

# Letter to India

#

## By Lucy Robson and Benedict Beaumont

##

Copyright 2012 Lucy Robson and Benedict Beaumont

Published by Lucy Robson and Benedict Beaumont on Amazon

Cover by Callista Paxton

www.about.me/CalistaPaxton

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

This book would not have been possible without the love, encouragement and support of so many people. Thank you to everyone who helped us and put up with us during the writing process.

Special thanks to Samantha Smithson, Beccy Jackson and Angela Robson for all their hard work proof reading and correcting our (many!) grammatical mistakes.

# Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About the Authors

~~~~

# Chapter 1

## Matt – India – Late September

Bailey Stanton

Paardekraalstraat 3

Amsterdam

The Netherlands

Please Read This

Dear Jan

I know your first feeling when you get this letter is to throw it away. I can already imagine you screwing this letter into a tight ball and aiming it for the back of the door or the farthest reaches from where you sit when you pry open this envelope and see these words. Please don't. Do you like the drawing of the bird I did on the back of the envelope in my pink lip liner? That's for you baby. The paper is also from your notepad you left in the trunk of the car. We bought it from that gas station on our way to Burning Man to write some lyrics for songs. Songs we never wrote. My guitar looks back mournfully now as I write, perched as it is against your dusty bookshelves in the corner of the room, under the window alcove, sat against a backdrop of glass hiding a grey drizzling sky. I've let myself in again with the spare key and it feels so lonely here without you. Remember me as I remember you. I know I deserve your silence and probably more, but, just hear me out.

First I want you to know that I really never meant those words and I never should have pushed you away like that. You are singularly the most important person in my life and I love you. You have to remember that. I hope that you are still reading, and crossing my fingers that you are, I'll carry on.

Why did I do it? I don't know. Maybe it was too much, too fast and my own insecurities. On that first night we met at the dinner party at Dirk's in Amsterdam and you told me you loved the aroma of my skin like nothing else, I have to admit, it freaked me out a little. You kept talking about my soul-drenched eyes and I was still hurting from my ex who had that night declared that I wasn't the one for him. I don't suppose you remember him getting up and leaving the table during the starter to make a phone call and then abruptly leaving without his coat? But hey, maybe I am giving you less credit than you are entitled to because, actually it was you that came and took his place next to me and gently took my cold hands in yours and gave them a comforting rub. I was lost and needed more attention that I could figure. Do you remember how drunk I got that night and how patient you were with me? You walked me back to my apartment and slowly guided me through my stumbling steps. You made the key work in the lock when my fingers couldn't get a grip and helped me tread more softly to my bed. I love you for that and I still do. And then the next day we were suddenly together. You were there with a glass of water by my bed and a smile and we went for breakfast at Barney's Coffeeshop. I didn't mind that you linked your fingers through my own although it felt strange to so soon be replacing one man with another. I told you about Dries, my Belgium ex over our coffee, toast and croissants and you told me he was a fool but the most generous man alive. "How so," I asked and you said "because he gave you away". I love that romance in you. I know this must read like the strangest letter so far and that I am spending too much time reminiscing on us. You don't mind do you? It's precious to me these memories. It makes us what we are today, and what, I hope, we can have back again.

And, after us getting together in spring, we sped into summer, literally, in your BMW convertible. As I write I can smell the leather that cradled my skin and held me almost as tight as you. You would pick me up at the lab after I had finished working on my thesis for the day and assisting that bastard professor and we would kick back and laugh under the blue sky, stopping to have a smoke by the canals. You didn't mind me smoking weed in those days although you rarely smoked yourself. And from those days when you stopped taking any consulting jobs so we could spend more time together, you joined me increasingly to get drunk and make love. Did I ever tell you that I saw you carefully pouring away your drinks; to, I imagine, remain just a bit in control and focussed? I think you wanted to impress me with you tender kisses and gentle love-making, and you did baby. There were all those beautiful nights we spent on your roof top terrace amongst the stars and potted flowers talking about Jimi Hendrix, science and films. Jimi would be playing in the background and I would be sat in your old varsity sweater breathing in the smell of your ancient aftershave – something musk – have you still got it now? I wouldn't cringe anymore or laugh at you. I could be so mean sometimes; I hope you forgive me for that. You would say that my days modelling in New York and doing those Mark Jacobs campaigns left me idle and trapped in vanity. Perhaps that's part of who I am. I'm always trying to create this perfect picture, and I shouldn't. Life d'imperfectudes you said, which I still struggle to say, and yes I will freely admit. But I don't mind anymore.

Burning Man. That's where it all started I guess wasn't it? Sorry won't come quick enough. I know I was drugged out of mind most of the time. You hated the way I would walk around in my bikini and boots and feel the adulation that's important to me. Despite my attempts to get other guys to pay me attention, actually all I wanted was you. You, your bearded face and chocolate eyes murmuring to me in the American accent you had started speaking English with since we met. I kept telling you I was from California not your version which was wedged somewhere on the East Coast. Anyway, it didn't matter, I love you so much.

I can't really talk about that week, that week when I know you wanted to get the hell out of the desert watching me go crazy with drink and drugs and dust and desire. I only wanted you to hold me that night in the tent when you didn't want to take any pills and watched so sombre from the edges. You must have seen what happened next because you were gone in the morning and I have never felt so ashamed or sad. I am so sorry. Are these words enough?

I know you are miles away now, baking under the Indian sun and enjoying being someone new. I am sure there are girls looking at you fondly, wondering what your story is and hoping even to be a part of it, and all I can hope is that I am still in your heart.

Come home Jan. Life is and never will be the same without you. I love you.

Yours always, Bailey XXX

***

I put the letter back into my pocket, unsure, confused, and angry. It wasn't what I was expecting. Who the fuck was Bailey? Why was she intruding on my grief? What a whining self pitying letter. The picture on the back was pathetic too. She could fuck right off. I put her out of my mind.

But Jan, I was more interested in. I had asked to see the register when I came in, and found his name next to Lara's, in the same room. Fucking hell! Was she shacked up with someone already? What a bitch. Driving another nail into my heart.

"Were they together?" I asked the hotel manager sharply. He just shrugged and waggled his head in that irritating way Indians do.

I spied the letter addressed to him almost at the same time. It was sitting in the pigeon hole for room 43. I just had to see it.

"My luggage is outside. Can you get someone to pick it up?"

He blinked slowly, turned around to go into the back room to get a porter, and I leaned over and pocketed the letter. As easy as that.

"I'll take the room. The same one."

"Sir, are you sure? After what happened..." he trailed off.

"Yes, I am sure. Now my luggage..?"

The manager came out from behind the desk, and led me out of the small reception area back to the garden.

"The room is this way, at the back, it has a great view from the balcony."

The room was oppressive; ugly, bare and small with no windows or natural light. The only furniture was a double bed and a cheap plastic mirror. At the back was a grimy, basic bathroom consisting of a cracked sink, a toilet and a shower head coming out of the wall. Is this where she ran too? Is this where she lived? Was this bare concrete cell so much better than our home in London? I felt disgusted, and then jealous and sad and angry at her.

Outside the sun was setting. The Indian mountains were hot and sweaty during the day and now in a matter of minutes I could feel the temperature dropping. I shivered, sat down, and then lay down on the bed, pulling the thin covers over me. Was this where she had slept? Could I still smell her scent on the pillow? Was this where she lay with a man, with Jan? I had hatefully imagined it many times, but he was always faceless and nameless. But now had a name to go by, Jan. I had no idea of the face, but I pictured a tall, slim, blond, good looking guy. Sophisticated, cosmopolitan and fluent in a dozen languages like all Dutch people I met. Liberal and open minded. Kind and caring. Funny and witty. And probably dynamite in the sack. This was the man who ended up with my wife. Wanker. Got what he deserved.

And then I felt guilty again. He had done nothing wrong, just ended up with a girl who had once been with me. She might have been my wife, but she was no longer mine. I had no right to be angry with him, or pleased with what had happened to him either. Who the fuck was he and why was I bothering with him – he was nothing to do with me. And his story, his girlfriend whoever she was, nothing to me either.

I was getting familiar with this particular melee of emotions; sudden overwhelming satisfaction at someone having their comeuppance, fate dealing them what they deserved, hurting them like they had hurt me. And then the terrible feeling of guilt and remorse afterwards, ashamed of my childishness. He didn't deserve to die either. No wonder she left me. I was immature, and spiteful. How could I delight in a stranger's death? It was almost inhuman. I had never pretended to be anything but arrogant and self obsessed, but even I recognized when I stepped over the line.

It was only four days since I had heard, since my world turned upside down for the second time in a matter of months. Since I had first swung from gloating satisfaction to disgusted remorse in a matter of moments. Lara's sister Anna had called out of the blue one evening to tell me the news. I was in my flat in south London; my stylish, cool flat. Our flat, our comfortable, cosy flat. Our home. I was wondering again how to fill the empty evening, a run, gym, TV, or more likely a call to the ever understanding and accommodating Nicole.

I was suspicious as soon as I saw her number flash up on my phone. I always tried my hardest around Anna, tried to be whiter than white, nice as pie and charming as hell, but she made no secret of her distrust of me. Maybe she blamed me for stealing her sister, maybe my reputation had caught up with me, maybe she just wanted me. And yet, perhaps she was ringing for a different reason. Maybe she was calling on behalf of Lara. Maybe after four months Lara wanted her to broker a truce. Maybe Lara was having second thoughts. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe.... the possibilities danced around in my imagination and I let myself run away with the fantasy whilst I let the phone ring. But I knew that I would have to answer it eventually and let the dream be broken.

"Yes, what do you want?" My voice was sharp and brutal, probably more than I intended.

"Matt? It's Anna." Her voice immediately squeezed out the spark of hope that had flared in me. "It's, it's Lara... she's...." and then all the emotion that had been held back behind her distaste of me seemed to break in her. "She's dead Matt. She's dead. She died in a coach crash in India. She's dead..." her voice, in between sobs trailed off.

I froze. I couldn't move let alone speak. Lara was dead. Lara was in India. Lara was dead. Shit, fucking shit, shit. Oh Christ. My stomach dropped a couple of floors, I went cold, and started shivering.

"Matt, Matt, say something." Anna was still quietly sobbing. There was an almost pleading quality in her voice, something I had never heard before.

"Tell me the details." Being curt and brusque was all I could manage.

"She went to India, about two months ago. Said she wanted to get out and start afresh. Everything here was shit and her old life. She said she was going to train to be a yoga teacher. To start something new. I begged her not to go, said it was too soon. It was just a knee jerk reaction to breaking up with you. She needed to stay here and see it through. She needed to get on with her life and not dwell on the past, but she didn't need to do it abroad, alone, cut off from her support network and those who loved her. I didn't want her to go, maybe I needed her here. But she just laughed and smiled at me and said she was going. You know what a hippy she was deep down... She went to Rishikesh, where all the hippies go, up in the Himalayas. She started a yoga course. I spoke to her week ago, she had met cool people, she was happy. And then she was on a coach ride with a guy, and it got hit by a truck coming the other way. She was killed instantly. They called me two days ago to arrange the body coming back... I lost her once Matt, to you. And now I've lost her again, for good..." her voice broke again into sobs.

And then she seemed to find some strength inside her. I could picture her wiping her face and gritting her teeth. The suspicion and steel came back into her voice as she took control again.

"Anyway, I thought you should know. I owe you that much. Her body is being flown back to the States in two days, and she will be buried in three."

"Where's the funeral? I'm coming."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "No Matt, you're not. You have done enough hurt to this family. You're not welcome, you're not coming."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Anger so intense that I thought I was going to be sick flooded into the hole that had opened up into my heart.

"Listen, you fucking bitch. Tell me where the fucking funeral is. Tell me where the fucking funeral is!" Maybe I was shouting, maybe I was close to sobbing.

"Look Matt," Anna was calm and in control now I had lost it. "Now is not the time to fight. I don't want to argue about this-"

"Fuck you" and I hung up.

So that was how I heard my wife had died. After the phone call I was utterly incandescent with anger at her sister Anna. And then I was angry at Lara for leaving me again. And then I was savagely pleased that karma had punished her. If she wouldn't be with me then she wouldn't be with anyone. And then I was overwhelmed by guilt. I had just heard the news that my wife had died and there I was delighting in her death. I hated Anna, Lara, but most of all myself. And then the reality of the situation had hit me, the woman I loved more than anything in the world was gone. I would never see her again, hold her, smell her, make love to her. Gone, not just from me, but from everyone. I thought I would vomit.

Lara had left me six months before. My cool, sexy, stylish American wife, gone. All those things that I adored ripped from me. Her cropped blond hair and tattoos that she kept covered up. Her crazy nutty desire for sex. Her fierce intelligence and hunger for knowledge. Her love of food and beauty. Her spontaneity. Her kindness. Her laughter. Her, just her. Gone.

We were together six years. Everyone had congratulated me at pulling a girl ten years my junior. I was 33 then and too much in love to think about the age gap, and what it would mean. Six years on she had grown up and I hadn't. She was no longer the wild child but a mature and beautiful woman. I was still the bad boy who refused to grow up. What she wanted in a man had changed, I hadn't.

I suppose I knew it was coming, deep down. I had felt her pulling away from me for a year or more. Her frustration at me silently growing. We had stopped having sex, always a bad sign. I become even more of a bad boy when I don't have sex, and maybe that didn't help, but she didn't know about that. It was deeper than any one incident any incident. But we didn't talk about it. I suppose I just hoped it was a stage of our relationship, that we would rediscover an intimacy, that she would remember that she loved me, that we would be able to stay happy ever after. But it didn't work out like that.

I got an email at work one morning, saying that she had taken the day off from work, had packed up her stuff and moved out. That was that. For a few months we were in contact, and then she went silent on me completely. I had no idea where she was or what she was doing. I would never have guessed India.

After the conversation with Anna, the ugly older sister, the fucking bitch, I spent the night alternatively pacing, crying, raging and smoking. I wanted to call someone but I didn't know who. I needed to do something. I wanted to be at the funeral, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. Anna the harpy wouldn't let me come. And then I knew. India, I would go to India.

Eventually that night, or perhaps it was the next morning, I curled into a ball, just as I had now, under a thin coverlet and sobbed and slept.

***

"Sir, Sir!" There was a voice and knocking at the door.

"What, wait, hang on." I sat up.

My sleep was light and troubled. I couldn't have been under for more than an hour or so, but the jet lag meant I was now bolt upright, electric awake. I lurched to the door and opened it.

"Supper Sir? Chai? Something else Sir?" One of the hotel boys was in front of me waving a menu. He was small and skinny, dark face and hair, in bare feet.

"What? For Christ's sake, no I don't want any fucking food. If I wanted some food, I would call room service. Oh hang on, you don't have any." I added sarcastically. "No, I would come down. So no, I don't want any. Now fuck off."

Grief, jet lag and lack of sleep had me less intolerant than ever. I am not normally more than polite to serving staff and when I am in a dark mood I can be harsh.

"Oh, so sorry for disturbing you Sir." He turned away looking like he had been kicked. I felt awful again.

"Look, hang on, wait there. What's your name kid?"

"Santosh, Sir."

"OK, Santosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you. Give me the menu," I had a quick scan through it. "I'll have some veg masala, some rice and chapatti. Do you have any alcohol?"

"No, sorry Sir. No beer. I can go out and get some for you?" He looked at me hopefully, eager to please.

Much as I wanted to just drown myself, and at least try and numb the pain, I didn't want to lose myself yet.

"No, it's OK Santosh. Just the food. And some tea please."

When he left, I went out on the balcony for a cigarette. The mountains on the other side of the valley, across the Ganges River were dark against the starlit sky. I could still hear the traffic below, but the guesthouse was up the hill from the main road, high enough to make the incessant horns bearable. Strangely there was no smell. With all the lush foliage around, I expected scents of pine, jasmine, perhaps something more exotic, but there was nothing but clean air. Now I was here, I wasn't sure why I had come. What was I doing, I asked myself silently. What did I think that I could achieve here? What was I looking for? Why the fuck had I come, what on Earth could this squalid and impoverished country hold for me? Was it to find out exactly what happened? To find out every little detail about what had happened to her? Where and how she died? What she had done before? To find out what had bought her to this point? Information with which I could then torture myself with, finding fuel for regret and recrimination? Was it to try and get over her, is that what I wanted? As if I could ever get over her. Perhaps it was acceptance of what had happened I was seeking. But I didn't want to accept her death; I could barely accept our separation, I couldn't bear to admit she was gone. Was it jealousy? To chase her ghost over the world and find out whom she had spent time with, got close to, been intimate with. More information I could fashion into daggers with which to plunge into myself. Was it to find some answers; why hadn't we worked out, what had gone wrong, what was wrong with me, what could I have done differently to keep her? I didn't know why, and all those questions swirling around in my head just made me feel nauseous. I knew that I would never be able to answer them, or perhaps I knew the answers but didn't want to accept them either. Maybe I was just seeking some peace.

***

As early as I dared the morning after Anna's phone call, I rang Graham, the owner and boss of my work. My eyes were red and my throat sore, I was in a state.

"What is it Matt', he answered on the third ring, 'are you ok?" I think he could sense something was wrong even before I spoke. I filled him in.

"Oh shit mate. Fuck. What do you need? What can I do? How much time do you need?"

"I don't know Graham. I just don't know."

"Take as long as you need Matt. Nicole can cover all your new clients, and I can pick up the old ones." He was a good man, generous and kind to his employees. Maybe not as hard as I would have liked in the business, maybe slack and inefficient, but right now I could feel myself welling up with gratitude.

"Thanks Gray,' I mumbled, 'I'll make it up, you know I will."

"I know you will Matt. Look, you've made me more money than I thought possible in the last year. I owe you this. When's the funeral, is it over in the States?"

"I don't know. Anna won't let me come." I was starting to feel a bit more confident now. Graham always had a positive effect on people, no matter how bad they were. He dealt with Nicole's regular eruptions and meltdowns with a Zen like calm. He knew that I was the root cause of many of these, and still he patiently accepted them.

He inhaled. "Fuck. What a bitch. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to India, Gray. I'm going to find out what happened. I'll be in touch when I can. I may even be able to do some work if I can get wireless."

"OK Matt. Good luck."

I made a couple of other phone calls, made some arrangements, got onto a flight website and booked an open ended return to Delhi leaving the next day.

***

"Sir, Sir, supper Sir!"

"Shit Santosh, that's twice you have woken me now!" I had obviously drifted off in the surprisingly comfortable rattan chair on the balcony. I grinned at him to show that I was not angry. "Third time lucky, eh?"

"Yes Sir!" He seemed to have completely forgotten my outburst earlier. "I will just get a table for you." He moved some furniture round, and then lay a tray full off food out for me. "Veg masala, rice and some chapatti Sir. Enjoy!"

"You know I think I have changed my mind. Could you get me some beer after all Santosh?"

"Oh yes Sir!" He seemed positively grateful to be of help. He spun on his heels and nipped smartly off. I smiled, he was a good kid.

The food was excellent, full of spicy flavour, with just a little bit of heat. I hadn't eaten much in the last few days, and for the first time in ages I enjoyed my food. I was just finishing off when Santosh returned.

"Thanks, that was excellent." He started clearing up. "Stop a second Santosh. I have a question for you."

"Yes sir, how can I be of assistance? He finished clearing the table and laid the tray on the floor.

"Do you remember this girl? She stayed here recently." I showed him a picture of Lara on my phone.

"Oh yes sir! Miss Lara. She very nice lady. She stayed here for long time." He grinned at me, but then his face clouded over. "Very sad. She had accident in bus. She is dead now. I'm very sad now, she was nice lady."

"I know Santosh. She was my wife."

His eyes widened. "Oh, er, Sir, I, er, thought that..." he stumbled for words.

"It's OK Santosh. We had split up a few months ago. I would just like to find out a bit about what she was doing out here, what she did, who she was with, what she was like now?"

His English was limited and he struggled to expressive himself. "Miss Lara was doing yoga course with Mr Peter. She very popular with everyone, kind to all the staff here. She make many friends too, often many people have supper in restaurant together."

"Who is Peter?" I asked.

"Mr Peter teach yoga up the hill at RishiYoga. Many clients stay here."

"Can I find him there?"

"Yes, in the morning, after 11, when classes break."

"OK, thanks Santosh. Oh, one more thing," he was turning away. "Who was Jan?"

"Oh, er, he was Miss Lara's, er, friend."

"Did he stay here too?" I had to know. Santosh squirmed uncomfortably.

"It's ok Santosh, we were separated. Not together. It was ok for her to have another boyfriend."

"Yes," he whispered, "but not always. He had a room somewhere else too."

"Was she happy Santosh?"

"Yes, Mr Matt. She was. Always laughing and smiling. I liked her very much."

He looked devastated too. I gave him a good tip, and let him go. So it was true. Lara and Jan. They had stayed here together. I wasn't sure whether to be happy for her or jealous now. I lit another cigarette, opened a beer and sat back. I felt closer to her than I had in months. But who was Jan really, the man who had helped make her happy? I took the letter addressed to him and read it through again.

He sounded like a good guy, he really did. Even back in Amsterdam, it was obvious that he was a decent guy, looking after an erratic and emotional girl like Bailey appeared to be. He seemed to have depth too – his eyes were probably more soul drenched than Bailey's vacant superficial glaze. I could imagine someone like him being here in hippy Rishikesh. He obviously had a thing about Americans though; both Bailey and Lara were Yanks. Perhaps Lara reminded him of Bailey; perhaps he was using Lara to get over Bailey.

I probably had more in common with Bailey than Jan, I brooded. Shallow, superficial, takes too many drugs. I idly wondered what she looked like. If she was modelling in New York, she was obviously a good looking girl. And writing a thesis in Amsterdam and working for a professor, probably quite bright too. Perhaps she wasn't as superficial as I had first thought.

Suddenly I was struck by a thought. Did she know? Was she aware that Jan had died? If they had been only going out for a few months then there might be no reason that anyone would tell her. His family might not even have met her. She wouldn't even know that Jan had moved on and was seeing someone else.

I sighed. Perhaps I should write to her. Perhaps I should let her know. Fuck, wasn't I being the angel now. I got some paper and a pen, poured another beer, lit another cigarette, and started to write.

***

The sun was high in the sky when I awoke the next morning. It was another clear and beautiful day. In the little while I been in India, there hadn't been any bad weather. Perhaps there was something to the place after all. I stretched, lit a cigarette, and wandered onto the balcony.

"Breakfast Sir?" Santosh was waiting for me.

"Yes please. Eggs and toast? And tea?"

"Coming up Sir."

It was almost 11 when I had finished.

"Santosh, where can I find Peter, the yoga teacher again?"

"RishiYoga, just up the hill a little bit more. On the right. Class will be finished soon; Mr Peter will be there for a little while."

"Thanks mate." I showered and changed quickly and walked up the hill. It left me almost breathless. The gradient was steep, the altitude was a lot higher than London, but I had to admit to myself that I was out of shape.

I sighed. The last few years of supposed contentment with Lara had left me overweight and lazy. Still handsome, but not the same as the lean 33 year old whom she had fallen in love with. No wonder she left me. A fresh wave of self disgust washed over me.

A handmade sign pointed to RishiYoga and I walked in through some well maintained gardens towards the reception. Everything was made out of carved wood, and much tidier and cleaner than most places I had seen in my short stay in India.

A dozen or so women dressed in various amounts of yoga clothing walked out of the building chattering happily. I scanned them involuntarily – they all looked pretty fit; in shape and toned. A couple were really stunning, although there was also a couple of plane Janes too. There weren't any men around and I idly began to wonder what my chances of pulling one of them would be if I stayed around. Old habits die hard.

"Can I help you?" Surprisingly a European girl was behind the desk, tall and graceful, dressed in casual yoga gear. It was difficult to tell her, age, could have been thirty, but equally, she could have been a terrifically in shape and attractive fifty year old. I imagined us having sex, probably seated, her straddling and coiled round me, passionate, intense, intensely pleasurable.... I drew myself up and tried to look as confident and attractive as I could.

"Yes, I'm looking for Peter. I would like to have a quick word with him."

"He's just finished his class. If you go through that door there," she indicated towards a door off to the left, "he should be in there clearing up. Is it about starting a course?" She looked at me like she knew that I could do with some exercise.

"No, something else. But perhaps I could be persuaded," I trailed off flirtingly raising one eyebrow. I just couldn't help myself, I wasn't proud, but old habits seemed to die hard.

"Right, well, anyone here will be able to help." I wasn't sure if I had repulsed her or she was just being efficient. I nodded to her and went through the door indicated.

It opened up into a large studio, open on three sides with fabulous views down the valley. The Ganges River was visible, wide and blue, and the steep jungle covered far shore. It was easy to imagine how one could get sucked into and stuck in a community here.

A man dressed only in lycra shorts was picking mats from the floor, wiping them down and then hanging them over the balustrades. He straightened up as I approached and I got the chance to have a good look at his magnificent physique. Tall, a muscular chest, very well defined muscles in his arms and legs, a strong handsome face and thinning grey blond hair cropped very short. Again, it was difficult to pinpoint his age, but I would have put him at a very fit mid forties.

"Hi, you must be Pete." I extended my hand forcefully. I didn't want to appear intimidated by him or the place.

"Peter," he corrected me. "Yes, how can I help?" His voice was rich and deep, sure and calm.

No wonder there were so many females in the class – the men would be intimidated and the women get all wet about him. Tosser, I immediately thought to myself.

"Have you got a few minutes? I would like to talk about Lara Saunders."

"Lara Saunders? I'm not sure who you.... ah, you mean Lara Cornwallis. Which means you must be Matt." He looked at me intensely. I was a bit taken aback by the speed with which he had worked out who I was. "Let's go and have a tea in the garden where we can talk." We walked down some steps into the garden.

There were a few tables dotted about and he chose one in a shady little alcove and gestured me to sit. A waiter approached.

"Chai please Joey, for two. I will just go and get changed." He left me amongst the plants and went back the way we had come.

"So Matt, I guess you're here to talk about Lara," he said when he returned, now dressed in a loose fitting light grey robe and sat down.

I nodded yes. He was still irritating me; the kind of self appointed guru that I hated. I bet he had the pick of all the women who came in. I wondered if he had had Lara.

"We're all devastated here. She was so full of life, such a gift. It was so tragic to have her taken away from us in such a way. She was popular with everyone." His voice was dripping with contrived sincerity. It sounded so false and made me hate him even more.

"Yes, I'm sure she was. Look, we weren't in touch when it happened, I didn't even know she had come out here."

"Yeah, I know, she told me what happened."

I flushed and I felt pretty angry; how dare she have discussed our relationship with a yoga teacher. I bet he thought I was either a right bastard or a sap.

"Look, I'm not making any judgements", he raised his hands feeling my response. "There are always two sides to everything. I know you two had separated, that's all."

"Ok. I just want to know some details. I feel like I didn't really know the person she had become."

"She had enrolled on our yoga teaching training course – she hadn't booked, she turned up a couple of months ago just on speculation. She was a good student, worked hard and understood the requirements well. She was staying down the hill at the Ganga View Guest House."

"Yes, yes, I had already worked these things out. Tell me about her. I want to know what she was like here."

"She was happy here. Natural, relaxed. She made friends with everyone, was popular. Worked hard and passed the course. I'm not sure what else I can say."

"What about her friends. Was there anyone special she hung around with?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "She had a few close friends on the course. They all lived together, Claire and Anika."

"What about men? What about the man who died with her?"

He sighed. "I thought you might ask about Jan. Are you sure you want to know?"

I nodded.

"Jan was Dutch, arrived a couple of days before her. He had split up from someone too. They were naturally drawn to each other. They looked really good together, would laugh all the time. Sometimes they even finished each other's sentences. I think they had a real bond. Almost like they were connected, or meant to be together." Each word was like a punch into my chest. I could feel myself almost physically recoiling, and started to feel sick.

"But you want to know something?" He said. I nodded again. "I'm not even sure if they were lovers. I think both of them were very hurt and scared to be together."

"Tell me about the accident." I couldn't listen to anymore about Jan.

"They were on a bus, about 30 km west of here. The bus driver tried to overtake on a blind bend, a truck was coming the other way, complete write off. Almost everyone on it died. It's tragic, but unfortunately not that uncommon here'.

"Where were they going?" I asked my voice faint.

"After the course finished, they had decided to go travelling together. They were going to go to Nepal. The bus that crashed was taking them to the border, to a town called Mahendrenagar. They were then going to Pokhara to meet Claire and Anika who found work at a yoga centre there. There was even talk of them climbing up to Everest."

I put my head in my hands. In the early days of our relationship, we had talked about going to Nepal and climbing in the Himalayas. She had always wanted to go there, and I had never had the guts to take her. I could feel tears coming and sobs threatening to come out. Peter looked on sympathetically.

"It's alright mate, let it out", he said softly. And I did. I couldn't help it. I broke down and cried and sobbed like a baby in front of him. He watched for a while, and then came round and put his arm around me. I clung to his shoulder and sobbed even harder.

Eventually though, I pulled myself together. I took a napkin from the table, dried my eyes and managed a sip of tea. I had really not wanted to like Peter; the model new man, tall and strong, kind and compassionate. The kind of man I would take the piss out of without hesitation. But now, in front of his kindness I was utterly wrong. He was a good man, I was the bad one.

"Thanks Peter, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let myself go."

"No worries mate. It's good for the emotion to come out". He paused for awhile, and then said, "She told me about you. All about you. She said that you are a good man, but had a lot of hurt and pain inside you. It made you act in bad ways sometimes. She wanted to stay and help, but she didn't know how, and didn't know if you could get better. She did love you, you know, despite everything that had happened."

I looked up surprised. I wasn't expecting that at all. She thought that I was hurt and in pain? And I always thought that she was the weak one. I hoped that she hadn't talked about the bad points, but I already knew that she had. And here was Peter, without judgement being kind and generous.

"Look Matt, do you want to stay around here for a while? Maybe you might find something in Rishikesh to help you heal. It might not be yoga, but there are plenty of other gurus and saddhus and ashrams here you could try."

I shook my head. "No mate. Thanks, but no. It's not really me."

"So what will you do?"

I thought for a minute but already I knew.

"I'm going to Nepal. I'm going to climb Everest for her. For both of them."

~~~~

# Chapter 2

## Bailey – Amsterdam – Late September

Nate took his arm through mine down Centraal laughing as he went. He was trying to get me to go to the Sex Museum with him again. Jeez, he could be such a pervert sometimes. He had on an open –neck white shirt, his grey Diesel shorts and my own straw panama hat, perched where I had left it, slightly off-centre on his head, his light brown foppish hair peaking stylishly underneath. Even being my brother I had to admit he looked hot. He was going on about some girl and some band tonight playing in The Stop Bar. I was tuning him out, not sure I wanted to be dragged along to another metal fest. The sun felt warm under the October sky.

"Sis', come on, it'll be happenin', we'll have some beers, hear some music..." his rambling continued.

If I could only close my eyes I could imagine we would be back in California. We wouldn't be walking down this traffic-packed, tourist, hedonistic, crazy Amsterdam but be strolling down Beach Boulevard to Huntington. I'd be wearing my bikini top and denim cut-offs clutching a bottle of cold beer, in a paper bag of course – keeping with good old American conservatism, but still... I imagined it all, feeling the breeze from the ocean spread out in front of me. There would be those crazy roller-blade bitches tearing up the hot tarmac in their bright fluorescents and fake breasts. Huntington Pier would loom on the horizon. The familiar sight of surfers with their wetsuits rolled down and boards tucked under their arms. There would be the smell of doughnuts and candy in the air. Artists, skate boarders, musicians, there'd be it all, people moving in a steady flow to and from the beach. Take me home.

I saw the sign for Schippol airport on the number 6 tram. I felt homesick. I slipped my red Ray Bans down over my eyes. I was excited when I first came to Amsterdam. It felt cool being the American in Europe. I liked the way I could lull people with my accent. Make people gasp and exclaim I sounded like MTV. Being different felt like it elevated me somehow and gave me status. Now it just felt like I had over-stayed my welcome, especially with the absence of anyone close to me.

"Happy hour! Yeh man!" Nate enthused, pulling us to an abrupt stop in front of a bar I hadn't been to before.

"Ahh, Nate..." I hesitated, not sure I was in the mood.

"Come on, Bailey, chill out," Nate said, already slipping his arm out of mine and heading inside.

I shook my head, irritated. Sometimes he could be just totally in to himself. It was Friday approaching 16.30 and the place was rammed with people wanting a drink still dressed in suits from the office. In all honesty, I just wanted to head home, get changed into my baggies and watch endless movies and drink wine and eat popcorn. Was that so difficult? Perhaps even have a smoke and Skype my friend Lisa from back home. She generally had a way of lifting me from my sour moods. I checked out the sign - "Bar Bose". What the fuck, I thought to myself, maybe it would do. A free table appeared outside in the corner as a group gathered their coats and bags and got up to leave. I rushed over flashing a quick smile and sat with my back to the crowds.

The sun had started to dip over the canals opposite. The dirty water had turned gold under its light. It felt peculiarly calming and beautiful somehow. It had been a long week and I had hardly achieved any results for our project work. Increasingly my mornings had been structured by coffee and thinking. Drinking lattes and thinking about the past. I'd barely spared a thought for my thesis or the ever-looming doctorate which was starting to feel completely unattainable. I was supposed to be preparing and evaluating reports for a pharmaceutical company. I couldn't have cared less. I thought of the not-so-subtle hints from my Professor that funding was tight and he was doing me a favour allowing me to continue my studies under his guidance. I wanted to shove his favours down his throat and up his ass, that sleazy prick attempting to take on that serious and patronising tone as he ran his eyes all over my body. What a total dick. I missed having Jan pick me up and show the other guys that I was with him. The way I could lean my head into his chest and feel the comfort of someone else taking care of me and whisking me away from everything. It had been so long since I had that sort of attention, and now it felt essential somehow, that the feelings of security were integral to my happiness. I'm not sure whether this was a result of me or Jan making me feel this way, but it was how it was. I hadn't been single since I first started dating as a teenager and I didn't welcome the feeling of being on my own now. I thought of our cheery suburban folks, good old mom and dad trying not to get stressed, trying to remain perfect. Little grown up prefects they were. They struggled with me sometimes, totally flipping out over the guys I was seeing, but, truth was, I just wasn't very good on my own. Life felt easier in a relationship with a guy in tow. Then, I suppose, if it felt easier why were they always so unsuccessful? I was aware of all these strange paradoxes in my life and way of thinking, still it was just the way it had always been. Especially recently, what with things ending with Dries, and then Jan just disappearing into the fucking ether.

