich was chosen as the site for convenience – it was close to a large telescope – and to reflect Britain’s widespread colonisation. Unlike the equator, which is determined by the Earth’s axis of rotation, it could have been anywhere and done the same job. And yet, for eighty-eight years, it was the point at which the world’s time was determined.

I enjoyed reading about the scientists who had sought universality and order, and so developed systems and processes that united the world and impacted everything from trade to passenger rail travel. But my mind kept wandering back to Nick. It was infuriatingly distracting.

‘How are you going, darling?’ Gran asked, as she walked the prime meridian line with her arms held out for balance as though she was walking the plank on a pirate ship, or taking a sobriety test in America.

‘I’m good,’ I replied. The line was marked along its length with the names of capital cities and their longitudinal degree. I tried to ignore how long it took for Gran to walk the distance between Greenwich (Nick) and Australia’s cities (me). The physical depiction of the space between our two coordinates was a stark reminder of the distance between our two worlds.

‘Did you have a good time with Nick last night?’ she asked, her eyebrow raised insinuatingly.

The sound of his name made me grin. I imagined I looked idiotic but was literally unable to wipe it from my face.

‘Beth Dwyer. Look at you,’ she gently pinched my arm. ‘You’re smitten!’

Usually, I would get defensive at such an allegation. I had always thought that being ‘smitten’ – relinquishing one’s affection to another in such a naive and childlike way – was frivolous and would end in heartache. I’d seen it happen countless times to Jarrah. But today I didn’t feel defensive.

I diverted my eyes and pretended to busy myself looking at the place names on the ground.

‘Well, what about you?’ I asked, hoping to deflect any further questions. Gerry had wandered off to find a bathroom so I took the opportunity to check in while it was just me and Gran. ‘Has this been everything you hoped it would be? Is she everything you remembered? I feel like we haven’t really had a chance to chat.’

‘Oh, darling. It has been so wonderful,’ Gran gushed. ‘It’s funny, you know, over the years I’ve never forgotten how I felt about Gerry. But it’s been so good to be reminded of why I felt that way. She really is terrific. Honestly, I feel like a missing chapter of my life has been found in a dusty book on a hidden shelf in an old library and read anew.’

Now it was her turn to look smitten.

‘In fact,’ she said with a slight hesitation, ‘it’s gone so well that she’s planning on travelling back with us.’

‘Really?’ I said loudly, startling two small children who were jumping from Chicago in one hemisphere to Rome in the other. ‘That’s huge.’

‘I know,’ she replied excitedly. ‘I mean, we haven’t worked out all the details, but we’ve agreed in theory that we’re not ready for our time together to end. What do you think?’

‘It’s not about what I think, Gran,’ I said definitively. Usually, I would happily provide my frank and fearless opinion or carry out an analysis of the situation, whether it was solicited or not. But after everything she and Gerry had been through, this seemed like a good time to forgo such a process. ‘This is all about you, and what you want.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘For what it’s worth, I can see how happy you are,’ I offered.

She grinned broadly. ‘Do you know,’ she started, ‘on the night before I got married, my mother told me that you get three great loves: your first love, the one you have a family with, and the one you grow old with. How lucky am I that Gerry and your grandpa are mine.’

After we finished at the observatory, I went back to the hotel and Gran returned to Gerry’s house. While I was more than happy to spend the night alone to catch up on sleep, my thoughts again returned to Nick and how nice it had been to spend time with him. Was it possible to miss someone you’d only just met?

As I walked through the lobby, the receptionist called to me.

‘Ms Dwyer, I have a message for you.’

I had just left Gran, so it wouldn’t have been from her. And my family would have sent me a message on WhatsApp.

‘I’ve been asked to give you this,’ the receptionist continued. She handed me an envelope. I tore it open to find a note written on a hotel ‘with compliments’ slip.

