Page 64 of Birds of a Feather

She was being sarcastic; Gran knew I hated surprises. Every day of my childhood was filled with ‘surprises’ – a term my parents used for chaotic or unplanned situations. I’d had enough surprises to last me a lifetime. My instinct was to hand the envelope back to the receptionist and send Nick a polite, yet assertive, ‘thanks, but no thanks’ text. But something about the fact that he had arranged this surprise made me less uncomfortable than if it had been anyone else. In fact, I felt an uncharacteristic flutter of excitement to see what he had in store.

~

At 6.30pm sharp, Gran, Gerry and I piled into a car, which drove us along the edge of Hyde Park, down Constitution Hill, past Buckingham Palace, along the River Thames for a while and past the monument to the Great Fire of London. I was relieved when we pulled up in front of a soaring tower, and not a crack den.

We filed past an enormous living green wall (such a thing wouldn’t survive one summer in Australia) and a sign for ‘Sky Garden’.

‘How lovely,’ Gerry said. ‘I’ve been meaning to come here for ages. I wonder how he managed this?’ she mused. ‘It’s usually booked out for weeks.’

A message chimed on my phone:

Sorry I couldn’t be there with you tonight. (Not sorry to miss the height, though.) Dinner is in thirty minutes at the top. Just give your name at reception. I hope you have a great time. x

As we rode in the lift to the top of the building, I googled our destination and learned it was London’s highest public garden.

We arrived at a surprisingly dense and lush sky-high park, greeted by spectacular 360-degree vistas across London. A warm yellow glow from the setting sun bathed the entire space, which smelled earthy and felt slightly humid.

As an environmental scientist working in a metropolitan area where multiple users vie for open space, the concept of building a public park at the top of one of the tallest buildings in London fascinated me.

We walked the periphery of the structure and pointed out key landmarks. I smiled as I looked to the London Eye which, at its highest point of 135 metres, was 15 metres shorter than where I stood. No wonder Nick wasn’t keen to come up here.

We followed the steps and paths that traversed the garden beds and explored the impressively rich collection of plants, which included ferns, cycads and birds of paradise. Then we enjoyed a delicious dinner.

I was so touched. No one had ever planned anything like this for me. And it didn’t feel trite; it felt like a genuine and thoughtful gesture of affection. From the choice of venue, to picking up the dinner tab, to having a bottle of champagne delivered to our table when we arrived, Nick had surprised me – in the best way.

~

I spent the next ten days deepening my affection for London and its surrounds.

Gran, Gerry and I travelled to Sussex to visit the Kew Gardens Millennium Seed Bank. The underground storage facility for more than 2.4 billion seeds represented 16 per cent of the world’s species, including a number Gran had personally collected.

‘Some of my babies are in there,’ she announced to a bemused tourist who seemed not to understand Gran’s particular affiliation with each species she’d worked on or, alas, English. Nonetheless, it was impressive to think that seed from the warty swan orchid that she had been working to conserve in the nature reserve adjoining her childhood home had been collected, prepared, catalogued and stored there for perpetuity.

On the days Gran and Gerry spent together, I happily wandered through the National Portrait, Tate and Saatchi galleries and the British Museum alone. I baulked at the wealth at Harrods, and took a trip out to Hampton Court Palace. Each morning, I ran through London’s magnificent parks, and I joined the thousands of other tourists to watch the changing of the guard. On two non-consecutive days, when I didn’t have anything planned, I challenged myself to simply wander around the city without agenda or expectation. I thought I would feel bored, or untethered, but I stopped to eat when I felt like it, spent time in parks when the sun shone and ducked into shops and other buildings to escape the cold and rain. On those days, I caught the performance a talented fire twirler entertaining a crowd outside a tube entrance, spotted a Banksy work in Mayfair, and sat and watched while a great spotted woodpecker made its nest. I could now also say I’d had a drink in London’s narrowest pub. None of these things were on my agenda, but I enjoyed them all.

A highlight was a visit to Warner Bros. Studio Tour for a behind-the-scenes look at the making of the Harry Potter movies. I had been eight when I first read Harry Potter and I’d fallen in love with it from the first page. As I wandered through the Great Hall set, which was furnished with long tables piled with food props and lit by floating candles, I recalled how devastated I was when I hadn’t received a letter when I was eleven to say I’d been accepted to Hogwarts. I’d yearned to have a reason to leave my family for a life of magic and adventure. And I had been sure Hermione Granger and I would have been the best of friends. Like me, she was assertive, academically minded and an unapologetic perfectionist. As a Muggle-born witch, she knew what it felt like to be different from her family too.

As I was sitting outside 4 Privet Drive, enjoying a mug of butterbeer, my thoughts turned to my own family. With everything that had been going on with my lotto win, Gran and Nick, I had contributed even less to the family chat than usual.

I lifted the mug of butterbeer up to my face and extended my arm to take a photo of myself with it. I posted it to the family chat with the caption ‘Sampling the local brew’. Within a few moments, Jarrah liked my picture.

Hope you’re having the best time, Bethie. I know how much you love the world of Harry Potter. Did you have to take the train from Platform 93/4 to get there? x

I decided it wasn’t necessary to advise her that Platform 93/4 was at King’s Cross Station, which was not on the same line as the one that I travelled on to Watford, where the studio was located. Instead, I decided to just accept her well wishes; I didn’t think she was paying attention when I was immersed in the world of Hogwarts.

I opened my message thread with Nick and uploaded the photo there too. He had been in my thoughts constantly (infuriatingly so; it was like a cerebral earworm). But I was mindful that he was away for work, and then spending time with friends, so I didn’t want to bother him with inane chatter or self-indulgent selfies. However, he had initiated most of the message chats we’d had since he’d left and when I’d told him visiting Harry Potter’s world was on my to-do list, he’d told me he was a fan too. I hit send.

I had tried hard not to wish away my holiday. I absolutely loved London, and had enjoyed exploring it without having to rush or adhere to a restrictive budget. And, even with my lotto win, it was expensive to get here and I had to be conscious about how I used my annual leave; it seemed unlikely that I would return any time soon. But as each day passed, and Elise the Kangaroo balloon became more flaccid, my anticipation grew for my last night in London – when Nick returned.

And I wasn’t disappointed.

Our flight back to Australia was scheduled for the following morning, so Nick and I agreed I would meet him at his flat and we would have dinner together. We didn’t discuss our plans for afterwards, but I found a beautician to take care of my personal grooming, and I splurged on yet another set of underwear that I was not self-conscious to be seen in, to prepare for any eventuality.

Nick opened his door to his flat and pulled me in by the waist. He kissed me before we’d even exchanged a word.

‘Hi,’ he said finally through the lopsided grin I had been thinking about since I last saw him. His arms were still around me.

‘Hi,’ I replied dumbly.

---