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Chapter 3
George Town, Grand Cayman

When Ethan is upset, he’s a man of very few words. I know this from experience because after a particularly traumatic incident at sea, involving a fully grown female whale and a Japanese whaling ship off the coast of the Philippines, when our ship The Freedom of the Ocean had arrived a little too late to save the whale but just in time to witness the terrible distress caused to her young calf, Ethan had hardly spoken a word for days afterwards.

When I’m upset, however, I need to talk it through. I need to micro-thrash the details.

So as we hurtled back towards Tortola at breakneck speed in our speedboat, I wanted to know how and why these people were drilling holes in Waterfall Cay – when it was supposed to be our island and our new home – and why, out of nowhere, it turns out that Ethan has a brother called Damion and a sister in law called Gloria.

But, when I voice my concerns and my confusion to him, I get the silent treatment.

Once we are back on Tortola, however, it appears we are on speaking terms again.

He tells me he’s taking a flight over to Grand Cayman to talk with his lawyers.

I point out that it’s already late in the afternoon. He assures me it can’t wait.

I say I’m going with him. The next thing I know we’re in a car heading to the airport.

I broach the subject again. It’s killing me that he’s lied to me. I need to know why.

My heart is so heavy right now that it hurts and I’m drowning in my own disappointment.

I’ve been the victim of lies once before and I’d promised myself never again.

My ex-husband lied to me and so did my best friend. It was cruel and soul destroying.

But Ethan? My strong, unshakable, dependable, rock? Well, that is truly heartbreaking.

Now, I look at him and I can’t help but to wonder what else I don’t know about him?

How many other secrets he might be hiding and keeping from me?

What other aspects about himself he might currently deny but eventually admit?

Ethan is slumped in his seat, his hand rubbing his forehead, as if he’s easing a pain.

‘I didn’t lie to you, Lori. He’s just no longer my brother. Hasn’t been for a long time.’

‘But he’s your sibling.’ I argued. ‘Just because you disowned each other doesn’t mean you’re no longer related. It’s not like divorcing Marielle. Your brother is family. He’s blood!’

‘Lori, forgive me, but this is not the time. I have to find out what happened with the lease.’

I bite my tongue and steel myself to stay silent. Not easy when I have so many questions.

And then, of course, there’s the elephant between us.

His marriage proposal is still hanging in the air.

At the airport, Ethan quickly charters a private jet. It takes us two hours to fly over to George Town on Grand Cayman. On the plane, in my big comfortable seat opposite Ethan, I sip a glass of champagne that was spontaneously offered to us after take-off. Only, it tastes sour in my mouth. Ethan didn’t even touch his. He just stared out of the small oval window, frowning.

At the lawyer’s office, I prefer to sit in the reception area listening to the heated exchange going on at the other side of a closed door. I check my phone. It’s 6pm here and so that means 11pm in the UK. It’s now too late to call my mum or my boys.

I decided to call Josh anyway and to leave another message.

When Ethan comes out of the lawyer’s office his face is red with rage.

‘Come on, Lori. Let’s get out of here. I need a drink.’

We walked two blocks and into a bar. I order a glass of wine.

Ethan orders straight bourbon. A double.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?’ I asked him tentatively.

He threw back his bourbon and swallowed it. ‘We lost it.’

I’m starting to feel sorry for him now. My heart softens. My anger dissipates.

I actually consider wrapping my arms around him to offer him some comfort because if Ethan’s drinking doubles then he’s having the worst day ever. And I’ve seen Ethan having bad days. Like the time we just happen to lose an underwater (thankfully unmanned) research drone that was apparently worth over a million US dollars. I consider his words for a moment.

‘How? I don’t understand. How did you lose an island?’

‘He got to the lease before us. His plan is to build a luxury hotel resort on the island.’

I shrug. ‘This isn’t like you, Ethan. If he got there first, then why all the resentment?’

Ethan was usually so philosophical about everything. I’ve never seen him harbour any hard feelings towards anyone. The need for justice, yes, absolutely. But, when faced with an unfairness, he’s normally the first person to say, ‘whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye’ which in Scottish, is the same as ‘what is meant for you by fate won’t pass you by.’

Obviously, he felt very differently regarding this particular situation.

‘Because he played dirty. I can’t believe he actually pretended to be me to get hold of that lease and then he took it for himself. He cheated us out of that island. Now do you understand?’

I nod my head slowly and I feel badly. I remember my ex-husband Charles doing something like that to me. He’d taken out a loan in my name because he’d been refused the credit. I only found out about it when he’d defaulted on the payments. ‘Yes. I think I do.’

‘Do you want to go back to Geluk Island for a while, Lori?’