I thought you, Aunt Gerry and Elise would enjoy getting high with some special plants this evening. A car will collect you from the hotel at 6.30pm. Enjoy! Nick x

‘What the hell?’ I muttered out loud, attracting the curiosity of the receptionist. Judging by the amount of weed I had smelled wafting around the city, I assumed that marijuana was now legal in the UK. Or at least decriminalised. But surely he didn’t mean ‘getting high’ in the literal sense, did he? Did he?

I messaged Gran with all the information I had.

A surprise! How wonderful. She replied, with a winky face.

She was being sarcastic; Gran knew I hated surprises. Every day of my childhood was filled with ‘surprises’ – a term my parents used for chaotic or unplanned situations. I’d had enough surprises to last me a lifetime. My instinct was to hand the envelope back to the receptionist and send Nick a polite, yet assertive, ‘thanks, but no thanks’ text. But something about the fact that he had arranged this surprise made me less uncomfortable than if it had been anyone else. In fact, I felt an uncharacteristic flutter of excitement to see what he had in store.

~

At 6.30pm sharp, Gran, Gerry and I piled into a car, which drove us along the edge of Hyde Park, down Constitution Hill, past Buckingham Palace, along the River Thames for a while and past the monument to the Great Fire of London. I was relieved when we pulled up in front of a soaring tower, and not a crack den.

We filed past an enormous living green wall (such a thing wouldn’t survive one summer in Australia) and a sign for ‘Sky Garden’.

‘How lovely,’ Gerry said. ‘I’ve been meaning to come here for ages. I wonder how he managed this?’ she mused. ‘It’s usually booked out for weeks.’

A message chimed on my phone:

Sorry I couldn’t be there with you tonight. (Not sorry to miss the height, though.) Dinner is in thirty minutes at the top. Just give your name at reception. I hope you have a great time. x

As we rode in the lift to the top of the building, I googled our destination and learned it was London’s highest public garden.

We arrived at a surprisingly dense and lush sky-high park, greeted by spectacular 360-degree vistas across London. A warm yellow glow from the setting sun bathed the entire space, which smelled earthy and felt slightly humid.

As an environmental scientist working in a metropolitan area where multiple users vie for open space, the concept of building a public park at the top of one of the tallest buildings in London fascinated me.

We walked the periphery of the structure and pointed out key landmarks. I smiled as I looked to the London Eye which, at its highest point of 135 metres, was 15 metres shorter than where I stood. No wonder Nick wasn’t keen to come up here.

We followed the steps and paths that traversed the garden beds and explored the impressively rich collection of plants, which included ferns, cycads and birds of paradise. Then we enjoyed a delicious dinner.

I was so touched. No one had ever planned anything like this for me. And it didn’t feel trite; it felt like a genuine and thoughtful gesture of affection. From the choice of venue, to picking up the dinner tab, to having a bottle of champagne delivered to our table when we arrived, Nick had surprised me – in the best way.

~

I spent the next ten days deepening my affection for London and its surrounds.

Gran, Gerry and I travelled to Sussex to visit the Kew Gardens Millennium Seed Bank. The underground storage facility for more than 2.4 billion seeds represented 16 per cent of the world’s species, including a number Gran had personally collected.

‘Some of my babies are in there,’ she announced to a bemused tourist who seemed not to understand Gran’s particular affiliation with each species she’d worked on or, alas, English. Nonetheless, it was impressive to think that seed from the warty swan orchid that she had been working to conserve in the nature reserve adjoining her childhood home had been collected, prepared, catalogued and stored there for perpetuity.

On the days Gran and Gerry spent together, I happily wandered through the National Portrait, Tate and Saatchi galleries and the British Museum alone. I baulked at the wealth at Harrods, and took a trip out to Hampton Court Palace. Each morning, I ran through London’s magnificent parks, and I joined the thousands of other tourists to watch the changing of the guard. On two non-consecutive days, when I didn’t have anything planned, I challenged myself to simply wander around the city without agenda or expectation. I thought I would feel bored, or untethered, but I stopped to eat when I felt like it, spent time in parks when the sun shone and ducked into shops and other buildings to escape the cold and rain. On those days, I caught the performance a talented fire twirler entertaining a crowd outside a tube entrance, spotted a Banksy work in Mayfair, and sat and watched while a great spotted woodpecker made its nest. I could now also say I’d had a drink in London’s narrowest pub. None of these things were on my agenda, but I enjoyed them all.

