‘Did you know that Baltra Island is one of the most spectacular places in the world to land an aeroplane?’ the friendly Australian girl in the seat beside me says. ‘You can see the whole pacific ocean – look!’ I lean past her to peer out of the window, and drink in the beautiful scene spreading out below us.
The water is a deep azure blue, blending to a lighter jade green as it nears the rocky shore of our destination.
The island somehow doesn’t seem big enough for an aeroplane to land on it, appearing from this height to be no more than a small circle of inhospitable jet-black volcanic rock, surrounded on all sides by the vast expanse of striking turquoise water and frothy, dancing waves at its edges. But as we begin our gradual descent, signs of civilisation start to come into focus – dotted colours of buildings and a grey stretch of runway slowly growing in size as it rises to meet us.
Suddenly the captain’s voice crackles through the aeroplane’s stereo system, welcoming us to the Galápagos Islands and wishing us, only a few hours prematurely, a Happy New Year. As his voice fades out, the generic landing music switches to a fast-paced bouncing salsa beat, and two members of cabin crew stride down the aisle, cameras held out in front of them, filming, shouting ‘Last flight of the year – Quito to Baltra, Santa Cruz Island, Galápagos! Happy New Year!’
I find a cool glass of fizzy wine has been put in my hand and turn to see the rest of the passengers also raising their glasses in salute to the cabin crew, cheering and clapping and turning to hug each other.
It’s only late afternoon on the 31st of December but everyone on board has been in a festive spirit since we took off three hours ago – families and couples, and even the odd lone traveller like myself – bubbling with excitement at the thought of seeing in the New Year from one of the most naturally beautiful locations in the world.
I turn and chink glasses with the Australian girl, who also seems to be travelling alone.
‘Do you have plans for this evening?’ She stoops to rummage in her bag, and pulls out a colourful business card showing a photo of a floodlit hotel, framed by palm trees. ‘A group of us are going here tonight – it’s one of the island’s best bars, right on the beach. It should be great. It’s really popular with travellers, if you fancy joining us.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile warmly at her and take the card. ‘I just might.’
I deliberately haven’t made any plans beyond securing a booking at a beachfront hotel that, two months ago, I would have persuaded myself was too expensive. The open space and time stretching out ahead fill me with a thrill of freedom, knowing that, from the moment we land, whatever I do here will be my decision. Perhaps I will head along to – I glance down at the card – Iguana Falls Hotel and Bar, to join the beach party. But likewise I may choose to stay completely alone on my hotel balcony, with a cocktail or iced coffee in my hand, looking out to sea as the New Year dawns.
‘Baltra airport is actually on a separate little island, right next to Santa Cruz,’ the Australian girl – Michelle, I’ve learnt – continues. ‘Once we land we have to get a ferry across to the main island. Get your camera ready, as sometimes sea lions and turtles swim right up to the boat.’
Excitement swells inside me as the plane bumps down on to the runway and I join the eager throng of fellow tourists queuing for the door. We’re met by posters of manta rays and giant tortoises and gilded signs in English and Spanish welcoming us to the Galápagos Islands. As our bags are deposited one by one on to the clunky little baggage carousel, an Alsatian dog trots purposefully between them, sniffing and investigating each one under the close supervision of a man in heavy army uniform. For a second I think of Naomi and shiver, recalling our day in court and the story of the very different journey she began all those years ago from Quito airport.
Then the cool breeze and sound of gulls reaches me through the open doors to the world outside and I push that thought behind me, focusing on the new life that lies ahead for both of us with the advent of this dawning new year.
As I join the queue for immigration and pull my passport out from my pocket I can’t help staring down at it for a moment and remembering whose hands, only weeks ago, had printed these very pages. Suddenly Sebastian’s warm smile and twinkling green eyes fill my memory and cloud my vision, and I stand paralysed to the spot by a sudden jolt of longing, wondering where he will be spending this New Year’s Eve.
Then I remind myself that I will see him in just two short months when I return to Quito from my travels. So far we have only exchanged brief, tentative emails but I have told him of my plans to conduct a month’s paid work experience at the Public Defence Office in Quito. In his last email, which I have already opened and reread several times in timid anticipation, he has asked me to meet him for coffee once I am back in the city. Right now, I will have to contain my excitement and wait for that.
