‘They’d all become close by that stage, and she asked Joe to go with them if he wanted to – he was legally her husband, of course. At first he didn’t agree, said he was settled here, said he was content. Said all kinds of things, but I soon realised he was only saying it because he was worried about me. That, of course, was simply unacceptable, which I explained to him most vigorously.’
She laughs at the memory, and I can picture the scene – poor Joe would have been completely outmatched in a battle of wills with Ada. Most people would. She’s right though – this was the longest period of time he’d spent anywhere since leaving Manchester, and Ada was clearly the star attraction. I don’t think it was as simple as her depending on him though – I suspect he depended on her just as much.
‘I told him that he should go,’ she continues. ‘I told him that I was a strong, independent woman, and that much as I loved him, life would go on without him. Inside, I was frightfully sad – and of course he knew that. But he also knew that I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d held him back. I wanted him to fly free, to explore, to see the world in a way that I’d been lucky enough to see it. In the end, he said he’d only go if I agreed to take on a carer.’
She shudders as she utters the word, as though it’s some kind of ancient curse that will unleash a kraken.
‘A carer! Can you imagine! Anyway, just to shut him up, I agreed, fully intending to let them go as soon as the plane took off. He said he’d do the interviews, and find someone who could put up with me, cheeky thing! And … well, I suppose he did. He found Karolina – with a K – who arrived on her first day clutching a bottle of Polish bison grass vodka and a box of cocktail cigarettes, so I knew we’d get on. She’s still with me now, and I don’t really think of her as a carer. I think of her as a friend. She calls me an old witch and swears at me in several different languages – she’s very talented.’
I smile as I picture the conversations the two of them have: putting the world to rights over a glass or two, talking about their lives, sniping and bickering and laughing. And I picture Joe, desperate for his fresh start, but not willing to go for it unless he could make sure Ada was safe and happy.
‘Anyway, that was that. We had a lovely little party, and they left on their adventures. He stayed in touch for a while, postcards and the like, but not for a long time, which I’m happy with. I told him before he left that I’d said my goodbyes, that I didn’t expect him to stay in contact forever, and that I didn’t need him to feel sorry for me or worry about me.
‘I’ve lived for almost a century – I’ve met a lot of special people in a lot of special places, and I’ve said goodbye to most of them. It’s part of life, and not one to be sad about – the trick is feeling happy because you knew them at all, that your life was blessed with their presence, rather than mourning the fact that they’re gone. Although, of course, that’s harder with some losses than others, I know.’
I understand that she is talking about Gracie, and about her baby, and about the abnormal loss that a parent feels when their child dies before them.
‘Harder, yes,’ I reply. ‘But you’re still right. I’ve spent years trying not to think about Gracie. Trying not to let the memories derail me. Only now, all this time later, am I starting to realise that I need to remember. I need to cry, and I need to celebrate. I had a baby girl. She was clever and funny and sweet and so, so beautiful. The fact that she’s gone now doesn’t alter any of that.’
She nods, and we are silent for a moment, acknowledging our shared pain and understanding, hands linked, minds in harmony.
‘Right. Well. Enough of such maudlin talk! Belinda, be an angel and get that box off the top shelf for me, would you? Yes, that one – the little wooden chest. I’ve kept some of the cards Joe sent, and they might help you – presuming you’re carrying on with your little mission?’
There is a communal pause, and Belinda and Michael look at me expectantly, waiting for me to come to a decision.
‘We are,’ I say firmly. I feel more determined to take control than ever – perhaps Ada has inspired me. ‘What good is my inheritance if I can’t blow it on a wild goose chase to the other side of the world?’
‘That’s the spirit!’ replies Ada, taking the box from Belinda and unlatching it. She scoops out a small heap of postcards, and lays them out on the chaise longue, vivid against the faded zebra print.
‘So,’ she announces, ‘they flew initially to Boston, so they could all stay with Jennifer’s parents for a while. I’m not a hundred per cent sure what the girls did after that, although I did get a card from Clara once, from the university they’d settled at. Looked like the ivy-clad dream, totally wasp-infested, and not just the buzzing kind. Joe seems to have gone off on his own – which is perfectly understandable, I can’t imagine him fitting in on a stuffy campus, can you?’
She spreads the cards out, revealing an array of pictures of various American landmarks – the Golden Gate bridge, the Space Needle in Seattle, Old Faithful at Yellowstone, Mount Rushmore, and a couple more. The notes are all short, and variations on ‘Happy’ – Happy Christmas, Happy Passover, Happy Diwali among them.
Ada sees our confusion and explains: ‘I have an inclusive approach to faith. Basically, if there’s a reason to celebrate, I’ll take it – we once had a party to celebrate Rastafarian New Year!’
‘It looks like he went on the world’s most awesome road trip …’ says Michael, his eyes wide and his tone awed. ‘Do we get to go on the world’s most awesome road trip, too?’
‘I’m not sure that’s really necessary,’ I reply, seeing Belinda nod in agreement. ‘He was just on holiday. He was exploring, and never seemed to stay in one place. I know I’ve insisted on following in his footsteps so far, but maybe this time we should skip to the end?’
‘That’s no fun,’ sighs Michael, ‘but I take your point. Where is the end, then?’
‘The last postcard,’ announces Ada, holding one up, ‘is almost two years old now. It was from New York, and wishes me a happy Dhamma Day, which if I’m not mistaken is Buddhist. There were a few from New York, so if I had to make an educated guess, I’d say that was where he settled.’
I take the card from her hands, and see a picture of the Statue of Liberty on the front, and Joe’s familiar scrawl on the back.
‘New York …’ says Belinda, sounding as defeated as I feel. ‘Why did it have to be New York? I mean, there are, what, six squillion people living there? Why couldn’t he have settled down in some tiny village with an especially weird name and only one Joe Ryan?’
‘Have a little faith, dear,’ says Ada, ‘cynicism is very ageing.’
I see Belinda’s eyes narrow slightly, but she shows admirable restraint and doesn’t actually yell at the ancient old lady. Michael, sensing a low in our mood, rams the deerstalker he’s been carrying onto his head.
‘Let me say it! I’m going to say it! This is the perfect time to say it!’
I smile, and wave my hands in surrender.