A highlight was a visit to Warner Bros. Studio Tour for a behind-the-scenes look at the making of the Harry Potter movies. I had been eight when I first read Harry Potter and I’d fallen in love with it from the first page. As I wandered through the Great Hall set, which was furnished with long tables piled with food props and lit by floating candles, I recalled how devastated I was when I hadn’t received a letter when I was eleven to say I’d been accepted to Hogwarts. I’d yearned to have a reason to leave my family for a life of magic and adventure. And I had been sure Hermione Granger and I would have been the best of friends. Like me, she was assertive, academically minded and an unapologetic perfectionist. As a Muggle-born witch, she knew what it felt like to be different from her family too.

As I was sitting outside 4 Privet Drive, enjoying a mug of butterbeer, my thoughts turned to my own family. With everything that had been going on with my lotto win, Gran and Nick, I had contributed even less to the family chat than usual.

I lifted the mug of butterbeer up to my face and extended my arm to take a photo of myself with it. I posted it to the family chat with the caption ‘Sampling the local brew’. Within a few moments, Jarrah liked my picture.

Hope you’re having the best time, Bethie. I know how much you love the world of Harry Potter. Did you have to take the train from Platform 9^3/4 to get there? x

I decided it wasn’t necessary to advise her that Platform 9^3/4 was at King’s Cross Station, which was not on the same line as the one that I travelled on to Watford, where the studio was located. Instead, I decided to just accept her well wishes; I didn’t think she was paying attention when I was immersed in the world of Hogwarts.

I opened my message thread with Nick and uploaded the photo there too. He had been in my thoughts constantly (infuriatingly so; it was like a cerebral earworm). But I was mindful that he was away for work, and then spending time with friends, so I didn’t want to bother him with inane chatter or self-indulgent selfies. However, he had initiated most of the message chats we’d had since he’d left and when I’d told him visiting Harry Potter’s world was on my to-do list, he’d told me he was a fan too. I hit send.

I had tried hard not to wish away my holiday. I absolutely loved London, and had enjoyed exploring it without having to rush or adhere to a restrictive budget. And, even with my lotto win, it was expensive to get here and I had to be conscious about how I used my annual leave; it seemed unlikely that I would return any time soon. But as each day passed, and Elise the Kangaroo balloon became more flaccid, my anticipation grew for my last night in London – when Nick returned.

And I wasn’t disappointed.

Our flight back to Australia was scheduled for the following morning, so Nick and I agreed I would meet him at his flat and we would have dinner together. We didn’t discuss our plans for afterwards, but I found a beautician to take care of my personal grooming, and I splurged on yet another set of underwear that I was not self-conscious to be seen in, to prepare for any eventuality.

Nick opened his door to his flat and pulled me in by the waist. He kissed me before we’d even exchanged a word.

‘Hi,’ he said finally through the lopsided grin I had been thinking about since I last saw him. His arms were still around me.

‘Hi,’ I replied dumbly.

He was more attractive than I remembered, if that was even possible.

‘I took the liberty of making a reservation for dinner at a great place just around the corner,’ he said. ‘But it’s not for forty-five minutes. So we could go somewhere for a drink. Or …’

He bit the bottom of his lip, which inspired a variety of thoughts for how we could spend the next forty-five minutes.

We didn’t make it to dinner. Indeed we didn’t make it far through the doorway into his flat for a good thirty minutes. But the evening was perfect. And so was he.

~

Very early the next morning, Nick made coffee as I showered. As the warm water cascaded over me, I ran through the list of reasons I was glad to be going home. I was looking forward to getting stuck into the next phase of my possum project, I was keen to salvage my indoor plants that I was sure Mum would have forgotten to water, and it would soon be jacaranda season – my favourite time of the year, when the city was awash with purple. I repeated the list several times; it was all I could do to convince myself that leaving London was the right thing to do.