I threw up a mental barrier, stopping my thoughts mid-flow, trying to focus. I was told I was beautiful, so why was life so freaking hard sometimes? I rested my chin on my hands until Nate came back with a drink which he placed in front of me. Hardly stopping he gave me a small kiss on the cheek and headed back into the bar.

"Make sure you look after yourself Nate!" I added sarcastically to his back but I could tell he didn't hear me.

The glass of white wine stared back at me. I squeezed the stem of the glass between my fingers, finished it quickly and motioned to the waiter for another. I wanted this to be a nice day after all.

Familiar laughter spilt into my hearing. I twisted my head to see what was going on. By the look of things, Nate was up at the bar getting chatted up by an assortment of tourists. I hoped to God he was going for the one with love handles and the 1980's fanny pack.

He was such a charming bastard sometimes. There were some other guys hovering close by not so fortunate in the looks-department and I felt kind of sorry for them. Nate looked over at me whilst pinching one girl on the ass and I winked back at him giving him a cute look. Fuck, he could be funny sometimes. I could never stay sad in his company for very long. I returned to the open copy of Wallpaper left on the table, flicking to the fashion section. I wondered if the light was good enough for photos and thought about taking my picture and changing my profile shot on Facebook. I was vain, I knew it, and I didn't care.

I held the phone in front of me and experimented with a few poses. Was I getting older? My eyes looked tired so I re-applied some more eye-liner, smudging the line on my lower lids.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

A tall Dutch guy appeared from no-where and looked down at me with a beaming smile. His teeth practically sparkled white with health. He gestured at the empty seat next to me with one hand, holding a large beer in the other.

"Ummm, yeh, sorry".

For some reason my voice was all choked up. I wasn't in the mood for any lines tonight.

"Are you here on your own?" he tried again. He must have been blind.

I re-crossed my legs flashing him a generous amount of my slim thighs caught under the fabric of my blue play-suit and breathed in an exaggerated bored-as-hell breath.

"Look, I'm here with my boyfriend," I said, indicating my brother, "and if you don't fucking move soon he's gonna be pissed, OK?" I was curt in a loud enough voice so that Nate looked over and cocked his head with interest. I suppressed a giggle. God, I was a bitch sometimes.

The name-less dude walked off. I probably hurt his feelings. Not nice to be rejected is it?

Fucking hell I missed Jan. Where the fuck was that major asshole? It had been almost two months now and nothing. No word. No fucking apology. Nothing. What a total bastard. I was trying not to SMS his phone because every SMS just made me feel lonelier. I couldn't believe that anyone would treat me like this. Who did he think he was? Maybe I should just fucking kiss that other guy and send him the photo. That should peak his interest a bit. I couldn't believe all the bullshit lies he told me. How can someone lie with such ease?

Of course it all started when he came out to visit me whilst I was on vacation in the States and we went to The Burning Man festival. But what did he expect? It was a party for God sake. And at a party you usually partied. It was as simple as that. He acted so old-man that week, condemning everything as "juvenile". He was mean-spirited and boring. He got on my nerves and I would have more fun without him. I think I wanted to provoke him in the end. And so, I did. But, it was one lousy kiss and he acted like it was the world. Just skipped out on me, caught a ride back to the city and sulked until the flight home. I'll never forget that pained expression on his face when he had to meet me at the airport and sit next to him on the plane. He never stopped to think about me and how it felt to be abandoned. I never knew such a fucking drama queen. One kiss. I tried really hard to make it up to him, but after that I guess, he lost interest.

Last I heard from him he said he was off for a week or so to help a colleague on a work assignment. If someone could please translate that I would be most grateful. I think it was that dumb girl from the office that had personal issues. Who hasn't got personal issues?! So, I should feel sorry for her, should I, - that she gets to spend time with my boyfriend?! Sorry my ass. That was when the first week of silence went by. Not since we got together had we even had a day of non-contact. I felt so hurt. I was a bit ashamed of what happened next but I convinced myself it didn't matter. Keep telling yourself "who cares" and you might start to believe it. After the second week of silence I went to Jan's office and waited in reception until his colleague finally came down and graced me with her presence. She put me off for at least 30 minutes but I wasn't going anywhere.

"I don't want coffee and I don't want sympathy." I told her in no uncertain terms as I took in her flat face and ill-fitting suit.

Finally after staring her directly in the eyes and would you believe it, pleading with her smug ass she told me Jan had taken a leave of absence from his consulting role. I almost laughed at her choice of words but also felt utter disbelief. Nearing on the edge of hysteria she finally gave me an address in India.

The last conversation I had had with Jan started re-playing in my head accompanied by the sight of that morose look on his face, that look of resignation and pity. I reached for my I-Phone and found my earphones and scrolled through my music to find something to chill me out. Joni Mitchell gazed back at me from the display. Pity was inviting but not right. I settled on The Rolling Stones "Keys to Your Love". I wanted to cry. I breathed in to stem the flow of tears. On further investigation in my bag I found a pre-prepared joint and lit up gratefully. I couldn't help it. I started looking back and wondering where it had all gone wrong.

You know, in the beginning things are beautiful when you meet someone new. Everything is fresh and exciting. You can't fail to impress them. Even the smallest act or gesture is like something worthy of applause. He will look at you with adulation and you will feel like the most special person alive. That is how Jan made me feel. We met at a dinner party that I almost didn't go to and the moment I saw him there was something that drew me to him. Jan is a typically good-looking man. He's tall and lean with light brown eyes and blond hair that is cut short and slightly textured with gel. He has a wonderfully symmetric oval face and a neat mouth which often puckers unexpectedly and bursts into a dazzling smile. He's smart like you wouldn't believe as well, and shrewd as hell. Although he works as a consultant banker you might think he likes to dress formally with suits and brogues and something resembling what the British might call posh. But, he doesn't. He prefers retro t-shirts with quotes from films or songs or images from the past, usually in green, grey or black and a pair of loose fitting jeans with sneakers. He's casual, and cool, but tastefully so, if you know what I mean. He's 40 but you'd never guess it. Aside from the way he looks and the way he feels, it's his smile that gets me. When there are many parts of him that might seem beaten, bruised and sore, still from somewhere, a smile can materialise that changes everything. I loved watching him smile. In all my photographs of him he's smiling. When he smiles his eyes lose their sorry sheen. They crease in un-checked delight.

It's not always this way with Jan though. There can also be sullenness to his behaviour and expressions. I'd rather not be around him when there was that heaviness to his being. It felt like being with a broody artist who trapped themselves within the extremities of feeling as the only way they knew how to survive. It seemed strange to me, that someone that led such a straightforward life would find it so hard to reconcile themselves. Without warning he could slip into one of these moods. I got to recognise these triggers, usually something to do with family and commitment. I would steer away from this territory and try to reach his happier side. Become the person he wanted. Then the smile would appear and he would be the boy again, broke free from the restraints of years and experience that bind us so pitifully.

We spent some beautiful time together. We watched so many old movies in his loft, him trying to educate me. He would make me orange and mango smoothies (always with too much pulp but I let that one go) trying to get me off the red wine and give me a vitamin boost. We'd cosy up on his white sofa that he was so proud of – some designer I had never heard of – and he'd touch my skin so softly it was almost imperceptible. That was the first month. The second became more laboured. Those touches became heavier. I am sure dragged down by the weight of my impatience and petulance, words he became accustomed at using in our arguments. I was spoilt apparently, demanding too much of his time, taking up too much of his space. We had some horrible fights. That is when those heavy looks no longer drew me in but instead pushed me away. He said he was losing money by not working but it was his decision not to take up any work and be with me. Why should I be the cause?

I missed him. I missed him. I missed him.

My phone vibrated on the table in front of me. It was an SMS. It felt as if my heart stood still momentarily – I hesitated in opening the message and seeing the recipient. I drew a drunken breath. I stopped counting the glasses of wine I was ordering a while back, but for sure I'd had plenty. I tried to steady myself on the chair.

It was Renee, Jan's neighbour from downstairs, the aspiring opera singer that me and Nate loved to snigger at. Fuck, what could she want? I inwardly groaned sensing a request for me to do /not do something at Jan's place.

< Bailey, it's Renee, Jan's neighbour. Do you know when Jan's back? I think there's a leak coming from his flat that needs repairing. There's also some mail here for you.>

Great. I wondered about just tossing his apartment keys into the canal. Unfortunately for me I didn't have the balls to do it. Renee could wait.

"Nate?" I called out, twisting my head to try and spot my brother. He was still at the bar playing host to a group of girls.

I staggered in with drunken footsteps on Jimmy Choos.

"Let's go out." I grabbed him seductively around the waist. He touched my head affectionately in reply.

"Hey beautiful. Sure. Sure."

I made to take his hand, pulling him away from the gaggle of chicks with over-done foundation and pink lip gloss. A girl in skin tight pvc trousers looked up a little disappointed. I gave him a peck on the lips. He knocked his drink back in one and thrust a handful of Euros at the barman.

"Bye ladies, gotta shoot!" Nate did his farewells.

Having made my point I stalked ahead, slapping someone's ass for good measure on my way out. It wasn't just Nate that knew how to make an impression.

***

She had three piercings in her nose and took far longer than necessary to look at my ID. I tapped my foot impatiently. I was 28 for Christ sake and no matter how flattering you might think it would be to insinuate I looked younger, she was just taking the piss, and enjoying it too. Nate was waggling his tongue at me in what I hoped wasn't supposed to be an impression of oral sex. If it was, he had problems.

"This band had better be good Nate". I told my piss-taking brother. The lesbian door bitch was still looking at my photo and date of birth.

"Ha ha, you should frisk her too, she looks suspicious to me!" Nate said through laughter.

"OK, you're good," the lesbian replied in a flat tone.

"I should think so." I grabbed my driver's licence trying not to make contact with her sweaty hands.

We shoved past her down the stairs into the noisy inferno chucking some money at the chick behind bars at the entrance handing out naff entry stamps. I was about to ask about the French girl Nate had been obsessing over with the apparently killer breasts but he was gone already. I fancied a cigarette but settled for a vodka shot instead and checked my phone for messages. Nothing.

The band started up and typically Nate was in the thick of it, having found his French gal. He was jumping up and down to the heavy metal clinging to her with delight. I suppose it was handy that they didn't have to talk too much because I didn't reckon much for his French and I heard her English was a bit mono-syllabic, I thought bitterly. I shot him voyeur glances from the bar. It was clear that he was going to bring her home tonight and I didn't really fancy listening to them having sex.

We shared a small-ish apartment not far from the university buildings about 30 minutes from the centre by tram. Two rooms, combined lounge and kitchen and a separate bathroom. Generic beige and taste-less furniture left-over from the last decade. It couldn't have been less me if I tried. I just didn't want to leave any part of myself there. Nate had crept in the usual predictable postcards and pictures of him partying and holidaying under Caribbean skies with large cocktails in hand and desperate busty women in thong bikinis. Sure he was good-looking and likeable but you also had a certain attraction when you splashed out lots of money and bought people drinks all the time. Unsurprisingly these photos would often get tucked away when he brought girls home.

I checked my phone under the pretence of looking at the time. 21.03. Had it been an hour since I got here? The battery sign flashed red at me and I made my exit typing a quick message to Nate as I went.

<Dude, I've left. Not my scene. Have the place to yourself tonight.>

I stepped into the cold night air and without thinking I turned in the direction of Jan's place. Shop and bar lights flashed crudely at me as I walked through the red light district. Even though there were other ways of walking home, we always took this route, taking in the sights, something to laugh at, and something to talk about. Reaching for the unfamiliar with forced familiarity and comfort like a guy and a cheap lap dance. Did that make me the whore? My thoughts were all over the place.

My feet hurt so I stepped out of my shoes ignoring the calls from men perched expectantly on the street, leaning against walls. Did I really look like a prostitute? They must be crazy. Not at 5"10 with this figure and in this outfit. Fucking retards. I shot some filthy looks in their direction.

Finally I made it. I reached his front door and felt a shiver pass through me. These visits were turning into a bit of a habit. Something like guilt and shame touched me briefly. The spare keys sat in my hand and I considered the outline cut into his front door key. I could draw it with my eyes closed. That jagged outline. The key nudged itself into the old lock and I stepped through onto the narrow landing. The rickety stairs led away in front of me, spiralling up the old building. There were two flights and another narrow doorway. Each step creaked like the last. The walls of the next landing were hung with paintings. Impressionist images of a lake, the sea, a field, people. Renee's flat. Jan's old snowboard was resting against a corner next to a second door leading up. There was then a further flight of stairs to climb to get to his apartment door. I re-trod my route disturbing dust. My drunken imagination imagined seeing his face, waiting for me at the door with a kiss. Maybe he had come home after all. My steps slowed, wishing to God he was there.

I opened the door greeted by darkness and the musty smell of damp. Absence spoke everywhere from the neglected dishes to the windows left half-open. I pulled them shut and lit some candles and put on his corner lampshade. His grey sofa was scattered with novels where I left them. A throw half on the floor. Empty espresso cups. The damp patch Renee was going on about must have been from the dreary looking stain in the corner of his kitchen creeping along the skirting board. I recalled something about a letter in her SMS. My answer sat on the kitchen table. I shuffled towards it, opening the nearly drunk whisky bottle as I went and pulled a used stained tumbler towards me.

Brown liquid splashed into the glass. Dirty as rusty tears. I admonished myself for wanting to cry as I noticed the postage franked on the envelope. India. Jan? It didn't look like his hand-writing though. I was used to the self-conscious swooping scroll, when had he started writing in large rounded letters? My hands shook and I scratched at the skin on my finger tips, unsure of myself. I opened the envelope gently trying not to make a mark or tear on the airmail paper and eased the paper out.

With the letter in my hand it was impossible not to skip to the end and find out who it was from and what it was about. I scanned the contents and felt my heart freeze as all the air was knocked out of me. I gripped the chair with my hands and screamed, choking on the tears that filled my mouth and nose with salt. It felt as if someone was squeezing my throat and I could hardly breathe. I didn't even have time to consider the contents or the author other than being told in cold tones that Jan was dead.

"No, no, no, no, no, no..." I spoke in desperate whispers. The whisky spilt onto my hands and formed a puddle on the table. I pushed the glass off the table in one weak sweep. The glass let out a loud splintering crack. My head fell onto my hands and I rocked on the chair.

"Jan, please why, you can't be gone, dead, why....?" my voice pleaded in a little more than a croak. "Please, Jan, please..." I begged and sat there rocking and whispering until my voice was hoarse and I couldn't make any other words come out.

Here in his flat, feeling now like his museum, my world crashed around me. The man that was so real, that would hold me and I could mould myself to him. The man that said we fitted so well and declared so beautifully that he was falling in love with me was gone. Taken. Dead.

I got up quickly from the chair, scraped the legs against the wooden floor and rushed to his bedroom. The closet doors flung open with one sharp yank and without thinking I started pulling out his clothes, feeling the fabric one by one. I took care to maintain the colour order as I remembered each time he had worn these clothes. I turned my attention to his music and searched frantically for his favourite record and the tears came again, this time in big steady drops as I listened to the strains of Dave Brubeck's "Take Five" and kept going back to the beginning of the track every time it ended.

***

I gave up somewhere around dawn, drew the blinds and curled up on his white designer sofa for all the world wishing I had never called him a bastard and that he might have heard me say sorry and we could have been together, that I loved him. I never told him I loved him. My eyes were rubbed raw. Everything was ripped from me.

***

I woke with a start around 8am shivering. The street below bustled under an open window. The stall holders noisily set up their awnings at the end of the road. Front doors slammed on other buildings as people woke up to Saturday morning. Joggers, coffee meets, families going on outings. I thought about what Jan and I would have done. We would have slept until about 9 or 10 and taken a shower together. I would mock Jan for singing in that way he loved. He would kiss me happily on the top of my head and put some coffee on.

Instead, I got up from the sofa in my thin, dirty creased clothes. My back hurt from the strange angle I slept but I didn't care about that. The grief was all-consuming. I was numb with pain and wanted to cry again. The letter lay in shreds on the floor. I must have ripped it up at some point. I couldn't touch it. With an eerie sense of calm I tidied around it, leaving the letter as it was like a crime scene. I took care with everything and acted methodically and slowly. The photograph albums were moved back to the shelf in date order. Pictures and photos found their place again on the wall. I re-stacked the CD's and folded away the clothes.

The day passed with me moving from room to room. Moving like a ghost. It felt like I was waiting for someone to come home. I settled in his easy chair for a while, moving to the bed and then the sofa. One eye was kept sometimes on the world outside the window. A couple caught my attention arguing in the flat opposite. She shoved him a few times in the chest whilst he shouted at her. I wished I could have told them not to waste these opportunities, not to behave like that. That before you knew it life would be ripped from you. They appeared as a silent movie. Only their lips moving, all sound evaporated.

I should be dead as well. That's all I could think. I couldn't go out, eat or drink or change anything about myself. I ran my tongue over my teeth, not caring for a tooth brush despite the furry film of plaque. My reflection stayed as it was, smudged make-up and knotted hair. I only had the strength to stay in stasis.

***

Sometime in the afternoon a knock sounded on the door. The voice of Jan's neighbour, Renee, carried through the thin doorway.

"Hallo, everything OK up there? Is that you Bailey?" She spoke loudly.

She must have heard the music I was playing. I was going through Jan's records again. I couldn't help the fury feeling its way in my chest and looking for a way out.

"Fuck off would you!" I yelled pathetically, my voice squeezed through a half-concealed sob.

"Hallo? Bailey?"

"I said fuck off! Just go away. Please. Go. Away." I managed through strangled tears.

The sound of retreating footsteps echoed off down the hall. I could hear Renee murmuring something to her husband. The walls never felt so thin or impersonal. It felt like I was imprisoned in a hospital or prison, my movements being monitored and noted. I wanted to throw up.

I went through to the lounge and sat cross-legged on the ragged carpet. The torn up letter fluttered in a draught from under the doorway, the start of all of this, this nightmare. The pieces of paper looked incomprehensible. The only writing that was decipherable was the email address at the end. I pieced the paper together and stared at the address.

It took me a while but I logged onto Jan's computer, through the ID he had created for me; 'Bailey' nestled into the picture of a cute squirrel. Sadness again threatened to overwhelm. I opened my Gmail account and tried to compose a quick message. I didn't have the strength or compulsion to write more than a few sentences. I tried several versions of the same thing, not knowing what to say. Writing and deleting, writing and deleting. I settled on a few simple words, sat back and waited for a reply.