It had been wonderfully easy to arrange the work experience, once my mind was finally made up. One of the first things I did after Harry left Casa Hamaca – and my life – that night, was to email Dr Vélez and ask whether his offer of working for a short period in their offices still stood. I remember whipping open Gabriela’s old laptop and firing off the email before I could give myself chance to lose momentum or change my mind. He replied almost immediately, telling me he would be delighted to have me for whatever period of time I chose, and offering me the possibility of shadowing his work on several new cases. All that remained was applying for a work visa, and negotiating a start date. For the first time in years, I began to feel genuine excitement at the thought of my career, the possibility of doing something different and learning about a whole new area of my chosen subject.
That just left one more step… the one that had been tucked away at the back of my mind for so long, waiting to be taken.
After sitting in my little room at Casa Hamaca and submitting seven applications in short succession for the postgraduate Law Practice Course at different universities all across London and the South East, I finally sat back and accepted that what comes next is simply waiting. I won’t hear back from them just yet, as all the courses begin in September or October, with the selection process and interviews taking place in the first few months of this new year. But I surpass all the minimum entry requirements. With my undergraduate degree already gained, and several years of relevant work behind me – not to mention the international experience I will shortly gain in the Public Defence offices in Quito – I may even receive an unconditional offer from some of them. As I hit ‘send’ on the very last application, feeling exhausted but exhilarated, shortly before Gabriela’s laptop crashed in protest… all I could think was you should have done this long ago.
Even then, however, picking up the phone to Angela at Home from Home took me several attempts, as the voices of old doubts briefly filled my mind and held me back. What if you don’t get any of the university places, and can’t find another job afterwards? The fear of finding myself back in the UK with nowhere to live or work almost overwhelmed me. In the end, I realised only one person could help put my fears to rest.
‘Of course I’ll support you!’ my mother’s voice exclaimed warmly after I had explained my plan. ‘You can stay with us as long as you like – I’ll get the spare room ready now. Your sister will be back from uni in the summer but we’ll make space. I’ve been saying to Steve for ages that we need to get a new bed in that room. And you can go on my car insurance, I’ll phone them up now and get a quote…’ As she rambled on excitedly, I stopped really hearing her any more, instead finding myself staring at her little photo on the screen and suddenly wanting to dive into the computer to cross the distance between us and give her an enormous hug.
‘But… Mum, you do realise this means I’ll have to quit my job? And have no income for at least the whole year of the course… possibly longer, if I can’t get a job straight away afterwards?’ The feeling of mild panic at that prospect welled up inside me again. But Mum’s voice crackling out of the laptop speakers sounded different, firmer, and a million miles away from the anxious and fearful warnings I am used to hearing from her.
‘Listen, Kirsty, you already know you have to do this, or you wouldn’t have applied. Plus – I’ve been speaking to your father.’ Her new, businesslike tone reminds me for a fleeting, slightly terrifying second of Liza. ‘He made me realise several things. First of all, we are both really rather relieved that you and Harry have split up. Yes, I know it’s going to be hard for you, and there will be times when you will feel afraid of the uncertainty ahead. But your father helped me see that there has to be some level of risk involved if you are finally going to follow the career you have always dreamed of.’
Reeling, I hadn’t heard much beyond ‘I’ve been speaking to your father’.
‘So, er, you and Dad are… in touch, now then?’
‘In touch? Yes, we met for lunch the other day so he could show me all the photographs from his trip there. And we arranged to go to that Rolling Stones gig in Tunbridge Wells next week… we both always loved the Stones.’ She pauses for breath. ‘As friends, of course. I wouldn’t touch him with a barge-pole now, you know. He looks much older these days, doesn’t he? But anyway, we both fully support your decision.’
Well, that was that then.
In the end, Angela was very understanding when I told her I wouldn’t be returning to my job after the sabbatical. She even told me I could go back for a few months and work over the summer before starting my Law Practice Course.
‘And you never know, there may be a vacancy here when you finish – as a qualified solicitor,’ she adds, just as I’m about to hang up. ‘Nothing would make me happier – in fact, nothing has made me happier than this phone call.’