I nod and offer a little smile and place my hand on his and give it a little squeeze.

Last January, we’d spent a blissful six weeks together on the island paradise called Geluk.

The name, pronounced Gluck, means ‘place of happiness’ and indeed we were very happy there. Ethan, or rather his foundation, the GGF, has an oceanic research centre on the Caribbean island. We’d spent our mornings working and diving on the coral reef and our afternoons upstairs in our private quarters making love. In the early evenings, we’d meet up with locals and friends at a beach bar at sundown, to enjoy rum cocktails and grilled seafood and spectacular sunsets. Then, hand in hand and under a sky full of stars, we’d stroll lazily back up the beach to our simple loft room under the swaying palm trees with its bamboo furniture and wooden shuttered windows. It was a perfect way of life. Idyllic, in fact.

The island, like Ethan, had quickly claimed my heart.

It was easy for me to imagine that we might have stayed on Geluk Island forever. Ethan had said that he’d once felt the same way about it. The island is situated in a sheltered bay between the Cayman Islands and the coast of Honduras. It’s often described by those who know of it as a well-kept secret – and they’d liken it to a Key West of the 1930’s era; a laid back and sleepy little gem of an island in the eastern Caribbean Sea.

Until of course that secret got out and the tiny tropical paradise became invaded by tourists.

On most days, it looked exactly how you might imagine a Caribbean island before any commercial tourism arrived. With just one main street and locally owned shops and businesses and quiet bars and restaurants. A commercial boat came in twice a week with imported supplies and the islanders principally trade in fish and shellfish and are self-sufficient in tropical fruits and coconuts. There are no cars there and there’s no pollution. People get about on bicycles or they simply walked everywhere as nowhere is too far away from anything else on Geluk.

There’s a real and very special sense of community amongst the population.

But, being so conveniently close to the Cayman Islands and now part of the new and popular cruise routes, means that half the time there are hordes of people on the island spoiling the ideal and the idyllic. Plus, Ethan is a kind of celebrity. Lots of people know of him and his work. Especially those in the diving community. He’s often recognised in the street and approached by strangers in bars and while simply trying to have a quiet drink and minding his own business.

He hates all the fuss. Especially if he’s being asked for his autograph.

So, I guess we’ll just have to move on and find our paradise home somewhere else now.

Or not. I mean, now that his dream of living on a private island in the BVIs has been taken away from him, I must once again wonder if he will ever want to settle down anywhere else?

And, is it even in Ethan’s nature to live in one place?

He’s an activist. A man of the world. And what about me?

I must question whether or not I am truly a woman of the world?

I can’t help but to doubt myself. Yes, I want to travel. Yes, I want to be with Ethan.

I’m still being torn in two by my wanderlust and my desire for stability.

But all those ‘wants’ feel so selfish when to claim them for myself means I have to treat my family like they no longer exist. I met a Buddhist monk in a golden temple in Thailand once, and he told me that Buddha says that you should remove the ‘I’ from ‘I want something’ because it is your ego, and you should remove the ‘want’ also because it is your greed. Then you’ll be left with your ‘something.’

And, as much as I try to reason with myself and apply all that I’ve learned over this past year into my decision making, that angel and devil of good and bad and positive and negative, sit on my shoulders to this very day to constantly whisper into my ears and taunt me.

And, of the two, I’m never sure which one of them is being entirely truthful.

I can’t help but to agonise over what it is that I must compromise on?

Today, with Waterfall Cay, it really seemed like I’d found the answer.

It seemed, in a moment of hope and glory, that I’d found my compromise.

But now that option has disappeared as fast as it came and I’m back to the same question.

How can I possibly choose to love a man over my own family?

How can I ever allow myself to really trust anyone ever again?

How can I trust another person when I can’t seem to trust my own instincts anymore?

When having it all is impossible and so means having to choose?

Ethan dragged his eyes away from staring at the bottom of his empty bourbon glass to look at me. I really don’t think I’ve ever seen him so dismayed. Not even when together we’d nursed a turtle, who’d been hit by the rudder of a longtail boat in Thailand, and its carapace was cracked open and its right flipper gone and a chunk missing from the edge of its shell.

‘Oh Lori, I lost something else today too —’ he confessed miserably. ‘I lost your ring.’

I didn’t know what to say. It was a beautiful ring. I just hoped it was insured.

‘I must have dropped it in the sand. I expect the chances of finding it again will be remote.’

I looked deeply into his soulful eyes. Those very beautiful but now incredibly sad pools of light and love and emotion. I couldn’t help myself. A great surge of love came crashing over my own fiery feelings and doused them out in a wave of both passion and compassion for him.