<Hi, I got your letter. I don't know what to say. I feel ripped apart. Can this news be true? I am not sure how you got my details but we should speak. Do you have a number I can call you on? I need to speak with you. Yours, Bailey.>

~~~

## Chapter 3

## Matt – India – Mid October

I stared at the email.

It was two weeks after I had arrived in Rishikesh. I was in a small internet cafe in Lakshman Jhula, a traveller enclave on the other side of the river to Highbank where Lara, Jan and then I had stayed. Inside the cafe it was cramped and dark, the computers old and slow. The night air outside was cool, but inside the air con made it cold. I was still recovering from the fever, and the frigid air was making me shiver.

Did I want to reply? Did I want to open this door? Did I really want to get involved with the ex girlfriend of my dead wife's dead partner?

I hadn't really thought much about Jan, less even about Bailey, his ex girlfriend in the two weeks since I had written to her. Once it had been posted, she had disappeared from my mind completely. I had had other things to worry about.

"Sir, you must be quick," the manager of the cafe called out. He was sprawled, overweight and lazy, behind his desk near the door. "It is closing time."

"I know, I know, my bus leaves soon too. I just need to think a little bit."

Would it help her? I pictured Bailey, in a room somewhere, collapsed in a heap, much as I had been when Anna had told me. Would it have helped if I had had someone to call then, to explain what had happened and why? Would she go back as I had, to pick over the wounds, to try and understand, to dive deep into the pain and try and come out the other side?

"Sir!"

I sat in front of the computer, unable to decide.

***

The fever hit me about two hours after I had spoken to Peter. One minute I was sitting on the balcony, taking in the view, drinking a cup of chai, reflecting on what had happened with the yoga teacher. The next I was hunched over the toilet, vomiting, shaking, and feeling my stomach twist itself into knots like a wet towel.

When there was nothing left in my stomach, and I was just dry retching, I stood and swilled my mouth out with water from the sink. In the mirror my tired, red eyes stared back at me. My skin was grey and shiny with sweat, I was unshaven and haggard. My hair was a mess.

A spasm of pain went through my stomach. All thoughts of Lara went from my head. All self pity, self recrimination, guilt, loss, pain disappeared. I was reduced to just the experience of physical pain.

I lurched to the bed, and lay down. But the room started spinning around me, making me feel nauseous, so I stood back up again, and went back to the toilet. I could feel pressure building inside, and I just managed to pull my trousers down and squat over the toilet as a violent attack of diarrhoea broke.

It was so sudden, that I started laughing; a hysterical giggle on the edge of madness. I was stuck on a dirty toilet in a shitty town somewhere in India. So many people had experienced this before, and would do again. I was just another number in the endless litany of not so hilarious toilet stories in a third world country. I wasn't here on a spiritual quest to find myself or to fill a gap year or whatever the usual excuses are in the moneyed young, but I was still reduced to the same humiliating experience. The dirty white tiling of the bathroom in the harsh light of the bare bulb reflected the sound. Until another wrench of pain in my gut, and another squirt of liquid from behind, choked it off.

Was this a case of food poisoning? The feared Delhi Belly? Was it just exposure to the virulent bacteria and germs in the Indian food chain? Was it the chicken curry I had had last night? Had it been washed properly, prepared properly and cooked properly?

Perhaps the causes were more long term. Apart from last night, I had not really eaten a proper meal since the phone call from Anna, surviving instead on caffeine and nicotine. Perhaps it was the cumulative effect of a week of poor diet, no sleep, and the rigours of travelling half way across the world.

It felt though that it was something deeper than this. Almost as if the intense grief, pain and loss that I had experienced had stored itself up physically in my body, carrying it round like a ticking bomb, waiting to come out. Maybe the meeting with Peter had released something in me, allowing my body to process some of the emotion.

I started laughing again. Or perhaps I was crying again. Or perhaps it was an expression of pain. Until it was choked off by coughing and more vomiting. I might have been there ten minutes, or perhaps an hour. Time seemed to become elastic as my world narrowed to the expulsion of fluid from every orifice.

When the attack seemed to be over, I cleaned myself up as best I could and staggered over to the doorway and the balcony.

"Santosh! Santosh!" I called, holding onto the door frame. The dark tropical green was swaying before me.

"Sir! Sir! Are you ok?" He came running up from the restaurant.

"No, I'm sick. I need you to get me some stuff from the shop. Water, toilet paper, any drugs that you can. Aspirin, paracetamol, whatever they have." My voice sounded like someone else was speaking, someone drunkenly slurring their words.

"Yes Sir, immediately," he ran off.

I turned round, swayed back to the bed, and fell on top of it. I managed to swing my legs up, and lay on the bed, the room spinning.

***

"So then Matt, when are you gonna' take me to a football match?" She took a big swig of her pint, and wiped the froth off her mouth.

"You want to see a football match?" I asked, surprised.

"Of course. What could be more English? I want to experience England. And not the toffee and twee village stuff, I mean the real England. I want to see the real England. I'm not interested in castles and museums and tourist stuff. I want to experience the England you do. In all its beauty and ugliness." Her voice was cocky, confident, and sure as if she couldn't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to take her to a football match. Much later I came to understand that this confidence was both paper thin and iron strong. Sometimes it could withstand any force or pressure; sometimes it would fold, making her the most vulnerable person possible.

"OK, I think I know the kind of things you mean. Sure, we can go to football. I can get tickets for Chelsea anytime. But I think you will like the dogs at Walthamstow more, that is the grimy kind of place for you. And a fight at York Hall in Bethnal Green? Perhaps even bingo! Fish and chips on Brighton Pier, that's tacky, but in an English tourist kind of way. I think you'll like it."

"Yes, yes!" She laughed in excitement. "That's exactly what I want. I've studied Shakespeare and Blake, but they're dead. Now I want something alive, something intense. I want to live intensely." She gazed at the floor a second, as if embarrassed by her sudden outburst, then raised her glass and looked me squarely in the eye.

"Here's to being alive, here's to living intensely."

That's how it started. Just like that. A raised glass and a toast to living intensely. With Lara life was always intense. I realised exactly at that moment, that that was what my life was missing. Living intensely. A light seemed to dawn inside me, I had just been surviving for years.

We were in a pub in Camden High street, drinking bitter. Despite it being only early afternoon, there was still quite a crowd, young and hip, playing pool, playing slot machines, eyeing each other up, judging, assessing and sussing each other out. Loud indie rock music was playing forcing us to lean in close to hear each other speak. Ten years ago this might have been my natural environment; other men my age might have felt uncomfortable here, too old or un-cool, but I knew that I could rule this space.

My wife Helen had been nagging me for a while to take out her friends' kid sister, recently moved over from America and show her around.

"She's doesn't know anyone here. Her boyfriends a shit, never there, treats her badly. Well that's what Anna says," Helen said to me in a rare good mood. "Why don't you show her around? You could do with getting out."

I didn't much like her friend Anna, I thought she was bitter and boring, and I could only imagine what her sister was like. To be honest though, I didn't much like my wife Helen by that point either. We had been married six years, and the relationship had become a routine of arguments, silence and sudden demands for passionless sex as she wanted another child.

So I let myself be bullied into going. I wasn't particularly thrilled about it, but I wanted an excuse to get out for the day. I imagined Anna's sister to be gawky, perhaps chubby, dull, mousey, ignorant and shy girl. A smaller than life version of Anna. It would be a dull day, but at least I would be away from Helen.

Instead, waiting for me, pacing up and down outside the pub, was a girl that was the absolute opposite of what I was expecting. Tall and elfin, with short hair bleached silver white, spiked up. A few tattoos peaked out from here sleeves and discrete metal jewellery adorned her ears and nose. Punky, sure, but she was dressed in subtle, stylish and expensive looking clothes that stopped her looking like a rebelling teenager; tight blue/black jeans, brown ankle boots, a dark knit top and a long coat. Beautiful and expensive fabrics. The sombre tones highlighting her pale skin and paler hair. She was sexy and striking. I immediately had the horn and went into predator mode.

"You're late. I hate people who are late," was her opening line. Her voice had a musical quality, taking away the unpleasant American edge that usually I found so irritating.

"Yeah, sorry sweet cheeks, tube was slow." I wasn't about to over apologise. There is nothing less sexy than a man begging forgiveness. I hung back a second, then impulsively hugged her. "Good to meet you kid."

"Whoa! Ok nice to meet you too. Just don't be late again. Thanks by the way. I appreciate you coming out. I'm guessing Anna put pressure on you? She can be a bitch sometimes."

"No worries kid. It's ok. I'm glad to get out actually. Come on, let's go in and have a pint," and I led her into the pub, and into my heart.

***

"Sir, I have bought you medicine. And water."

"Thanks Santosh." I struggled upright and he passed me the water. I took a swig. I could hardly swallow. He looked on concerned for me.

"I feel like shit!" I tried to be light-hearted and grin, but it must have looked bad.

"Yes, you are not looking good! Would you like some food?"

"No, I don't think I could hold any down. I think I will just rest for a bit. Could you come back later?" The conversation had taken what little strength I had out of me.

"Yes, I will come and check on you. Make sure you are ok."

"Thanks Santosh." I sunk slowly back onto the bed.

***

I awoke with a start, disoriented and confused. It was dark. Where the fuck was I? Oh shit; Helen, the kids, the counsellors, the lawyers. The accusations and the threats. Her fucking father standing over us, over me, with the purse strings. Leaving home. My life unravelling before me.

My heart was racing, I was sweating and panting. The feeling of panic was almost overwhelming.

"It's alright baby, it'll be ok". Lara sat up beside me and held my hand. "Don't worry, I'm here."

I couldn't really make her out in the dark, but her touch, her warm closeness reassured me.

"Where are... oh, ok, Brighton. The B&B, I remember now."

After I had left Helen, the kids and the house, I had slunk down to Brighton to stay in a friend's spare room. Lara had come down and we had booked into a bed and breakfast for a few days. As usual though, our romantic tryst had turned into a marathon drinking session frequently interspersed with frantic and desperate sex.

Lara hugged me close. I could feel my heartbeat and breathing slowing, calm returning to my body. "Yeah, well it's a surprise we can remember anything at all really. Hey, I beat you at pool too for the first time. Remember that?"

"Shit. Well darlin', don't get used to it. You had to get me blind drunk first."

"If you can't play drunk, you shouldn't play at all. I think you owe me a prize."

"I'll give you a prize!" I wrestled her down onto her back; she put up a little resistance, but more to excite both of us.

As I pinned her down and I felt her body relax beneath me, I paused for a second.

"Look, sorry for waking you. It's kind of getting to me at the moment."

She looked up at me tenderly. "It's ok baby, I understand. It won't always be like this."

"No, it won't. I won't. It'll be better, I know it." I slowly leaned down and kissed her gently, intensely. I could feel her responding with heat. The frantic love making was about to start again.

***

I awoke with a start, disoriented and confused. It was dark. I had a thumping headache and my throat had a raging dryness. The sheets were drenched wet with sweat. I was cold and hot. Where was I? Where the fuck was I?

Was I in the hotel room with Lara, in Brighton? I remembered waking in the dark there too, disoriented and confused. But realisation came slowly. There was no Lara beside me, no Lara to soothe me. No Lara to hold me, to tell me it was ok, that everything was going to all right. I was alone in India, in a shitty hotel room. Things were not OK, everything wasn't going to be alright.

Not quite alone. As I put the lights on, I heard footsteps outside.

"Sir! You are awake. How are you? You have been having bad dreams and talking. I have bought you more water. Would you like anything to eat?" Santosh called through the door.

"Thanks Santosh." I croaked and managed a little swig of the water. My vision was blurry and swirled because of my temperature. "Look, can you get me some clean sheets? These ones are soaked."

As he sped off I felt my stomach clench again. The mouthful of water I had just swallowed came flooding back up into my throat. I staggered to the bathroom as my body started convulsing and I started retching again over the toilet.

***

"I got it, I got it!" Lara put the phone down. "I can stay here!"

Very quickly after we got together, Lara had decided she didn't want to go back to America. We were having too much fun together, so she had applied for a temporary working visa. For months she had been working casually behind bars, in shops and cafes, but the work never lasted long and didn't pay very much.

"Well done kid!" I jumped up from the couch, but the sudden movement caused a coughing fit. I sat back down again. "Ooh, head rush," I mumbled.

"Oh baby, you're still not well." She came over and knelt on my legs cowboy style.

We had only moved into the flat a few days before, and almost all of our stuff was still in boxes scattered around the couch. We had not really moved from it, spending time watching movies, smoking dope, cuddling, eating pizza's, fucking, dozing and drinking beer.

I was still in a mess. As well as my marriage ending, I was asked to leave the family firm too. Gerald, Helen's father, had called me into his plush office. He was fat and jolly on the outside and his plumy voice made him seem kindly, but he was a hard bastard, and utterly without scruples. If someone had hurt his baby Helen, then he was going to make them suffer.

"Look Matt, we can't have you around the place if you're not going to be with Hels'. It just wouldn't be right. I'm sorry old boy, you're a good salesman, but family is family."

"You can't just fire me!" I protested weakly.

"Sorry old boy, but I can. It's in your contract; only family members can be part of the management here."

"Fucking bastard," I muttered slowly to myself, and got up woodenly.

"No hard feelings Matt," but then he turned serious and his voice lost its friendly edge. "Don't try anything stupid. Don't fight the divorce case. Don't fight the sacking. I've got enough dirt on you to make sure you will lose everything if you do. Investigator reports on your infidelities, affidavits, photos of the bruises when you hit Helen. You will never see the kids again. The settlement will be more than you deserve."

"I never hit her! She made that up! Fucking bitch!" Although I told many lies over the years, that was not one of them. I had never hit a woman, not once. Well only in play.

"Doesn't matter if you did or not. Fact is you have been violent before, and my baby feels threatened by your aggression. The courts will take her side, they always do. You know that. Now, get out."

I wasn't used to being talked to like this. Normally I was the one bawling out people. I didn't like the feeling, and although I knew it was a foolish idea to antagonise him, I couldn't help myself.

"Fuck you Gerald. Fuck you and your family. I fucking despise the fucking lot of you. See you in fucking court you piece of fucking shit".

And I walked out and slammed the door behind me.

So I had no money, no flat and no job. I stayed with Dan in Brighton in his spare room, saw Lara at weekends. I smoked a lot of dope, drank a lot of beer and did no exercise. Over the weeks, the lifestyle took its toll on my body. I developed a wracking cough, intense migraines and couldn't sleep. It was only being with Lara that seemed to make me feel any better.

"Don't worry, I will be able to earn decent money now, and look after you properly." She jumped off me and started clearing up; putting pizza boxes in bin bags, moving boxes around.

"Whoa!" I called out. "What's got into you? What's the hurry! Come back here, we need to celebrate," I made a grab for her, but she danced out of the way.

"Uh uh," she waggled her finger at me playfully. "I've got work to do. I have got to make a home now for us. For you."

***

Morning came and I was exhausted. I hadn't really been able to sleep. When I hadn't been rushing to the toilet, I had been in the grip of feverish dreams. Mostly about Lara. The pain of these were matched by the realisation when I awoke that they were only dreams. Lara was dead. Memories and dreams were all that I had left of her now.

"What day is it Santosh?" I asked when he came by.

He had been my ministering angel, checking on me every few hours and bringing me whatever I needed. His concerned face alternatively a blessed sight and irritating as hell.

"Tuesday, Mr Matt."

I had tried to get him to be less formal, but this was the most familiar name he could manage. At least he had stopped calling me Sir all the time.

"How you feeling today?"

Four days already! Four days wiped out. I was desperate to find out more about Lara, but it wasn't going to happen whilst I could go no further than ten metres from the bathroom.

"Better, but not great. Santosh. I want to move rooms. Are there any others free at the moment? The nicer the better; I am not worried about the price."

"I will go and check with the manager Sir," and off he went.

Sleeping in Lara's old room had begun to freak me out a little bit. Maybe it wasn't healthy. Maybe going somewhere else would help me sleep better, help me recover. I was still tired though, perhaps I would rest until he came back.

***

"Let's go away baby," Lara said dreamily. "Let's just get out of the country and start again somewhere. Somewhere hot, or somewhere cold but somewhere beautiful. We've got the money now."

She was laying with her head in my lap on Brighton Beach, on a hot June day. I had told her that we were there to see friends, but I had a surprise in mind for her. It was a year after we had moved in together. We were still very much in the honeymoon stage of our relationship and spent almost every moment together. Everything else just seemed to fade into the background when she was around.

Eventually some money had come through from the divorce with Helen. She kept the house of course, but I had demanded a cut of the equity. Gerald had bluffed with accusations of abuse, child neglect, unreasonable behaviour, but for every aggressive letter from the lawyers, I countered with one of my own. It was a game I didn't want to learn how to play, but I was not going to let Helen and her bulldog of a father win without a fight. It had taken a year, a long, stressful, difficult year, a year in which I think I may have gone slightly mad, but at the end was a pot of money large enough to keep us going for a while.

"Where would you want to go?" I said playing along.

"Beaches. Or mountains. Thailand maybe; the beaches there look amazing. We could just hang there and see what happens. Live in a tropical paradise," she paused, weighing the options up in her mind. "But maybe that would get boring. It's too predictable..... hmm, I know, the Himalayas. Yes, that's where we should go. I would love to go there, high up, the roof of the world. Hey, we could even climb to Everest? You know the base camp? I am sure we could go on a trek there? What do you think, can we?" She looked at me pleadingly, her big brown eyes willing me to say yes.

"I don't know kid. It's a big deal. You've got your career; I've got a new job. We've been in the flat less than a year."

I hated being the adult in the relationship. Being the one to break the dreams and bubbles. I also didn't want to be gone from the kids for too long. I only saw them once every week and they couldn't stay with me yet, but it was still difficult for Lara. She found it hard to understand how I could love her and the kids unconditionally. In her mind, one had to come first.

Her nostrils flared. "Fuck the jobs! I don't give a shit about that! I just want to be with you somewhere different."

"Shh! I know. Listen, do you want to go on a different type of adventure with me? Not travelling, but a long, long adventure, with an unknown destination?"

"Yes," she answered, "without question. Where? What's the adventure?"

"Where?!" she sat up and demanded when I only smiled at her.

I leaned in to kiss her. "Check your pockets. The ticket is in there," I whispered into her ear.

"So do you still want to go on this adventure with me?" I said as she unearthed the small box that I had hidden whilst she was dozing.

"Yes, yes! Oh Matt, yes!"

***

My new room was large, light and had a direct view of the river. It was a lot more modern and a lot more expensive than the room Jan and Lara and then I had had, but by European standards it was still laughably cheap.

It was only a short walk from the other room, maybe fifty metres and three flights of stairs, but it left me gasping and sweating and exhausted. The worst of the fever, vomiting and diarrhoea had gone, but I was still incredibly weak.

After Santosh had dropped off the luggage I sat in the window for a while. To my left, upstream, the Ganges twisted up between mountains, grey, misty and mysterious. Nearer, on the opposite banks, the colours defined more into the dark and lush greens of the jungle. To the right, the two suspension bridges linked the meditative, yoga and hippy High Bank area where I was to the more cosmopolitan and traveler oriented Lakshman Jhula.

The river itself was wide and shallow. The banks were quite developed in places, wide steps led down to the water. Lots of Indians were splashing about. Some in play, some doing their washing, some in devout prayer trying to wash away their sins. The holy Ganges River, the heartbeat and lifeblood of India. If only it were as easy, to wipe away the past.

***

"The kids are coming this weekend."

I tried to catch Lara at a good time, when she was happy. Just before bed. When we were both warm and cosy and snuggled up together, keeping out the cold and wet English January. Not in the mad rush of the very early morning before work, when it was still dark, painfully cold outside and life was grey and grim. Not in the immediate moments when she arrived home from work, stressed from the pressures of a demanding job and exhausted from the commute in packed trains. It took a couple of hours for her, and I suppose me, to thaw, to unwind, and to relax into being with each other properly.

"What again?" She said surprised. "They came last week?"

"I know but Helen has to go to a wedding. Just Saturday and Sunday. We will still have Friday evening together. You don't mind do you?"

She sighed. "No Matt, I don't mind. It's important that you see your children as much as possible."

We had been married for two years, together for almost four. I think the happiest years of my life. Never had I been so excited to come home, to spend time with someone. To just be with someone. I loved her without question and without reservation. But sometimes it was hard.

Both of us now had high pressured jobs. After we got married and her permanent visa came through, she applied for hundreds of jobs. The first one that came up was as a temporary administrator in a construction company. She did so well in the first month, that they made her permanent, then a year after that a senior administrator. Her natural empathy with people, her outspoken communication skills and her sheer determination meant she would shine whatever she did. Now she was project managing dozens of different construction sites all over London. The only thing was that she had to leave the flat before six o'clock every morning, and got back well past six o'clock in the evening, exhausted. All she would want to do would be to curl up with a book or even just lie on the sofa.

It was similar for me too. After I left the Bairstow family Furnishing Company, I spent six months in a funk, drinking too much, smoking too much and trying to nurse my self-confidence back into a shape where I could work. I thought about changing my life completely then, perhaps becoming a chef or a hairdresser, but I eventually went back to sales and got a job in a company that specialised in sourcing fabrics for furniture. Although I did quite well, the boss was an arse, and I left under a cloud after eighteen months.

But I had made some good contacts there, and got taken on as a sales manager in a competing firm selling high end textiles to the design industry. In some ways it was similar to Helen's family firm, but Graham the owner and boss was everything that Gerald wanted and pretended to be, but wasn't. He was kind, generous and decent. Graham took a gamble, trusted me, and gave me free reign to grow the company. In that atmosphere and with that freedom I thrived, and so did the company. In my first year, turnover doubled to two million and we were on course to double this again in the next twelve months.

It was exciting and challenging and enjoyable, but I was working long hours too. Sometimes I would have to visit clients or suppliers, taking me away for days at a time, sometimes whole weekends. After a year of really unpleasant legal struggles, I had managed to get access to my children and they came and stayed every other weekend with us. I still didn't have as much presence in their life as I would have liked; I was still excluded from a lot of information and decisions about them, but at least I was there for them. Even communication with Helen had thawed from overtly hostile, to arctic indifference, to now almost polite. I knew there was too much hurt and distrust for it ever to get even cordial, but things were not quite as difficult as they had been.

So there was Lara and I, both in successful professional jobs, living together in cosmopolitan London, one of the most exciting cities in the world. Both of us had put our respective skeletons and baggage in the bin and made a commitment to each other. We had the knowledge and experience of each other to make the relationship a success.

But sometimes, it didn't feel like that. We didn't really see each other much, and when we did, we were always too tired to really be with each other. Sometimes it would feel like there was a distance between us. I comforted myself with the knowledge that it was only temporary, or just because we were working so hard. It would all work itself out with a bit more time, when we could spend a bit more time together.

***

The room also had a TV. Thank fuck. After four days of being too ill to do anything but lie on the bed (or kneel or squat over the toilet), I was strong enough to start to be bored. The TV in the new room was perfect, at least to begin with. I could lie in bed and watch programs, a luxury I had not had for at least four years, probably since I first got together with Lara. As we had got on with our lives, got jobs and careers, she had started to read a lot more, saying the TV killed her imagination. I hated books though, too many bad memories of being forced to read at school, and stayed loyal to the screen.

But after three days, even the TV was starting to get on my nerves. I could only take so many old Hollywood films, episodes of Friends and Frasier and endless cricket matches. Santosh bought plain and easy-to-digest food up twice a day, but it was getting less and less satisfying. I needed someone to talk to, someone to interact with and someone to take my mind from constantly brooding about Lara.

On the sixth day, I made it down to the restaurant in the garden, but it was almost deserted. Only a handful of yoga students were there, earnest and wholesome, picking carefully at vegetarian food. I wondered if any of them had known Lara. Peter had mentioned a couple of girls, Claire and Anika, who she had been friends with, but I didn't feel quite strong enough to talk to a group of people, so I made myself inconspicuous at the back and ate by myself.

After eight days, I felt almost completely better. My strength had returned, and with it an impatience to move on. The idea of climbing Everest, which seemed so logical and obvious whilst I was breaking down in front of Peter, now began to seem far-fetched, daunting and pointless. Did I really want to do this? Was it at all even possible?

"Santosh. I think I need to move on from here. I need to go somewhere where there are more people. I was thinking about somewhere over the river, in Lakshman Jhula. Can you recommend anywhere?"

"Yes Mr Matt, many hotels there." He looked morose and upset. I didn't really want to leave him, he had been an angel for me, but I couldn't stay here just for him.

"Ok, tomorrow check out. I will go there."

"Yes Sir." He had stopped calling me Mr. Matt. I felt like I had kicked him.

"But tonight Santosh, I think we should celebrate. I am better. I am alive. This is a big thing. I want to do something different. I want to go somewhere special. I want to say goodbye to this place, and I suppose to you. I don't know what. Any ideas?"

He looked at me sideways for an instant, and then nodded. "Yes, Mr Matt I will take you somewhere special."

***

"You have another if you like, but no more drink for me," Lara looked at me wearily. "I've got work in the morning."

"How about a cheeky j then?" I had promised to cut down both on my drinking and marijuana intake to Lara, but found it almost impossible to stop. The only way I could lessen the feelings of guilt was to try and drag her along with me.

"No, it makes me all fuggy in the morning. It's not good for you either, you don't sleep properly."

We were in our local pub, a ten minute walk away from home. In the early years, we had spent days in here, one bender merging into another. We played pool and darts and slot machines, huddled outside in the smoking area, watched bands, did pub quizzes, drank at lunchtime, evenings and often late into the night, and depending on who was behind the bar, well past closing time. We drank bitters, lagers, cider, shorts, shots, sometimes wine, sometimes alcopops. We tried everything under the optics. It was a second home to us.

"Suit yourself then. I want another." I said quite brusquely.

I felt shit about drinking, but I couldn't bear the distance between us that seemed to be growing. Whatever I did seemed to make it worse. I loved Lara with all my heart, and it was breaking now as I felt her slipping away. Why couldn't we just drown our differences in a bottle of bourbon like we used too?

She looked at me for a while with a combination of knowledge, tenderness, frustration, care, and love. It was too much for me, and I dropped my gaze and looked at the floor.

"Why don't we make love anymore? It's been weeks, perhaps more than a month. Don't you fancy me anymore?" I said softly.

Working so hard had affected us in different ways; Lara lost weight, whilst a poor diet and little exercise had bloated me out.

"No, it's not that. It's just that...." she trailed off, now unable to meet my eyes.

"I love you Lara. I do. You gave me my life back. You taught me to live again. To live properly, to live intensely. Don't leave me now."

"I have to Matt. I have to get up for work tomorrow. It's a big day. I'm sorry." She held my hand briefly and got up to leave. I watched her go, my eyes filling with tears.

"'I didn't mean leaving the pub," I whispered to myself.

***

"Where are we going Santosh?"

'"Wait, Mr Matt. It's not far. I think it is important you see."

"OK, fella, I'll be patient."

We were rattling along in a tuktuk driven by Santosh's uncle Gupta, a smaller, more wizened version of Santosh. The road we were on, about 20 minutes out from Rishikesh, was quite windy, but the surface was good. It snaked up through the hills, getting higher into the jungle. It was almost dark and the sun had fallen behind the mountains.

Santosh was watching the road intently, then banged on the roof and shouted something in Hindi at his Uncle.

"Here, it is here," he said.

We got out of the tuktuk. It was just another part of the jungle, a steep bend on a gradient, a solid stone wall on one side, the green foliage on the other hiding a steep drop. There were no spectacular views, nothing to make this remarkable.

"What is this place? Why have we stopped here?" I asked confused.

"It was here Mr Matt. It was here that it happened."

Suddenly I started to see little details. A little puddle of glass on the side of the road. Deep gouges in the rock face. Tyre marks on the road. One large tree knocked over and now covered with smaller vines and bushes. I walked over to the edge and looked over. Could I make out twisted wreckage amongst the trees below? Was that stain on the tarmac oil or something else?

There was no sound. No jungle noises, no birds, no wind. No traffic sounds either. Santosh and his uncle Gupta were watching me. A heaviness seemed to hang in the air as night descended.

"I need to be alone here," the words came from me as if someone else was saying them. "Santosh, can you come back in half an hour?" He nodded, and silently motioned to his uncle. They got back in the tuktuk and freewheeled down the hill and out of sight. I moved to the side of the road, near where the coach or the truck must have gone over the hill and squatted down.

This was her final view, her final moments. This bit of jungle. Hands held by another, but always in my heart. This was where she left me. This is where she stepped away from me, forever this time. I wasn't sure if I was going to cry, to scream or be sick.

***

The first time Lara left me, I didn't really believe it would be forever. I thought that maybe it would be just a temporary separation to give us time to sort ourselves out. I thought we would work through it and that I could win her back.

When I returned from work one day, there was an envelope pinned to the door of the flat with my name on it. I took it from my breast pocket now, a lot more creased and folded and aged than it was then. I withdrew the note, then as I did now, like I was drinking medicine.

Matt, I'm sorry, I can't be with you anymore. I think you know this has been coming for a while. I haven't been happy for a long time, and I don't think that we can ever be happy together, however much we try.

Forgive me for being a coward for breaking it to you like this, but I couldn't bear the pain and arguments and conflict if I had told you face to face. I took the day off work and moved all my stuff out.

I am not sure if we should see each other for awhile. Maybe not even contact each other. There will be details to sort out, but they can wait.

I am not sure what I am going to do, but I know that I need to do this.

I will always love you Matt, and what we shared together. Please forgive me.

Lara x

I had sunk down outside the door to the flat and cried then, bawling like a child. In the same way I did now on the side of the road, somewhere in the jungles of Northern India.

Of course I had tried to contact her. Called and called, I left voice mail after voicemail. Some angry, some hurt, some desperate. I sent texts, pleading with her to come back, begging to meet up, demanding that we talk. I sent emails trying to apologise and to explain. I wanted to prove she was wrong.

This was met with almost complete silence. Only once did she relent, agreeing to meet me in the cafe of a museum, all glass and chrome and soullessness. This was the last time that I saw her, through the glass, drinking coffee, pale-skinned and beautiful. It seemed the walls that she had built around herself, protecting her from me, were higher and stronger than ever. I paced around for a few minutes outside. Part of me was desperate to go in, to beg and cajole, to try and convince her, but another, wiser part of me knew that it would be hopeless. With tears in my eyes, I turned my back on her and walked away. We had no more communication after that.

Part of me knew then that I would never see her again. But even that finality was nothing to the absolute silence and absence that I was faced with now. I cried and bawled by the side of the road as I had outside my flat, as I had outside the museum.

***

Santosh and his uncle came and found me later. They helped me up, into the tuktuk, back to the hotel. They bought me chai and put me to bed. The next day I checked out of the hotel. I could bear Highbank no longer.

Before I left, I hugged Santosh. "I don't know what to say. You have my email address and phone number, please keep in touch. I owe you a lot. We will see each other again, I know it."

I meant it too. Santosh had been more to me in the last two weeks than most of the people I knew back home. He as my nurse, my confessor, my confidante and my friend. He had believed and trusted in me, and I felt a real bond and kinship with him, even if he was just doing his job.

"Mr Matt," there were tears in his eyes too. "You are good man. Like Miss Lara. I wish I had known you when you were together. I think you would have been handsome couple like film stars! You loved her very much, I know, and will miss her now. But she is at peace now, and the Gods will look after her. Try not to be sad."

I hugged him again. "Goodbye Santosh." I got into the Gupta's tuktuk and drove off.

***

Lakshman Jhula was as bustling and as full of life as Highbank was serene and peaceful. Three or four streets filled with hotels, cafes, rug shops, sari stores, hippy clothing places, shops selling jewellery, tourist trinkets, carvings. Internet cafes, booking offices for buses, planes and treks. There was the smell of mountains, of the river, of sewers and of sweat. Of chai, or lime juice, of spices frying in ghee. Wallahs selling paan, samosas, nuts, chai. Bicycles, rickshaws, motorbikes, tuktuks, cars, jeeps. Travellers, hippies, hawkers, traders, revellers, monks, holy men, children, businessmen. It was a crush of humanity, and I felt intensely alive.

I spent a couple of days just soaking up the atmosphere, drinking endless chai's in restaurants overlooking the river. This felt like as much a part of my recovery as the eight or nine days I had spent in a bed in Highbank.

In some weird way, it felt like the illness had been part of my recovery. A physical manifestation of the grief and sadness within. Now it had come out, I was starting to recover emotionally as well as physically. Although I wasn't even nearly better, the healing had begun.

A travel agent on the high street booked me a night bus to the border. Just before it left, I decided to go online and read my emails. I had been completely off the grid for a long time now, and thought I better check in. I found the cramped internet cafe with the fat and lazy manager just off the high street. There were concerned emails from my parents and Graham, demanding ones from Helen, nothing unexpected. I quickly typed out replies, assuring everyone I was OK, but not coming home yet.

And just before I was about to leave, there was that email from Bailey. I hadn't really thought much about Jan, less even about Bailey, his ex girlfriend. Once I had written the letter, I forgot about her. Now, she was here, right in front of me, disintegrating in the shock and grief of the news just as I had.

***

Did I want to reply? Would it threaten my own recovery, my own healing, if I had to hold Bailey's hand through hers?

"Sir, you must be quick," the manager of the cafe, sprawled, fat and lazy, behind his desk near the door. "It is closing time."

"I know, I know, my bus leaves soon too. I just need to think a little bit."

Would it help her? I pictured Bailey, in a room somewhere, collapsed in a heap, much as I had been when Anna had told me. Would it have helped if I had had someone to call then, to explain what had happened and why? Would she go back as I had, to pick over the wounds, to try and understand, to dive deep into the pain and try and come out the other side?

"Sir!"

I sat in front of the computer, unable to decide. The internet disconnected suddenly, before I could reply. Defeated, I got up and headed outside for my bus.

~~~

# Chapter 4

## Bailey – New York – Late Summer

"... At six weeks your baby is the size of a pea and you can detect a heartbeat. At nine weeks your baby is the size of a strawberry and has developed earlobes. At twelve weeks your baby is the size of a small avocado and has grown tiny fingernails. At thirty eight weeks..."

Please fucking stop. FUCKING STOP. The tinny voice through the speakers wouldn't go away, perforating my freaking eardrums. I stuck my fingers in my ears and buried my head in my hands. I mean, how fucking insensitive could you get, this fucking commercial on the radio in this place? Morons. Fucking imbecilic morons. I was scared. Shit scared. But it still didn't stop me wanting to ram the biro on the table into my hand. I couldn't believe what an idiot I had been and now I had to listen to reminders, advice, support and all that fucking jazz from people that didn't even know me, that didn't have a clue.

It was dreary in there and depressing. There was no doubt that it was ran by a charitable organisation. I wished it wasn't me. That someone else could take my place. They could be anyone, I really didn't care, just not me. This happened to ill-educated thick-as-shit skanks. It didn't happen to people like me. I shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair. The back of my legs and ass stuck to the chair with my sweat. It was so unbelievably hot. The humidity must have been off the scale that day in the city of dreams. I lifted my legs slowly, felt the skin peel away from the cheap chair. I pulled my denim skirt down and felt my hip bones. Reassuringly they were still there and my stomach still felt flat and convex even. I breathed in deeper to feel my abdomen press against the unwanted thing inside me. Sorry, but I don't want you, the repetitive thought kept running through my brain like poison. My mind was in no doubt.

I wished Anita could have come with me. I'd arrived at the unmarked door just a few minutes earlier and had to knock for ages before giving up and sitting defeated on the sidewalk. Eventually the door opened and I got beckoned in by an old crusty-looking man who then shuffled away up a flight of stairs. 'Twenty fourth and second street, Harlem. Black door. Iron railings and two small conifer trees. Joiey's diner opposite. P: 4589621. Use a phone box if you get lost'. I thought I'd got it wrong following the hand-scrawled directions from Anita, the other girl on the Autumn /Winter campaign for Hilfiger. We had spoken in hushed tones in the toilet just after both throwing up our breakfasts and I had confided in her.

"Hey, Anita, can I talk to you about something?" I had whispered, trying to peer around her shoulder as she adjusted her hair and started pulling out all the grips that had been laboriously placed there by the hair stylist for the catalogue shoot. Anita paused ripping the grips out and waited for me to speak.

"Have you ever, you know, made a mistake?"

"What sort of mistake sweetie?" She said in her cool Texan accent. She was a bit older than me, 21 to my 17, and I looked up to her. I would realise later on though that she was just a shallow dumb cow-girl.

"Did you fuck that photographer?! I knew it! I wondered how the hell you got recommended for this job! You twos were way too familiar!" She gave me a sly look, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder and returning to yanking at the clips.

"No, it's not that."

"You want something to pep you up?"

"No, no, I mean, I think I've fucked up, that's all..." I took a breath.

"Yeh....?" She said expectantly waiting for me to continue. Her ice-blue eyes glittered conspiratorially.

"It's not that, it's umm, well, I'm late, my period, and, well shit Anita I'm worried." I had to say it quickly to get the words out.

She cocked her head and sucked in some air through her teeth, pouted and pressed one finger to her cheek in that annoying way she did. She straightened her face out and remembered not to frown.

"Ok, girl, well we gotta work this one out..." She said leaning against the gleaming tiles of the toilets of the fashion house on Thirty First Avenue. She tapped out a Marlborough Light from her packet and lit in with her kitty lighter. I watched the pink whiskers glow as she lit up. The flame licked the cigarette and smouldered comfortably between her lips.

"... how many...?"

"I dunno, but I reckon a few weeks at least. I dunno about this shit, when do you start counting I mean?"

We both nodded knowingly and stood there with our skinny physiques facing each other. She in her slashed turtle-neck and denim pants and me in my jersey dress and boots. Uniform colours from the range of clothing we got handed. Given that we were both, like most models, on a diet of strict starvation it's normal not to have periods and not to know what the fuck is going on with your body other than you are thin and that's what matters.

"OK right. Give me a pen and paper." Anita spoke authoritatively. "You need to get this sorted today. Pronto. Before Marcy gets any ideas." Marcy was our agent. Big, bulbous, hard-nosed Marcy who sorted our bookings and gave us shit for putting on weight. "Smoke more sweetie, eat toilet paper, munch on celery, I don't give a fuck what you do, just stay below 30 pounds and there's no problem." Her words still reverberate in my head to this day, a constant daily admonishment. Stupid bitch, she would have done well to follow some of her own advice.

"Yeh, right. Of course." I dug in my purse and found some scrap paper and a chewed pencil.

Anita wrote in small capitals, folded the paper and handed it back to me.

"You should be able to get it sorted before our fitting this evening. Don't fuck about, go straight there".

"Yeh, right." I tried to sound convincing and confident. I hesitated.

"Are, you, you know, free this afternoon to...?" I didn't want to sound desperate but I was. We had both finished work until later that evening when we'd get a call back.

"Aww, baby, you know I would, but I was going to catch up with Ritchie and see that new apartment." She tried a sympathetic look. It didn't work. Ritchie unsurprisingly was in the drug game and was her sometime boyfriend, depending on whether she wanted to score.

"Yeh, yeh, sure, of course". I muttered in reply.

"So..." She looked at me, waiting for me to go.

"So, yeh, OK, see you later." I grabbed my things and headed for the door. "Thanks hun."

"No worries!" she said turning to the mirror to touch up her make-up.

That was one hour earlier.

I stared at the clock and took in my surroundings. The walls were painted brown and here and there were hung useless posters of women, all shapes and sizes looking token-friendly at the camera. I wondered how much they paid them to look like that. The skirting boards were yellow as were the chairs, arranged around the outside of the room like we were at some sort of assembly. I shuddered. There was a flowery cushion here and there and tissues, lots of tissues. Obviously a fair bit of tears goes on in this place. I looked to the magazine table. It was all family magazines and something about travel. I sat glued to my seat and checked out the others here. The room was packed. Blacks and Hispanics, and... I tried counting. One, five, nine, twelve ... was she also waiting or was she a friend? Conspicuously I saw there were no guys. And, I realised like a sledge-hammer hitting me that I was the only white girl here. Where the fuck had Anita sent me? I tried a smile at the over-weight black woman next to me with blood red nails. I hoped perhaps that she might return the smile and talk to me. I needed talk and lots of it. She glared at me, the intruder. I didn't belong here. I stood on shaky feet and walked to the glass cubicle that seemed to house the women working here. I knocked on the glass.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes?" the gruff middle-aged black woman got up off her fat ass and slid the glass window open. "Yes?"

"I just arrived. Do I need to sign in anywhere?"

"No."

"Oh right, so how's it work then?"

"First come. First serve. Simple."

"Is there some sort of queue system?"

"No."

"So when do I...?"

"You have to wait until you're next".

"Right. So how do I know I am next?"

"You're after everyone else." She indicated the room and I felt nausea rear its head.

"Ok, but..." my sentence was cut off as she slid the glass window close. I returned to my seat and someone laughed. Suddenly, inexplicably I wanted my mom.

I noticed that everyone was holding slips of paper. I didn't have a slip of paper. I got up again and went back to the glass window and knocked. She took even longer getting up this time and nudged her co-worker as she did so. They laughed at me. I wanted to shout how much I hated them. How dare they humiliate me like this?! The nausea again rose up in me. She'd be sorry I might just throw up all over her.

"I haven't got a slip of paper. Where do I fill out a bit of paper?" I spoke bitterly through the glass. Fuck the niceties.

She pointed an ugly hand at a stack of papers by the magazines. Another laugh and this time I wanted to stab that fucking biro into her face.

I took the paper and clumsily wrote some made-up details. I didn't want to write in my hand. I tried the pen in my left hand. Tanya Smith. 21. Coney Island. Occupation: - Beautician. I put a line through anything that asked for dates of last period and so forth. At date of birth I made out I was 21. Fuck this stupid game. I scribbled out a smiley face and waited for over an hour before I got called in.

I sat on a plastic sheet and tried to avoid the sight of the metal stirrups at the end of the bed.

A scrawny looking nurse in an old-fashioned uniform walked in and indicated I lie down. I thought of all the women that had lain on this bed before me and felt the onset of tears. Again, I didn't belong here. I noticed a stray, fat, black pubic hair remained on the bed. I avoided touching it and lowered my head back on the head rest, not knowing what to do with my hands. My fingers linked automatically and I thought about Jesus and mom and all the time I had blasphemed them both.

"Loosen your buttons and pull your skirt down".

I shrugged my skirt down low over my pelvis without undoing any buttons.

She took a tissue and brusquely pulled my skirt down even further, tucking the tissue into my lowered waist-band below my wax line and showing the small tuft of pubic hair. Humiliated again, I wanted to punch her. Noisily the gel squeezed onto my abdomen and she started the scanner. She pressed so hard it hurt. I thought of the life inside me being shoved and flattened by the hand of this unsympathetic whore. It took all of me just to stay still.

"5 weeks, 3 days. What do you want to do?" She spoke in a flat Mexican tone. There was no doubt she was impatient to get me out and onto the next girl.

"Can you hear a heartbeat?" I said, thinking of the radio commercial.

"Yes. What do you want to do?"

"I, I,..." my words faltered as I took in the dull grey of the metal machine, the plastic sheets, the brown walls, the bucket in the corner, the air conditioning which made my skin shiver, and the box of tissues just within arm reach. I wanted my mom. I wanted to phone my mom and smell her perfume and be held. That's what I wanted to do.

"Yes, abortion." I could hardly bring myself to say the words. I wasn't even sure if they were the right words to say. Was there another way to say it? Should I say termination? I didn't know the vocabulary and felt stupid in this place.

"Ok, out the door and turn left down the hall. First room on the right. Wait until you are called." She roughly wiped the lubricant from my stomach and waited for me to get off the bed. I sat up wearily and swung my legs over the side avoiding the stray pubic hair.

I don't remember much about the next hour of waiting save for the hospital beds lined with thin duvets and pillows folded neatly on each. Again, the out-dated flower motif stared back at me, faded with time. I was sat with three other girls. Black girls. I couldn't bring myself to look at their faces, feel or understand their story. After some time a nurse came in with a pill and a glass of water. That's where I've trained myself to forget. I swallowed and waited and blocked out everything that happened afterwards.

After the procedure I had to pay, in cash, the woman working the till behind the glass window. I didn't have the right change and she insisted on giving it to me. I stood, uncomfortable, numb from tears. The waning anaesthesia brought the onset of pain in my abdomen; a horrible, contracting, tight pain from something being ripped from me.

I didn't have the right clothes on for the thick pad I had between my legs to stem the bleeding. I felt self-conscious wondering if you could see it from behind.

"That's OK." I said. I didn't care about ten dollars.

"No, no, we have it. Wait." She opened a safe and shuffled around inside producing a dirty crumpled note which she thrust towards me.

I took it and held it screwed up in my hand, pausing, not knowing what to do. Fuck you Anita. The bitch indicated the door and I left sadly, just enough money for the subway and a coke. I had to get back to work. Pay for college. Be the good girl. I walked slowly, testing out my stride, trying to forget what happened and hoping that I would somehow be able to do the fitting without blood pressing through my clothes.

Sometimes people will ask me why I quit modelling and why I turned to study instead. The truth is, the day I walked out of that clinic, I left all hope behind. I saw myself as the dumb, stupid young woman in the mirror who didn't understand what birth control meant and was now destroying one life to maintain another. The overwhelming sense was one of stupidity and remorse. I didn't want to be that stupid person. I hated the vacuous world I had been flung into. I took very few jobs after then and slowly stopped returning calls or going to castings. I wanted to go to college and change something about myself. Earn myself dignity and respect and do something fucking worthwhile. And it was science because I needed something methodical and resolute and that was my best grade at school.

***

I remember that Jan sat back with tears in his eyes when I had told him this story. He was the only person that I had ever told. Ever will. This story will disappear with his death. I don't even know why I told him. How I unearthed that little secret. We had been out to dinner and typically I'd been drinking a lot. He'd done his usual of pretending to drink with me but I knew that he wasn't topping up his glass like I was topping up mine. We had gone to Berlin for the weekend and discovered a little tapas restaurant in the arty district in the eastern part of the city. I had been trying out my German and was pleased that the waiter smiled encouragingly as I ordered olives, bread, patatas bravas, kebabs, meat balls and sangria. He also looked appraisingly at me in the new dress that Jan had bought me. It was black, with a low neck-line, scooped back and fitted to the knee. I still have it in my closet, wrapped lovingly in the tissue paper it came in. Maybe someday I'll go back to that restaurant in that dress, see if the waiter remembers me in that dress, at the window table with Jan.

The food was good in that place and I liked the way that did that thing of putting candles in old Rioja bottles, the ones with the woven straw around the base. The red wax dripped little streams down the side of the bottle. I lapped up the olive oil with the oven-warm crusty bread and the story poured out. Well, actually, it all started in one of those 'let's get to know each other better' scenarios. I think Jan was the one that came up with the question; 'what's the worst secret that you've got that you haven't told anyone else about?' The dark rum in the sangria left a sweet after-taste in my mouth and slowly the story slipped from my lips. He took my hand under the table and looked imploringly into my eyes and must have thought that I needed sympathy. I didn't, that's not the reason I told him. The reason I told him is that I loved him and wanted to have his trust and complicity in everything that I am, and was, everything that came before him. It never felt relevant to let anyone into my life like I had let in Jan and it felt essential that evening.

As I said, he had tears, big man-like tears hugging the corners of his eyes. Let them fall, I thought. But, he didn't. He clung onto them tight. "You are the bravest person I know," he said to me. It wasn't about bravery to me and I wondered at his choice of words. It was about survival wasn't it? Something struck me about Jan; that he was emotional I suppose. He had a real capacity to feel. Most often I would bottle my feelings up. But, frankly, it felt more comfortable that way.

I had asked him what his 'worst secret' was that he hadn't told anyone. He told me some yarn about his gay piano teacher kissing him when he was 12 and that after that he stopped lessons and told his mom it was because he hated the piano and didn't want to play anymore. This actually seems a real pity to me given his interest in music and all the musical instruments in his flat that lay testament to it. I mean, not most people have a drum kit, keyboard, sax and flute taking up their hallway do they? He told me that it wasn't until some years later; maybe his late teens that he took up the keyboard again, this time with a sexy young Spanish woman who liked to correct his posture. It troubles me that it always comes down to sex. Still, I bet he enjoyed his time with learning with her.