I think back to the cryptic message she gave me as I left my meeting with her, months ago before leaving for Ecuador… something about people following different paths to achieve their ambitions. I thank her profusely, grateful to have the option, but secretly doubting I will ever return to work anywhere near Fenbridge.
My sights are set on London.
As the airport doors slide open, a pleasant warm breeze tickling my face and the sound of the waves already audible in the distance, my focus turns back to the weeks and months ahead. Dr Vélez had wanted me to start straight away at the Public Defence offices, but I insisted on waiting two months… because I had already decided, almost from the moment Harry walked out of the bar that night, that there were even more pressing things for me to do.
Firstly, the Galápagos Islands. As soon as I agreed to come to Ecuador it was one of the places I yearned to visit, the first exotic location to be added to my wish list. But now, I’m going to do it my way – no pre-booked, all-inclusive cruises or luxury tours. Just a return flight from here, Santa Cruz, the most populated of the islands with the liveliest nightlife and tourist scene. I might spend a few days here before heading to Isabela, the largest island, famous for its snorkelling tours and wide open spaces of volcanic moonscape, perfect for long walks. From what I’ve been reading, all the main islands are easily connected by short motorboat trips, meaning the two-week period stretching out before me can be spent exploring each island at my leisure.
After the Galápagos, I’m catching a flight straight to Cusco in Peru to begin a four-day Inca trail hike, ending at the magnificent ruins of Machu Picchu. The next stop will be Lima, the capital, where I’ve already made contact with a national charity providing refuge for women who are victims of domestic violence, offering accommodation to volunteers in return for daily English classes to their clients. Even now, a dart of nerves shoots through me at the thought of standing up and trying to teach my language to a room full of women I’ve never met. But then I remember visiting the prison, and all I’ve achieved since, and ultimately Naomi’s memory spurs me on to go ahead with it. I’ve committed to at least three weeks there.
Finally, I will catch a flight to Canaima in Venezuela, to visit its much longed-for national park and finish up with a tour of the devastatingly beautiful Angel Falls.
From the peace and quiet of my room at Casa Hamaca I had carefully checked back through my travel folder, put together so many weeks ago and untouched ever since… I began looking up each place in turn and making the necessary bookings, one by one, slowly resurrecting the feelings of hope and anticipation I had felt when I began my long journey. Then, once everything was finally in place and booked, with an even greater feeling of triumph I took my travel folder downstairs to the industrial-sized wastebin outside the bar, and threw it away.
Stepping out of the airport doors, I follow the other tourists to the ferry boarding point, ready to cross the short stretch of turquoise water to the main island. I can’t help but marvel at my surroundings – the path leading from the airport is lined with soft, white sand, and lush reeds sway in the breeze where it joins the water. Birds of different colours and sizes circle overhead and swoop down into the ocean right in front of us, plucking shiny silver fish from the water before launching effortlessly back up into the clear blue sky. To my delight and amazement, a fat sea lion is lolling on the path right by the water’s edge, just feet away from the ferry, watching with interest as we all line up to board.
Completely mesmerised, I hand my suitcase to a member of ferry staff to be loaded into the hold without even taking my eyes off the animal, then I crouch in the sand to take its photo.
As the camera clicks, I hear someone behind me call my name.
Recognising the voice, but not daring to believe my ears, I very slowly straighten up to a standing position. I tuck the camera carefully back in my rucksack but don’t turn around, hardly even daring to breathe.
‘Kirsty!’
There it is again, unmistakable. My heart starts to pound.
I notice a few of the other passengers in line turn to look at me, wondering if I’ve heard. Then slowly, disbelievingly, I turn around.
Standing a short distance away from the rest of the passengers, wearing a white T-shirt, a pair of luridly bright Bermuda shorts, and a huge smile… is Sebastian.
The world spins slightly before my eyes as my consciousness catches up with what I am seeing. I stumble over to him and reach out to touch his arm, convincing myself that he is not a vision dreamed up by the yearnings of my imagination, but just as real and solid and alive as the sea lion that is still watching us from the shore.
‘Hi,’ he beams down at me.
‘Hi…’ I reply stupidly, still not really understanding, a part of me wondering whether he is here because of work or a consular emergency or by sheer coincidence, or…
‘I came to see you.’ He answers all my questions at once, reaching out to take both my hands in his.
