Page 20 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
Doesn’t it?
When I come down this time, please can you take me to Brighton?
Of course we can go down there. Do you like rock?
What like Bon Jovi? I prefer jazz myself.
Haha, it’s rock you eat. Not actual rock either. I’ll get you some rock. We miss you, Linh.
I sit down and rest my head on the kitchen table.
Not as much as I miss you. Give those girls big hugs from me.
I’m glad you’re coming over. Tom would love to have you there. Thank you for coming.
Never thank me. Please look after yourself, darling girl x
Linh was the reason I started to see things differently after Tom’s death. I sensed that she understood I was sinking. Up to that point, I’d lost myself in the novelty of the travel. I escaped everyone’s sadness, all the memories and all those people who’d been writing me cards. I got so many cards with single flowers on the front, all well-meaning with lovely recollections of Tom, ones that made me ache with how much he was missed. So I went against my better judgement. I boarded planes and boats and trains and I went looking for him in all these places he’d been. I kept moving because the emotions were still so fresh, so raw. If I stopped then I worried I’d fall into a black hole of nothing.
Saigon was where muddy waters cleared slightly. My travel suddenly had purpose in this orphanage surrounded by little people in matching cotton T-shirts and shorts. Linh got me to volunteer there. I did everything I was asked to do; I swept floors, I made beds and learnt the right and only way to cook rice. I took the money Tom had donated to them and shopped locally to keep them in nappies and supplies. I would have hours sitting there under the whirring of the ceiling fans reading to kids or singing them songs. Like, badly. I don’t think I was remembered there for my sense of tune.
The work gave me focus, reason, the children made me realise the real lottery life can give us and, despite everything, I laughed. There were moments when a child would want a hug or want to brush my hair or play a game and suddenly these moments shifted me to a happier place. Linh watched over me the whole time and let me stay in her house. She had wonderful stories about her own life but also about Tom, and I’d curl up on her rattan sofa and take them all in. She fed me the most amazing broths full of herbs and fresh chilli that made my tongue itch. But she also knew grief. She understood my grief. And then at the moment when she thought I was ready, she pushed two little girls in my direction.
‘Mummy?’ A voice suddenly pierces the gloom of the kitchen.
I jump up in a fright. Cleo likes to wear my T-shirts to sleep. They creep all the way down to her toes but, with her tired look and black unkempt hair, she looks a little like a gremlin.
‘Why are you in the dark?’ she asks. I go to turn on a light, and we both adjust our eyes as the brightness hits us.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘You never sleep.’ She comes and sits on the bench next to me. Realising how cold it is, I put a side of my dressing gown over her like a protective wing.
‘I’m chatting to Ba Linh. She’s coming over soon.’
‘That’s so good. I miss her.’
That is something that haunts me. That I took these girls away from their home, their culture, their family. However, Linh was so sure. Olivier had no existing family so that left her as the last surviving relative of the girls and she always said she knew what her daughter would have wanted for them. She signed the forms, looked me in the eyes and told me it was the easiest thing she’d ever done. Now we stay in touch, she is always present and involved and has extended visits every year.
Linh told me all about Cam and Olivier and, even though I never met them, I always feel their essence is in Maya and Cleo. Like, through these children, I’m encountering all these different people. They will always be theirs.I don’t think kids ever belong to anyone but I feel blessed to have them here.You and your sister saved me.They gave me purpose, a reason to keep going. Linh gave me the greatest gift. I’ll never say these things out loud because I don’t want to scare the girls, to feel that weight on their tiny shoulders.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask Cleo as she curls her feet up onto the bench.
‘Can I have a Sprite?’
‘Like, no?’
‘Isaac’s mum lets him have Monster energy drinks.’
‘This explains so much, Cleo. The options are milk or water.’
‘Hot chocolate?’
‘OK,’ I say reluctantly, knowing it will require more energy than I can easily muster at this hour.
‘With marshmallows?’
‘Don’t push your luck.’