I didn't tell Jan that I thought his 'worst secret' was a bit lame and we asked for the cheque. It was a shame to leave that restaurant as it felt so nice there, like being cocooned in a bubble you don't want to get out of. Berlin is a beautiful city and I really could have seen myself living there. I asked Jan what we would doing in Amsterdam when we could be somewhere like this, somewhere with history and depth not prostitutes and weed. He laughed at me and ruffled my hair in the way he does when he wants to emphasise our age-gap, or more rightly my naivety I suppose. We walked the streets back to his friends' apartment in the moonlight amongst the tall severe buildings. Jan's friend, a Swedish architect had gone away on a fishing trip for a while and had posted the keys to Jan. It was an amazing place, filled with tasteful furniture with carefully placed cultural and design references in everything from the coffee table to the bookshelves and drinks globe. I felt a stab of envy that I couldn't live a more ordered stylish life.

He seemed a bit shy when we got back and unusually quiet, like he was unsure of me. He took a place on the leather sofa and stretched out so that there wasn't room for me to sit next to him. I shuddered and suddenly felt a clench in my chest as I wondered what I had done wrong. I thought back to the story in the restaurant and thought that I shouldn't have told him that stuff. Like I was dirty somehow, tainted with stuff guys don't want to know about.

"Have I done something wrong?" I asked tentatively.

"No, no it's nothing. I'm just tired that's all."

"Oh right".

He paused and fiddled with the laces on his sneakers.

"If I've done something wrong you should tell me". I was drunk and insistent.

"Bailey, it's nothing, I'm tired."

"Can I have a hug?"

He sighed, exasperated.

"I'm tired baby. I'm going to make a green tea and get some sleep."

I noticed that he hadn't included me in his bed plans.

I watched him get off the sofa and plod into the kitchen. I sat on the corner of the coffee table waiting for the kettle to whistle and listening to the crash of cupboards opening and closing as Jan looked for tea and a cup. Eventually he must have found them as the sound of his footsteps receded to the bathroom and then on to a bedroom at the end of the corridor.

It wasn't clear to me whether it was intentional or not, but Jan often left me out of what he was thinking and doing. Sometimes I felt so lonely. I often thought it might have been because I had done something wrong and he was punishing me. Then there were moments when I considered that it wasn't about me at all, that he was just thinking of himself and wanted the comfort of his own solitude. His right to just suit himself always seemed exclusively his, I never questioned it. He could be a selfish bastard sometimes. It was at moments like these when I would reach out to my friends, albeit ones that I had very unsubtly dumped in the months when I met Jan and send out a flurry of SMS hoping for some conversation. Thing is, my real friends were in the States and it was only those other people I met on nights out, numbers I collected in my phone book that probably wouldn't recognise me outside a bar without a drink in my hand. Only my brother, Nate replied.

<Hey what's going on? >

<Hey, sis, not much. Just with Monique – admiring the views  Wassup with you? You OK?>

He could be such a dirty bastard. I could only imagine what he was getting up to. Although he was still with the French chick; at least he was showing some sort of longevity.

<Yeh OK. In Berlin. Jan's fucked off to bed. I'm lonely Nate. Miss you. Can you get your ass down here?!X>

<Ha! You got that private jet on hand? Chin up girl, check the drinks cabinet, roll up and see what trash you can find on the television. Thinking of you. Now no more SMS. I gotta score this girl tonight, she's busting my balls!X>

I sank back into the sofa. I'd already checked the drinks cabinet. There was nothing but some old liquor that I didn't fancy the look of. I rolled a joint and wondered into the kitchen. There was a separate door that led out onto a small balcony. Vines covered the outside wall and crept into the kitchen. It was so beautiful under the clear moon-lit sky. I pulled up an old brown leather chair and sat next in the open doorway that led out onto the balcony and smoked slowly, drawing the weed deep into my lungs until my head spun and I had to fall back against the chair.

I sat there for a while wondering what had happened with Jan and why he had gone off to bed like that. I sloped into the bedroom to see him lying on his side with his eyes open.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to sleep?"

"Can I come in with you?"

"If you want." He shuffled unconvincingly over to make some space for me.

I stripped naked and slipped in beside him, pressing myself against him to feel his warmth. He left his arm straight by his side and I sought to pull it around me and nestle into him. It felt like he reluctantly complied.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Let's go to sleep."

"Something's wrong. You're being distant with me."

"I'm tired. Let's talk in the morning."

"Let's talk now."

"No" He insisted again, this time his voice raised and then more softly; "we can talk about it in the morning."

That unmistakeable feeling of dread weighed on me as I thought he's contemplating leaving me. I was glad when sleep came so I didn't have to sit out the time until morning.

The next day was fine and beautiful and I woke early and found the seat next to the vine covered balcony. I liked the way the sky shone clear and blue through the foliage. I waited. Eventually Jan walked out of the bedroom naked, looking befuddled and managing a thin smile at me.

"Good morning!" I beamed, remembering that I should be happy and upbeat. "Do you want coffee?"

"With breakfast." His voice sounded sullen.

"OK, no problem." I hated the way I sounded complicit in his mood, even though I had no idea what it was about.

***

The banging on the ceiling woke me up. I wanted to carry on sleeping and remember what happened next in Berlin. I tried forcing my eyes shut and recapturing the memory. Again, bang, bang, bang. I am sure that he had caught me in his arms and said sorry for being such a jerk. Hadn't he kissed me and everything was OK again? Bang, bang, bang. What the fuck? I opened my eyes and noticed something like the light shimmering off the window glass. Beautiful. Patterns like a gentle rushing stream. My eyes shifted to the floor and I jumped off the sofa in horror.

"Shit!" I shouted out. I'd left the tap running in the bathroom. I rushed through the lapping water to the bathroom and saw the torrent of water cascading over the sink and flooding everything. I had been washing the dust and dirt off Jan's strange ornaments from Morocco, the ones that he used to turn over in his fingers when he was thinking. That tap was so slow sometimes, just working drip by drip, I must have given in to sleep whilst I waited.

"Shit! OK, OK, quit your banging, I got it!" I shouted through the wall.

I didn't have the energy for this, for any of it. Courage deserted me. Days had crept past since the news of Jan. I hadn't left his flat. Just stayed, hoping something would change. Crying, shouting, crying, my grief alternated. The alcohol was finished, as was the meagre food supply in the cupboards. His absence resonated in me. Echo's of death. I'd done a lot of begging to God.

And now I had flooded his flat. I stared desperately at the water soaked surroundings. Jan would have killed me for this. The water was warm. I laid face-down in it and pressed my forehead to the floor. The water felt nice against my face as did the way my clothes sucked up the moisture, like a blood stain. How had Jan died? I didn't even know. Not the smallest detail. Just some fucking jerk telling me he was dead. And to add to it all, he didn't even have the guts to talk to me, to tell me what had happened. How can you send that news and just follow-up with a few selfish words that you didn't have time, that you didn't have access to a phone, that you were busy on a bus. I wanted to punch that fucking freak in the face, break his nose and see him blinded by the blood that rushed down his face. It would never have occurred to me that anyone could be such an asshole. Angry, I got up off the floor and started the task of mopping up, throwing all the towels I could find on the floor to absorb the water and searching out Jan's ancient mop. I say ancient, but although it was old it was hardly used. He wasn't renowned for his cleaning. I let a tear slide despondently down my face.

The thought had barely occurred to me but cleaning up and looking around I wondered what was going to happen to his apartment, to his stuff. Did his family know? I heard about a sister but only in fragments. He rarely mentioned his family and only spoke in cloaked tones when I brought up questions, just a small detail here, and a detail there. I hadn't been introduced to any of his family. My suggestions of drinks, that sort of thing had always been bi-passed. He always told me that he didn't want to share me, that I was special to him, that he wanted me all to himself. Secretly I wondered whether Jan had been ashamed of me. There were some pictures. Somewhere there was a photograph. I searched it out. It was in a silver frame with 'Sardinia '95' written in black marker pen across the bottom. It was on his bureau. A fit looking man in his fifties looked back at me behind the glass. He had short gently greying hair and wore red swim shorts and a yellow T-shirt. His arm hung lovingly around a woman of similar age. She had blonde loose curls reaching down to her shoulders and shining blue eyes. They were unmistakeably similar to Jan's eyes apart from the colour. She had on a pretty floral dress. Her mouth was open, smiling, as if she was caught mid-sentence and then remembered that she was having her picture taken. An expression I had also seen Jan adopt at times. I think we could have been friends, her and I.

They must know – mustn't they? I did the math and calculated that the photo was over 17 years old. Curiosity tugged at me and refused to let-up. He kept his bureau drawers locked, much to my irritation. It was one of those small fussy locks with an old-fashioned key-hole. It wouldn't take much to open it. Maybe I could nudge the lock open with Jan's pen knife, I thought. Hesitation gripped me and I decided to finish mopping and cleaning the flat up first. Think about it for a little while.

It took all of five minutes.

"Come on, come on, come on..." I wriggled the pen knife around the top of the drawer trying to connect with the lock. I nicked at the wood with little scratches trying to get a grip.

"Fuck!" I shouted. The knife slipped and the sharp edge neatly caught my finger opening the skin up and sending small droplets of blood onto his cream rug. I fell to my knees.

"Fucking hell!" I sucked at my finger to stop the blood but it was bleeding like a bastard. I gripped my finger tightly in the other hand and felt almost defeated. The edge of something metallic glinted from the bottom of the pot pourri basket on the desk. It might have been the key but I didn't care. I leant back and jammed one leg against the drawer and tucked the knife firmly against the lock. Blood trailed down my arm from my finger. With all my weight against the drawer I gave one almighty pull. The wood splintered and the lock broke messily. The smallest feeling of satisfaction touched on me briefly and then evaporated as soon as it had come.

There was a strange assortment of paraphernalia that Jan kept. Old ticket stubs, dried flowers, postcards from people I didn't know, foreign currency and keepsakes. What did interest me was a carved wooden box that sat under some leaflets for plays and musical instruments. I smiled to see Jan's name under various instruments and playing principal parts in plays I hadn't heard of. The aspiring actor, eh, I thought sourly. He never mentioned any of this stuff to me. I held the box in my hands; it was pretty really, intricate, flowers carved into the surface. I opened it and it felt like unearthing a grave. I held my breath in horror.

Liesel van Duyen (1942 – 1996) and Derek van Duyen (1940 – 1996)... I couldn't read the Dutch but could imagine the eulogies.

The two smiling faces I'd seen before, the faces of the couple from the photo in the silver frame, Jan's parents. Dates of a memorial and details of someplace I recognised in the north of the Netherlands. They had died a year after the photo of them on vacation in Sardinia. There was also a lock of hair and a serviette with a stale slither of cake and more photographs, one of Jan as a sweet-faced child gathered in his mom's arms. I dared not touch the cake unless it reduced to dried crumbs in my hands. It was haunting these memories, no wonder he kept them locked away. I felt a stab of pity for Jan's secret and sadness that he couldn't tell me about this. Was that what he had meant on that weekend in Berlin talking about secrets? There was me singularising the death of an unborn child when he had the death of his parents caged in his mind. It doesn't get more powerful than life and death. I felt like a fraud pretending to know someone when I didn't.

***

"Nate, it's me. Pick up. Pick up damn it. Pick up." I spoke urgently to his voicemail.

It rung off and I dialled again, leaving the same diatribe. On the third go Nate picked up.

"Yo Sis, what's happening! What's the emergency? Has there been a freaking death or something!" he replied jovially.

I fell silent.

"Yo, Bailey, you still there you crazy bitch?! Where have you been this past week? Didn't you pick up my messages? I've been trying to get hold of you."

"Ummm, no, sorry, something..."

He cut me off. "You can't just disappear off the planet. People have been looking for you. Not to mention Professor Newman. He's really pissed. You're going to have some explaining to do to keep your place on the programme."

I remained silent.

"Sis, are you fucking there or what? What's going on with you?"

"Yes, I'm here... I'm..." I exhaled slowly. "...listen, cancel whatever's happening next week, we've got to take a trip. It's urgent. Something... It's Jan..." The tears crept into my voice. "... I need your help. I need you to come with me... to India"

"OK. Talk. What's going on?"

The story came in stops and starts from the moment I opened that letter. He listened patiently, waiting, letting me tell it all.

"Boy, Bailey..." Nate said after I had finished talking. "... you should have called me. Don't ever lock yourself away like that..." He paused

"OK, I'll sort the details. We're going to fucking India. And don't you worry about that British bastard, I'll rip his head off before he decides to give you any shit. Fucking prick."

"I love you Nate."

"I love you Bailey. It's going to be OK. I'm here for you, always, and that will never change. Right, give me thirty minutes. I've just got to find my pants, kick the French slut out of our apartment and pack a bag."

Despite everything, I couldn't repress a giggle. My brother never changed and I adored him for that.

"Thanks Nate."

"Hey shut that door, you don't have to thank me. You can thank my VISA. Now get ready. I'll be there shortly." He hung off and I kicked the bureau door closed. Fucking secrets, this was going to be the last of them, I thought resolutely to myself.

~~~~

# Chapter 5

## Matt – India/Nepal – Mid/Late October

"So what do you think I should do then?" Adam asked me . "Should I stay with her or should we break up?"

"I don't know. What do you think you should do?" I replied in a tired voice, not really paying attention. My thoughts kept drifting back to Lara, and I found it difficult to concentrate on other people's problems. Besides, I was starting to find his posh whine irritating.

"I don't know! That's the problem really. It's so difficult to know what the right thing to do is!"

As the bus swerved round a bend to another beautiful Himalayan scene of mountains and paddy fields his boyish, clean cut face creased into a concerned frown. He looked like a text book drawing of someone facing a difficult problem. A tilt of the head, a narrowing of the eyebrows and a tensing of the forehead; it was almost as if he was playing the part of a confused clown in a pantomime

Adam had got on the bus just after we had crossed the border and entered Nepal. We noticed each other as soon as he climbed aboard, the only westerners on a bus full of local Indians and Nepalese. As there was more space around me, he naturally came up, asked politely if he could sit next to me, and then sat down.

I was quite glad at first. He was the first non–Indian I had spoken with in what seemed like weeks and I was missing having a normal conversation with someone. The constant struggle of communication in broken, accented and pigeon English was tiring. Being alone with my memories of Lara was at times a difficult and painful place. I needed distraction.

I could tell from his polite and respectful accent that he was English, but I think I knew as soon as he got on the bus. There was something in his movement, a naivety and simplicity tinged with massive self-importance and authority that made me think public school. I found this confidence a massive turn on in women, but was repelled to it in men. I knew this was irrational, probably something to do with jealousy and shame at my own humble origins, but I still didn't like posh twats. But I was lonely for conversation so was happy for him to share my seat.

Even I had to admit he was a good looking guy. He had fine features, clear skin and bright eyes fringed by short dark thick hair. I felt old and haggard just being near to him. "I thought that it would be good for me to get out and experience a bit of the world," he told me, "before I settle down. You know, travel and stuff. Thought I would go to India first, then Nepal. Do some trekking and rafting. I start Law School in January, and my career. So far it's been jolly interesting. What are you doing here?"

I didn't really want to go into the details of my own tragedy, so I made up some story of retracing a route that I had taken many years before. He nodded knowingly and very quickly turned the conversation back to himself and his girlfriend.

"I just think that I am a bit young to settle down with someone. I mean, she might be the right one for me, but how do I know? Also if I stay in a relationship now then I might get bored in a few years time. It may be harder to break up if we are older, or there are kids or something like that."

It was quite amusing to hear the problems of someone almost twenty years my junior. They were obviously all consuming to him, but how small and petty they seemed compared to the grief that I was suffering now. I would have given anything to experience the dilemma that he was facing. I knew exactly what I would do.

"What does she look like?" I asked.

"Here, I'll show you." He got out his phone, flicked through an album until he got the shot that he wanted. "What do you think her? Pretty hot!"

A professional looking black and white portrait of a girl with long dark hair stared back at me. She was very beautiful with a delicate face and soulful eyes; mysterious, seductive and challenging. Alex, I thought immediately. You remind me of Alex.

"Yeah, she's beautiful," I agreed, my mind on that moment almost twenty years before with a girl who looked at me in the same way.

"Look, I bet that you have faced this problem before. You look like you've had a lot of experience. You must have been in this situation? What did you do? Did you stay faithful in a relationship, or did you break up?"

I looked at the photo. His girlfriend stared back at me, mysteriously, challengingly, seductively. I knew though, that she was probably not any of those things. Photos can be deceptive. As can people.

"Neither. I did neither of those things."

***

I was six months into my first real relationship. Christine was everything that a horny nineteen year old would want in a girl; blonde and beautiful, a great body with fantastic breasts, and sexually adventurous with it. We fucked everywhere; under piles of coats in bedrooms at parties, in our parents' houses in danger of being walked in on, outside in the woods even once or twice in nooks and crannies at college.

But it was more than just the sex with Christine. She was intelligent and kind, funny and sweet too. I could have a conversation with her about politics, which we were both studying for, or about Neighbours. She had a lot of female friends too, and was mercifully above most of the petty jealousy and back biting that went on. But most of all, she was as infatuated with me as I was with her. That was the big thing. I had slept with plenty of pretty girls, even by then, but never one who felt the same way about me too.

We went out a lot and we drank a lot. When I look back now, A levels at college seemed to be one long party that just changed venues occasionally. Sometimes it was down the local pub, a big rambling Victorian bar rumoured to have once been a brothel. Sometimes it was in nightclubs, hot, sweaty and noisy. Sometimes it was in the woods, all of us dancing round big fires, swigging from bottles of cider. And sometimes it was in people's houses, when parents were safely away. It was a halcyon time of easy living.

I can blame what went wrong on youthful hedonism, but I think now it was me, all me. The booze and sometimes drugs didn't help, but really deep down, they were my choices. It was my decision. I fucked it up. Not for the last time either. Sometimes you learn your lessons, but sometimes when you fail, you go back and make the same mistakes again and again. Like those poor mugs that end up taking their driving test fifty times.

It was after a party at her best friend Alex's house, that I was first seriously faced with that choice; to stay faithful in a relationship or to end it because you wanted to stray. Sure when I was a kid and just learning about girls there were probably incidents of dumping someone, or going with someone else, but this time it really meant something.

Alex was night to Christine's day. She had dark hair to Christine's blonde, dark almost purple eyes to Christine's blue, and was mysterious and enigmatic to Christine's open charismatic honesty. Although she was very beautiful and was never short of offers, Alex looked down on most of the boys in our group, preferring to wait for someone special.

By the end of the night, there were only the three of us left. We sat on the sofa in the midst of the carnage; a war zone of bottles, cans and overflowing ashtrays. Christine had drunk too much and was lolling around almost unconscious, Alex had kicked her shoes off and was lying back luxuriously. She was wearing a matt black dress with black stockings, almost gothic. She lit a cigarette and inhaled.

"Phew, that was a good one for a Wednesday night," she stretched and her foot nudged against my thigh.

"Yeah, not looking forward to tomorrow. Clean-ups going to be a bitch," I said.

"Ah, fuck that. My parents don't get back 'til the weekend, we've got plenty of time. How's sleeping beauty doing?"

"She's gone. Think it was the bucket that did for her."

"Ha!" she yawned and stretched again, this time she left her foot resting on my legs. "Yeah, I'm pretty fucked too. Shall we get this one to bed?"

"Yes, good idea. Come on sweetie, time for bed," I said to Christine as I struggled to get her sitting upright. I tried not to think of the surge of sexual electricity that surged through me with Alex's touch.

Each taking an arm, we somehow got her across the lounge, up the stairs, into her parent's bedroom and then onto the bed. Our arms hands touched as we carried her and didn't withdraw. "Let's get her things off her," Alex said as we lay her down, so we stripped her of socks and jeans, shirt and t-shirt, leaving her just in her bra and knickers.

It was harder work than I expected, and we had to manhandle her unresponsive body together to get the clothing off. All through the process I was intensely conscious of Alex beside me, her body, and her smell. Each time we touched whilst we were undressing Christine it seemed as though I burnt. When I touched Christine, I just felt cold.

"Right," I remember thinking to myself. "I'm really attracted to Alex. Does that mean I should finish with Christine and go out with Alex? But I really love Christine. What should I do?'" I remembered the feeling of confusion and uncertainty that Adam was feeling now. But then I reacted very differently to him. It almost wasn't a conscious decision, but an animal reaction.

As we finished tucking Christine under the covers, she looked at me, mysterious, seductive, and challenging. The moment was electric, sparks almost flying between us, a feeling in my stomach like I was on the edge of a cliff. Without any hesitation I reached down and kissed her, over the body of my unconscious girlfriend.

Alex held it for a second, and then withdrew. "Matt, no, this is wrong, I...., ahhhh..." I had come round the bed, my hands darting for her body, and seeking out the vulnerable and sensitive places on her body. She sighed softly as I nuzzled her neck. "Matt, uhh, God, Matt, no..." and then it was as if something burst within her, and she turned her face to me, her hot mouth seeking mine.

"Yes, god yes. I've wanted this. Come on," and she led me out of the room, and into her own bed. Within thirty seconds we were fucking, hardly bothering to take our clothes off.

An hour or so later, after we had both come several times, I heard Christine waking next door. "Matt? Matt!" she called out. I looked at Alex, and then quickly jumped out of bed. "I'll be back," I whispered into her ear, as I pulled on my t-shirt and trousers.

"Where were you?" Christine murmured as she snuggled into my arms. "I missed you. Where were you?"

"Shh baby," I whispered, and to avoid any difficult questions, I ran my hands over her body to her breasts and nipples.

"Ahh, yes," she said, still drowsy from the drink. "I want you, yes, that's right. Yes." And so within moments of fucking her best friend, I fucked my girlfriend.

I never told Christine. I never left her for Alex. For a month I lived a lie. I spent the days with Christine and visited Alex every spare moment I could. At first it was exciting, then as the dishonesty grew, it became harder and harder. Alex went moody and sullen on me and broke off contact with Christine. Christine didn't understand, and was hurt and confused. She never suspected me though; I lied too well.

I never made a choice. I never chose Alex over Christine, or Christine over Alex. I never had the balls to decide, let alone tell them. And because of that the choice was taken away from me and I ended up losing them both, and a lot more.

Eventually Alex confided in a friend, who told another and then another. Pretty soon it was all over college and then Christine found out. She confronted me on the college steps.

"You fucking piece of shit!" She spat at me, her red face almost unrecognizable with hurt and anger. "I trusted you, I loved you. My best friend, you piece of fucking shit." I had never seen her in such a state.

"Baby, it's not true. It's just jealousy, people trying to split us up!" I could see her wavering, wanting to believe me, but she had a posse of outraged girlfriends behind her, egging her on, not letting her forgive me. I could see something harden inside her.

"You fucking dick Matt," she said softly this time. "We had something special. You fucked it. You fucking fucking wanker. I hope I never see you again," and she walked away.

I lost not only her and Alex, but also the friendship and respect of a lot of other people. Christine had been so popular that I became a social outcast; no one had a good word to say about me. I finished my 'A' levels a month or so later, one of the most hated people in the college.

Did I stay faithful in a relationship or did I break up. I chose neither of those things. Or perhaps I chose not to choose. I acted rather instinctively rather than rationally. I then lied about it, and I think that is the only thing that I regret now.

***

"Neither of those things, Adam. I did neither of those things." I said again. I sighed and turned away from him. The constant speed changes of the bus as it swerved to overtake or avoid other vehicles was making me feel sick. Or perhaps it was the memories.

He didn't really hear my answer anyway; I don't think he was really interested. He was wrapped up in his own world.

"If only I had met her when I was a bit older. When I was in my late twenties; I would be ready to commit then. I would love to get married and settle down with her, but just not yet. I think I will be ready when I am twenty seven or so, maybe twenty eight. Have you been married? How did you know it was the right time to commit to someone for the rest of your life?"

***

The first time I married I wasn't ready to commit for life. In fact I was a faithful husband to Helen for exactly six hours. Well six hours as her husband anyway. I had been unfaithful to her before then, but as we were not yet married it didn't really count.

For some reason, I cannot really remember why I proposed to Helen. I must have blocked it from my mind. I know it was what she wanted, but what possessed me I don't know. She was blonde and beautiful and from a posh old family with connections. She had that self-assured public school confidence that made me hard, but I didn't really like spending time with her. The sex certainly wasn't brilliant, but she always played just the right amount of hard to get whenever I got bored of my latest conquest. She was a tease, and knew just when to give in and let me into her bed.

Our wedding was two months after my twenty eighth birthday. Helen was six months older than me, but a lot more mature. I don't even think that she liked me that much; she was just ready to settle down, be a spoilt wife, and have children. She wanted to have a life like her mother, a lady who lunches and a nanny to look after the kids when they were not at school. I think really she wanted someone like her father, and I was nothing like that.

I spent my last night as a bachelor with Dan, my best friend. We got drunk in the bar of the hotel not far from where the wedding was the next day and tried to write our speeches for the next day. At about three in the morning, we were still no closer to finishing.

"I'm not sure if I can be arsed with doing a speech mate," he said to me. "Are you sure you are ready for this? Do you want to make a commitment to Helen for the rest of your life?"

"Yes," I lied. "I want to marry Helen. It's time I got married, settled down, stopped shagging about. It's time I grew up." In some part of my mind, I really meant it too. "Now, write that fucking best man's speech!"

The wedding passed in a blur the next day. Helen got what she wanted; a fairy tale wedding in a big white dress in a quaint church out in the country. All the men were in top hat and tails, all the bridesmaids in frumpy versions of her dress. Her many relations all made simpering noises, and all my friends looked slightly uncomfortable and out of place.

The reception was held in a historic hotel nearby, all grey stone and ivy. Whilst Helen did the rounds of all the blue bloods, I hit the bar with my friends. Once exposed to alcohol, we all noticeably relaxed. JD and coke followed gin and tonic followed vodka, lime and soda. All chased by shots. I think I would have ended up comatose by nine, but Jess slyly looked at me over our third tequila. "A little pick me up?" she suggested. I nodded, and we quietly slipped off to the toilets.

Jess was petite with long dark hair and NHS style specs. On the surface she had a hard arse attitude but it hid a vulnerable and sensitive heart. I had been exploiting and abusing this for years whenever I needed a no strings attached shag. Bad of me I know, but neither of us was under any illusions as to what it meant.

It was only a few seconds after snorting coke off the lid of the toilet seat that we were kissing frantically and I was pulling off her knickers and fucking desperately, banging her head against the door in my need. We were done in a matter of moments. I don't think anyone even missed us, let alone noticed our dishevelled clothing. It certainly didn't stop me from drinking all night, and then taking my new wife up to the bridal suite and fucking her too.

***

I looked at Adam's expectant and vacant face; he wanted a response from me. "Look kid," I said brusquely, "you know when it's the right time. If you have any doubt, any doubt at all, then it's wrong."

"Really? What does it feel like to be that certain? How do you know?"

***

How do you know when it is the right time? You feel it with a certainty in the whole of your body. It feels like that person is part of you, like another limb or an organ, and you cannot live without them. It's not just something that you think or know with your head or mind, your body knows it, your heart knows it, your soul knows it.

I knew it before we made love for the first time that I would commit to Lara forever. It was when we first kissed. I had felt it coming in the moments that we had touched beforehand, when we casually hugged or held hands, but the feeling always retreated, leaving me confused and unsure. Like a pan of milk on the hob, taken off just before it boils. There was something about the kiss though that changed things, not just between us, but in me. It lit the blue touch paper in my heart, and I felt it explode. I knew without a doubt that I would be in love with Lara forever.

Soon after we met I took her to see a football match, Arsenal against Sunderland, and we hugged in celebration when Henri scored. It was spontaneous, but I was aware that we were holding onto each other a bit too long after the goal. It felt really good to have her body held against mine.

When we went to a boxing match, she clutched at and then held my hand during the fight. I don't think she was aware at first, but I was intensely aware of her hot grasp, and fingers holding me tightly. I didn't remove her hand, and tightened my grip on hers.

It was in Brighton that we first kissed. On the stony beach, under stormy skies. We had done the tourist stuff that I had promised her; rock, the pier, bingo, fish and chips, but for once the mood was sombre. This was unusual; when we were together, we were almost always swept up into a crazy world of laughter, drink, excitement and exhilaration, both of us committing fully to the adventure. This time though, Lara couldn't lift me from my dark mood.

'What is it?' she asked as we walked, arms linked, along the beach. Although it wasn't raining, the grey skies threatened an imminent downpour, and the wind was whipping the sea into crashing waves. "What's the matter Matt? What's wrong?"

"It's ok kid, just life stuff." I didn't want to trouble her with my problems. I was supposed to be showing her around, showing her a good time.

"Matt, I want to know." Her voice was tender, which surprised me. I hadn't seen this side of her before. "Come on, sit down and tell me."

I didn't know where to begin.

I was trapped in an empty hollow marriage with a woman whom I despised. I was working for her father like a slave, ordered around like a skivvy, always dependant on his favour. I had two children I hardly saw, let alone knew.

Worse still, I had become someone who I hated. I was constantly unfaithful to Helen, chasing women wherever and whenever I could. But each meaningless sexual encounter left me less and less satisfied, until they gave me no release at all. I lied to Helen, I lied to myself.

But worse of all, I didn't even know that I was unhappy until I met Lara, and started tasting life with her again. I had become blind and numb to my own misery. What a joke I had become.

"I....I..." I couldn't complete a sentence. Tears filled my eyes and the full shittiness of life hit me in the heart like a lorry.

"Is it because of Helen?" she said softly as she stopped and looked at me in the eyes. I nodded. "And your job, and your family? You hate what you are doing and what you are?" I nodded, yes, yes, again. How did she know?

"Oh baby," she whispered. "I know. I know, I can feel it." She wrapped her arms about me. "Come on, let it out."

Her warmth and closeness and tenderness was almost like the touch of my mother. I felt safe and protected, and without conscious thought, the tears came and I sobbed quietly into her shoulder as she held me tight. I tried to speak a few times, through the tears, but she hushed me, and rocked me.

When the tears had finished, she held me a little longer, then pulled back. "You know," she said, "things don't have to be like they are. Things can change. You can decide to do something about it."

I looked at her and was surprised to see tear tracks running down her cheeks as well. As if in slow motion, we moved our heads in together and kissed. Moments later, the skies opened and the rain fell, soaking us, but we stayed locked in our kiss.

This was the moment that I knew that I would be with Lara forever. I knew with a certainty that was stronger than the sea before me.

***

Outside, the landscape was changing. We were leaving the plains at the foot of the high peaks, and starting on a winding road ascending into the mountains. After three days of journeying on the bus, we were nearing our destination.

"You just know Adam, you just know. I hope it happens for you kid, I really do. It's a magical feeling. It makes the world come alive." And I meant it too. It is a feeling that I wished everyone to have in their life.

"Thanks." he said quietly. "I hope I have it too."

I just wished that the feeling of that certainty suffocating, withering and dying did not happen as well. Or when you make that commitment in your heart forever and then break it.

***

"I'm going to stay an extra couple of days over here. There are a couple of leads I want to follow up. I think I can bag another couple of sales for Graham."

"Ok, no worries. I've got plenty of stuff to do."

We were skyping as I was in New York on a sales trip whilst she was back at home in our flat. I thought that Lara looked a bit distracted on the computer screen. I supposed that she was still in her post work comedown; it was early evening in the UK, and she would still be tired and stressed from work and the commute. Nevertheless, I was a bit disappointed with her easy acceptance of our separation.

The distance was growing between us. I could feel it, and it was making me sick. Since we had stopped, (well she had stopped), drinking so much, it seemed that we had nothing much to do together. She would just come back from work, tired and listless and would retreat into a book as soon as possible. We had run out of things to say to each other.

I tried to be positive, tried to take her out to dinner, to see a film, anything to get us out, to try and keep the feeling in our relationship, but she would either claim to be too tired or would be sullen and silent throughout. The physical intimacy, the sex, had also dwindled and almost died. We almost never made love any more.

Whenever I tried to talk about it she would change the subject. Just say that she was 'going through a few things at the moment', and 'needed a bit of time to work things out'. I didn't really think that they were relationship ruining issues, and even suggested that she find a counsellor to try and work out what was wrong.

I never stopped loving her though. Never stopped wanting her. I knew that this was forever. Even when I was away on trips I never stopped thinking about her.

After the skype call had finished, I went back to work at the conference. Although there were speakers, it was more just a chance for high end textile designers, buyers, suppliers and retailers to get together and network. Graham normally went on a couple of trips a year, but I had decided to go this time, and with some success. I had already secured several hundred thousand pounds worth of deals for the company.

But my heart was no longer in all the schmoozing. After a few hours of talking with mostly camp designers I crept off for dinner by myself. Afterwards, I sat alone in the bar, nursing my sorrows, drinking bourbon.

The hotel was high end and stylish, as you would expect a conference venue for textile designers. The clientele inside seemed to match the décor; beautiful people, clad in exquisitely tailored clothes, clinking together cocktail glasses, relaxed, confident, and sexy as hell. I couldn't keep my eyes off them. It had been three months since I had had sex and although one part of me only wanted Lara, another part of me just wanted sex.

The more bourbon I had, the more confused I became. I wanted Lara, the old Lara, the old us back. When we would get drunk and fuck all night. I wanted that feeling back, that craziness, that spontaneity, that feeling of life. I wanted to live intensely. At that moment, I felt like I would give anything for it.

You have to be careful what you ask for, because sometimes you get it. I don't believe in God or anything supernatural, but someone must have been listening, because that dark prayer of mine was answered. I enjoyed the feast, but the bill afterwards ruined me.

"Hey there Cowboy!" the woman said as she slid into the booth opposite me. 'Yew look lahk you could do with sahm' company." I couldn't really understand her deep southern drawl, but I was riveted. She had big blue eyes shimmering in a strong face, framed by a shining black bob of hair. A tight dark blue dress hugged her gym toned body. Boots climbed up her tanned legs. I immediately got hard.

"Why yes my dear. I believe I do!" I said in my best plummy British accent. It was a corny tactic, but it often worked with yanks.

"A Brit!" she clapped her hands. "Ah knew it. Yew have that air of mystery and intelligence about yew. Now tell me what brings you to little 'ole Nue Yawk."

So I told tales, and wove stories, and made her laugh. We drank and flirted for a couple of hours and for the first time in weeks, I was not thinking of Lara. All too soon, the bar called time and started to close.

"Well, what do we do now?" she lifted her head up from the glass of vodka and soda she was sipping through a straw and looked me boldly in the eye.

I suddenly thought of Lara, home alone probably tucked up in bed, soon getting up for work in the cold English winter. Tired depressed, distant, slipping away from me. I thought of all the times we had got drunk on nights like these and gone back and fucked until the morning. I thought of the moment that we kissed on the beach, when we held hands at the fight and hugged at the football. I thought of the feelings of love and joy and certainty and tenderness and madness.

With a full knowledge of what I was doing, I put all those thoughts in a box and buried them in my heart. The situation with Lara couldn't go on, it was killing me. If being with her had taught me anything, then it was to live. Right in front of me was a chance to live intensely.

"I have some more drinks back at my room. Come on," I said and held out my hand.

***

I put my head in my hands as the bus lurched. "I think I'm going to be sick," I said and forced down an involuntary retch.

"Matt, Matt, are you ok man?" Adam put his arm round me, cushioning me against the rattling bus. "Here, have some water." He rummaged around in his backpack and pulled out a fresh bottle. "There you go, take it easy."

I sipped gratefully at the water, and felt my stomach subside. "Thanks fella," I said when I was done and handed back the half empty bottle.

"No worries, keep it," he gestured at the bottle. "You were in a world of your own man, and then you went suddenly green and yellow, and started groaning. What happened?"

"I was ill in Rishi, and I don't think I have fully recovered," I said. I didn't add that the memories of my betrayal of Lara still made me nauseous. I had committed in my heart to be with her forever and had broken that, and with it part of myself. "I have been on a bus for the last three days. Well apart from a few hours at the border where I got some sleep."

"We're almost there now, only a few miles to go. What are you going to do when you get to Pokhara?" he asked.

I started. We were almost at Pokhara! I had been enveloped in my memories and had forgotten completely about where I was and what I was doing. Why was I going to Pokhara? I struggled to remember.

"I'm looking for some people there. Friends of friends. I need to rest too. What about you?"

"I've got an important call to make," he looked suddenly decisive. "I need to speak to Mandy, my girlfriend. We've got a big conversation ahead of us." He looked stern and determined, again almost as if he was acting a part.

With another start, I realised that I had an important conversation ahead of me too. Bailey. I had hardly thought of her in the last three days either. I had left her hanging with a vague promise to call and tell her more. Suddenly I felt really shit about that. She must be in bits, and what kind of wanker would send a mail like that and run away without following up.

Just then, the bus rounded a corner and Pokhara slid into view. The town was nothing special, but it was built on the edge of a big lake, with mountains marching right down to the water's edge. The sun was setting and the sky was a hundred shades of red, the lake and the mountains in silhouettes of blue and black. It was heart stoppingly beautiful.

"What are you going to do Adam? What are you going to say?" What would I have said to Helen or to Lara if I had the chance again?

"I think you know Matt," he said, and I think that I did. I just wished I had the chance to go back and make some different choices myself.