‘Ethan, losing a ring doesn’t mean you’ve lost my love. I love you. I want to be with you. But, despite what you call the cruise ship invasion, I still think that Geluk Island would be our next best choice as a perfect place for us to build a home together. Then we can have something that resembles a home life between our work projects. I need that stability. I want a door to close when I need to shut out the problems of the world. I want somewhere to rest when I’m feeling tired. I want walls on which to hang my favourite photographs. I’m afraid, I just can’t carry on like this —as a homeless nomad.’

Ethan shrugged and sighed and sulked and he didn’t look either convinced or happy.

‘I suppose I’ve always thought that one day, I’d settle down in the BVIs.’ He confessed. ‘I really wanted that island to be our home, Lori. I really felt we belonged there. Strangely, I’ve never felt that way about anywhere, not even Scotland. But, you’re right. I’ll just have to accept it’s not going to happen and move on. Just give me some time and I promise I’ll find us somewhere else to call home.’ He looked so incredibly sad and disappointed.

For someone who always seemed ready and prepared and who knew exactly how and when it was time to move on, I’ve never known Ethan to drag his heels, or to be so reluctant before.

‘Look —’ I tried to reason with him. ‘If this island is really that important to you, why don’t we go and talk to your brother about it? If he only knew how you feel – how very special this island is to you – then he might be prepared to back off and give it back to us?’

Ethan vehemently shook his head. ‘No way. Lori, you simply don’t understand who you are dealing with here. Damion will not give up the island. Especially, if he knew how special it was to me. There’s nothing that you or I can do about it. It’s gone.’

‘I simply can’t believe that to be true. You are brothers. Surely this can be worked out?’

Ethan shrugged again but it was more like an acknowledgement of defeat than of acquiesce.

‘If it was anyone else but him then I’d be inclined to agree with you,’ he said to me while signalling the bartender for another drink. ‘But Damion and I don’t get on and we never have.’

‘Never? Not even when you were small boys together?’ I queried.

‘No. Especially when we were kids. We were born ten years apart and it’s like we were born to be complete opposites in every way. We could never agree on anything. Damion would make everything into a competition that he would win no matter the cost or the consequence. If he wants something, then believe me, he will not stop until he has it and he will never give up or ever back down. It won’t work. So why don’t we just forget all about Waterfall Cay?’

‘Forget? But you said it was a rare find. You said it was your dream? There has to be another way. There must be something we can do. He is your brother and he must have some redeeming qualities. Surely, it’s time you two agreed on something and made amends?’

I pondered on my own childhood. I’d been an only child, but I’d always longed for a sister.

I’d imagined a sister to be a constant and reliable forever friend who would never let you down. I’d brought up my own two boys to be good friends and allies and to support each other.

‘Not while he is as stubborn as he is ruthless.’ Ethan noted sourly.

And just at that moment my phone rang. ‘Oh, I’ll need to take this. It’s Josh.’

A feeling of something that I can only describe as pure unadulterated dread washed over me in the moment when I saw that it was Josh calling. My stomach turned over because I knew it was well after midnight in the UK. It was the middle of the night. It was so unlike him to call at this time. Unless something was wrong?

And that’s when I heard the news about my mum and my mind and my body and my whole world went into a freefall of absolute and total panic.

‘What? Josh, slow down! What did you just say?’

I looked to Ethan. ‘My mum has had a heart attack. I need to go home right now!’

And Ethan did what he always does best. He immediately sprang into action.

He hailed us a taxi and we headed straight to the airport.

At the British Airways desk, he wanted to buy two first-class tickets to London, and we argued about it for a while, but I insisted that I needed to go home alone.

‘I need time to deal with this myself. My boys don’t know anything about us yet, Ethan. This is absolutely not the right time to tell them. I’ll call you. I’ll speak to them. I promise.’

Then in my rush to get to my gate and onto the plane that was already boarding, I turned to say goodbye to him, only to realise that I’d already gone through the point of no return.

And, suddenly, Ethan was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 4
London UK

It’s early morning in London when I step off my overnight flight and it’s very dark outside. The temperature is reported to be well below zero degrees and everyone else has deplaned wrapped up in coats and scarfs and boots. To my embarrassment, I’m wearing a flimsy summer dress and flip-flops. I have a small backpack with me and no checked luggage because I’ve left the mainstay of my sparse belongings back in the Caribbean.

I emerge from the green zone of customs into the brightly lit bustle of the arrivals area at Gatwick airport and I’m feeling like an exile after being away for a whole year. I know I look different. I feel different. I’m also shivering violently from an assault of icy cold air that’s being sucked inside the terminal from the doors leading to the outside world. I’m chilled to the bone.

