An hour later all practical matters had been sorted. The relatives left – the quicker the smaller the inheritance they'd gotten. Gillian had gotten a small sum which would not last long, but Lara doubted that she cared much.
They left the offices and decided to walk back to the church where Lara had parked her car. They paused on a bridge across the Thames when Gillian had to fish out a pebble from her shoe.
Lara had walked silently the whole way, but now she turned to her Aunt. "That was a suprise. I'd never have thought." She was feeling as though she'd ridden a roller coaster. Suddenly she felt a lot more calmer, clearer.
Gillian shook her head. "I would, judging by how he always asked about you."
Lara swallowed. "By the way, I've got something on that rose of yours."
Gillian blinked. "Really? So soon?"
Lara smiled mysteriously. "I had some help."
Gillian checked her watch. "I have to catch the train in a few minutes, but are you available later today if I call you, unless you're too tired?"
"Actually, I'd love to come to Cornwall."
"You solved the riddle, didn't you? The ladies will be thrilled! Do you mind if they ask a few questions?"
Suddenly Lara hugged her Aunt. "I'll come give a lecture. Now let us go and get my car, I'll give you a ride to Paddington."
Gillian looked at her, puzzled. "Aren't you anxious to get home?"
Lara shook her head. "I've got some things to finish before I head back home. Say, do you happen to know any good florists in the Bayswater area?"
Two hours later Lara buttoned her blazer tight, locked her car and walked through the gates of Highgate Cemetary. The epitome of all old cemetaries with ivy growing everywhere, it was as though materialized straight from a romantic era gothic novel.
New plots had not been opened in the West side for decades, but old family plots like the one belonging to her family were still very much in use. Tourists could enter the West side only with a guided tour, but family members and relatives of the deceased were always allowed to visit on their own.
Lara walked the familiar path to the heart of the overgrown cemetary, clutching a plastic-warpped flower arrangement. She had not been to Highgate since last visiting her Mother's grave at the age of nineteen.
The cemetary was silent, only a few birds singing in the thick bushes.
Lara found the right stone with ease. The ground beneath it did not grow any grass, as the ground had been open just a few hours ago. Now the casket of her Father lay somewhere below the dirt.
The stone had been cleaned and polished. The grave already embraced seventeen relatives, the oldest one having died in the eighteenth century.
Lara recalled Hussain's words. 'Not a wife and children, but family.' Spouse and children would become part of one's family, but parents were the members that were the core of the word 'family'.
Lara took off her wide-brimmed hat and hung it on a tree branch. She pulled open her hair and sat down onto a tiny, overgrown tombstone nearby.
She unwrapped the flowers. The florist had made a perfect job.
A hundred white roses were tied together with ivy, and surrounded by violet lilies. Lara placed the flowers down onto the freshly covered grave and traced her fingers along the engraved letters in the rock forming the name 'Croft'.
"Father," she whispered, half expecting herself to sound ridiculous, but she didn't.
"Father – I have returned." She'd returned too late, it seemed, but Lara did not feel like she had misssed her opportunity. If he did not hear her, at least she heard herself. That was the difference – she was there, and he was gone.
It felt as thought everything had suddenly fallen into perspective. She could finally see how many of the torturing feelings regarding her Father had only been inside her head and not real. She could finally see him as a person, not some malevolent force who only thrived when she suffered.
The monster she had created of him had suddenly vanished.
On the other hand, she did not feel overtly loving either. Just indifferent, like a period in her life had ended and a new one begun.
In Lara's mind the past few weeks – Jordania, Hussain, the funeral - all combined into one blur which was slowly losing its schock value and turning into a melange of distant memories. Turning into one liberating phrase.
I'm free.
And now my charms are all o'erthrown
And what strenght I have's mine own
Which is most faint: now t'is true
I must be here released by you
William Shakespeare
It's time for the thankyous again. There is really one person to whom I owe my infinite gratitude and eternal servitude – this story would not be what it is without him. Tim Radley, friend and fellow author, thank you so much once again.
Another thank-you goes to the ladies at our local library who greatly assisted me in my painstaking research no matter what the subject.
And last but not least, many of the deeper undercurrents of this story would not exist without spiritual guidance from someone. MN, the rosa mystica truly grows in your house and your heart.
There are many I should name here. You know who you are, you are never forgotten.
Thank you for reading. Comments would, as always, be greatly appreciated.
My address is siirma6surfeu.fi
Please note that not all the historical and archaeological facts stated here are factual – some things were twisted and added for a dramatic effect. For those interested in finding out more about the symbolism, geography and archaeology discussed in this story, here are some picks from the reference library I used while writing this story:
Hans Biedermann: Knaurs Lexikon Der Symbole
Ivan Mannheim & Dave Winter: Jordan, Syria & Lebanon Handbook
Lonely Planet Travel Survival Kit: Jordan & Syria
Kay Showker: Jordan & The Holy Land – A Practical and Historical Guide
Rosalyn Maqsood: Petra – A Travellers Guide
In addition to these I read several books on the subjects of history of Christianity and Christian symbolism.