The Vagabond’s Mother: The Inspiration behind her novel The Vagabond Mother
Disclaimer: Not every Vagabond is a Castaway.
(Z.S. 23) |
Excerpt from The Vagabond Mother:
The young woman surprised Maya with a brackish-scented hug. ‘Ya gave us a shock, there, mate. Collapsing like that. But I’m guessing you’re dehydrated, it happens easily, in this heat.’
Maya smiled. ‘You’ve no idea how many times I’ve said that to my children, and look at me, I feel such a fool!’
‘Stay and have some food with us,’ said Ned. ‘We were just about to eat.’
‘Yeah, do,’ echoed Aiden. ‘You can tell us where you’re off to next.’ He pulled a seat out for Maya and propped her rucksack next to it. ‘Where’ve you been to so far, Maya?’
Ned passed her a bowl of olives. She took one and popped it on her tongue. It tasted salty and brought a rush of saliva to her mouth.
Jodie looked doubtfully at Maya’s brand-new rucksack, at her pristine t-shirt. Maya felt suddenly as though it was she who was young, and they older. She could see what they were all thinking and it was what she was thinking herself, should this woman be out on her own?
‘Okay, you got me,’ a laugh bubbled up in her throat. ‘I’m brand-new to this. I’ve been nowhere yet and I have no idea where I’m going, either.’
The laugh erupted from her mouth and they all joined in.
The young woman surprised Maya with a brackish-scented hug. ‘Ya gave us a shock, there, mate. Collapsing like that. But I’m guessing you’re dehydrated, it happens easily, in this heat.’
Maya smiled. ‘You’ve no idea how many times I’ve said that to my children, and look at me, I feel such a fool!’
‘Stay and have some food with us,’ said Ned. ‘We were just about to eat.’
‘Yeah, do,’ echoed Aiden. ‘You can tell us where you’re off to next.’ He pulled a seat out for Maya and propped her rucksack next to it. ‘Where’ve you been to so far, Maya?’
Ned passed her a bowl of olives. She took one and popped it on her tongue. It tasted salty and brought a rush of saliva to her mouth.
Jodie looked doubtfully at Maya’s brand-new rucksack, at her pristine t-shirt. Maya felt suddenly as though it was she who was young, and they older. She could see what they were all thinking and it was what she was thinking herself, should this woman be out on her own?
‘Okay, you got me,’ a laugh bubbled up in her throat. ‘I’m brand-new to this. I’ve been nowhere yet and I have no idea where I’m going, either.’
The laugh erupted from her mouth and they all joined in.
Eight years ago, I waved my son off at the train station for the second time. He was sixteen-and-a-half, but if you’d seen him, you’d have guessed his age at about twelve. His rucksack dwarfed him and he bowed slightly underneath its weight. Clutched in his hand was a plastic carrier bag, and on his feet a pair of blue plimsolls.
He looked small, his skin almost translucent and his hair so fair. I took his photo and swallowed hard as he boarded the train. Fought back tears as it rumbled out of the station. It was seven in the morning. I turned and made my way back home, thinking how short his childhood had been. He’d always sworn he was going to leave home at the age of sixteen: I had to hold him back until then. Sixteen was the magic number. He had money that had been saved for him since his birth. When he reached the magic age he searched online and found a travel companion. Planned a European city trip with a Chinese boy a year older. |
We printed off his tickets and hostel bookings that first time, inserted them into a plastic folder. His passport photo was of a round-cheeked boy. In London, his father would deliver him to the airport and wave him onto the plane. I watched hours ticking by on the clock, and fully expected a phone call to say our son had changed his mind. Instead, I received a text informing me he had just gone through Security. This was something he was choosing to do, and not dictated by someone who wasn’t living his life.
On his return he immediately planned further adventures. He’d read Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild, influenced by the desire of the book’s real-life character, Christopher McCandless, to cut off all associations with his life and disappear. Anyone who’s read Into the Wild knows the outcome of Chris McCandless’s adventures. Thus it was with a swelling in my throat that I turned away from the station that late summer morning when I waved my boy off for the second time.
Now, he had only a small amount of money. He would not be staying in hostels. This trip was open-ended, and there was no itinerary.
Whilst concerned for the safety of my son, and feeling the loss of his childhood – or more accurately, my active motherhood of him – I also envied his idea of freedom; of drifting, of the importance of the journey rather than the destination.
On his return he immediately planned further adventures. He’d read Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild, influenced by the desire of the book’s real-life character, Christopher McCandless, to cut off all associations with his life and disappear. Anyone who’s read Into the Wild knows the outcome of Chris McCandless’s adventures. Thus it was with a swelling in my throat that I turned away from the station that late summer morning when I waved my boy off for the second time.
Now, he had only a small amount of money. He would not be staying in hostels. This trip was open-ended, and there was no itinerary.