Goosebumps are doing a Mexican Wave across my entire body and it feels as if my skin, that just yesterday was warm and brown and supple in the humid tropical air, has suddenly become grey and shrunken and icy in response to the dry air on the plane and now the cold damp atmosphere in the UK. My eyes feel sore and heavy as I look around me in confusion at the faceless crowd. Then, to my relief, I hear a shout from a familiar voice.

‘Mum!’ And my heart leaps as if it’s been shocked back to life by a defibrillator.

Then I’m standing in front of Josh, my darling eldest son, who looks even taller and more handsome than I can ever recall. I throw myself into his arms before noticing he’s with someone; a pretty young woman with big dark eyes and long brown hair.

‘Mum, this is Zoey, my fiancée.’

I embrace Zoey and kiss her cheek and say how pleased I am to meet her.

‘Hello, Mrs Anderson. Wow—you are so suntanned!’ said Zoey, who was staring at me as if I’d just arrived from another planet and she’d never seen anyone quite like me before.

‘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.

I wiped my tears and blew my nose and pulled myself together.

Zoey is a lovely girl and, although we’ve only just met, I immediately approved of her.

I see the way Josh looks at her and it’s clear that he loves her and that she loves him.

That’s good enough for me.

Oh goodness—my boy has become a grown man in my absence.

After an hour or so, Lucas and Josh and Zoey, said they had to get on as they had previously made plans for the day. It was a Saturday, so Mum insisted that they all come back again tomorrow, for Sunday lunch. Just knowing that I’d be seeing them the next day to catch up more on their lives made seeing them all leave a little easier. Then, once they’d gone, Mum insisted that she and I go upstairs to sort through her wardrobe to find me something warm to wear. I was incredibly tired. I just wanted to take a bath and have a good long sleep. But I knew that if I gave in to the jet-lag now, then I was likely to be wide awake in the middle of the night.

I followed my mum up her narrow and carpeted staircase, thinking that despite the generous gesture, I really didn’t want to wear any of her clothes. But I was hardly in a position to refuse.

She emptied the content of her entire wardrobe onto her bed and made me try things on.

Her trousers were all two inches too short on me. Her dresses were too wide. At least we were the same size in shoes. In the end, I chose a matching brown wool sweater and skirt ensemble and some one hundred denier tights and a pair of sturdy tan brogues. Teamed with Zoey’s jacket, I felt like a twenty-years-older version of myself, trying too hard to look trendy.

Once suitably clothed, Mum said we needed to ‘pop out to the shops’ to buy some more teabags and enough food for tomorrow’s family lunch. I stifled another yawn and checked my phone, wondering if I had any messages, only to find the battery was totally flat.

I put it on charge while we went out to the shops in mum’s old car.

Mum drove us and it was a terrifying experience. I’d felt safer in a tuk-tuk on the streets of Bangkok or hacking my way through the jungles of Borneo or fleeing pirates in the South China Sea than being in the passenger seat of my mother’s little car. Had she always been this bad a driver or had this only happened over the past year? She seemed to have lost all her road sense and also her sense of direction. The route to town was incredibly busy and the traffic was stopping and starting at every roundabout and set of traffic lights. It was now early-afternoon, but it was quite dark – twilight at best – and it was still raining heavily. The roads were so wet that they reflected every passing car’s headlights and my tired eyes felt dazzled. Mum chatted non-stop the whole time that it took us to get to the shopping mall, animating her laughter and conversation by waving her arms around her head, instead of holding onto the steering wheel and focussing on the road.

I sat rigid with fear in the passenger seat as we ran a set of red traffic lights and narrowly missed being hit by a lorry. The irate lorry driver had the nerve to stick his fingers up at me, while mum seemed oblivious to any other traffic on the road and drove around the roundabout twice because she’d missed the turn off onto the by-pass.

Eventually, after battling with an automatic ticket machine and a barrier at the entrance to the underground car park, we arrived at the shopping mall and found a space to park. I wearily followed mum’s hurried steps inside, where thanks to a blast of hot air from a blower over the entrance door, it was warmer and more comfortable.

There were already Christmas garlands decking the shopping aisles and a huge Christmas tree, fully decorated with lots of twinkly lights, stood in the main square. It looked quite wonderous. I stood staring at the tree for a moment, feeling surprisingly emotional and suddenly extremely grateful for being back here. It was all such a wonderful relief.

I turned to my mum and hugged her warmly and wiped a tear from my eye.

She hugged me too, laughing at my unexpected show of affection. Then she suggested that while she went into the supermarket, I should go off and buy myself some new winter clothes.

I agreed it was a good idea and we said we’d meet up with each other again in the square.