~~~~

# Chapter 6

## Bailey – en route to India – Mid/Late October

"Hey gorgeous! Mwah mwah mwah! Choo choo!" Nate clucked and smacked his lips going all gooey over the kid opposite us. "Bailey! Look! She's copying me! Oh man, she's so cute!" Nate sat forward with his face in his hands pulling faces at the little girl to the sound of giggles. Even embittered as I was I did melt slightly to the adorable sound of the baby laughing but I would never have admitted it. I looked up to notice a little pink face with round cheeks cosy under a woollen hat, all big blue eyes and toothless smile in a white fluffy baby-gro. Her legs kicked back and forth energetically as her father lifted her up and down much to her glee.

"Hmmmm." I muttered. It was too early for this and I never understood Nate's enthusiasm for babies and children. It was annoying.

"Beep beep!" Nate carried on with what I imagined was meant to be a car impression.

I felt miserable and monosyllabic and not in the mood for his 'hyper let's be super sociable with everyone at the airport we're going on holiday vibe', - because, let's face it, we weren't going on holiday and I was feeling as down as they get. I checked the departure board for our gate number with bleary eyes. It still wasn't fucking showing. I hadn't slept at all last night and now I was starting to feel the effects of it. All I wanted was to curl up in my bed, Jan's bed, and go to sleep. Pull the cover high over my face and feel that crappy old bed buckle under me. It sunk in the middle like a grave, warm and forgiving and that was exactly where I wanted to be right then. The sheets were damp in his flat from the condensation but I would never wash them. God, I was turning into one morbid chick.

"Oh you're so cute! Are you beautiful or what baby girl?! You're gonna break some hearts with those eyes I tell ya!" Nate was still going on, rolling out the usual blurb and tugging at my sleeve as he did so to get my attention. His French girl had better be careful, looks like someone's broody. He'd be trying to impregnate her next. He sat there smugly, the good-looking guy in his designer clothes acting Dad.

"Goes really well with your Vuitton brogues bro."

"What...?"

He wasn't listening to a word I said, let alone catching the sarcasm in my voice.

I checked my watch: 07.10. We should be boarding by now. I turned to Nate to swipe his annoying arm away. He was insistent on prodding me to get my attention. He was carrying on like a kid on a school excursion minus the permission slip.

My mouth formed a closed-lip smile as I acknowledged the father holding the baby daughter Nate was happily chatting away with. I forgot my irritation and frostiness as something tender welled up inside of me. The guy looked just like the photographer from New York all those years ago, the one that had made me pregnant, the would-be father of the aborted baby. That man was handsome with dark hair and smouldering eyes too. Eyes that from a distance had such an intense dark colour that you thought they must be a deep chocolate brown but actually they were a pristine blue. I knew it wasn't him but I found myself averting my gaze as he went to meet my stare, stupidly checking to see if there was any camera equipment with him. I never stopped being a fool. A waft of perfume breezed past me and settled somewhere nearby followed by the jangle of jewellery. She spoke to him in Dutch and without looking I imagined his wife to be kind and beautiful.

***

I don't actually think I told anyone who the father was. I mean, second to Anita, the only person who knew about the whole situation, the experience, was Jan, and well, that story didn't go down too well with him. Not that I was bitter about it, I suppose I just had to accept that people weren't comfortable with those sorts of things. And, actually, thinking about it, I don't even remember if Anita asked who the lucky guy was. Everyone in their own bubble. I guess these things go unspoken. The less said the better. It makes you wonder sometimes whether there should be comfort in secrets dying.

The first assumption that you will probably make is how it all came about. I can be absolutely clear about that one. It wasn't a one night stand or some drunken connection with someone I hardly knew or a friend that got curious at a party after too much soda. He was the first man I ever loved. And I mean truly loved. Everyone goes through that stage of crushes and first tentative experiences discovering the idea of romance, but you never forget the first one to break your heart and stamp out hope. That horrible break-up that follows the build-up of all your romantic expectations. Teenage stuff like when you look forward to time alone so that you can just close your eyes and recall their face, that in itself being enough to make you feel happy and free you from all the shit of life. It seemed I wasted such time then imaging what was precious. I worshipped him.

We'd met in the fall of the previous year at an industry party. I wasn't even seventeen although it wasn't far off my birthday. I blush now to think about how I acted and tried to pretend I was older than my years, walking with a swagger, always looking like I couldn't care less about anything, that detail was trivial. I suppose it must have been fashionable to show a lack of concern, as if that indicated something finer about where you came from and where you were going.

The tickets arrived via our agency in the usual way and I went with Candice and Miranda, two other girls on the agency's books who I hardly knew but pretended to be friends with. Actually we had very little in common and they could be bitches at times, yet, nonetheless the desire to go out and be seen, a joint sense of purpose, brought us together and made us friends. Until of course, we were competing for the same job or guy. That night the three of us were excitable and keen, eager to drink champagne and mix with the right sort of people on the first night of New York fashion week. It was in East Village hosted by some young money luminary. I cringe to think about what I wore that night; - I think I had on some tight leather pants and see-through blouse, high-heeled sandals, lots of eye-shadow and pale lips. There must have been some sort of gothic revival going on. Some things, happily, are before the days of social blogging and I-phones. Still I can't have looked so bad since he noticed me. And, I might add, there were plenty more to notice apart from me.

It was one of the trendiest parties I had ever been to. We arrived to the place heaving with people. The venue was wall to wall with beautiful men and woman acting a good time. A DJ was spinning tracks in a corner of the club while a guy onstage rapped frantically to the heavy beats. Sound over-laden with sound booming out of huge speakers. I remember grinning unashamedly and thinking we had really arrived, swinging our hips enthusiastically to the sounds of "pop your cherry". Candice was gyrating like some over-sexed kid on speed. Crowds surged towards the stage as the MC sprayed bottles of liquor over eager faces. We happily drank our way through glass after glass of free champagne and tried to stand cool at the side-lines. Soon, both Candice and Miranda were completely juiced-up and leaning against each other for support. I gave up at the beginning of the night trying to get them to take it easy with the free booze. No one wants to go out partying with your mom.

I started looking around taking in the other people. A guy caught my attention, older, a bit brooding, leaning against a wall and taking surreptitious photographs. Perfect, a photog, I thought, and emboldened with drink I made my way over. His name was Chase and he lived near Tribeca and he was beautiful. He had thick dark hair in that Indie style and those eyes I spoke about. He was dressed in jeans and boots and a fitted flannel shirt. It was so hard to hear anything with that music that we ended up speaking with the intimacy of lovers – disjoined whispers of conversation and his breath on my ear. I thought I even felt his lips as he spoke, repeating his name. We didn't talk much that night but I scribbled my number down for him and walked away with a smile. I reckon I had forgotten all about him until a message appeared on my parents' home number and it was everything I could do to just stay calm. Fortunately I deleted it before I had to answer any questions from anyone.

We met at his suggestion at West Side Coffee Shop the following day. I still have the place mat which I snuck into my purse. We flirted over cappuccinos and biscotti biscuits and I found out he was in his late 30's and working freelance for a few of the main publications. He sounded pretty well connected and name dropped discreetly whilst holding my gaze in conversation. I was impressed and he knew it. He chain-smoked and I coughed my way through a couple of his cigarettes, trying not to inhale in case I made an idiot of myself and had to fish out my inhaler for my asthma.

I told him I was 22 and returned his look confidently as his wedding band glinted back at me from his left hand. I was naive and hoped that that meant something else. He offered to take some photographs for my portfolio and I knew what that meant and smiled in what I hoped was a combination of warmth and knowingness. From the start I wanted to be alluring, like it was me trying to catch him rather than the other way around.

We left hand-in-hand that grey morning and I had never felt more happy or empowered than we strolled down Church Street, hoping for all the world that every stranger could see me with this man that walked by me like my boyfriend. He led the way and we went to his studio on the corner of Canal Street. I was shy at first but I found the confidence to undress for him as he put some music on and tutored me softly, perched as he was on the other side of his lens. He was good at what he did and it was like I was almost in a trance. It happened so quickly I barely noticed as he took my virginity with two cruel thrusts and I stifled a cry.

"Is this your first time?" He asked pointedly as he lit a Marlborough Red afterwards from a crushed packet.

"No" I paused, not knowing what to say, "it's just that there hasn't been many others." I dared not say that there hadn't been any others although thinking back that was probably obvious.

"You're a sweet girl. Do you want to go again?"

"Yeh" I tried to sound sexy and turned-on. All I remembered thinking was why was sex meant to be so enjoyable?

We met several times after that date during the winter that followed. It was always under the pretext of taking photos, even when we both knew there weren't any pictures to be taken. Maybe it was easier to do that way. I, cool little Lolita, always trying to enact the fantasy I imagined he wanted me to be. I was besotted and would have done anything for him and that must have been obvious to him. I was so worried about him getting bored with me that every time we met I was consistently all smiles and care-free happiness, trying to keep him under the covers and in my company for as long as possible. The clock would be ticking and I would be trying to distract him, as if that was essential somehow. It was pretty cheesy his studio, there being a bed in the office and all, but at seventeen I didn't really question it, nor find out what happened to the photos for that matter, well the ones that didn't end up in my portfolio. Maybe there wasn't even any film in the camera.

Of course he was married and his wife was apparently oblivious to what he got up to. I always tried to catch a sneak peak at her picture in his wallet but I never got the opportunity. It was just a blur of colour on a small Polaroid as he untangled dollar bills to pay the cheque for our coffees or whatever else he bought. One thing you had to say for him, he never let me pay for anything. I wondered what she looked like, his wife, not in a perverse way, but a genuinely curious way. He never gave me a chance to put a face to her name.

To his credit, he was open about her from the start, confiding in me details about his life with her, anecdotes from their daily exchange in their smart apartment. I hated knowing all that stuff, how could he not know that it hurt me to hear all that when I was so desperately in love with him?

Whilst to her there would be hasty phone calls explaining he was working late so he could screw me in his studio, to me there would be tender kisses and the pouring of words of what he got up to with her on the weekend. It seems strange to me how she never got suspicious, but then again, he was really good at spinning a yarn. I pretended that his wife didn't exist, didn't matter, that he was my boyfriend. He was with me. I laugh now, I mean, what a Goddamn cliché. Who hasn't had an affair with a married man? But at the time, I thought I was special and I was in love. I should look at it as a rite of passage, right?

Gradually the meetings with Chase started petering out and then one day I saw him out with another young model. I watched from across the street as he held her hand and patted her ass the same way he did to me. The phone calls and fantasies stopped and I found out I was pregnant.

***

"Come on Nate let's get a drink while we're waiting." I stood up abruptly from the uncomfortable airport lounge seat, all unappealing plastic, rubber and chrome. The woman's perfume still lingered nearby.

"Bit early isn't it babe?"

"Not for me."

Sullenly, I marched ahead to the old-style bar and bistro nestled in the corner of Schipol airport crowded with over-tired and humourless passengers. I ordered two whiskeys and two espressos not even bothering to try the order in Dutch. My American accent stammered out in staccato. The barman was cute and took my money sympathetically.

We were en route to India, re treading the hippie trail to confront that Brit bastard Matt and find out what the hell was going on. A couple of weeks had passed since I first got the news and a numbing sensation had set in, creeping and feeling its way around my body. I gave Nate shit but I was glad he was with me and I couldn't do it without him. He slid into the booth next to me and wiped his thumb softly under my eye. I must have been crying and didn't even notice.

"Is my eye make-up running?" I always had to play the tough girl.

He looked at me with a tilt of his head. "No darlin'."

"You sure?"

"Yes Bailey."

"Coz I don't want to look like some hopeless shit."

"It's gonna be alright Bailey. Truly, it will be OK." He pulled my hair loose where it was caught in the neck of my pull-over and tucked an arm around me.

I stretched my neck and tried to pull away from his brotherly hold.

"I know it seems like hell itself now but it'll work out. I can't promise I'm not gonna pummel that fucking retard to the ground when I see him, but, It'll be OK. We're gonna get some answers and sort this mess out. I promise you, it'll be OK." He kissed my cheek. "Pow pow you little shit!" He nudged my shoulder gently with his fist trying for a laugh. I smiled thankfully at him.

"I appreciate it."

"S'no problem."

We downed our whiskeys and espressos as a voice spoke plainly over the speaker announcing our gate.

"At last."

"Come on sexy. Let's do this fucker." I nudged his leg and stood up.

He had on that goofy smile under his Yankees baseball cap and put a little skip in his step as we criss-crossed our way across the airport. The way he always does when he's excited and building himself up for something. I shuffled in my stiletto boots and pulled my over-sized bag behind me. I wasn't travelling light and I didn't give a crap.

"So where are we going again? Home? Tell me we're going home!" He shouted over his shoulder as we ran with a broad smile. He never tired of that joke.

"Last call for Delhi, passengers Bailey and Nathaniel Stanton, final call please" The voice now sounded irritated as it reached us.

We drew to a stop outside our gate, out of breath, me fumbling for our papers.

"We're going to India. Delhi. Some fucked up place called Rishikesh." I handed our boarding passes and passports over to the steward who ignored my cursing. I turned to Nate, managing a sheepish grin.

"I don't have to do any fucking yoga do I or play the sitar or tabla because I might lay someone out! I remember that annoying shit from school!"

"No, but if you don't shut up I may drown you in the fucking Ganges or toss you over the side of a stupid bus!" I said, laughing at him as we met the end of the queue and waited to get on the plane.

"Yeh whatever."

***

Delhi, or Indira Gandhi International Airport to be precise, was a long, fucking, sweaty journey and it was just about to get even sweatier and more annoying. It went via Dubai and it was one disgusting jumble of inedible plastic food after the next coupled with a load of rubbish movies on a cracked screen suitable only for midgets. That's what you get for economy class I told Nate who didn't argue with me but found distraction in eyeing up the small assed stewards who paid him far too much attention and let him get drunk. I hate having to listen to how he loved Asian chicks with small asses.

We arrived to a sea of people all clambering to get through immigration amidst a fog of pungent bodily odour. The noise of something like a child badly playing a xylophone racked my ears as I searched for our travel itinerary in all the bits of paper I seemed to have collected since we left Amsterdam. Nate looked irritated.

"Tell me that this is fucking it, that we haven't got to do anymore. Where are we going now? I thought we were going to the land of The Beatles. For short people they sure know how to make their way through a crowd. There's no putting you down is there little fella?!" He glowered at the Indian man next to us and the other Asian passengers who pushed and shoved their way past us as we stood dumb-struck in the middle of the terminal. I watched our luggage being thrown hastily into a trolley from off the plane. Nate followed my eyes as I saw what looked like his expensive Armani luggage get dragged on the concourse floor.

"If my bag is broke or ripped or whatever, I am going to fuck someone up the ass, FUCK UP THE ASS and I mean it. Fucking idiots! I will take their..."

I cut him off before he got into his sadistic gay diatribe. "Alright Nate, I get it."

"I'm just saying..."

"Shhhhhh, Nate." I was trying to concentrate. "Right we got to go this way." I pointed towards transfers.

"Where in the hell are we off to now?"

I held up the piece of paper with our transfer details on.

"Oh how charming! The Deh...ra...dun's, sorry, Dehradun's Jolly Grant Airport!" He read out the name with imbecilic slowness.

I rolled my eyes in response and grabbed the bottle of Evian from his sweaty hands.

"Stop being a prick and give me the water."

***

After what felt like an eternity and a lot of grumbling from Nate we finally made it off our last plane and were stowed in a cab on the way to Rishikesh. I was tired and not in the mood for haggling but it seemed like everyone wanted to sell us something. There was something like a desperate need to engage with the foreigners, to communicate and exchange words. It dragged you down being that foreigner. I felt targeted by every crooked finger that wagged itself in my direction, wanting a piece of anything I had brought with me. I didn't care for politeness or bargaining on a price but steered towards the first driver I saw and thrust some dollars towards him. Nate tried to object as I handed him a load of notes that must have been too much but I didn't care. I just wanted to be away from the crowds of onlookers and moving. I didn't feel much appreciation for my first sight of India.

Finally we were moving. Nate kept fanning himself with his T-shirt in the back of the car and complaining about his luggage until eventually the last drop of his duty-free rum had been drunk and I knew he would pass out. Sure enough he did.

I waited until Nate fell asleep until I dared fumble with the email from Matt in my inside pocket. In his last message to me he had given me an address for a hotel he was staying at in Nepal. I still had trouble believing this whole situation. The arrogant bastard had told me that he would be at this hotel – The Butterfly Lodge or something for a few days if I wanted to telephone him! What sort of man behaved like that? It seemed best to keep these details from Nate. I pushed the printed-out email deeper into my pocket to deal with later. I wasn't sure how Nate was going to react. He was mad enough as it was. Of course I loved my brother and I was glad to have him with me but he had a temper on him and one that could manifest itself badly and violently if provoked enough. There were times when his macho jock behaviour impressed me and I felt safe having him with me, even proud, but other times it was just down-right scary. He'd broken a few guys' noses and jaws in the past, not to mention everything that went on at high school and college. If it weren't for our pa bailing him out on occasion he would probably have a record or two. It wasn't only the once that money was handed out to buy silence. I pushed the thought away. If that creep Matt had done something then he deserved everything he got.

The darkness continued to rush by as our driver kept a constant course on the bumpy road, every now and again slowing or swerving to the side in recognition of another driver. I tried not to freak out every time he swung the wheel to the side and sought to engage me in a goofy black-toothed grin from the mirror. I pulled my top up to disguise any hint of cleavage and set my mouth in a firm expression. Spend some money on a fucking dentist, stop eating all those shit sweets and stop looking down my top while you're driving you old ugly pervert. Although thinking about it he probably wasn't even that old. Everyone seemed to look old here. I toyed with the idea of telling him in English what I thought of his leering looks but wondered whether he'd get it. Did I care? No. Talk about feeling objectified, no wonder the women chose to wear scarves here. They were freaks the lot of them.

I looked for the stars and saw one or two glinting through the sky like an old man winking but it was a hazy night and there wasn't much to see. The humidity bordered on claustrophobic. I took a final swig from the water bottle to try and ease the scratched sensation in my throat and wound down the window as far as it would go to feel some air. Nate stretched out in his sleep and I was pushed even further against the door.

My watch threw up its luminescent glow at me. It was late, maybe approaching midnight at local time, but I wasn't sure about the time difference or how long we had been travelling. The only certainty was I didn't really have a plan at all. It seemed enough of an ordeal just to get here. I hoped I had enough strength to see this one through. Despite all my bravado and smart talk actually I wasn't sure I would be up to this. The decision had been made so quickly that I hadn't told that Brit, Matt I was coming and in hindsight I was glad. Why should I tell him? There was a part of me that questioned whether in fact this was all real at all and whether this was all just the fantasies of a lunatic. Imagine, someone making this up and doing something as sick as this? Sick. But somewhere, deep down, I felt the niggling sense of unease. My intuition told me that something was terribly wrong, something was missing. Jan. I dared not say his name out loud for fear of not being able to piece myself together again. My IPod dropped to the floor as the driver braked suddenly uttering something I assumed was an apology. I groped around on the floor and quickly put it back in my bag. I didn't want to hear the sound of melodies or lyrics. I only trusted myself to hold it together in silence.

Of course I still had the address that I had written to Jan at and I wondered if we should go there, but it was late, and I wasn't sure I was ready. It needed planning, preparation, and forethought. I wasn't a scientist for nothing. I thought that we would just be able to find somewhere to stay for a few nights when we got here but suddenly the reality was too sharp and intimidating. Everything felt grotesque like it was jumping out at me and contorting like a nasty acid trip. It felt safer to settle back in my seat and wait until the driver pulled up in the main town and decide then.

What was I going to do? I considered my options and felt the weight of my sadness as grief let itself in again. A seed was pushing its way through my guts and strangling me from the inside.

It felt almost surreal being in the old style cab, the leather seats and corrosive metal taking me back to a time I would only ever know from films. Despite the age of the car and its condition, you couldn't fault the driver for looking after it. It was immaculately maintained inside. It made me think of a mobile shrine. The leather seats emitted a steady smell of polish whilst a small glass bowl of hard-boiled sweets nestled between the seats in front of us. A few keepsakes hung from the rear view mirror marking the passage of time as they swung back and forth, inches from the driver's face like a bad metronome. Not for the first time I shook my head in wonder. The engine chugged along solemnly, every now and then the wheels running over rubbish and debris in the road.

I couldn't help but watch the scenes unfold outside the window. Groups of people, siblings, families, strangers, hugged the edge of the road, walking or stopping for a rest. Occasionally we passed a stone shrine or carving with a colourful offering at its feet or a make-shift food stall lit by a lamp or small fire. There seemed hope in these would-be road marks, more so than the people. They didn't care much about their clothes here and some of the faces look wretched. I turned away feeling spoilt and helpless. Even with the aid of the strong scent of polish you couldn't get rid of the stench of sewage and rubbish which permeated everywhere and found a way into the interior of the car. You had to be pretty well accustomed to that smell not to notice it anymore. It was a good job Nate couldn't smell it in his sleep otherwise he would never cease complaining about it. My eyes fell on a young girl and what must have been her brother who squatted by the side of the road. She was stroking his back whilst trying to hold up a cardboard sign. Words I couldn't understand, maybe written in Hindi. I wanted to get the driver to stop, to give them something but I cowardly let the moment pass. The driver must have noticed my discomfort as he looked up and spoke to me without turning around.

"Do not worry. Lots of children here."

I didn't want to confront the meaning of his words and kept silent.

"Where you from?" This time he did turn around.

"United States." I replied reluctantly.

"Ah, land of opportunity! George Bush, American football."

"Yes." I said my voice bland with no emotion.

"I love American!"

"What's he talking about?" Nate spoke sleepily his eyelids still closed although obviously not asleep.

"Loves the States apparently."

"Yeh, right, and our dollars too, doesn't everyone in this joint."

"Do you have any coins?" the driver asked slowly in halting English, although obviously a phrase he was used to putting together.

"What?"

"Coins, to make jewellery, look here..." he reached into a drawer on the passenger side and produced a squashed quarter dollar coin with a hole in the middle and a string of leather looped through the middle.

"My wife makes and sells for money."

"Umm, no sorry, actually we don't and I think we've paid you enough for the cab ride." Nate sat upright rubbing his eyes and looking confrontational.

"Is this your husband?" The driver pointed to Nate. "Honeymoon?"

I took a breath thinking this was just about to tip Nate over the edge.

"No we're not. Look, are we getting any closer?"

"Do you have children? Children good. I have two, look..." He spoke rapidly, indicating a small photograph by the steering wheel stained with age. "Girls, but, my wife pregnant, hoping boy. Wife work very hard. Very difficult."

"Are we in Rishikesh?" I spoke slowly.

"Oh yes, Rishikesh here." He pointed at the signs and I realised that we had passed them already and had probably just done a loop driving through the town.

"Do you know somewhere we can stay?"

"Yes."

"Where is that?"

"Somewhere to stay Miss?"

"Yes."

"You want to know somewhere to stay and to take you?"

"Yes please."

"Oh difficult. Late now."

I was beginning to get a headache with the conversation and felt the strain of keeping Nate in his seat and stopping him from jumping up and strangling the driver.

He spoke for me.

"Look. Friend. We're tired and we want to sleep. We don't care where and we don't care how much. We know how it works here. We don't want to go to your cousin's place or your brother's place or any other fucking family member's place, we want to go to a decent hotel and we want to go now."

"OK boss." The driver said quietly and pulled away.

