Page 42 of The Sky Beneath Us
‘I know,’ I say, laughing so that I won’t cry, as the noise of the helicopter’s motor reverberates from the mountains surrounding usand it comes into view, flying up the valley beneath us. ‘One foot in front of the other, slowly, slowly along the path.’
She smiles and pats my shoulder beneath its cushion ofkatas. ‘You listen to the lessons of the mountains and learn from them. That’s more than most people do.’
With a roar, the bright-red helicopter rises to hover above the helipad, and we all cover our ears and turn our faces from the flying dust as it settles gently on to the stones. The pilot motions at everyone to stay back as he unloads the supplies, putting them in a pile at the edge of the stone circle. Then he beckons to me to come forward and I shoulder my pack and walk towards him, ducking my head beneath the helicopter blades. He hands me a face mask and loads my pack into the cabin before helping me in and closing the door.
As I fasten my seat belt and put on the set of earphones he hands me, he runs through his checks. Then he raises a thumb and I nod, letting the surge of emotions flow through me. There’s fear and excitement at this, my first ride in a helicopter, alongside huge sadness at leaving my new-found Himalayan family and friends, as well as the strongest yearning to get home. I name each feeling and let it go, trying to make my mind like water as Dipa told me to, as the blades begin to spin so fast they become invisible and we lift into the air.
I press my face to the window, the paper mask covering my nose and mouth, waving goodbye to the little crowd on the ground below. And then we’re off, whisking away down the valley, and the hills close in behind us, hiding the village of Phortse from sight, enfolding it and keeping it safe.All those days of trekking, I think,and now it’s going to take just a couple of helicopter rides – each one lasting less than an hour – to get me back to my starting point. It seems much too fast, too sudden a re-entry into the real world.
Something Dipa once said, back at the beginning of my stay in Phortse, rings in my head.Journey far, but travel within. It makes sense to me now. Covering the miles to get to my destination, either by walking slowly, slowly through this landscape or by flying above it, was never really the goal. It’s the fact that I took myself out of my familiar, comfortable life and put myself in a place where none of the usual, carefully constructed props and points of reference were available to me that allowed me to be myself again. To rediscover the essence of me. It lay hidden away, just as Violet’s journals lay hidden for all those years in the cedarwood chest in the library, blanketed beneath layers of sadness and loss.
As we soar between the valley’s green walls, following the turquoise thread of the river beneath us, a sensation of deep peace settles over me. Finding Themi, getting to know her and piecing together the final parts of Violet’s story has given me a sense of purpose that’s been missing from my life for some time. I turn the red string bracelet around my wrist. It’s faded a bit now and the ends are beginning to fray, but it’s still there as a reminder that I’ve walked the way of the warrior. I’ve done things I never thought I could. I’ve stepped into the unknown, fought some inner battles, and emerged on the other side.
And I’ve begun to create something new. Or, rather, someonenew: the person I want to be.
Daisy – June 2020
‘Goodbye and good luck,’ I say to the German couple as we collect our bags at Doha Airport and go our separate ways to catch our onward flights. The plane from Kathmandu was half empty, a special flight allowed out of Tribhuvan Airport, arranged by various embassies to transport the last stranded tourists in Nepal back to Europe. I’ve sanitised and re-sanitised my hands and had my temperature taken countless times in the past couple of days. And now I join the queue to have it taken again at the airport checkpoint before heading to the departure gate for the flight to Glasgow. The face mask I’ve been wearing for hours feels grubby and limp and I gratefully accept the new one being proffered by the medics.
I go into the ladies’ room to freshen up. Once I’ve washed my hands, carefully following the directions on the signs plastered on the toilet walls, I remove my old mask and splash a little water on to my face, washing away the staleness of the past twenty-four hours of travelling. As I go to put on the new one, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and am transported back to that moment all those weeks ago – in another lifetime – when I looked in this same mirror and didn’t recognise the woman I saw there. The woman I see now has changed. Her face is tanned by the wind and sunshine of the mountains. Her hair – as unruly as ever – frames her features in a thick tangle of curls but instead of scraping them back in a band,she lets them be. She looks strong, this woman, her muscles toned by weeks of trekking and walking in the thin air of the high peaks. She looks like someone I’d like to get to know better.
She looks like me.
I fix the new mask in place over my face and head back out into the airport, going home.
By the time I reach Glasgow, the reality of what everyone’s been living through has hit me hard. The connecting flight was even emptier than the one from Kathmandu and when I arrive at the airport it’s like a ghost town. The few passengers in the baggage hall are careful to keep their distance, and everyone’s eyes – the only features visible behind the ubiquitous paper masks – look wary. The virus has spread its tendrils of fear everywhere and being in a public space feels uncomfortably risky.