Whilst concerned for the safety of my son, and feeling the loss of his childhood – or more accurately, my active motherhood of him – I also envied his idea of freedom; of drifting, of the importance of the journey rather than the destination.
In the book I send Joe’s mother, Maya, off on her own backpacking adventure: something I envy her, although I think my knees would give way under the weight of the rucksack. In this excerpt, Maya interrupts her travels to spend a few days with her husband and daughter in Bali. She struggles to come to terms with the diverging pathways of her marriage:
‘Come on, love,’ Con said again. ‘I only want to talk to you. There’s no hurry to go out is there? I’m not really hungry if I’m honest. Come closer. Talk to me. Tell me about the amazing thing you’re doing with your hair – no, honestly – I’m fascinated.’
Maya tucked the ends of the scarf under her hair and glanced back at the brown, toned, older woman in the mirror. The sundress was pretty but she’d hesitated to spend the 420,000 IDR at the market that morning. In her old life the equivalent £23 would have been throwaway – less than a lunch out. Now each coin she parted with was precious.
‘What d’you want to know?’
Con smiled, palms upturned in his lap. She saw that his nails were bitten down to the quick and she felt a stab of guilt. Now that she looked at him properly he was thinner, too. She wouldn’t let the guilt consume her, she mustn’t. Her hands dropped to her sides. ‘It’s not that amazing to be honest. I haven’t washed it, that’s all. Well, I rub coconut oil into it but I haven’t used any kind of shampoo for months now.’
‘I like it though,’ Con said, trying hard. He had tears in his eyes. ‘I like you being different. You seem more the old Maya, if you know what I mean. Like the girl I met at university.
She sat down on the edge of the bed. Edged closer so that her bare arm connected with his. If she closed her eyes they could be them again. It frightened her. A vast hole – full of material possessions and commitments – opened up as if to swallow her. She inched away just enough to break the connection between the hairs on their arms. She saw that the golden hairs on hers were still leaning in the direction of his darker ones. It was only static electricity. His fingers curled into his hands. His knees looked bonier than she remembered. She should try and work something out.
‘What would you think about not going back to the UK just yet? I mean, buying a rucksack and filling it with everything you’d need for the road, like I did. Oh, Con. We could do this together – or even, if you wanted – travel separately. It sounds corny but you could, you know, find yourself. I feel as if I’m beginning to. It really works, honestly.’
‘What are you talking about?’ his hands clenched tighter, leaving his knuckles white. The tendons in his wrists stood out. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’ He thumped the bed with his bunched fists. ‘I’ve been patient, Maya, you can’t say I haven’t. But I hoped you’d come home with me and Lola. I thought when you saw us again, you’d realise how much you needed us. I can’t believe you’re suggesting I’d do something as stupid as you have.’
‘Come on, love,’ Con said again. ‘I only want to talk to you. There’s no hurry to go out is there? I’m not really hungry if I’m honest. Come closer. Talk to me. Tell me about the amazing thing you’re doing with your hair – no, honestly – I’m fascinated.’
Maya tucked the ends of the scarf under her hair and glanced back at the brown, toned, older woman in the mirror. The sundress was pretty but she’d hesitated to spend the 420,000 IDR at the market that morning. In her old life the equivalent £23 would have been throwaway – less than a lunch out. Now each coin she parted with was precious.
‘What d’you want to know?’
Con smiled, palms upturned in his lap. She saw that his nails were bitten down to the quick and she felt a stab of guilt. Now that she looked at him properly he was thinner, too. She wouldn’t let the guilt consume her, she mustn’t. Her hands dropped to her sides. ‘It’s not that amazing to be honest. I haven’t washed it, that’s all. Well, I rub coconut oil into it but I haven’t used any kind of shampoo for months now.’
‘I like it though,’ Con said, trying hard. He had tears in his eyes. ‘I like you being different. You seem more the old Maya, if you know what I mean. Like the girl I met at university.
She sat down on the edge of the bed. Edged closer so that her bare arm connected with his. If she closed her eyes they could be them again. It frightened her. A vast hole – full of material possessions and commitments – opened up as if to swallow her. She inched away just enough to break the connection between the hairs on their arms. She saw that the golden hairs on hers were still leaning in the direction of his darker ones. It was only static electricity. His fingers curled into his hands. His knees looked bonier than she remembered. She should try and work something out.
‘What would you think about not going back to the UK just yet? I mean, buying a rucksack and filling it with everything you’d need for the road, like I did. Oh, Con. We could do this together – or even, if you wanted – travel separately. It sounds corny but you could, you know, find yourself. I feel as if I’m beginning to. It really works, honestly.’
‘What are you talking about?’ his hands clenched tighter, leaving his knuckles white. The tendons in his wrists stood out. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’ He thumped the bed with his bunched fists. ‘I’ve been patient, Maya, you can’t say I haven’t. But I hoped you’d come home with me and Lola. I thought when you saw us again, you’d realise how much you needed us. I can’t believe you’re suggesting I’d do something as stupid as you have.’