I threw Nate a look like he had gone too far but he was already counting the money in his wallet and ignoring me.

~~~~

# Chapter 7

## Matt – Pokhara – Late October

"Do you know Tranquil Lake Yoga?" I asked Govinda as he bought my breakfast to me in the hotel garden. He was the owner, manager, sometime waiter and mine of information at Butterfly Lodge.

It was another sunny morning in Pokhara, but the air was crisp with the freshness that you only get at altitude and the dew on the grass underfoot was cool.

"You still have not found your friends?" He looked at me sympathetically. "I think you have tried every yoga place in Pokhara! Tranquil Lake, hmmm...." his brown face creased up thoughtfully. "It's not in Lakeside. I know all the ones here. Wait please," he called out in Nepali to the attendant behind the desk at reception.

I liked and respected Govinda. He was in his early fifties with a strong brown face and hair almost completely silver. He had started the lodge when Pokhara was just an unknown dot on the tourist map. He knew more about the town and what went on there than anyone else. If anyone could help me find Claire and Anika, he could.

The attendant checked something on the computer and called something back, and there was a brief exchange between the two.

Govinda turned to me and said "There is no place in Lakeside called that. But there used to be a place in Anadu with that name. Maybe it has reopened."

"Where's Anadu? I haven't heard of it."

"It's across the lake. It's a quiet place, not many people go there. There are just a few guesthouses."

I sighed. "Ok, can I catch a taxi there?"

"No, it's not possible to drive there. The only way is by boat." I raised an eyebrow, and Govinda laughed. "Don't worry, it's easy. Just go down the palace area, there will be someone who can row you across."

"Thanks."

"Hey no problem. I hope you find your friends there."

"Yeah, so do I," I answered thoughtfully.

When I had finished my poached eggs, I wandered down to the lake. It was still early and the main street was calm with only a few keen tourists and sleepy looking locals around. In an hour or so, it would wake up and the restaurants would start cranking out the music and the store owners would be hassling passers-by to come in and spend, but for now it was quiet.

It was straightforward to find a boat to take me to Anadu. At the water's edge, half a dozen boatmen were waiting to take tourists out into the lake. The initial price was high, but it was an easy haggle down to something reasonable. I even got a smile from the boatman for trying it on as we pushed off.

Drifting across the mirror still waters of Pokhara Lake it was utterly beautiful. The mountains ringed the edge like stony guardians with the snowy peaks of the Annapurna range just a little further on, the sky was a light blue and the only sound was of the oars dipping into the water. In the few days that I had been there, I had come to love Nepal. Its slow pace, relaxed people and stunning landscape was in sharp contrast to the dirt, squalor and intensity of India. It felt like I had been holding my breath underwater and then had suddenly re-surfaced and could breathe again.

For a few days it helped me forget about Lara too and for a while the pain had stopped. My first three nights here I slept all the way through, the first real time since I had heard that Lara had died. But even the beauty and peace of Nepal could not erase the memories forever. On the fourth day, I woke crying, my gut twisted in knots, my hands clenched tight into fists, my jaw aching from grinding my teeth. I lay for an hour or two, unable to move, the sadness and grief like a stone in my body.

She should have been here with me. I should have taken her here. We should have experienced this beauty together. Maybe then she wouldn't have left me. Maybe then we would have had more of a chance. Perhaps she might even still be alive.

I trailed a hand in the water, hating myself. It was my fault; I was the idiot who fucked it up. I was the bastard, the cheating bastard who ruined the relationship. If only I had been a better man, then we would be together and she would be alive. I should have been the one that died. It was me who was the bad one. The beauty around suddenly seemed to make everything worse.

I had spent the next two days after my sleepless night looking for Anika and Claire, the two girls that she had made friends with in Rishikesh. I didn't know what they could tell me that I didn't already know, but once I got the idea in my head I couldn't let it go. I suppose I wanted to know how she was in her last weeks, what she was like, and how she felt about me. Had she forgiven me, had she still loved me?

Peter had said that the girls had found a job in Pokhara teaching yoga, so I went round all the schools, retreats, and centres to see if they were working there. None of the places in touristy Lakeside knew of them, so I had to widen my search to the other suburbs. Govinda helped me scour the hotels around Bangladi, Khahare, Damside, even around the noisy and smelly Bazaar, to see if there were any yoga places, but with no luck.

Finally, not far from Butterfly Lodge, I found a small meditation centre. Outside, sitting in the late afternoon sun, was a long haired hippy I took to be the teacher, puffing on a cigarette.

"Hi mate, wonder if you could help?" I asked him. "I'm looking for two friends, Claire and Anika. They are working at a yoga centre around here somewhere, but I don't know the name of it."

He looked at me, squinting in the sun.

"Well now," he had a thick Birmingham accent which seemed really out of place. "I suppose you have tried all the places round here; Sadhana Yoga, Pokhara Retreat, Himalaya Yoga?" I nodded. "Hmm, I met a guy a few weeks ago. He was talking about re-opening an old yoga place somewhere. He had two girls with him but I didn't get their names, or where it was, but I remember the name of the yoga school. Tranquil Lake Yoga. Thought it sounded rubbish."

I looked up at the sign above him; it read 'Mountain Meditation Centre'. He noticed my gaze, and laughed. "Yeah man. This is a crap name too. I didn't choose it!"

"Cheers mate, appreciate it," I said, and left him. There wasn't much of the day left, so I decided to watch the sun go down over the lake. Sitting on the shore, the sky turning pink then red and the temperature quickly falling, I smoked a cigarette and brooded about what I was doing.

I couldn't imagine going back home. The last few weeks had changed me, broken something in me. I couldn't just pretend that all was ok, and try to survive day by day, hour by hour until things got better, if they ever did. I wasn't needed back in England, life would continue without me. I missed the kids, but living with their mother they were hardly dependant on me. It wasn't as if I was allowed to play a big part in their lives anyway. I felt bad about leaving Graham and Nicki at work, but I knew they would understand. I would be a crap salesman in the mess I was in anyway, probably more of a hindrance than a help.

I finished my cigarette. I would try and find Tranquil Lake Yoga tomorrow and see if Claire and Anika were there. If they weren't I would leave for Kathmandu. Everest was still waiting there. I should have gone there with Lara when I had the chance. I wasn't going to leave until I had been there for her now.

The boat bumped against a wooden pier.

"Anadu," the boatman pointed up a short road to a cluster of buildings. I climbed out unsteadily and walked up the only street. Anadu was only a short distance from Pokhara, I could see the buildings of Lakeside clearly over the water, but it felt very different here. There were hardly any shops, hotels or restaurants, just Nepalese homes. It felt very rustic, isolated and lonely. The boat journey had taken me to a completely different place, both inside and out.

A big sign for Tranquil Lake Yoga, amateurishly painted, pointed along a little path not far from the shore. It was overgrown and strewn with rubbish which surprised me. Normally the Nepalese were very clean and fussy about littering, but no one seemed to have taken any care of this part of Anadu.

The path wound around some bushes and opened up into a compound. I wasn't sure if this was the yoga centre as it looked such a mess, but a sign said Tranquil Lake so I guessed it was. It felt like it had been abandoned. Some of the buildings looked like they were half finished; the other half looked like they were falling down. The garden was overgrown and there was more rubbish on the ground. It felt neglected and lonely, completely unlike the yoga school in Rishikesh. It was terribly sad and lonely.

I walked over to the restaurant area. There was dishes left on the table with remains of food on them, a chair was knocked over and the ash trays were overflowing with old cigarette ends. It was disgusting.

"Can I help you?" a sharp voice called out, breaking the silence and startling me. Behind the bar was a short girl with olive skin, dark bobbed hair and bright eyes. She was wearing long yoga pantaloons and a bikini top that showed off a great physique.

"Yes," I said coming over. 'I'm looking for a couple of girls, Claire and Anika. Do you know them?" I said wondering if she was one of them.

"Who's asking?" she said challengingly, looking me straight in the eye.

"They were friends of my wife, Lara. I wanted to ask them about her."

She paused, and then swung round quickly. "No, I'm sorry. I haven't heard of them," she said and started banging with some pots in the sink behind her.

Something about the way she answered and turned away so quickly made me immediately think that she knew them or more probably was Claire or Anika. She was probably upset about her death and didn't want to be reminded of her.

"I only want to talk," I said gently. I could see her body quivering with tension. She was probably mourning her as well. "I know she died, but I need to know more about her, about Rishikesh, about how she got on there and what happened to her." I moved behind the bar. "If you know anything, then please, I am begging you, tell me. I miss her terribly. Are you Cla—"

The girl whirled round really quickly, her face in a snarl of rage. "You fucking..." she began shouting, but I didn't hear the end of the sentence. There was something in her hand, I didn't see what, but it was heavy and it smashed into my head. An explosion of pain hit me, and I reeled backwards stumbling over the bar and onto the floor.

"You fucking pig. You shitting fucking shitting fucking cunt." She came at me almost incoherently swearing, swinging a big black frying pan. I was on my back and still dazed but I managed to get my hands up to block some of the blows. They didn't hit my head or body again, but each blow to my arms hurt like hell.

"How fucking DARE you come in here, you fucking piece of shit. You fucking retarded wanker." Each phrase was accompanied with another swing, each one connecting. I was too surprised to even speak.

"ANIKA! STOP! ANIKA!"

There was a pause in the blows coming at me. We both turned and saw a girl running across the garden to us. Anika stepped back panting hard.

"Oh my God, oh Jesus," the girl said as she approached. "Anika, get out. Get out. NOW!" She shouted.

Anika snorted, looked at me, then turned and stumped off, still swearing under her breath.

"Oh my God, are you ok?" the girl crouched over me, sounding panicked.

"Wait, just let me sit up a moment." I pushed myself up against the wall until I was sitting up.

"Where does it hurt?" She said a little more calmly, professionally looking me over.

I stretched my arms out, nothing broken, but my head hurt like hell. I raised my hand to where the frying pan had connected; there was a bit lump but I couldn't feel any blood.

"Is that where she hit you? Let me have a look," she said and moved my hair away to examine the wound. Her hands were very cool and very gentle.

"It's not broken the skin, but you will have a nasty bruise there in a while. Let me get you some ice."

"Thanks," I said thickly.

She came back moments later with some ice in a tea towel.

"There you go," and held the pack against my head. "Do you feel sick at all?"

"No I think I am ok," I said. "I have a thick skull." Now that the action was over, I found myself coming back into control. "Are you Claire?" I added.

"Yes," she said. "Who are you?" still fussing over me.

"My name's Matt. I was married to Lara."

"Ahh," she paused and leaned back. "That will explain why Anika went mad."

"What was all that about?" I asked.

"Are you better enough to stand? I think we should sit down and have a talk."

"Yes, I think so." Claire helped me up and steered me to a table outside. She cleared a couple of plates away and spoke. "Sit there for a bit. I will make some tea." She hurried off carrying the plates. I held the ice pack against my head and thought about what had happened.

Lara had told her a few things about me; that much was obvious. It didn't really explain why Anika had gone quite so mad and physically violent though. For some reason, I didn't really feel angry at her; maybe it felt like karma, like I was being punished for some of the lies, deceit and betrayals that I had committed.

"There, sweet tea. Careful, it's hot," Claire said as she put the tea things down. When she had settled down in the chair opposite, she spoke remarkably calmly considering what had happened. "So, you're Matt. I've often wondered what you were like, whether you really are the devil that we all thought you were. But first things first, are you ok? Really, are you ok?"

"Yes, I think so. I don't feel sick, maybe a few bruises, but I'll be OK. So, why the fuck did she go for me then?"

"I'm sorry about that. Anika shouldn't have attacked you, even though you probably deserved it. She has her own problems, which isn't really for me to talk about." She spoke slowly and had a great air of authority about her.

"She might have been right," I said. "I probably deserved that. I don't know. I'm not angry at her; I'm not going to go to the police or anything."

Claire laughed. "They wouldn't do anything anyway. Just laugh at you for being beaten by a woman most likely. But I am glad that you are not angry at her. She will be full of remorse soon if I know her," she sipped at her tea then put it down.

"Now then Matt, what brings you here eh? What have you come for? What do you want?"

"I'm not really sure," I said looking at the floor. "I had no idea that she had come out to India, to train to be a yoga teacher. She had never talked about that before. She seems like a different person to the woman I married, someone I hardly knew. I suppose I just wanted to know this Lara, what she was like, if she was happy."

"Strange, I would have expected you not to give a flying fuck about her. Maybe heartless bastards have a heart after all."

"I wasn't a heartless bastard," I said. "I loved Lara absolutely and unconditionally."

"Yeah, but not enough to keep your trousers on." Claire answered back tartly. "She knew you were unfaithful. She knew about your girls, she told us. About the ones at work, the ones in America, your one night stands, that old friend of yours you still screw. And you know what? It broke her heart."

Fuck. Did Lara know about them? I could feel adrenalin surge into my stomach, and it was as if a large pit opened up before, threatening to swallow me. I felt dizzy sick and faint. Lara, couldn't have known about them, I had kept it so quiet.

I had put all those incidents completely out of my mind, forgotten them completely, but now their faces floated before me. A little voice inside tried to justify what I had done 'they weren't important anyway' it whispered 'you didn't love those girls, you just turned to them when the love between you and Lara was fading'.

Or did the intimacy between Lara and I start going because I was unfaithful? A harder, clearer and more honest voice answered it.

"I... er..." I couldn't really speak and stumbled for words.

Claire carried on remorselessly. "You asked how she was; now you're going to hear. When she got to Rishikesh, she was a mess, a total mess. Anika and I stayed up night after night with her sobbing telling her story. Two months after she had last seen you, she was still in pieces. She was still not able to sleep or eat properly."

I shook my head; this wasn't what I thought I was going to hear.

"Even though she had ample cause to end it with you, she blamed herself for it failing. She couldn't understand why you would cheat on her. She was carrying around an awful lot of grief over your relationship ending, and shame at what you had done to her."

"I didn't cheat on her!" I heard myself weakly lying.

"Yes you did!" Claire answered angrily back to me. "Don't try and lie to me as well. Anika and I spent countless nights with her, hearing all about your sordid little affairs. She read your phone and email messages. She said you were very careless about locking it, and almost seemed like you wanted her to see, to rub her nose in it. She thought at first that you wanted to break up with her, and that's why you let her find out."

I put my head in my hands, unable to look at Claire. Oh God, oh God no.

"Do you know the one that hurt her the most?" She carried on almost viciously, delighting in my pain. I shook my head weakly. "It was the girl at work, Nicole was it, Nicki? Lara knew her. She had to meet her sometimes and pretend that she didn't know that you were fucking her. How do you think that made her feel?"

Oh God. My stomach plunged even further. It seemed as though I was falling.

"The others she might have been able to turn a blind eye to, but not her. Not when she saw more of you at work than Lara did at home."

I started sobbing. Hot, scalding tears began leaking through my hands, but it didn't stop Claire's flow.

"You almost destroyed her", she was almost whispering now. "Almost, but she pulled through. She started to smile occasionally, she started to laugh and she started to live again. The yoga helped, and India too, and Jan." She leaned back in her chair.

"Although why I am letting you know that I am not sure, I think you should suffer for what you put her through." She leaned in close again. "She even forgave you, you know. She loved you that much that she forgave you. She knew that you carried your own wounds that pushed you into being unfaithful. She just didn't know how to help."

I was still hunched over, in utter misery.

"But she forgave you, so I guess I should too. I don't know whether to feel sadness or pity or anger about you now." She paused, watching me and then did a surprising and wonderful thing.

"Shhh Matt, it's OK", she whispered and she leaned in close and held me, just as Peter had done back in Rishikesh. "She forgave you, she moved on. You can too." And she rocked me until the tears stopped.

***

I didn't want to sleep with Nicole. I wish to God that I never had. I would say it was an accident, but it wasn't. She set out to get me, and succeeded. I failed. Despite my best efforts, I failed. I hate her for it now.

Soon after I had started work, Graham had given me the go ahead to recruit another sales person. Nicki got the job because I didn't fancy her. Even whilst I was still faithful, I didn't trust myself. The best applicant was far too attractive; I immediately got the horn as soon as she entered the room, so she was out.

There was a big trade fair not long after out of town. My first big order had come through, and Graham treated us all to a nice hotel near the exhibition hall. Our stall was constantly busy, the seminar that I gave was well received and it was an exciting time for the company and for me individually.

I knew that Nicki wanted me. I could feel her eyes, hot and hungry on me when she thought I wasn't looking. She had been single for a few years, and I think was starting to panic that she would never settle down now she was over thirty. She wasn't unattractive, just maybe a little too large for my tastes.

Flushed with success, we celebrated, drinking far too much. Graham and the others in the company left the bar one by one, until it was just me and Nicki left. Even then, the opportunity so easily in front of me, I was strong and managed to leave by myself. Well I tried to, but she followed me into the lift.

"Can we have one more drink?" She asked as we walked along the corridor to our rooms.

"I'm not sure that...." I tried to interject, but she grabbed my hand.

"Come on, don't be a square. Look, we're here now. Come in, I have a couple of drinks from the fridge." She got her pass key out and stuck it in the slot.

"I really don't think...."

"Oh, come on!" she said and yanked me through the door. It was dark inside, the lights hadn't come on. Before I knew it she was in my arms, placing my hands on arse, her hot wet mouth seeking mine.

"Fuck me Matt," she gasped in between kisses as her hands started fumbling at my trousers.

Maybe I could have stopped at that point, maybe I could have said no, but I could feel my body responding to her urgency. "That's right", I heard her say as her fingers closed around my cock. Her hands seemed to be everywhere, undoing my trousers, on my arse, around my neck, pushing me back on the bed, slipping her knickers off to one side, holding my wrists as she sank on to me.

And then it was too late. She was writhing around on top of me, gasping and panting. I couldn't have stopped then even if I had wanted too.

Afterwards, as she snuggled against me, trying to be all loved up, I lay rigid as a board, despising myself for my weakness. I automatically patted her hair until she fell asleep, and as soon as possible crept out.

We never really talked about it, and did our best to be professional at work, but what had happened was never far away from the surface and came out sideways. Nicki would erupt into tears or anger in the showroom for no real reason. I felt myself go cold towards her, and avoided being alone with her. A couple of times we met for drinks, but the tension was too much for any meaningful conversations.

I guess that she saw what Lara and I had, and got envious. I don't blame her for wanting a relationship; I just wish that she had tried to find it somewhere else. And when Lara left me, it was too easy to find solace in her bed. I fucked her wishing she was someone else and hating myself more each time.

***

"Can you tell me about Lara now?" I asked in a child's voice when the tears had gone.

Claire laughed, and somehow it was OK. "Yes, yes I think I owe that to you. I'll tell you about Lara. She wasn't the best at yoga, by any stretch of the mark, she hadn't been practising that long. Most of us on the course had been at it for years and were much more advanced. Rather than getting competitive or envious though, it usually made her laugh. When she couldn't manage a posture, or it would hurt, she would start giggling. Once or twice, she made the whole class laugh uncontrollably. Yoga needs more people like that." I could imagine that clearly. Lara had a way of infecting everyone with her humour and mood.

"The teacher training program is an intense few weeks. As well as all the hours practising on the mat, there is a lot to learn, which you have to do in your own time; anatomy, physiology, the Sanskrit names for the postures, the philosophy and history of yoga. Then there is the meditation and puja's that you have to do every day too. A lot of people find it too much and drop out, but there was no question of Lara failing. She was very strong and clear minded about what she was doing." That was true about her as well. Once she made her mind up about something there was no turning her back.

"So how did you become friends?" I asked.

"We had all arrived here early for the course; Anika, Lara and I. We had our own reasons, but she needed to get her head and her heart together before the teaching started. We just got chatting in the restaurant one day and hit it off. You get to know people very quickly when you do something intense like this. We spent a whole week together, just the three of us and got pretty close.

"What about Jan?" I said hesitatingly.

"He came just before the course started, flew in straight from Amsterdam, business class most likely," she laughed. "At first he was staying at a posh place closer into town, but he quickly realised that it would be better if he moved in with us to the grunts quarters. Especially after he got to know Lara."

I swallowed. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know about Jan, I wasn't sure if I could handle the envy and jealousy. But he was part of Lara's life, so I had to know.

"So were they together then?"

"That's a tough one to answer. Not in the normal sense of a boyfriend and girlfriend. I mean, relationships out here are always a bit different, but for those two even more so. They were close for sure, and definitely attracted to each other, especially Jan, but whether they were together forever? They both had their own ghosts to carry and crosses to bear. Lara had been terribly hurt, and found it difficult to trust, and Jan had his own issues. He had split up from someone too."

Bailey! I hadn't thought about her for days. I had given her my phone number and address as she had asked, but had not heard anything from her. I hoped she was alright. Maybe I could find out something about Jan for her and let her know. "Yeah, a girl called Bailey right?"

"How do you know about her?" She narrowed her eyes.

"It's a long story, but basically when I got to Rishikesh I found a letter from her to Jan. She loved him terribly too."

"He was ok. I didn't warm to him as much as Lara, but then I never do with men. He was a natural at yoga, and could do the academic side with his eyes closed. I didn't completely trust him mind you. He didn't talk about himself much, but I gather that he just upped and left Bailey without explaining to her what was happening. He had his reasons, but I felt that it was unfair. He was very self-controlled. I felt like even after a month, I never really got to know him. I don't know why he wanted to do the course, it's not like he needed the money."

"Do you know why Lara came out here to do yoga?" I asked. I had had enough of hearing about Jan. "I mean she did yoga once a week at home, but I had no idea that it was so important to her."

"Splitting up from you was a big part of it. She said that she wanted a change, a complete change in her life, to not be so superficial and material. She said she was sick of London, of the pace and the intensity of life and wanted something deeper and more meaningful. I think she saw Yoga as offering that." Lara really had grown up, I thought. When she had first come to London, she was so hungry for life, for the richness, beauty and intensity it offered but it had ground her down and worn her out.

"Yoga's not like that really," Claire continued. "I mean people see it as a big spiritual cure all for life's ills, but it's as full of shit as anything else. I mean look at this place. It's a dump, and as far from a spiritual answer to life as you can imagine. We kind of got stuck here. It's one of the reasons Anika is so uptight at the moment."

"How did you end up here?" I asked curiously. "It's not what most yoga centres are like."

"You mean it's a dump. Well, it is. A lying arsehole tricked us into coming here. He contacted the school in Rishi, said he was opening up a yoga centre, and was looking for a couple to come and help run it. When we got here, it was worse than you see it now, and he buggered off supposedly to try and get some guests. We have only had electricity for the last week, and there is a lot of building work that still needs to be done."

"So Lara and Jan were going to come out here and meet you?"

"Lara was, and Jan just tagged along. She was going to spend a week or two here and help us get set up."

"Do you know what she was going to do next?"

"Yes, they were going to climb up to Everest Base Camp. Jan wasn't that keen on it, but for some reason it was a big thing for Lara, something she always wanted to do. Jan was besotted with her, and so he said that he would go with her, even though he had left all his stuff in Rishi. Kathmandu was their next stop, to buy equipment and from there they were going to organise the trek."

"Do you know where they were going to stay? Or who they were going to do the trek with?" If I was going to do the adventure for them, I wanted to try and follow their path as closely as I could.

"You'll have to ask Anika. She has been there before and gave them lots of advice."

"Do you think it's safe to speak with her? I really would like to find out."

"Yes, she will have calmed down now." Claire swished the dregs of her tea round in her cup. "Look Matt, she's had a shit time, especially with men. She's carrying around a lot of anger, and it comes out when it shouldn't."

"Don't worry; I'm not going to have a go at her. I would like to try and make things OK with her. She was a friend of Lara's and I don't want to leave with bad blood between us."

Claire nodded approvingly. "That will be good actually, good for Anika too. She's probably down by the lake," she pointed at a path through the bushes. "That's where she usually goes to calm down."

"Thanks. Good luck with this place."

"Ha! I think it will need a miracle. Only a few people actually come out here, and none of them stay more than a couple of days. But it is a good place to practice, and Anika and I need some time together. Here is as good as anywhere."

I stood up. "I really appreciate you talking to me by the way. It's really helped. I know I'm not an angel, and believe me, I torture myself about some of the things I have done. I judge myself far more harshly than anyone else."

Claire stood up too. "Everyone has a dark side Matt, everyone has done bad things. Not everyone has the courage to admit it though, and even fewer then do something about it. I respect you coming out here and finding us. It can't have been easy."

"No it hasn't. I don't want to keep making the same mistakes, believe me. Life is painful enough as it is."

She nodded again. "Lara once said to me 'All I ask is that we don't make the same mistakes'. I can understand that. We can stay in touch if you like," she added. "Here is my email address," and she wrote something down on a piece of paper. "Right, I better get on with clearing this lot up."

"Thank you Claire. For everything."

We hugged and I left her clearing the restaurant.

***

Down at the water's edge, I could see Anika sitting on a short wooden jetty. I drew closer, making sure I made plenty of noise so I didn't startle her, but she didn't turn round.

When I was close, I said hesitatingly, "Hi Anika, can we talk?"

"I'm sorry about hitting you," she said still looking out over the water. "That was wrong, I lost my temper."

"That's OK. Well it's not OK, but I understand. I don't think you should do it again though. Make some new bloody mistakes!" She laughed, and the tension broke a little.

"You've been a bastard Matt, and hurt someone I love, loved," she corrected herself. "But I suppose you are no worse than Jan, or anyone else. There is too much hate in the world. I don't want to hate you."

I sighed. "I know Anika. I loved Lara very much too, don't ever doubt that."

"Yes", she replied. "I know. Everyone loved Lara. She was a very special woman."

"Claire told me that you talked to them about climbing Everest. Gave them some advice about where to stay and who to go with. I have decided that I am going to climb there. For them."

Anika turned round at last and looked at me. "You're full of surprises aren't you?" She thought for a moment. "Look, that part of the Himalaya's is a pretty special place, very holy. The Tibetans believe that a Buddha travelled there and blessed it. Walking through it can have a profound effect on you, change who you are and what you do with your life. It was there that I realised who I was and what I wanted to do with my life.

"Go there, but don't just go for Lara. Go for yourself. Maybe it's time that you changed who you are and what you do with your life."

I looked at her quizzically. "Have you got a piece of paper?" she asked back. I handed over the scrap that Claire had given me, and she scribbled something on the back.

"Hotel Lhotse is where you should stay in Kathmandu, and ask for Pattan. He is a great guide, but he is also a very wise man. I think he will be exactly what you need," she said.

"Thanks Anika," I said as I got up to leave. "I'm glad that Lara had you as a friend. Glad that I got to meet you too."

She turned back from the lake to look at me again. "I think that Lara had already found what she was looking for. I hope you do too."

***

The sun was high in the sky on the journey back across the lake. As we approached Lakeside, I could hear the sounds of the traffic and restaurants echo across the water, disturbing the calm like the ripples on the water. After the loneliness of the Yoga centre at Anadu, it felt good to be heading back towards life.

From what Claire and Anika had said, it seemed as though Lara had pulled her life together in a way that I hadn't even started to. She had made decisions about where she was going and what she was doing, and was even starting to look beneath the surface, looking for something deeper in life. This was not the Lara that I knew, but I think the Lara that could have been. She had the potential in her all along, it just never came out whilst we were together.

I trailed my hand in the water, as I had on the way over. I wished I could have known this Lara, I think I would have loved her as much as the Lara that I knew. At least someone had though. I strangely didn't feel jealous of Jan at all now. I wondered if Bailey would feel the same way about Lara.

Bailey again! I hadn't heard from her for almost a week now, why was that? Was she OK? Was she just grief stricken? Had she decided that finding out any more about Jan's death would be too painful? I decided to email her again when I got back and let her know what I had found out.

~~~~

# Chapter 8

## Bailey – Rishikesh – Late October

Sunlight feathered through the white cotton curtains as a gentle breeze lifted and blew the fabric in steady movements. Back and forth like the passage of someone's breath being squeezed through lungs. The subtleness comforted me, knowing that with the press of my hand I could stop the air flow. The fabric spiralled higher into the air as a gust came through the open doors. The bright green of exotic plants hid on the other side of the room. Plants nestled into the earth. I watched with eyes half-open. The notes of a discordant melody could be heard somewhere outside. My eyelids felt heavy, even with the small kisses falling on my face, trying to ease me into consciousness. First my closed eyes, then my forehead, my nose and then lips. A small shower of affection cleansed like summer rain. I kissed back slowly, parting their lips and pressing my tongue against theirs. They tasted sweet like cherry syrup. I wanted to drink them in. Fingers traced the outline of my collar bone and I felt a rush of excitement pulse through me. I searched again for the kisses but they were gone.

Suddenly I was in a bar I hadn't been to before. I could smell and hear the sounds of the coast. Seagulls screeched and the air hung like a cloth over my head with humidity. The interior of the bar was made completely of old varnished wood. Chairs and tables creaked with people vying for space.

"Jan?" I asked out loud. There were crowds of people everywhere but it was as if I couldn't be heard. No-one turned to answer me.

"Jan?"

It was hot in there and I had too many clothes on. I looked around self-consciously and realised I was in someone else's clothes. An old ripped T-shirt and jeans. I recognised them from somewhere but couldn't remember exactly where. Were they Jan's old clothes that I had thrown out or he had lent me once? I couldn't remember. I looked like a geek and felt embarrassed, and despite not having a drink in my hand, I felt drunk, and afraid. I found myself leant against a window and turned to look outside. The glass was misted with dirt and condensation. I rubbed at the glass but the mist wouldn't go. I couldn't see anything so I eased the rusted handle back and with effort pushed the window outwards. There was no sea. Instead, it looked to me like a dry reef with ruts and holes. I stared closer and the reef appeared to have knots in the rock. It wasn't reef at all but tree roots, conjoined and twisted rising up at least 6 foot above the ground. It looked to me like a graveyard. Dried up and broken. No-one stepped outside. Beyond, dirty sand stretched infinitely.

I spotted him at the bar and walked confidently over.

"Jan? Jan, it's me. I've been looking for you everywhere." I grabbed his arm and he turned his face to me.

He smiled back.

"Jan, where have you been?" I was almost frantic.

"Hey babe. Would you like a drink?" Jan spoke, turning his attention away from the man he was standing next to. He saw my eyes flicker to his companion. "Oh, Bailey, this is my new work colleague, Franz. Franz, this is Bailey, my... my friend." The emphasis fell on the last word and I felt my heart sink in my chest. I didn't know what to say. I leant my face towards him, hoping for a kiss. He ignored me.

I touched my hand self-consciously to my hair. I didn't know whether I should shake his hand. No-one was giving me any clue as to how I should behave. "Hi, nice to meet you. Are you....; is it, just the two of you here?"

"Oh no, there's a bunch of us, sitting over there." He indicated a table beyond another group of people. "People I'm working with right now."

"Oh right." I immediately thought whether there were any girls with him.

"So, we're just having a drink here and talking, maybe we can catch up later?"

"OK." I didn't want to let him go but the conversation felt like it had run its course and that he was trying to get rid of me. I felt embarrassed by my appearance and it seemed I was slurring my words. I wanted to say something more. To enunciate properly and prove I wasn't drunk. I didn't get a chance. Suddenly he was gone and I was standing on my own. I spun on the spot looking around desperately for him. The crowds were starting to thin but he was no-where to be seen.

"Jan, Jan? Where are you?"

I rushed to the doors and flung them open. There was nothing outside apart from cold wind howling and lifting debris from the ground. The breath of the wind came in desperate violent staggers this time. The graveyard of knotted roots where the shore should have been stared back at me.

Frightened, I pulled the door shut again. It swung discontentedly hitting me on the shin. I ignored the pain. I saw someone I imagined to be Jan's sister ordering a drink and I approached her.

"Hi, I'm Bailey."

"I know", she said. She spoke with an accent and seemed bored to have to respond to me.

"I'm looking for Jan."

"I don't know where he is. He went off with a group of people."

"Can you help me find him?"

"I don't know. I'm meeting people here."

"Please?"

She took a deep breath. Her nostrils flared. "OK."

We walked out onto the street, it had cobbled stones and small shops and bars and flashing lights. It looked like a version of Amsterdam.

I followed behind his sister as she led the way. People everywhere were smoking and laughing.

"I can't promise anything if we find him. You know, he might be busy, happy, he might not even want to be found."

"Please," I begged.

Around another corner, and there he was sitting on a stall in a café window, face rested on his arms as he chatted and drunk a large juice from a straw.

"Jan! There you are!" I flung my arms around his waist from behind and pressed my face into his back. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

And then he was gone and desperation clung to me like a corpse; cold, rotting and unforgiving. It seemed as if fingers of shame and remorse pressed deep into my body. I tried to wake myself up but I couldn't open my eyes. I imagined that I was pinned to a small bed in a huge room. Everything was grossly disproportioned so that I felt miniscule. I wanted to scream but no sound would come out. I shifted in the bed trying to wake up. Finally my eyes stretched open.

I sat up in bed trying to pull myself free from the damp sheets. Another nightmare.

I tried to figure out or remember where I was and then I remembered the hotel and saw the steam that crept out from the crack under the bathroom door. At least Nate was with me. It felt like mid-morning but I wasn't sure. I'd lost all sense of time and couldn't be certain what my watch was supposed to say. It felt like I'd been sleeping for days. I wondered about making a cup of tea from the sad looking sachets next to the bedside table.

I heard the sound of the shower being cut and the curtain yanked back. The bathroom door flew open with a resounding clunk smashing into the wall on the other side.

"I – wear - my – sun - glasses – at - night!" Nate joyfully sung the line from a dance track I had heard somewhere as he strode naked out of the bathroom strutting like some sort of peacock into the bedroom.

"Thanks for the side show Nate I had forgotten how small your pecker was."

"Ha! There are ladies out there that beg for a bit of me!"

"Yeh, I bet, that's why you also fuck with those little dildos isn't it bro."

"You know about that little party trick?" He said puzzled and laughed. "Ha, anyway that's got nothing to do with size, that's about going dee.....eep." He dragged out the last word for emphasis and gave his shrivelled penis a little tug in my direction.

"You're sick Nate." I said trying not to laugh.

Nate threw his impressive body onto his hands and did a hand-stand against the wall, kicking some picture off as he did. "Remember when we used to do naked hand-stands when we were younger in the study cupboard?" He asked.

He remembered everything. "No."

Nate kicked his legs away and landed neatly on his feet. "You're such a prissy these days."

"Someone's got to be." I answered.

"Anyway, I best get myself some clothes on. Don't want to give those little Indians a complex running around with this here charger!" He flicked his dick and dug around in his luggage for something to wear.

"What are we doing today? A little bit of sight-seeing? Are we finding that prick Jan's hang-out or the other prick Matt's hiding place? I can't wait to give his smug little face a stroke before I slam my fist into it." He spoke with a strange whimsical tone to his voice.

"Nate, you do know that you're not going to have a go at anyone don't you?" I spoke evenly.

"Sister. How could you say such a thing?" He spoke with a little sadistic smile as he pulled some expensive looking shorts over his muscled physique.

"Nice"

"Calvin Klein. So, what are we up to?"

"Look, just take it easy OK. Can you amuse yourself today? I was thinking of taking a little walk. You know, just getting used to the place."

"Sure thing. If the little fellas that work here have been doing their job and it's clean, I might relax by the pool a little. I brought my study notes with me!" He waved a copy of Esquire magazine at me.

I laughed in response and pushed my way past him to the shower.

***

It was nice to be on my own and hear nothing apart from the steadiness of the new place around me. I passed lodging houses perched on the slope which dropped down to the Ganges.

A man sat under a tattered umbrella reached out to offer something to me with an eager smile. I forsook my curiosity and kept walking. He may have shouted something but I was intent on keep-going.

I watched as a woman in a yellow sari stooped not far from me at the foot of a statue that looked to me like Shiva and sprinkled jasmine petals. I was fascinated by the sounds of the bangles on both her arms as she knelt with such poise and laid the offering. It looked so pretty that I wanted to pick it up and take it home. It seemed so entirely visual here; I couldn't help but wonder and take it all in.

I headed towards the river.

The sun pulsed steadily down and it felt comfortable to bare my skin. I had left the sunscreen at the hotel and felt my skin prickle in response but I didn't want to go back though. I needed this sense of peace and isolation. I saw the branches of trees shading a path near the river and weaved my way through scrub down the slope to join it. Branches brushed and scratched at my legs. I was surprised at the greenery and serenity of Rishikesh.

A boat with the engine cut moved silently across the water like it was mourning someone. I would have liked to have climbed aboard. I could understand why Jan liked it here. It couldn't have been further removed from what we knew. It was as if the village spoke to you in hushed tones and made you stop and listen to yourself, for what it was worth. I trod a path next to the river with a combination of chance and necessity, glad to be away from Nate and his egotism. It was hard to concentrate sometimes with him around. I could only imagine what he was up to now back at the hotel and who he was upsetting. Now I had made to India, to Rishikesh, it didn't seem so daunting at all, as if even, I could have done this on my own. I paused my day-dreaming as a group of children ran towards me and stopped just in front of me. I smiled at them, wondering how I should respond and what was expected of me. They laughed and ran away in a cloud of noise, dirt and colour. Surprisingly there didn't seem to be many tourists around that day. My stomach rumbled as I remembered I hadn't eaten for hours, probably more like a day. I kept going with the river on my right and the road above the slope on my left.

I was reminded of the strange games I would play with myself when I was younger on the subway. You had somewhere in mind, someplace you had to be, but what if you didn't get off where you were supposed to? What if, you stayed on until you reached the end of the line and then got off and kept walking through dusk and night? Just see where you would end up. I would often toy with the idea. Of course I knew I never had the balls to do it. But, I wondered, what if you placed yourself somewhere you had no association with, would you stay and would a new life evolve? I wanted to be that girl now that actually took the chance and didn't stop walking until I got where I should be going. I listened to the sounds of the lush green jungle.

I kept walking on the path putting more distance between myself and the town behind me. And I was hot. Burning in fact. Sweat seeped from my arm pits and formed dark patches against my mauve vest. I could feel the sweat running down my back. Moisture clung to the skin on my chest and collected under my bra. I wiped the sweat and dirt from my forehead. Longingly I looked at the river and wanted to jump right into the water. I could see the rush and twist of currents over rocks. I needed to rest and think.

I found a broken hair-band in my pocket and tried to pull away the sweaty dark hair strands from the back of my neck and pile my hair in a shaggy nest. I touched the diamond earrings that Jan had given me for my birthday and wondered what he would have thought; him coming here, dying in a coach crash and me following him. I am not sure whether he would have accepted or challenged such a thing. I had started to think that perhaps I didn't know him very well at all. Perhaps that was why I was so in love with him.

My stomach rumbled again and I wondered whether I should get some food. I left the path and pulled myself up the steps to re-find the road. I staggered at the top and almost lost my footing.

"Careful Miss!" An Indian man spoke to me dressed in a long white shirt and pants and sunglasses hanging off all over him.

"Oh thanks." I swayed and regained my balance.

He looked at me curiously. He had sunglasses hanging from every conceivable pocket and seam. Aviators, Jackie-O glasses, sports glasses. I had to laugh.

"You like Miss?"

"Oh no, that's alright, I've got a pair." I motioned to the expensive Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on my head and realised I hadn't even been wearing them. I was just using them as a hair-band, leaving me instead to squint uncomfortably up at the harsh sun. I felt stupid and awkward and pulled them down to shade my eyes. I felt my confidence return.

"Where you going Miss? Do you need a guide?"

"Oh no that's OK." As I spoke I saw a flicker of disappointment in his brown eyes, intent and intelligent.

"You want a comb Miss or a necklace? I have beautiful necklaces. Blue, pink, green... what colour you like...?" He pulled his other arm from around his back and presented a huge variety of men's combs and long necklaces.

"Umm..."

"Please Miss. You make me happy? You give me good luck today. First of the day, special morning price? Please give me good luck Miss." Again the eyes. I couldn't stay no. It was horrible to see someone pleading.

"Ummm, OK, I'll have the white necklace. The one with the beads."

"Thank you. Very good choice. Beautiful."

"How much do I...? Actually, here take 10 dollars." I reached into my pocket and handed over the crumbled note from my back pocket that I had been saving for a drink. I took the necklace from him and he pressed his hands together in thanks. I looped the beads around my neck. God knows what Nate would say. I went to walk away from him when a thought crossed my mind.

"Excuse me, but, do you know where "Bandhari Swiss Cottage" is?" I paused with emphasis on the name of the hotel where Jan had stayed. It was the name of the hotel Matt had given me where my letter had obviously been forwarded to and never received by Jan. Stolen by time. Opened and read by a stranger instead. Everything seemed to be about cause and effect. My pulse quickened.

"Well yes, very popular with visitors."

"Is it close?"

"Not far. I can take you? My name is Robin."