‘But… how did you know where to find me?’ I’m vaguely aware I haven’t smiled yet, and I think my mouth is hanging open in shock still, and out of the corner of my eye I can see several of my fellow passengers breaking away from the queue to stand and stare openly at us. But I don’t care. All I am aware of is the firmness of his hand in mine, the green of his eyes as I finally look up to meet his gaze.
Sebastian grins again. ‘I work for the embassy, remember? We have cameras everywhere, and I’ve actually got a special alert on your passport so that an alarm sounds in my office whenever you…’ He trails off, the smile slowly fading from his face as he takes in the shell-shocked expression on mine.
‘Okay. Honestly? Your father told me.’
‘Whaaaaat?’
‘Yes… he sent me an email, once he got home, to say thanks for everything. At this point, I hadn’t had an email from you for a while. I knew you were going to be travelling for a few months, of course, so I… er… took the liberty of asking him if he knew where you were going to be spending New Year’s Eve.’
There is a long silence, in which time I send out silent, exasperated wishes of gratitude and vengeance to my absent, infuriating father.
‘He didn’t reply for ages – weeks. I was going crazy. I came this close to actually putting an alert out on your passport…’ Sebastian tries to laugh, but it doesn’t go very well, so he just looks down and clears his throat. ‘Then he finally replied, apologising for the delay, saying he’d met someone really amazing and they’d been away on some sort of mini-cruise, Scandinavia I think…’
Oh, for God’s sake.
‘He told me you were coming to the Galápagos this week, so… well… I booked a flight. The flight right before yours, it would seem. I’ve been standing here for several hours now, looking like a…’ He clears his throat. ‘I think the ferry guys are starting to think I’m a bit dodgy.’ Alarm suddenly passes across his face. ‘But, Kirsty, if you want me to go…’
His uncertainty is adorable. I realise I’m edging nearer to him, without even intending to, and now we’re standing so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
‘So… you’re officially skiving from government service, right now?’ I ask, finding a smile creeping on to my lips. ‘To come and look for me here?’
Sebastian looks down at the sand, his ebony hair tousling in the sea breeze. ‘Actually… there´s something you should know. I’m not going to be working at the embassy much longer.’
I freeze, loosening my grip on his hand. After Harry, I’m not sure I can handle another mid-life crisis situation. ‘You… why?’
He takes a deep breath and looks at me for a moment, clearly unsure whether to tell me something.
‘Because… I’m going to start a Master’s course. In London. I’ve got an unconditional place at London Metropolitan University to study International Human Rights, starting in September.’
There’s a long, euphoric silence as the meaning and implications of this sink in. He’s going there to live! In London! I suddenly feel the urge to kick my sandals off and go running across the beach and splashing in the sea, whooping like a child.
Then a sudden thought brings my mind skidding to a halt.
‘What about Lewis?’
Sebastian looks a little surprised by my question, but then his face breaks into a smile.
‘Well, I suppose I’m going to have to find a place in London that’s pet-friendly.’
My shoulders sag in relief.
‘You didn’t think I’d leave him behind, did you? I know it’s a long way to take a dog, but he’s already a seasoned traveller, and I don’t think we could bear to be without each other…’
Something in Sebastian’s voice changes, and his expression becomes serious. ‘Listen, Kirsty - the truth is, you inspired me. The way you just picked yourself up again, started taking positive action to move your life forward… I realised it was high time I did the same. What I’ve always wanted to do. Also, knowing you would be there…’ He stops, the uncertainty returning to his face. ‘But I don’t mean to get ahead of myself. What I really came here to ask you, above all, is… whether you would like a date for New Year’s Eve.’
Suddenly I can’t bear his tortured expression any more, and by way of answer I stand up on tiptoes and kiss him.
I don’t know how long we stand there, entwined, but I gradually become aware of the seaside noises coming back into focus around us… the gentle roll of the waves, the delighted shouts of children splashing at the water’s edge, the ferry attendant calling to us impatiently to get on board right now or come and take back our suitcases.
‘Oops, we’d better get going.’ Sebastian smiles, taking my hand again.
My heart surging, I pick up my backpack from the sand and step towards the boat.