Helen Brown - After Cleo

‘I’ve wasted the last five years of my life,’ she sobbed quietly. ‘I could’ve been going to parties and having fun with my friends instead of striving so hard, meditating hour after hour.’

Rocking her gently in my arms, I pieced the past few days together. The fact that she’d let her hair grow, and the silence after her Teacher had publicly invited her to become a nun, now made sense. Far from being manipulated into committing herself to an ancient religion, Lydia was still in charge of her life.

‘I need to come home,’ she said.

Now I’d finally understood her love for the monastery and Sri Lanka, she was coming home?

‘Really?’ I asked. ‘No maroon robes?’

God, what was I doing? Trying to talk her into being a nun?!

‘This place will always be part of me, but . . .’

Her voice trailed off. I resisted the urge to try and finish her sentence.

‘But what?’

‘I don’t feel right here anymore. I’m sure I’ll come back some day, but not for a while. I want to do a Masters in Psychology. I’ve been in touch with Melbourne University and they’ve got a place for me. I want to combine what I’ve learnt here with Western knowledge somehow . . .’

She buried her head in my neck and asked if she could fly back with me in a few days’ time and live at home for a while.

My time with Lydia in Sri Lanka had taught me so much. All the energy I’d put into worrying about primitive toilets, vegetarian curries and mosquitoes had been wasted. The terrifying island of tears had turned out to be an oasis of delightful contradictions. Not only that, it’d taken me back to the adventurous woman I’d once been.

Most importantly, this beautiful island had helped me to understand Lydia. The tensions between us had been more about our similarities than our differences.

The sky became a crimson blanket, then purple.

‘I feel terrible about coming here when you were sick,’ she said, her cheeks glistening in the fading light. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing.’

‘But you came home when I really needed you,’ I said, rocking her gently. ‘You looked after me beautifully, thanks to your dad paying the fare.’

She straightened her back and wiped her eyes.

‘But it was my Teacher who paid for the fare,’ she said.

‘ Your Teacher?! ’ I gasped. ‘I thought he was the one trying to keep you here!’

She shook her head.

‘He never did that. He refused to teach me anything that time. In fact he hardly spoke to me. He made it clear he thought I should be with you. Buddhism regards family as very important.’

The island of Serendipity had saved its biggest surprise till last. The charismatic monk I’d suspected of trying to ensnare my daughter and steal her away from us had been far more generous and understanding of family ties than I’d given him credit for.

I’d been a fool for misjudging the man so badly. He’d had our family’s interests at heart all along. No wonder Steve hadn’t replied when I’d sent him the thank you note.

Through all the turmoil, one thing had been consistent – my daughter’s determination to make a meaningful impact on the world.

The profound darkness of the tropics enveloped us. The monks’ voices faded away. Night birds and insects started up their own musical homage to the glory of being alive.

Completion

Happiness is the weight of a cat on your lap, and a contented daughter

As the car pulled up outside Shirley, a double rainbow arced in the sky above. The colours were so vivid and clearly defined in the lower arc I could pick them out individually. I’d never seen such a brilliant rainbow.

High above it, a hazy second rainbow formed a protective curve. A mothering arc, watching over her daughter, content to bask in her offspring’s beauty.

A familiar silhouette sat in the living room window. The moment Jonah saw us he stood up on his toes, arched his back and flicked his tail. Bending intensely, he peered down at the car. As he pressed his face against the glass we could see the blue flash of his eyes.

‘Someone’s pleased to see you,’ I said to Lydia.

As she ran up the path, Jonah jumped down from the window ledge and hurtled off to wait on the other side of the front door. We could hear him meowing. Lydia turned the key, and Jonah pushed the door open to spring into her arms.

‘Oh, I missed you boy!’ she said, sinking her face in his fur.

Jonah’s purr was so deep and resonant it reminded me of something I’d heard just a few nights earlier – the monks chanting at sunset. I thought of the slipper maker and the cat that was his monk. Jonah would be more than willing to take on the role of Lydia’s guru.

* * *

Adjusting back to ‘normal’ life was more difficult for Lydia than I’d realised. In her search for spiritual perfection, so many things had been sidelined. The first thing she did was update her Facebook page. Her old profile, featuring photos of her in monasteries or managing fundraising events, made her tearful. ‘I hardly look like a real person!’ she wept.

She shut herself in the bathroom and emerged twenty minutes later wearing full makeup.

‘Please take my photo,’ she said, thrusting a camera in my hand.

I was engrossed in my study writing a new book but there was urgency in her voice. We went into the back garden where she smiled self consciously under the tree. Unlike most of her generation who practised flashy smiles taking self-portraits on their phones, Lydia had forgotten how to perform for a camera. She took the camera from me and deleted most of the photos. If I told her what I really thought, that she glowed with rare beauty, she’d have recoiled uncomfortably. Her teacher’s words echoed inside my head – ‘If there is a pearl in all the world, Lydia is our jewel.’

Getting back into the social scene was painful to begin with. Some of her friends only seemed to laugh, talk and drink. She found it hard to fit in. A couple of times she came home tearful, again regretting how she’d spent the past five years. I tried to assure her that while the benefits of her experiences mightn’t seem obvious to her yet, they’d added great richness to who she was and would stay with her forever.

Walking along Chapel Street with her one Saturday night, she glided along the pavement, oblivious to admiring glances from men. When I nudged her and asked if she’d noticed that cute guy trying to make eye contact, she seemed almost startled.

Katharine, Philip and I were delighted when she came along to operas, musicals and the occasional trashy film with us. During her devout phase she’d rejected entertainment as a ‘diversion’.

It was wonderful to see her wearing clothes that weren’t from a charity shop. To my surprise, she developed an addiction to a boutique specialising in conservative outfits with cashmere and leather accessories. Jonah was particularly pleased about that. He scurried into her bedroom whenever he could to steal her scarves.

‘I’m ashamed to confess it,’ she said one day. ‘But I have a weakness for animal skin prints.’

I bought her a fake leopard-skin handbag. Jonah naturally assumed it was his and started carrying it around the house.

Lydia took her cooking skills to new levels. Not only could she recreate Mum’s ginger crunch to perfection, Julia Child and Nigella Lawson became household friends.

Jonah galloped eagerly into the kitchen whenever he heard her rattling in the pot cupboard. It meant no end of games – jumping up on the bench and being shooed off again. Lydia solved the situation peaceably, placing his tallest scratching pole in the middle of the kitchen so he could supervise. This involved much ‘talking’, answering every question with a meow or a cluck – or, if he disapproved for some reason, one of his snitching sounds.