I hesitated, wanting to be on my own but somehow appreciating the concern he had and realised that Jan would not have paused to think before striking up a conversation with this stranger. He just loved befriending people; strangers specifically in places he didn't know, and places he would never go back to. I found it strange and amusing at first at how he would be so open and warm to new people, it was not a characteristic that I would have expected of him. It felt mean to say it but Jan was not a person that acted without motive. I wondered what should be in it for him to behave like this towards someone he didn't know nor was going to receive anything from in return. And then, looking at Robin, I realised. Jan did it for his conscience. There must have been more than just one demon fighting for space in his Jan's head.

"Thanks. That would be great." I smiled openly.

It wasn't that far to the hotel but we had to walk up for a steep hill which at moments took my breath away. All the while "Robin", spoke enthusiastically about his family, his business and where he had learnt to speak English. He told me he had an English girlfriend once to which I must have raised my eyebrows and immediately regretted it seeing the combative look of pride he threw back at me. Of course, I realised ignorantly, there was nothing to suggest that he wasn't capable of having an English girlfriend and again I wanted to admonish myself for the weight of my prejudices.

"What happened?" I asked him. "She left me." He told me. So, I wasn't the only one carrying around heartache. That shut me up.

We came to a stop before a small garden in front of the hotel entrance.

"Ok I leave you now. Here you go. Will you be OK?" He asked politely.

"Yes, yes, thanks again." I wasn't sure if he wanted something more but his smile suggested nothing but contentment at having helped me.

"Thank you for giving me good business. If you need anything you can call me." He handed me a business card with a mobile number on. I tucked it away and watched him walk away, the sunglasses, combs and necklaces jangling noisily as he did so. He turned and gave me a small wave.

The garden in front of the hotel was immaculately kept. Flowers were arranged neatly in borders with a rockery and intricate paths. It was so quintessentially imperial it was cute. You could only guess how much time they spent in keeping it like this. The contrast to the dirt road couldn't have been starker. I felt almost embarrassed to think of the time and effort that went into preserving the hotel like this when the locals lived in such squalor. As if in response, a gardener looked up from where he was trimming the bushes and nodded at me. I forced myself to walk to the entrance and up to the front desk.

It was dark and noisy in the lobby and I stood uncomfortably as people all bustled around me. Guests arrived and left with large back-packs, a cleaner wiped the dark furniture with a damp towel and through the swinging doors behind the front desk which must have led through to the kitchen; there was the banging of saucepans and the sound of oil sizzling over flames.

A shaft of light fell from a roof window onto a low bench and I took a seat, arranging the words that I would speak in my head. A couple of old guide books on India had been left next to where I sat. I picked them up and flicked through them nonchalantly.

There were some pictures pinned to a cork-board on the wall opposite of guests, tourists from all over the globe and locals. Happy times. Celebrating here and there with big meals, in others raising glasses in toast or simply people embracing each other against the stunning backdrop of jungle, rivers and mountains. A beautiful sassy-looking woman had her arm around a local in one of the pictures. He looked to be in absolute heaven. I narrowed my eyes in earnest, wondering, perhaps whether there might be a picture of Jan there. All the pictures seemed old but nonetheless I couldn't stop myself hoping or thinking. I scanned the images quickly and let my eyes sweep over other peoples' lives. I had to do a double-take as I thought I saw someone that looked like Jan. I got up quickly and headed over, but realised with disappointment when I got closer that it wasn't him.

"Excuse me, may I help you?" A small man spoke from behind the desk in a smart maroon-coloured uniform. I realised uncomfortably that he must have been watching me and I hadn't noticed. He looked to be the one in charge.

"Oh, umm that's OK."

"Are you staying here?"

I thought quickly. "Actually I was hoping to get something to eat. Do you have a restaurant here?" I realised that I didn't have any money left on me since I had given the meagre 10 dollars to Robin, but it seemed insignificant. I would work it out.

"Yes. Lovely restaurant. Outside in the gardens. If you follow me Miss and I will show you a seat. Santosh will be out to serve you shortly."

He walked out from behind the desk and I followed him solemnly to a quiet-looking table under the shade of trees. I caught a sight of my reflection in a window we passed and saw my bright red face burnt from the sun. No wonder he must have been looking at me strangely. My vanity got the better of me and I pulled my hair loose around my face and put my shades back on. He pulled out a metal chair for me that scraped against the stones. I sat down and lifted my weight so he could push my chair under the table.

"Menu, Miss."

"Thanks. I..."

"Yes?"

"When I have eaten, I would like to speak please." I took another breath. "It's about Jan Van Duyen, who stayed here. I'm his sister and I've come to collect his things." I spoke with calm and a confidence that I didn't know existed. It was as if the lie spoke itself. I didn't recognise my voice. I tried to gauge his reaction. I had a hunch that none of Jan's family knew what had happened. I was right.

"Oh Miss, of course."

I let go of the breath I was holding and took the cigarette he offered that I must have been staring at, some local brand. He lit a match and I had to lean in to light the cigarette. It tasted sweet and I let the smoke gather in my mouth before I drew it steadily into my lungs. My nerves settled slightly.

He went on to tell me how sorry he was, his commiserations were plenty. Over a month ago now and they didn't know what to do with his things. They had tried looking for any details but there was no next of kin in his passport I was told. He had very little in the way of information. I must have been contacted by the Embassy he assumed? Thank goodness he said. There were some personal things of Jan's left here. There was a camera and a journal together with his passport. His wallet, he said in hushed tones, had sadly gone missing. He paused, wondering no doubt if I was going to raise an objection or complain. I didn't. I nodded with complicity when he mentioned about the Embassy taking care of his body. I was welcome to take his things, he said, if I wanted. They were as he left them. Not much. He left just a rucksack and day-bag. The morning of the accident, the manager told me he had apparently brought his things here and spoke about going away with a friend he had been spending time with.

I felt my ears prick to the news of the friend. Friend. A friend. Such an innocuous word. I hated that word. I could taste bile in my throat, and feel something else. It was something like the feeling of my heart breaking. This had to the girl Matt had mentioned in his letter to me, his ex-wife. Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Jan had come here and fallen in love with someone else. It wasn't so much his death now that filled me with trauma but the fact that he had fallen in love with someone that wasn't me. He hadn't chosen death, death had chosen him, but he had chosen to be with this woman. It felt as if every sensation was being pulled from me as I stood there being emptied of hope and love. I pushed my body into the table and felt the hard wood press into my waist. I wanted to feel the dent of something real. Seemingly oblivious the manager continued his story for me.

They had placed his bags in the storage room until he returned from the trip he was on. There was so much I wanted to know. What trip? Where had he been going? Who was this girl? What was she like? Was she prettier than me? I needed to see her picture. I had to see her picture. I had found out so little from Matt but I couldn't blow my cover now.

I nodded gratefully. The man touched my arm tenderly and walked away. Why did I have to say I was Jan's fucking sister? What difference would it have made? And I realised that whatever had made me say it, I needed to learn about this girl and I wouldn't found out if I were me.

I turned my eyes back to the menu and realised that the cigarette had burnt down to the tips of my fingers and had blistered my skin. I flicked the ash and watched it burn a hole through the misspelt descriptions of rice and held back the tears.

It was with a strange sense of ceremony that I ate the vegetable curry and rice. I hardly had any appetite at all despite my earlier hunger. It was difficult to swallow with the feeling of grief all pervasive all over again but I kept piling the food onto my fork and kept going through the motions of having lunch. I thought again about playing the part of Jan's stupid sister. Every decision and detail about what was happening seemed significant. I had this feeling of being watched and judged and everyone would see straight through me. I didn't want to be the person this situation was turning me into. I suppose it was useful that Jan spoke English with such an authentic American accent, otherwise I suppose I may have appeared conspicuous. But, really I wondered whether they even cared.

I asked for water and had to go through the process of peeling off the plastic packaging around the lid, before I could get through to the bottle itself and unscrew the top. Water had never tasted so good. I drank the whole bottle in one go and asked for another. Fiddling as I did with the label and noticing the picture of the elephant on the front. It was as if everything appeared as a souvenir and I was desperate to preserve it all.

I tore off the plastic again on the second bottle covering the lid. Strange to be in a place where you had to prove the water was authentic. I was only used to going through such a process with a bottle of vodka. I could have easily drunk a bottle of vodka then without any concern. It would feel good for a while but I knew when the bottle got to the half-way mark I would start to feel the opposite of comforted. I would start to feel harsh, bitter and exposed. And I would break down and feel the desperateness of being left and forgotten by the man that I thought was going to change everything.

Looking around at the groups of fresh faced hippy tourists with their bandanas and eco-friendly fabrics I couldn't have been further removed from their pathetic little world of nirvana. I suppose they must have thought that they were living some pure and simple life blessed by some higher knowledge and appreciation. They didn't. They were just as fucked up and hopeless as me. They just didn't have the fucking insight or strength to see it. I wanted to punch someone black and blue but I also had to see her picture. Her.

It struck me that Jan being as he were would have befriended one of the staff here and with a renewed sense of purpose I put a lid on my mounting fury and scanned the dirty tired faces one by one that worked there. Several were two old and I realised would have annoyed Jan too much. It would have to be someone young, impressionable, someone he could imbibe hope to. I found him and waved him over.

~~~~

# Chapter 9

## Matt – Kathmandu – Early November

I felt Miri's calf touch mine under the table. I turned my head slightly to look at her, but she was in animated conversation with Becky opposite her. Any human touch, especially from a young and attractive Dutch hippy traveller girl was pleasant, but I felt a bit uncomfortable, I was supposed to be looking after her after all.

"So what's your story then mate?" Saul leaned over the beers on the table and shouted at me. The rock band in the corner was belting out a loud Guns and Roses cover making his Australian accent difficult to understand. "Are you going trekking?"

"Yeah, I think so," I shouted back. "Going to try and go as far as I can up Everest."

He nodded. "Cool man. I did it last year. It rocks that high." His face was flushed from the beers we had been drinking, but he was still a good looking guy. I would probably have hated him if I hadn't been so desperate for conversation and he hadn't been so likeable.

"I'm meeting a guide tomorrow," I added. "He is called Pattan. Have you heard of him?"

"Nah mate. There's quite a few around but they all look and sound the same to me. The meaningful silences ain't a bit of Buddhist Wisdom, it's just because they don't understand English!" he laughed at his witticism. "Look, here's a piece of advice about choosing one. Take him out for a few beers. If you don't like him drunk, then you won't like him trekking!"

"OK, Saul, understood."

I felt Miri's leg move again, almost rub up against mine. Was she coming on to me? I wasn't sure, she was so much younger than me and I couldn't read the signs. I pretended not to notice but left my leg where it was.

"What about you?" I asked back, changing the subject. I realised that I didn't want to discuss my mission for Lara right now. I was here to enjoy myself. "What brings you to the ends of the world?"

"This isn't the end of the world!" he laughed. "You should see where I come from in Oz. That's the arse end of the world!"

"I'm here for Becky," he added and nodded at his partner sat next to him still talking intently with Miri. She was attractive with long blond hair that kept threatening to fall into the candles on the table as she leant forward. "She can't stay in Australia any longer, her visa has run out. If I want to be with her, then I've got to live with fifty million Poms. Imagine that! That's how much I love her!" He grinned at her and squeezed her thigh.

Becky turned to him. "You're such an idiot Saul," she said witheringly, but she was smiling. She was obviously as much in love with him as he was with her. Miri was watching them both and smiling, but I saw her hand drop under the table and rest on her thigh, inches from my leg.

"This is our last night in Nepal. We leave tomorrow for England. I'm not sure if we are celebrating or commiserating." Saul was chattering on, but I hardly heard. My whole attention was now on Miri's hand which was slowly stroking my thigh.

***

We were in a bar in the Thamel area of Kathmandu, a confusing tangle of lanes that catered almost exclusively to Westerners. Each street was an identikit mixture of hotels, restaurants, bars, gift shops, trekking stores, tourist booking shops, jewellers, tat sellers, rug merchants and antique stores. It was like a larger version of Lakshman Jhula in Rishikesh, but I was sure that it could have been Bangkok or Delhi or Singapore or Goa or anyone of a dozen or so cities on the traveller trail.

After speaking to Claire and Anika, I didn't really see any need to stay in Pokhara. It was very beautiful but the peace and quiet there just made me brood about Lara. Besides, it felt like I had done what I needed to do there, so the next morning I boarded a bus to Kathmandu.

"It's a very noisy place," Govinda had warned me. "Too much traffic, too many people, too much pollution. It is very tiring, and will give you a headache. I don't think you will like it there."

However, the bright lights, loud noises, traffic and people of Kathmandu had the opposite effect on me. I found it invigorating to be around all that energy. Memories and thoughts of Lara sank below the surface again, at least for a while. It was as much a release as the calm and serenity of Pokhara.

I found the hotel that Anika recommended quite easily. It was decorated in a traditional style, close to the bustle of the Thamel high street, but far enough away to be quiet. The staff were indeed very helpful. A couple of phone calls and they had set up a meeting with Pattan for the next day.

"What is he like?" I asked the receptionist curiously.

"He is a very special man," she answered. "He used to be a monk, but decided that his path was not in a monastery. He will only take a client if he likes them and thinks that they need him. He is very wise and compassionate."

"Oh," I said. I wasn't expecting a guru for a guide, nor to have to audition for him. He did sound special though, and if Anika had said he was right for me, then I suspected she was right.

***

Sitting in the courtyard of a busy restaurant that evening, eating by myself, watching all the other people eat and drink happily away, I suddenly felt very lonely. I needed a break from Lara and this mission I seemed to have put myself on. I needed distraction. I needed company. I needed beer.

At that moment, almost as if it was meant to happen, a girl walked through the entrance quite near to where I was sitting. She was dressed in boots, jeans and a hoodie, but somehow managed to look ethnic and chic with bangles and necklaces, scarves and earrings. She was very attractive, but also very young too. She would be a perfect companion I thought, someone I could talk too but who I wouldn't get emotionally or physically involved with. I was still here for Lara after all.

"You're welcome to join me," I said instinctively as she looked in vain for a free table.

She looked startled for a second, as if she hadn't been expecting to be spoken too. "Thank you," she said in thickly accented English and considered me for a second. "I'm not sure, but OK. Perhaps it will be good for me to talk to someone. It has been some time."

"Snap," I said and signalled to a passing waiter for two more beers. "So how long is it since you have spoken to someone from home?" I asked when she had settled down.

"Five days. You are English?" I nodded. "So speaking to you doesn't really count as speaking to someone from home." She answered looking cautiously at me.

"Yeah, but it is better and easier than speaking to a Nepali isn't it? Where are you from?" I asked trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"The Netherlands."

"Amsterdam?" I guessed.

"No, a little village out in the country. Near Eindhoven." She looked around the restaurant, unwilling it seemed to look at me.

"Have you been out here awhile? Are you missing home?" I asked gently, sensing that this was why she was nervous.

"Yes, yes I am." She looked up at me sharply. "How did you know?"

The waiter appeared and popped open two beers. "Thanks. I don't know, I could just tell. So you are lonely?" I leant back and took a sip of the chilled lager.

She paused for a moment, and then there was a sudden rush of words. "Yes, yes I am lonely. I miss my family. I miss my mother. I don't know anyone here. I can't really talk to anyone. I didn't think that it would be a problem, but it is."

The nervousness had left her; she was tense and angry, full of energy. It was as if something had opened up within her now and she couldn't stop. "They said that it would be hard, but I didn't really think it would be like this. It is not what I expected at all. People stare at me all the time. They try and touch me, try to lie to me, try and rip me off. I am sick of it. I don't know who I can trust. I want to go home."

When her outburst had finished, she was almost out of breath. "Oh, I didn't mean to go on," she said almost embarrassed. "I don't even know you, and I am speaking so much!"

"It's OK," I said and laughed. "It's good to let it out. I know exactly how you feel!" Suddenly I realised we didn't even know each other's names. "I'm Matt by the way," and I stretched out my hand.

"Miri," she said shyly, as she took it. Her grip was feather light.

"OK, Miri. I think I know how to make you feel better. I think I know what we need to do."

"Really? You know how to make me feel better?" she looked at me hopefully.

"Yeah, really, I do." I replied. "I'm in the same way at the moment, I feel lonely too."

"You feel lonely too? Really, you look so sure."

"Appearances can be deceptive. But I do know how to cheer myself up. I think it would work for you too."

Well what is it!" she said impatiently. "Tell me!"

"There is only one possible thing we can do in this situation," I stopped and grinned. "We need to go and have some fun. Come on, drink up. We're going out!"

She looked at me for a second and then laughed too. "OK! Let's go out and have some fun!"

***

We left the restaurant and hit a nearby bar. A couple of beers later Miri recognized a couple who were staying at her hotel. She was too nervous to go and speak to them, but I had no such qualms and quickly started a conversation. Before we knew it, we had been in the bar several hours, had consumed a lot of alcohol and were all quite drunk. Miri's hand had crept into mine under the table.

"I know what we should do!" Saul shouted excitedly when the band started packing up and the clientele clearing out. "Let's pick up some beers from the English Wine Shop and head back to ours. I don't feel like going to bed just yet. Come on, let's go!" And he led the way out of the bar.

"Where is everyone?" Becky asked when we got onto the street. It was quiet and dark, the shops all closed and the lights were off everywhere. It seemed as though the city was asleep.

"I think we should go back now," Miri said slurring her words. She was stumbling around too; the beer had obviously affected her. Becky moved to steady her before I could.

"Ok," Saul said taking charge. "Becky, why don't you take Miri back, and me and Matt'll go and get the beers."

"Okay love," Becky nodded and they set off.

"She's a little scorcher!" Saul grinned at me when they had gone round the corner. "Good on ya mate!"

"No, it's not like that," I protested, my voice slurring a little now as well. "There is nothing going on between us. She's just a bit lonely that's all. I'm just looking after her."

"Yeah, right mate!" Saul's smile grew even broader.

"Anyway, I'm married. Was married. Oh God..." I reeled as I suddenly remembered Lara. "Stop!" I said to Saul. "I'm going to be sick." I grabbed the wall and bent over, but nothing came up, I only dry retched.

"How could I go out and get drunk with Lara only days in her grave," I thought to myself. "How could I go out and have fun when she was dead. How could I flirt with another girl? Especially when she was so much younger than me. What kind of man was I?" Another wave of nausea, or perhaps guilt washed over me.

"Shit mate! Are you all right?" Saul was bent over me concernedly. "Yeah, course you are!" he said as he helped me straighten up. "Nothing another tinnie or two won't sort out anyway," he laughed and we staggered down the street to the wine shop. "Come on, I've got celebrating to do - or commiserating!"

Their hotel room was small and quite plain; a double bed, two chairs, and lots of clothes strewn around the floor. But there was an almost party atmosphere when we got back. Miri and Becky had shed their fleeces and hoodies and were dancing around to some tinny music coming out of a small Ipod speaker. There was a smoky atmosphere with a heavy, perfumed scent.

"Hey hey hey!" Saul shouted when we opened up the door. "Less of the smokes. More of the drink!"

Becky sprang across the room to us and wrapped herself around Saul. "Baby, I've missed you!" she said as she started kissing him.

Miri plumped herself next to me on the bed. "Where have you been! I thought you had gone without saying goodbye!"

"No, no I wouldn't do that. Saul wanted to have another beer so we stopped at a late bar on the way back for one." I said.

"I missed you!" she said as she twined her fingers into mine on the bed.

"Well I'm here now kid, don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," she said as she squeezed my hand tightly.

"So are you still feeling lonely now? Are you still missing home?" I asked to change the subject. I was still feeling uncomfortable with the way she was flirting with me.

"No! You were right! I am having such a good time. I haven't thought about home at all and haven't missed them at all." She giggled as she spoke, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Told you!" I said laughing too.

"Oh Matt, you're very wise." she said and she cuddled in close to me.

"Uh uh uh, less of that you little lovebirds!" Saul was standing over us with a beer in his hands. "Plenty of time for that later. Now is the time to drink and smoke." He passed me a joint and a bottle of beer.

I took a toke, and offered it to Miri, but she refused. "I am OK. I had some with Becky earlier; it made me feel all dizzy." I took another lungful.

"Yeah, that is strong," I said as I exhaled. "Hey Saul, there isn't anything funny in this is there!" Sudden panic hit me as memories of the last time I smoked an unknown joint came flooding back to me. "Has it got crack in it you fucking arsehole!" I shouted jumping up, fear and anger almost overwhelming me.

"Hey man! Fucking relax!" Saul shouted back, also jumping up and squaring up to me. "It's just regular fucking dope. Nothing else. Calm down. Shit man, you look terrible, what's the matter?" he added suddenly concerned, when he saw the fear on my features.

I took a couple of deep breaths, struggling to control my racing heart and relax my clenched stomach. "I'm OK. Hang on. No, I'm OK. Look are you sure, that's just dope?"

"Yeah man, do you think I would put shit in it? Do we look like fucking smack heads?" he was angry at the implication that he had tried to give us something bad. "It's very strong, it's made up in the hills somewhere round here, but it is pure."

"I'm sorry." I suddenly felt a bit stupid, wildly accusing him of spiking the joint. "I just had a bad experience before. I think it must be the drink that is making me paranoid."

"OK, no worries. You cool now? You ok?" I nodded. "Then there is no problem!" he laughed. "But I think no more Mary J for you!"

I suddenly became aware of Becky and Miri, both wide eyed and tense, watching me have a minor meltdown. I sat on the edge of the bed and Miri came and put her arm round me, comforting me.

"What happened?" Becky asked quietly, leaning in and putting her hand on my leg soothingly. "Before I mean, when you had that bad experience?"

"It was a long time ago," I said. "I am not sure I can really remember. I am not sure I want to remember." I could remember perfectly, I just didn't want to. Every time I thought about it, my face flamed in shame.

"Come on man!" Saul sat back and opened another tin of beer, the confrontation seemingly forgotten. "You gotta' tell us after that little outburst."

"Yes, please tell us," Miri whispered at my side. "I would like to know too."

The smoky air in the small hotel room suddenly seemed full of stillness and expectation, confidences and secrets. Miri, Saul and Becky seemed like my closest friends. Part of me held back; the fear of judgement and rejection stopping me speaking. But another part of me desperately wanting to speak, to confess, to find absolution.

I paused, unsure how much to tell them.

***

Helen and I were invited to a wedding party in Kensington. She was very well connected with a lot of rich and fashionable friends, and this was a no expenses spared do. The flat was gorgeous; room after high ceilinged room, decorated in expensive cream and white fabrics, tastefully scattered with modern art and abstract prints on the walls.

Everyone was beautiful. The girls were all models and the men were all gay. Or at least that's what it felt like. It was a wedding, so everyone was dressed in designer suits and high couture. I could only afford an off the peg suit from Marks and Spencers and felt really out of place.

I made up for it by swaggering round arrogantly, necking glass after glass of the free booze, as if I owned the place. Talking with a confidence I didn't feel inside to everyone around, cracking jokes and telling stories.

Pretty soon, I had fallen in with the three or four exciting people at the party. I think troublemakers are naturally drawn to each other. Two girls whose names I can't remember but who were properly stacked, and a gay guy called Edward dressed in a Conran suit.

We made our way to a kitchen at the back and the cocaine, credit cards and notes came out. We did a few lines from the table, but got bored of that and started snorting them from other surfaces. An expensive looking Degas print was first then a sharp kitchen knife before one of the girls suggested Edward's bald head. We then naturally started looking for other body parts. It could have got really interesting, but unfortunately Helen walked in as I had my nose buried deep in the cleavage of one of the girls as she lay on the table.

"Matt!" she hissed at me. "What the fuck do you think you are doing!"

I froze for a second. It was not the first time I had been caught out, but this wasn't good. I knew that I should apologise, but somehow just seemed to go on the attack. I could blame the drink but actually I think I was just obnoxious back then.

"Ah darling! There you are." I said theatrically sighing. "Would you like to join in? I can thoroughly recommend..." I paused struggling to remember the girls name, "....Gemma here. Most excellent tits, and the perfect place to take cocaine from. I'm thinking of hiring her, just for that." I winked at the girl on the table, and she giggled, a little nervously back.

"Leave those whores. Get your coat," she said coldly, looking straight at me. "We're leaving."

I sighed again. "Sorry. It looks as though I have to go and try and repair my marriage. See you again sometime," I said directly to Gemma's breasts.

In the taxi back home there was an icy silence. I couldn't really blame Helen for that, but I was too drunk and high to put up with it for too long. "So are we going to fuck and make up then?" I tried to lighten the atmosphere.

"Shut up, just shut up," she snarled at me.

"I guess not then. Shall we just end it then? Stop making each other so unhappy?"

She turned to look at me. I could see tears behind the anger, but there was too much anger for them to come out. Maybe if they had things might have been different. "No Matt," she said in a forced voice. "We are not going to end it. We made vows together. We have a family. I am not going to let you fuck it up. We are not going to end it and that's that."

"Don't I get a choice? Am I not allowed to have an opinion?" I hated feeling as if I had no say. It made me feel absolutely powerless, and that made me angry.

"When you stop behaving like a child, then you will be allowed to make decisions. Now? No, you are a waste of space." Her voice was cold and in full of authority, but she was right. I think that made me even angrier.

"You fucking bitch. You fucking patronising bitch. I do have a choice, I do." I turned to the driver. "Pull over, pull over. Just here, that's fine." As I got out the car, I turned to Helen. "I do have a choice, I'm leaving. It is over, we're finished." And I slammed the car door closed.

She wound the window down. "No Matt, it is not. You will come back. You haven't got the balls to leave." I gave her the finger as I marched off down the street, pretending to ignore her, and not looking when she drove off.

After about ten minutes of walking, I stopped to get my bearings. We had been driving along the edge of Hyde Park, along the Bayswater road, so up ahead was Oxford Street. I would be able to get home from there. Get home, what was I thinking? That was the last thing that I wanted to do. What should I do?

I am not sure why, but at this point the most ludicrous idea came to me. I was still drunk and high and very horny from all the MDMA from the party. Why didn't I get a prostitute and a take her to a cheap hotel. That would show Helen who really was in control. Fuck her, yes, that is what I would do. I would find myself a whore and fuck her.

I had never visited a prostitute before so didn't know any particular place. Soho wasn't too far, and that was the hookers were supposed to be. It would take me about twenty minutes to get there. I set off with a spring in my step.

Despite it being well after 2am, Soho was still busy. People were spilling out of bars and clubs. I didn't want the glitzy showbiz side of Soho; I wanted the dark side. I found it down a badly lit and rubbish strewn side street, only a few seconds walk away. A girl with a pale face, dark hair and dirty clothes, sitting on a step.

"You want something?" She asked looking up at me.

I hesitated, unsure what to say. "Yes, yes I do. I need to get laid. Can you help?" I said it all in a rush, feeling as gauche and awkward as a teenager.

She regarded me for a bit. "Yes, yes I can. You got money?"

"How much?" I asked her suspiciously.

"Eighty quid. We can go to my place, it's not far from here."

"Ok, that's fine." I nodded eagerly. She stood up; she was very thin, and looked quite unhealthy. I suppose if I had been sober I might have noticed the dark shadows under the eyes and the bruises on her bare arms. Or in fact how young she looked, but I was too drunk to notice or care at that point.

"My name's Monica, what's yours?" She asked as she led me down the side street and through an alleyway.

"Rob," I lied instinctively. "Where are we going?"

"A place, not far from here," she answered again cryptically, and then stopped in front of a door. "Have you got £10 now Rob? I need to get something for later."

"Yes, yes of course." I answered and fumbled around for my wallet.

"Thank you," she said when I had handed over the money. "Wait here, I'll be very quick," and she disappeared through the doorway. I hung around outside, feeling stupid, wondering if she would come back or if she had done a runner. I didn't even think to wonder what she was buying.

I must have drifted off waiting for her, because I was startled when she opened the door suddenly. "Thanks for waiting," she said. "Come on, let's go." And she led me down more back streets and alleys, through a big black door, down a long dark corridor, up a flight of stairs and into a small, darkly lit room. There was a double bed and little else.

"This is it," she said simply, and began pulling her clothes off.

It was only afterwards I noticed how young she really was. Her face, under the badly applied make up, under the lines of exhaustion and abuse, was a child's face. "How old are you Monica?" I asked as she leant over the bed to get her jeans on the floor. She tried to keep the bed sheet over her chest to avoid exposing her tiny breasts. Ridiculous really as only moments before they had been crushed against mine as I heaved and panted on top of her.

"Nineteen," she lied confidently, as she fished out a home rolled cigarette and a lighter from the pocket of her trousers. "Here, you want some?" she offered me the cigarette after she had taken a couple of short puffs.

"Sure, yeah, thanks." I took the joint and inhaled deeply. It was only after the second draw, that I felt the room starting to spin. It tasted like nothing else I had had before, sick and sweet and strong. It wasn't a cigarette, or even a joint, but something much stronger. My whole body went numb, and I felt myself starting to slide into myself, like I was a fly stuck in a spider's web. It was lovely and comforting and numb and horrible and sickening all at the same time. I couldn't move let alone speak.

I was vaguely aware of Monica standing over me, speaking to me, slapping me round the face, but I couldn't respond. As if from a million miles away I saw her speaking into a mobile phone, and then some unknown time later, large male hands lifted me up and carried me down the stairs and outside. A few steps, a few streets or maybe a few miles away I was set down at the bottom of some basement stairs. I lay there, partly conscious, aware of very little. It was as if my identity and memory had melted away. I wondered if I would die.

But I didn't die of course. As dawn was breaking, movement slowly returned to my body and awareness to my mind. Firstly it was just pain, every bone, and every muscle in my body registering pain. Then, slowly, came the remembrance of who and where I was. Finally the fear came into my mind; a crushing and devastating terror. I could have died, I almost did. I couldn't stay here. I had to get home.

With infinite slowness, I began the long process of sitting, then standing up. My first steps holding onto the wall, and then staggering without support. I came up the steps blinking in the early morning light. My money and phone were gone; I would have to walk home.

It took several hours to get back. At least it gave me a chance to recover slightly and come up with a story. Helen forgot her outrage when she saw me battered and bruised, and swallowed my mugging story completely. For the few weeks it took me to recover, things between us got better. We forgave each other for our indiscretions. We were caring and tender to each other, even loving together. I think it was then that our second child was conceived.

The lies never caught up with me. The Police were unsurprised and didn't do anything. Helen forgot all about it in the joy of pregnancy. Even I managed to bury the guilt of paying for sex with an underage girl deep inside and the terror of OD'ing on smack or whatever it was. I managed to forget about the whole incident completely. Well almost. Only occasionally would I wonder what had become of Monica, or wake sweating in the night, the memory of lying at the bottom of the stairs waiting to die.

***

"Well go on then!" Saul looked at me expectantly.

"Oh, I got drunk in London, was offered a joint down a back street in Soho, passed out and was mugged. I haven't really had any drugs since then."

Saul nodded. "Yeah man, you gotta' be careful."

The atmosphere in the small hotel room had changed. Gone was the intensity, now it just seemed like four drunk and tired people who hardly knew each other trying to prolong an evening. Beccy was yawning and Miri had her head in my lap. I felt a huge well of tenderness for her well up in me.

"Come on kid," I said to her. "We better go."

"Yeah, we've got a flight in the morning. Maybe we better call it a day."

We stood up, and Saul came over. "Good to get to know you man, good luck with Everest."

"Thanks fella, good luck in Pom land too!" We all hugged and kissed each other, said our goodbyes like we would see each other again, and then Miri and I left.

We didn't speak, but she held my hand and led me to her room, down a flight of stairs. It was much bigger than Saul and Beccy's, with a large double bed. Once the door was closed, she flung herself on the bed. I sat next to her and started stroking her legs.

She sat up. "Will you take my boots off?"

"How old are you Miri?" I said as I began unlacing them.

"Nineteen," she replied. It was the same answer as the prostitute in Soho had given me, but this time I believed her.

"Miri, I'm twice your age. We shouldn't really be doing this," I said as I gently took one boot off and then other.

"You are only taking my boots off," she giggled a little nervously.

"But not now," I said, and I leaned forward and kissed her. After a moment's hesitation, her mouth opened and her tongue flicked into mine. My hand slid up her jeans and pressed into her crotch, but she stiffened.

"Matt, I haven't been with many boys before," she whispered. "Only two and it wasn't good. I am very nervous."

I paused. "Miri, are you sure you want to do this? We don't have to?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I want to have sex with you. I don't want to be alone tonight." She shivered and leaned forward. "I miss home so much at the moment. I get so lonely, I don't sleep at night. It is making me ill."

I sighed and sat up. "Look Miri, just because you are lonely and miss home, doesn't mean you should sleep with me. That's not right."

"But I don't want you to go! If I don't have sex with you, you will not like me and will go." She said. "I feel safe with you here. I know I will be able to sleep."

I paused. It would be so easy to take advantage of her. Part of me desperately wanted to. There wouldn't me many chances I would get to sleep with a beautiful nineteen year old again. I knew that I could give her a better experience than she had had before too.

But another part of me, another growing part of me, didn't want to just have sex for the sake of it. A part that didn't want to take advantage of her, that didn't want to hurt her. I wanted to be a different and better person. I couldn't make up for the people that I had abused, including the prostitute, but I could stop hurting people now.

She was struggling to undo her belt so I put my hand on hers, stopping her. "It's alright Miri, I'm not going to leave you. I'll stay with you, but we won't have sex."

"Really? You don't mind?" She looked at me hopefully.

"Really, I don't mind." I grinned at her. "Now, move over. Let's get into bed and get some sleep. I've got an audition for a guide tomorrow."