My footsteps echo as I walk out into the deserted arrivals hall, feeling uncertain what to do next. I’d planned on hiring a car, even though it’ll cost a fortune, but the car rental desks are all firmly closed, metal shutters pulled down over the windows. I fish my phone out of my pocket to see if I can find anything online, but the battery is dead. I look around, wondering whether there’s anywhere to charge it, but the cafés are all closed too and there are no other charging points here. Perhaps I should have taken the London flight instead, but returning to my lonely flat is the last thing I want to do. Now the rules have been relaxed enough, I simply want to be with my family. I want to hug Mum and my girls and be hugged back. I want to comfort them and be comforted in my turn, as we come together to mourn Davy.
The journey to Ardtuath isn’t an easy one at the best of times though, even if public transport is running. I’ll just have to wing it and see if I can get a bus into the city and catch a train from there.
The first thing I need is some money, so I start walking across the empty expanse of the hall towards a cash machine to check the balance in my account. I know there’s almost nothing left in it though, and the pit of my stomach clenches with dread. Have I come all this way only to be stranded once again? But then a voice behind me says, ‘Hello, Daisy. Need a lift?’
‘Jack!’ I exclaim, flinging myself at him, ecstatic to see his face – or at least his eyes, which twinkle with their oh-so-familiar smile above his mask. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you’d still be at sea.’
‘I made pretty good time from the Azores. Heard from my mum you’d managed to get out of Nepal and were due to be arriving today. I wondered how you were going to get back to Loch Ewe safely. Everything’s still really weird here, even if the country is slowly opening up again. So I thought I’d take a little detour and come and pick you up. I’m moored on the Clyde. Your personal yacht awaits, to take you home.’
We get into one of the few taxis parked at the usually busy pick-up point and Jack gives the driver directions to the marina, a few miles down the Clyde.
In the car, he says flatly, ‘I’m so very sorry about Davy. It’s a terrible loss.’
I nod and reach for his hand. ‘I know he meant a lot to you as well.’ And even though there’s so much to say, we sit in silence as the taxi speeds down empty roads, heading for the river.
The city streets may be deserted but the marina is crammed full of boats, with one or two people working on them here and there.
‘With lockdown, everything’s been parked up for the duration,’ says Jack. ‘But now people are allowed to be out in the open air, it’s starting to get back to normal.’
‘She’s beautiful,’ I say when we reach the berth whereSkylarkis moored. She stands out among the other boats with her elegant lines and teak deck.
‘She is, isn’t she? I found my dream girl at last,’ he laughs. ‘I never thought I’d be able to afford her, but quite a few people were selling when the pandemic began and a client of mine let me have her for a good price. She’s no spring chicken, but she’s still in great condition. I installed a bit of up-to-date technology to be able to sail her across the Atlantic on my own and she did a great job of getting me here. Come on, let me show you round. We’ve an hour or so to wait for the tide to turn, in any case.’
Once on board, I hesitate to remove my mask, as Jack has done. He’s been isolated all these weeks, and risked coming ashore to pick me up, and who knows what germs I may have been exposed to on the flights from Kathmandu to Glasgow?
He notices my uncertainty. ‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘I can risk catching the virus now we’re so nearly home. There aren’t many people I’d take that risk for, mind you, but you and I are in this together now. All we can do is take as many precautions as possible to protect others. The government’s announced a new rule – we’re allowed to make a bubble with another household, so I reckon this counts. When we get to Aultbea, we’ll be self-quarantining in any case. I’ll sound out Mum, ask her to let Lexie know we’re safe and sound and on our way home, then they can decide whether they want to isolate with us until we’re sure we’re all clear or whether you and I should stay on the boat for a while to be on the safe side. That’s another advantage of this old girl.’ He patsSkylark’s wooden cockpit fondly. ‘She can be turned into our very own floating isolation ward if need be.’
Below deck, everything is neatly stowed away apart from a set of charts spread out on the table. Once I’ve stashed my pack in one of the berths and plugged my phone in to charge, Jack brewsup a cup of tea and shows me the route we’ll take to get back to Loch Ewe.
‘We’ll aim to get as far as Arran tonight on the ebb, then make an early start in the morning to catch the flood tide and get round the Mull of Kintyre. Depending what this wind decides to do, we might be able to slip through the sound between Jura and Islay and make it to the Isle of Mull by tomorrow night. Then it’s a long day’s sail up past Skye to Loch Ewe. We should be home late on Friday.’
