A Holiday, Somewhere In the World

I paused on the path. The two coffee cups  were hot enough that I had to adjust my grip. For a moment the park seemed to be empty in a manner that only Winter could manage: dreary, devoid of people and leached of noise and colour. Then I saw Ian, sitting on the bench.
"G'day."
He glanced over as I sat down. "Thought you were out of town."
"Hardly."
The bench only been there the last couple of years. It had been set between the arms of the Resting Tree, thus named because of the two huge branches which, unable to support themselves, had placed elbows on the ground and then cantilevered out over the path, forcing people to duck and bow as they passed. The Resting Tree - the biggest and oldest in the park - could not grasp the concept of a straight line and its twisting, tangling limbs were a perfect foil for the children who had climbed on, carved into and sheltered under it for generations. We had played there ourselves many times, and the imprints of our own probing toes and grinding heels lingered somewhere in the memory of the wood.
I handed him one of the cups. "Sophia called yesterday."
"Thanks. How is she?"
"Good. She's in Buenos Aires. With Paolo."
"Still with Paolo. That's gotta be a record."
"Yep." I took a sip. "She wanted me to tell you she's taking today off as well. Albeit in another time zone."
"Always a holiday somewhere in the world, eh?"
"Always." I replied, quietly.
Time had been kind to Ian. It had barely touched him and when it had, it had been to flatter. As is the way with attractive people he was well known, and as is the way with good people he was well liked. But those others never saw him on this day. Always and only for this day, he looked like what he was: a forty two year old man with a burden of memories, and a friend who understood why.
It's a holiday somewhere in the world... those had been Helena's words, not his ...anyway it's my second birthday. Help me celebrate.

We had never needed much convincing. Helena had ruled over us since we had been young. With her grey eyes, olive skin, long brown hair and her impish, imperious manner, we had titled her the fairy queen. She had hated that: she always wanted to be the knight, shining in her silver armour. She had constantly tilted at windmills and nobody who knew her could avoid being pulled along in her wake.
Least of all Ian. When his family had moved into the neighbourhood he had been a shy and awkward five year old who had stood on the other side of the street and watched as we played. Helena had been four, and she had marched over and said: I'm Helena. You're my friend now. Then she'd kissed him right on the mouth and grabbed his hand and pulled him over to join us. That had just been Helena's way, and if Ian had fallen for her that very minute, well, nobody could blame him.
We had never questioned why Helena had two birthdays: she was Helena, after all. Her first, real, birthday was in summer and involved barbecues and backyard games and Helena's dad dressed as a clown. The second birthday was in winter and involved a huge roast dinner and a chocolate birthday cake and party hats and sometimes a noisy sleepover. And when she had outgrown her second birthday, she reminded us that it's a holiday somewhere in the world and she was still going to celebrate. She never wanted for company in doing so, especially in Ian. We had all loved Helena; Ian was not alone in that. But he was unique in that Helena, typically and wholeheartedly, loved him back.

The view framed by the branches turned to soft watercolour as a drizzle of rain set about the Resting Tree. I was glad I'd remembered the coffee.
"You cold?"
Ian wrapped his jacket a little tighter around him. "Nah. I'm fine."
I looked at my watch; it was just past 3 o'clock. "Right on time."
Ian did not reply.

Over time, some families had moved away, and the rest of us grew into up and discovered more interesting things than knights and fairy queens. Of the original dozen, only the four of us remained.
For a while we had been two couples; however Sophia and I had put our tempestuous courtship down to the fumbling inexperience of puberty and happily reverted to simple friendship. Not so Ian and Helena. As soon as she started at university they moved into a tiny flat together and started to share a life. Their circle grew but the dynamic did not: Helena was still the centre of the happy chaotic storm that was university life, and the holidaysomewhereintheworld became a part of everyone's social calendar.
Then one day after just such a party, Ian had me meet him at a bar. His eyes were red and he had been drinking shots as though he wanted to drown in the glass.
Bloody hell Ian, slow down. What's wrong?
It's Helena.
Jesus wept. You two haven't had a fight have you?
Yeah... no... kinda. I just had to get out.
Why?
I asked her again this morning, about the whole second birthday thing... I mean I just wanted to know where it had all come from y'know? I couldn't understand why she's never said... Not even to me... I told her it'd been bugging me and I needed to know.
What, so you're upset she wouldn't tell you?
At first yeah, and then...
Then what?
Then she told me.
Helena's grey eyes and long brown hair and pale olive skin weren't the only legacy of her genes. When she had been diagnosed at six months old, the doctors could not say how much longer she would live. So every anniversary of the diagnosis, every year she proved them wrong, was a celebration, and Helena lived every year as though it would be her last.

I finished my coffee, took Ians empty cup and placed them both in the nearby bin. The winter wind picked up from the harbour and set the branches of the Resting Tree to creaking. It also remembered.

Helena had been briefly and bitterly angry at Ian, but she was resigned to the fact that we now knew. On the surface of it things returned to normal. But only on the surface. I could not help but feel that something within her had cracked. A chink had appeared in her silver armour. Nothing I could put my finger on - just a feeling, but it bothered me nonetheless.
On the eve of her twenty second birthday, she fell ill.
At first it seemed to be just a chill or a touch of the ‘flu. Nothing to worry about, for all that it was summer and nobody else had so much as a sniffle. However we decided that the holidaysomewhereintheworld would be her official twenty second, so we could celebrate properly when she got better. But she didn't. Trips to the doctor became trips to the specialist, and then brief stays in the hospital. At Helena's insistence they moved back in with her parents. The doctors began to refer to her treatment as a regime, and the tests and medicines drained her of energy. The four of us would spend long afternoons together in the sunroom of the house, where she would rest her head on Ian's lap while he stroked her hair, and they would sing lullabies to each other. Then the doctors dropped any pretence of treatment and recovery. The term palliative became a frightening new reality in our lives.
One day Ian called me:
Can you guys meet us in the park?
Sure. Why?
Helena wants fresh air and sunshine.
Is that wise?
Does it matter anymore?
It had just gone 3 o'clock when we met them. Ian was propped in an elbow of the Resting Tree, and Helena was nestled against him. She had been sleeping, but Ian had whispered in her ear and she looked up and smiled as we approached. Hey, there you are. I'm so happy to see you guys.
Sophia and I sat down against the other branch. Helena sighed and huddled in closer. Sing with me, love.
Ian could not lift his gaze from the ground, and his eyes glistened. He started to sing softly:
Sleep my child and peace attend thee,
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night...
Then Helena joined in:
...Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
All through the night...
Sophia was shivering. I drew her closer and held her hand. Helena faded into sleep, but Ian continued:
...Angels watching, e'er around thee,
All through the night
Midnight slumber close surround thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
All through...
and then he stopped singing.

Twenty years ago. That was too far in the past for memories so fresh, but there was a reason for that. The Helena we had known, the one before the illness, had been far too vivid, far too essential to be constrained within a single, flawed, body. And that day twenty years ago where she had left off, Ian had taken over with a vengeance. His more recent friends, those who marvelled at his passion and vigour and love of life, did not realise just whose life he lived. And his old ones - Sophia and I - saw every day the spirit of one of the love we had lost, in the soul of the one that remained.

I came back to the here and now. "Happy anniversary, Helena."
Ian wiped his face. "Happy holidaysomewhere love, wherever you are."