~~~~

# Chapter 10

## Bailey – Rishikesh – Early November

The sun continued its strong glare on my back as I walked slowly down the path. I felt my skin burning but could do nothing about it. I shifted the straps of the two bags on my shoulders with another groan of annoyance. One was an imitation Nike hold-all and the other a local design satchel with garish colours and violently clashing designs. I wondered why Jan had bought it. I can't think what possessed him when he handed over money for that atrosity. It was horrible and didn't seem his taste at all. I imagined someone else's influence persuading him to buy it and I didn't want to think about it. I resented having to carry it and wished I could have left it by the side of the road. The pattern looked like egg yolk and smarties on a pink-tiled kitchen floor. Some childish accident. Sweat ran into my eyes and I blinked to clear the stinging sensation. My hair kept sticking to my face and all I could do was brush my shoulder against my cheek to try and dislodge it, only to feel the moisture pull it back again. I swore loudly and gritted my teeth like some half-forlorn soldier determined not to give up even though that would be the kindest thing.

I continued my walk, my face streaked with tears trying to ignore the pain of the thin useless straps cutting into the skin on my shoulders. Fucking useless things. I teetered on the edge of a tantrum. I wanted pity and help. I did not want to be forced to do this on my own, forced to carry his junk and bitterness. I wanted to rip it all from me and tear it to shreds on the dusty worn road, let the locals point and look, maybe run over and try and salvage his pathetic crap. Some old, dirty, poor bastard could have his clothes and half empty toiletries. Maybe someone would also find a use for the unopened packet of condoms. Stop another bastard being born into the world. I shuddered with anger and hurt at the thought and the prospect of him planning to open that packet and use one with someone else. Specifically, that girl Lara. Who else would it be? Why did he have them? I hated her. Her with her fucking bullshit demeanour and demure act. Her fucking pseudo-coolness which I thought wasn't so cool at all. Why did he want to be with her? What had he done with her and where had he taken her? Why had he chosen her over me? The sun shone so brightly it was almost white in my eyes. I focussed on my feet and swapped the bags over on my shoulders. I told myself if I kept looking down and kept walking maybe the next time I looked up I would be where I wanted to be.

The day all seemed like a jumble of time and emotion now as I looked back and couldn't help myself pulling apart the details like tape on an old cassette.

***

After I had finished lunch at Jan's hotel I had ordered a tea and sat like I was under some sort of spell at that table in the shade, just watching. Both the cup and saucer were chipped and the tea tasted disgusting. I drummed the tea spoon angrily against the side of the table, letting the table cloth absorb the dull thrumming. I was avoiding the inevitable. The moment when I would walk into that room and sift through his stuff, knowing that this is something Jan never would have wanted. That he would have destroyed his things, his secrets, before allowing me in. He would be furious.

I had kept my eye on the young waiter as he worked the tables. The one that I was sure Jan would have been friends with and when he had cleared the last table I got up quickly and followed him into the foyer.

"I'm ready to collect Jan van Duyen's belongings now." I spoke to his back.

He spun with a look of fright on his face. "Sorry Miss, I didn't see you there behind me. You surprise me Miss." He spoke with concern, and something else that seemed to me like embarrassment. Like he was hiding something or had answered questions to do with this before.

"Are you...?"

"I'm his sister. I spoke with the manager. I'm here to collect his bags from the storage room."

"Oh, OK," he said and paused, looking around him with doubt.

I stared determinedly back at him.

"The bags...?"

Still he stood and I knew he was waiting for his boss to tell him it was OK. I kept my eyes fixed firmly until he relented.

"Follow me please."

He put the tray down on the wooden bench I had been sat on less than an hour earlier and led the way down a dark corridor away from the foyer and the hotel rooms. We turned a corner and the wallpaper and hangings that had decorated the other spaces were now absent from here. There were just brown-plastered walls and the sense of disuse. I kicked past some old newspapers and plastic cables just as we came to a stop outside a door.

"This one please," he spoke in a lowered voice as he pushed open the door and pointed towards two bags squashed under a half-collapsed book shelf.

"Thank you Santosh."

He stood there awkwardly on the other side of the door as I crossed into the room and pulled the bags away from their resting place.

I looked back as if to question why he was still there waiting.

"I stay here Miss and then take you back. Guests are not allowed here."

I turned my attention away from him and sat rigidly cross-legged on the floor to go through what was left of Jan in this place. I heard Santosh shuffle away into the corridor and leave me.

Surprisingly his clothes were clean and freshly laundered. Despite having sat in the bag in the dusty room you could hardly smell that. I noticed the way each item had been carefully folded and arranged in his bag. Curious. Like he was preparing for something. Like he was trying to impress someone. It reminded me of the sort of preparation you would take on the night before an interview, when you weren't entirely sure of yourself and feelings of insecurity sought for space against the urge to achieve and impress. It became clear to me the changes in Jan in the days preceding the bus crash had been from the time he had spent with Lara. He had wanted to impress her. I felt desperate with these thoughts pronouncing themselves again and again as I sifted through the evidence of his things like this. I could tell that he was hoping to set up a little life with her, however temporary. I realised with renewed sadness that he had never wanted me to move in with him or for us to live together in Amsterdam. I had disguised my hurt by making jokes about it, but here he was, after what must have been no more than a couple of weeks and it was as if he was moving in with this other woman. He had prepared all his things to move into the hotel with her. Another wave of sadness washed over me. I pulled out his clothes not bothering to keep the straight lines and creases that he had folded in. I hoped that that would have pissed him off.

I dug deeper into the bag, and there folded in his freshly pressed underwear was a journal. Without pause I turned to the first page, but of course, it was written in Dutch. I cursed and scanned the words for anything that I could recognise. I saw my name several times crowded either side by formations of letters that meant nothing to me. And then also, her name, Lara under different entries. I resisted the urge to rip the stupid notebook up and kept going through the pages methodically until I came across something in English. And there it was, song lyrics, I suppose, or maybe the start of a poem that said it all. Right at the back of the book. Written before he had even come to India, whilst we were together.

We met as it were by a cruel twist of fate,

twisting the knife, filling me with hate.

I wish that sometimes, I could escape

But chained as I am I know it's too late.

She thinks that she loves me

but she knows no better,

I suppose I should pity her,

but I don't;

I curse her forever.

We fuck and we fuck and I wish I could kill her;

Deep inside her I feel nothing, but torture.

Someday I know it will all come to an end,

But for now, I continue

And keep her lost and frightened.

Sometimes when we 'make love'

I want to tell her I hate her; see what she says.

But what is the point?

I dream,

And dream,

and imagine bringing my fist to her face.

I gripped the page tightly which was by now covered by my sweaty fingerprints. Some of the words were smudged but they could never be erased. I managed, slowly, to prise the journal out of my grip and lay it face down on the floor. I took a sharp intake of breath. I didn't want to cry. I couldn't stop seeing the words and hearing them being shouted in my head. I can't imagine whatever would have brought him to hate me so much.

I listened to my watch mark the minutes as they unfeelingly pushed time on. It must have been at least 10 minutes before I moved on and pulled out the camera that was in his day-bag. I sat up and ignored the pain of kneeling on the concrete floor. I switched the camera on and was greeted by one bar of battery. I flicked to the view menu and began the laborious process of going through his album and seeing one by one beautiful panoramic and scenic shots of India, and here and there, interspersed, shots of him with a tall striking-looking woman with short blonde hair and a knowing smile.

There she was in one, reclined against an unmade bed in just her underwear. In another, putting her make-up on and blowing kisses at the camera. Another showed her leaning forward to give a generous view of her cleavage with a pout to match. There was a self-portrait of them kissing on a bridge against a setting sun.

My knees clicked as I sat back on my haunches and called Santosh into the room.

I spoke in someone else's voice. "Santosh? Who is this?" I pointed to one of the pictures. I needed affirmation.

"That, umm, that is, Miss Lara."

"Right." I stood up abruptly. "I'm ready to go now."

With an embarrassed and pained shuffle, Santosh led me away from the room and back down the dark corridor we had come. He must have known I wasn't Jan's fucking sister but he wasn't going to say anything. Just fucking try and I will call the police and tell them about the stolen wallet, I thought, listening in my head to how pathetic my voice would sound if I did. I kept silent and pushed my way out through the swinging doors and into the bleached sunlight of the world outside.

Without realising I had stopped in my tracks. The fucking bags were killing my shoulders by now. I wasn't even sure where I was walking aside from re-tracing my route back down the river towards the direction I imagined our hotel to be. What seemed like a quick stroll this morning now seemed much longer. With my discoveries came the sense of the day being pained and never ending. Maybe Jan was right about cruel twists of fate and here I was, embroiled in the middle of another one. Out here, in this fucking third world country not knowing what the fuck I was doing or where I should be going. I felt like the stupid little girl all over again.

I thought about the message I had received from Matt that he was in Kathmandu and wondered whether that was the answer. It had been so strange so far with the letters and emails and the news and then rushing to India that I hadn't really taken stock of anything at all. I needed to think more about this Matt character. I was innately suspicious of that guy and I hated the way, unwillingly or not, he had strung me along with these half-assed truths and this little fucking treasure hunt of his. I needed closure to this whole damn episode. It was heart-breaking but I had no choice in the matter. I had to find him and settle all this drama for once and for all. The momentum of my thoughts gave me relief and purpose. It was the only positive thing I could think of doing and I resolved to make it back to the hotel and make up some bullshit to Nate and get us moving. I had no idea how we were going to get to Kathmandu and what sort of story I would have to string Nate along with. We'd only been here for a day. I knew he was going to freak out. And if the journey here was anything to go he was going to be one major pain in the ass. I adjusted those fucking hot sweaty bags again that were intent in cutting into my skin. It seemed best to keep Nate a bit in the dark, for my peace and sanity at least. I sat on my haunches by the side of the road like some fucking local trying to figure out my next move when it came to me. Robin. I dug out his card from my back pocket and turned it over in my hands. Telephone. I needed a telephone. I stood on tired legs and headed in the direction of our hotel which I had left sometime that morning.

***

The phone rung for ages until someone picked up.

"Yes, how can I help?" The sound of a small voice spoke through the receiver.

"Hello?" I stood in the cramped smelly cabin in the reception of the hotel to try and hear better.

"Yes?"

"Hi, can I speak with Robin please?" I said in an embarrassingly loud voice. I felt the receptionist turn towards me and hoped she wasn't going to come over with try and sell me another freakin' day trip. I pulled the receiver closer to my ear and tried not to think how many faces had had this glued to their cheeks.

"Yes, this is Robin."

"Hi Robin. My name is Bailey. The American girl? You met me today, in the street. You showed me the way to the hotel?"

"Yes I remember Miss."

"Right. Great. Well, I need some help. I want to go to Kathmandu. Can you help?"

"Long way Miss. Are you sure? Best way taxi."

"Yes I'm sure. Can we leave tomorrow?"

"OK Miss. I organise. Your hotel please?"

I paused realising I had no idea and scanned the reception looking for the name. I saw some old stationary within arm reach and leant over.

"The Palace? Umm, Nar-ay-ana Palace?" The name sounded stupid to me even as I said it.

"Yes I know. OK good."

I gave Robin the rest of the details he wanted and heard him scratch the name onto a piece of paper. We agreed a pick-up time of 9am tomorrow morning and after I had said goodbye to him on the phone I hung up and stood for a moment wondering again how I was going to tell Nate and what sort of fit he was going to have. An old-fashioned clock told me it was almost 6pm.

"Excuse me?" I approached the reception desk.

"Yes?" She looked up from where she was staring at the keyboard and regarded me with something like boredom. I saw her lean towards the pile of leaflets advertising elephant rides and wondered how much commission she was on.

"Just to let you know that a taxi is coming for us tomorrow morning. 9am." I watched her manicured fingers click away on the keyboard and she kept her blank expression on me.

"So, we may be gone for a few days. A week, maybe."

"Your husband has already paid Miss."

Remembering the bags I had collected by the door, I didn't bother correcting her but pointed in their direction.

"Can you keep these things safe for me please? Until the morning? I'll take them with us."

"Yes that can be arranged."

Her tone was starting to piss me off. "Thank you." I turned on my heel and rolled my eyes at the wall when I remembered Nate.

"One more thing, have you seen Mr Stanton?"

"He's at the pool bar Miss."

I should have guessed. "Thanks." I muttered and walked out towards the pool, pulling my top over my head as I went.

As soon as I stepped outside and followed the flag stone path to the pool I could hear the strains of 1970's disco classics and knew that Nate would be in the middle of all of it. And there he was. Surrounded by several women lounging on the stone bar stalls in the pool, swigging a colourful-looking cocktail. He finished it with an effortless gulp and pushed it to one side, adding to his collection of empty drinks which formed a little glass group by his elbow.

He lounged back on his forearm looking ridiculously handsome in his swim shorts and bright coloured sunglasses. I could see that he had some bright coloured bracelets up one arm which seemed to match those of the girl closest to him. He should have been the model I thought as I watched him with a sense of unease. He was telling some sort of story and right on cue they all leant forward on the punch line making their breasts shudder with drunken laughter. The barman looked to me that he was having the time of his life, acting like some sort of Tom Cruise as he did some funny dance and started pouring from a bottle I didn't recognise thick green liquid resembling mucus into shot glasses. I shuddered, already feeling the hangover to come.

It was absurd but I felt this strange feeling of jealousy and annoyance seeing Nate like this, as I often did with other girls. I didn't want to share him and wanted someone to just be with me for a change. He always had to acquire some sort of fan club. I decided to ignore him instead and let him carry on his entertaining.

I stepped out of my short and sandals and dived into the pool feeling the smack of cold water against my skin and felt relieved. I wanted to stay underwater as long as possible and held my breath to swim to the other side, hearing nothing but the muffled noise of liquid until my lungs gave up and demanded air. I shot to the surface and heard the familiar wolf-whistle from Nate.

"Way! Check you out Sister!" He shouted jollily pulling his sunglasses down his nose so he could peer suggestively at me over his frames.

"Hey," I answered in a small voice.

"You want to come and join us darlin, I was just telling these ladies we're here on holiday and we should go out and parrrrty!" He dragged out the last word with that little in-joke of ours, in the annoying way the Dutch often did. I didn't want to be reminded of Amsterdam, not now of all times. I ignored him and kept swimming trying to concentrate on my rhythmic strokes as the water lapped my skin.

"Hey, Bailey, come have a drink man, come meet my friends from Dubai - Lorrie, Krista, Sam.... Umm, sorry I forgotten your name.... sexy ass bikini girl!" He blew a kiss at the girl closest to him and she laughed. God he was so annoying but unfortunately there no way of avoiding him. I started to rehearse my news of our little trip planned. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing there were other people around. I made me way across the pool treading water as I went.

"You gotta knock knock knock on wood! Knock knock knock..." Nate belted out the lyrics of the song in time to some pelvic thrusts aimed at the bar stool which the barman at least found funny.

"Dude, you can be such a prick sometimes." I yelled into his ear.

"What?"

"I said, YOU CAN BE SUCH A PRICK!"

"What's new?" He laughed as he tweaked the nipples of the 'sexy ass bikini girl'. I cringed in sobriety. I would have felt sorry for her if she wasn't so obviously such a complete bimbo.

"Nate!" I looked at him wide-eyed and surveyed the rest of the group.

"What? She loves it. Don't you darling! I'm only admiring her perfect little nipples. What's wrong with that?"

I shrugged in response. Nothing I suppose, I thought.

"Barman, Sanje?" Nate put on his polite voice. "A drink for my sister please. A house special. A big fucking special COCKtail. Reckon you can manage that?" He shouted sarcastically looking at me as he did so and the girls laughed.

I watched with a combination of horror and amusement as Sanje poured what looked like local-brand rum over ice, adding some bright red cordial and then a shot of clear liquid.

"Nate I need to talk to you about something." My throat felt dry as I spoke and I had to cough to clear my words.

"What?"

"I wanted to take a little trip?"

"Yeh?"

"I thought it might be cool to go to Kathmandu."

"You do, do you?" His attention was only half on me but I knew that something was up.

"Yeh, you know, something different." As I spoke, it occurred to me that he hadn't asked me where I had been today. I felt a sense of disquiet but ignored it and went on. "Well, I was thinking you know, it's a bit stressful being here, and... well, you don't mind, do you, I mean if we go to Kathmandu, just for a little bit?"

"Sis, of course I don't mind, you're my little sister! Why would I mind? Anything you want, you can have!" As he spoke I felt something was wrong.

"Yo! Sanje! Hurry up with that drink will you? I know we're in a third world country but it's not excuse to be slow!"

"Yes, Sir."

"And, while you're at it, if you can go any quicker, another round of drinks for my gorgeous ladies here and oh while you're at it also, a round of shots too, and, don't say I'm not good to you - go on and treat yourself to a beer." He slapped the bar. "Bill it to my room."

"Yes, Sir. Sir, you have quite a lot of drinks on here already, usually we say pay bill when it gets very high."

"Look Sanje, don't go going all fucking Indian on me. Now pour the fucking drinks and do your job."

"OK Sir."

"Oh, and change the music would you? I hate this song! What you got there? A bit of house? Play some house music. Let's get in the mood!"

And so that's where the evening started. I gave in, drank the viscous green drink and slowly felt the calmness of drink ease me to a more comfortable place.

***

We stayed in the pool with the girls and the hotel staff watching until the dining room had begun to fill with diners and Nate suggested we all get showered and change and continue in the lobby bar or head out. I went along with it, realising the more pissed he got, the more manoeuvrable he would be and the easier it was for me.

It was 2am when we finally got kicked out of the hotel bar and told to go to bed in less than humorous terms by the manager. It was probably only Nate's gold card that saved us. Our dad was gonna be pissed to see that bill come through. We were all laughing as we looked for our shoes and bags that had become scattered all around the gaudy furniture in the hotel lobby. I had forgotten all my previous sadness from the day at least.

Nate was lingering with a girl in the corner, whispering something in her ear.

"Nate! Come to bed!" I shouted over at him.

"I'm coming." He turned his attention back to the girl and I wondered what he was planning as he nodded in my direction.

The other girls started to creep off, one holding her hand over her mouth, looking like she was going to throw up. The others shuffled off drunkenly holding high-heeled sandals and scarves over skimpy dresses.

"I'll see you up there Bailey. Louise is going to give me a quick blow-job. I told her we were sharing a room and you probably wouldn't appreciate it."

I walked away noticing as I did so the wide-eyed look of the manager. I didn't imagine they had many guests like Nate staying here, but maybe again, they did.

I was standing under the shower trying not to sway when I heard the door slam.

"Nate? Nate is that you?"

The bathroom door opened suddenly and Nate stood in the doorway, eyes half-closed with a smug expression on his face.

He ripped back the shower curtain and shoved his face close to mine. "Here's Johnny!"

"Nate! What the fuck. Careful you'll break the thing." It was too late though, his weight had already pulled the shower curtain noisily off the rail and dropped Nate to the floor.

Annoyed I switched off the hot water and stepped over him pulling a towel from the rail as I went.

"Bailey! Don't be such a... whatever!" He grabbed my ankle as I passed.

I yanked my leg back as I went through the doorway and almost slipped.

"Shit Nate! Stop being such a jerk." I sat on the bed pulling the towel tight around me. "Are you gonna pack or do you want me to do it for you?"

"For what?" he spoke from the bathroom floor.

"For the trip? Tomorrow?"

"Oh yeh. Whatever. I don't mind."

"We're going to Kathmandu remember? I told you about it earlier?"

"Oh, yes, of course, stupid me!"

I paused, not liking the tone in his voice.

"I-" I started speaking but Nate cut me off.

"Any special reason you want to go to Kathmandu?" He sounded more sober all of a sudden.

"I told you already."

"Oh, yes, the hills, the vibe, the ambience, the blah blah blah...." He leant round the door to look at me directly. "You see, I thought it might have been for some other reason."

"What-"

"I thought that perhaps you might like to see someone there."

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Oh, funny that. Hmmmmm..." he scratched his chin in a mock-thinking pose.

I was getting cold sat in my towel and looked at all our stuff scattered around the room and wondering if I should just throw it all into bags and be done with it.

"Just spit it out Nate." He was starting to piss me off now.

"The thing is Sister, I know all about your plans."

"Know what-"

"Oh cut the fucking crap would you?" He picked at some dirt on his clothes. "You see I know all about your plan to get cosy with Matt." He studied me, waiting for a reaction.

"How?-"

"Don't be dumb! You've been keeping these little notes he sent you! You left them here today in your make-up bag! I've seen the address in Kathmandu. I've seen the bags of petty pathetic belongings from Jan's hotel where you spent all day whinging and weeping. I know all about it! You can't keep anything from me! You should know sister; this is not the place to keep secrets. These third world niggers will do anything for a bit of money! Quite handy really considering you insist on behaving like such a secretive bitch!"

"I-"

"I haven't finished yet." He paused. "But, I want you to know. It's OK, I don't mind. Let's meet this Matt fellow. I'm actually rather looking forward to it. Now, I don't know about you but I am tired man! Let's get some sleep shall we?"

And with that he stood up, kicked his shoes off and got under the covers.

I in turn sat on the bed wanting to get as far away from him as possible, but knowing, deep down that I needed him. Soon enough Nate started snoring and I threw our things hastily into the bags and checked that nothing had been left in the drawers before setting the alarm and creeping into bed myself. Sleep didn't come though, not until just before the time when we had to get up.

~~~~

# Chapter 11

## Matt – Kathmandu – Early November

"So, Matt, you know Anika. Tell me what you think of her."

Pattan the guide leant back in his chair and smiled enigmatically at me. The dark embroidery of the cushions blended well with his trekking clothes, and I almost could not tell where the furnishings ended and he began.

"I only met her briefly. She seemed like a nice girl," I said slowly. I wasn't sure of his relationship to her so I didn't want to say anything derogatory.

"Really? I do not think she is nice, but that is not why I like her." He replied. "What do you really think of her?"

"I think that she means well, but ...." I trailed off. Pattan just looked at me and raised one eyebrow.

I thought back to when I met and decided to tell the truth to him. I was sure this was what he really wanted.

"I think that she's fucked up. She attacked me with a frying pan after about thirty seconds."

"Why did she do that?" his smile if anything broadened.

"I don't know. I think she has issues about men and has real anger problems."

"Yes," he sighed. "Anika does have some real issues. For some people the path is very easy, for some it is much harder. In Buddhism it is said that you should not blame the person if they hurt you, but the delusions that cloud their thinking. Like you shouldn't blame the stick that hits you, but the person that wields it".

"Right. I mean, it was ok after she had calmed down," I said, not completely sure of what he said. "We sorted things out; she apologised and we made up."

"Good. I am glad that you did that you did that. Thank you for being honest with me as well. I insist on honesty if I am to take someone to Everest."

***

We were in the lobby of the hotel Lhotse, drinking coffee. I had arrived for our meeting out of breath and about twenty minutes late, having rushed back from Miri's hotel. Pattan had seemed unconcerned though, waving away my apologies and smiling. "It's ok Matt. We are all late now and again. I'm glad you got here. Would you like some coffee?"

His face was lined, but it seemed to be from laughter rather than age. A smile constantly played round his mouth, stretching up his cheeks to his forehead and eyes, animating and lighting up his whole being.

It was difficult to put an exact finger on how old he was, it could have been anywhere between about thirty five and sixty. He looked fit and healthy though in a way that only living in the outside could make you. I immediately warmed to him and knew that I wanted him to be my guide.

"Thank you, yes. I had a late night last night."

He laughed. "Yes, we all have late nights now and again too!"

I smiled. There was something about the way he repeated my phrase that made me think he knew exactly what I had done, and not done, the night before.

"So how much does it cost for you to take me to Everest?" I asked to try and change the subject.

He shook his head. "No, the price is not so important. It is not a question of money. I only take a few clients a year, so it is not about money." He replied.

"Why is that?" I asked, generally curious. None of the locals I had met in Nepal and India would never have had such a blasé attitude to money.

"Money isn't so important to me now. I have enough for my material needs now. I only go on a trip now by recommendation from a previous client. I am too old to have arguments now," he laughed again.

"Oh, OK."

"I also have to understand why the client wants to go." He added, more seriously now. "It is a special trip and there must be a special reason to go." He leaned forward in his chair and looked at me searchingly. "Why do you want to go there Matt? Why do you really want to go to Everest?" his eyes bored into mine.

Suddenly I felt very naked and vulnerable before him. Like I was about to be judged. Like my life and identity was in the scales, and was being weighed up. Like I was standing on the edge of a cliff wondering whether to jump.

The atmosphere in the lobby went very quiet and still; the noise from the street, the restaurant and the other people nearby just seemed to melt away. My heart started racing and my mouth went dry.

"I, er, I, my wife, er, I mean, I came because, er...." I struggled to find the right way to begin, to find the right words to say. Why did I want to do this? Why was I going? I stumbled and tripped over my words, getting more confused and frustrated with each fumble. Lara didn't care, she was dead now. Was this just a bit of vain posturing, a way to put off going back home and really dealing with life. Pattan just sat watching me quietly, waiting for me to compose myself.

Eventually I stopped and gave myself some time to recover. "OK, OK. I think I am ok now," I said after a few moments. Pattan was still watching me intently, a look, perhaps of sadness in his eyes. Where should I begin, what should I say? And then suddenly I realised. This wasn't about knowing exactly why I was doing this, it was about being honest. About being completely and brutally honest about myself. I took a deep breath and started.

"My wife Lara left me six months ago. She came to India to study yoga, and fell in love with someone else, but they died in a coach crash. Lara had always talked about climbing the Himalayas together, but I had always put her off.

"Since she left me, I have been in pain every day. It is like I am missing a part of me. I do not sleep properly at night, do not have any appetite. Nothing seems to make me smile, or laugh or want to be alive.

"I had no idea that she was so unhappy with me. Well maybe I did, but I was too scared to admit it, let alone do anything about it. Deep down I knew she was falling out of love with me, but I couldn't do anything about it.

"I loved her so much; I would have done anything for her. I have never loved anyone like her, or wanted to be with someone as much as her.

"When she left, I lost myself for a while. I drank a lot and I took advantage of people who just wanted to help me. Maybe I did that anyway, but I did it worse when Lara left. We stopped communicating, so I didn't know that she had come to India, didn't know that she studied yoga, didn't know that she had met someone else.

"I got a phone call from her sister, a few weeks ago, telling me that she had died. I don't know why, but I knew that I had to come out here to find out what happened to her, to find her really. She had moved on, and I think that I needed too as well.

"From the people I have spoken too, she seemed to be happy in India. She loved the yoga course, enjoyed being in a different, less material culture. And she was happy with her new boyfriend, Jan. I don't know much about him, but he seemed to be a good man. He died in the crash too.

"At first I wanted to climb Everest for her, to do something that she wanted to do, to keep her close to me. But Anika said that I should also go for myself too. She said that it is a place that can change you. I think I need to change...."

I trailed off. Once I started, the words came out without stopping. As I talked I felt the tears threatening to burst out but I kept it together and didn't stop. What happened now? Would he take me there?

Pattan had his hands folded in his lap, and he let the quiet settle again before he started talking. His voice was soft and quiet, and it seemed if anything to intensify the silence around. It seemed that the only thing in the world was his voice and everything else just melted away.

"My poor friend, I can see that you have been in a lot of pain. There is a lot of hurt inside you. I can see it in your face and hear it in your words; I don't need to know the reasons. What we think are the causes are often not what they really are.

"You have had a lot happen to you. Your wife left you? And then she died in India? Yes, that would be a hard thing to happen for anyone.

"I wish that I could wave a magic wand and make it all better. I wish that I could take away your suffering, right now, but I can't. No one but the Buddha can do that. For many years, I was a Buddhist. I practiced love every day, so I know a little bit about it. This is what I think has happened.

"You say you are in love with your wife, but were you really? True love doesn't hurt. It cannot hurt. Love is a healing force, it cannot hurt. If you were really and truly in love, then you would just want her happiness and not worry about your own. If she was happier without you then you would be happy, instead of full of pain like you are now.

"But your love for her is mixed with love for yourself. You love her because of how she made you feel. Really this is self love. And when our mind is full of this kind of selfishness, even if it is mixed with love, it will eventually hurt us.

"What can we do about it? According to my tradition, true love can defeat suffering. True, unselfish, boundless love, that does not seek self gain. If you try and cultivate this kind of love, then you will be at peace. One of our great saints said that 'all the suffering in the world comes from seeking pleasure for yourself. All the happiness in the world comes from seeking pleasure for others'

"If we stop chasing our own happiness, stop trying to find the perfect person, or the perfect job, or the perfect place to live, and realise that all this things are just illusions, then we start to be a little more at peace.

"But this path may not be for everyone. Not everyone is ready or is capable of letting go their self cherishing and loving selflessly. It can take many years of training to be able to start to do this. Even then, we are only human and still make mistakes. Only the enlightened beings can really have this kind of love.

"You say she was happy when she got to India? Be happy that she was happy. Love the fact that she started to be at peace. She found someone else too? It is hard, but if you really loved her, you would be glad that she had found someone else.

"It is very hard when people die. It is very sad. But this is not incompatible with happiness. It will not last forever. Grief is natural and is human. Let it come out, be sad. Eventually it will pass, all things do. Do not let it stop you loving again.

"Be happy for her life, that it touched yours and made you happy. Remember the good times, the times that you made each other happy. Never forget this."

I sat with my head bowed. I wasn't even sure if I had heard the all the words, let alone understood what they all meant. It didn't seem to matter though; I could feel his compassion for me. I knew it wasn't enough though, I still felt that I hadn't been honest enough to him.

"If I am really honest, I think that I may have hurt her. I think it was my fault. I act badly sometimes, I say things and do things that I know are wrong but I just can't seem to stop myself. It was not just with Lara, with others too. At the moment it feels like I am to blame."

Pattan raised his hand. "Matt, you are punishing yourself for no reason. It is not our fault for who we are, only for what we do. Our real nature is pure, is clean, is faultless, but all of us suffer from delusions. These cloud our thinking, our speech and our actions. We can still love the person without loving the delusions that make them do bad things. Those we can hate.

"But I cheated on her," I interrupted him. I had to tell him the truth. "I slept with other women, and then I lied about it to her. I told so many lies. I still loved her, I just couldn't seem to stop myself. This was why she left me, why she stopped loving me. It was my fault." There, I had said it.

"Matt, it is not right to cheat and lie. It is wrong, you know that it is. But do not hate yourself, or blame yourself for who you are. If you have done bad things, then atone for them, if you have spoken bad words, make amends for them, and most importantly of all, do not make them again. Being angry at yourself is not helpful, nor will help you change. If you want to change, then there are better ways."

"Will going to Everest help me?" I asked. "Will it change me?" Deep down I was sick of who I was and the pain I was suffering. I knew I wanted to change.

He paused again. "Matt, I do not know. It is a very special place, and can have a deep effect on people. Some people say that it was blessed by a Buddha and is a refuge from suffering. But for others it is only a walk in the mountains. It might change you for the better, but it might not change you at all. Maybe you have already changed. Maybe you do not need to."

"Should I go, Pattan. Should I go for Lara. Should I go for me?"

He sighed. "Yes Matt, I think you should go. I will take you."

I exhaled. The meeting had been very intense. "Thank you Pattan."

He looked at me and laughed. "That's the hard part over and done with. It's all downhill from here. Or uphill!" he laughed again. "Let's meet tomorrow to discuss details, but we could go soon. In a few days if that is convenient?"

We stood up and shook hands. "Yes, that sounds great. Ten am tomorrow then. Thanks Pattan," I said, and he stood up.

"Matt, one last thing," he turned to look at me. "It is not easy to let people go, or to change who you are. You have to make strangers of the things that hurt you, whether they are people you have loved or feelings that make you act badly. Do not make them welcome in your heart. They are not you, you are more than that. Never forget that, you are more than that." And he turned and left.

I sat dazed for a while on the thickly padded chairs. A lot had been said, some of it I knew had been very wise, but I knew I would not be able to remember it all. The only thing that really stayed with me was about making strangers.

The dark lobby seemed claustrophobic all of a sudden, and the light and chaos of the busy bustling city outside called to me. My head was pounding. I headed out, intending to get lost in the crowds for a while.

***

"Sir, you have a message," the receptionist said to me as I walked back into the hotel.

"Thank you," I said as I took the folded piece of paper. It had to be Miri, probably wanting to meet up again tonight. I had been walking for hours, trying to get the meeting with Pattan out of my head, and was now exhausted. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to see her later.

Hi Matt, I am in Kathmandu

Are you free tonight? I would like to meet up. 8pm at Sam's bar?

Bailey

Bailey! Once again I had forgotten about her. I had no idea she had come to Asia. Pattan's words suddenly came back to me, 'Happiness comes from helping others'. I would start with her.

I glanced at my watch. I plenty of time to get ready.

***

Although the instructions given by the hotel doorman seemed clear, it took me a while to find the bar and climbed the stairs a few minutes late. It didn't look busy; there was a band with a burly singer playing a Pink Floyd song in a corner and a couple of groups drinking quietly, looking like they had just come back from a trek. No single girls anywhere looking like they were looking for me.

I sat on a stool at the bar and ordered a beer. So Bailey had come here as well; I didn't really feel surprised. She had obviously felt the same urge to try and resolve her relationship with Jan as I had with Lara. From what I remembered of her letter to Jan, she seemed intense and emotional. Despite not being together long, she was obviously obsessed by him.

I did feel a little surprised though that she had not emailed me before. Although I had sent her several updates of what I had found out about them both, the last being when I arrived in Kathmandu, I had not heard anything from her since Rishikesh, when she demanded we speak. Each email I had included details of my hotel so she could call if she felt the need, but nothing. She had seemed so desperate then, so why had she not been back in touch?

What could I say to her about Jan? That he had found comfort in the arms of my ex wife? That he had fallen for the most amazing and beautiful girl I had ever met? That he had ditched his material life for yoga, guru's and travels in the Himalayas? None of these was likely to help her. But it was the truth. Perhaps she should go and see Llama James too.

Part of me was also excited about meeting a beautiful woman. It wasn't a part I liked or felt very proud of; my libido had probably been responsible for most of the major fuck ups in my life, but I couldn't pretend it didn't exist. My mind idly wondered if she could be the answer; how out of tragedy both of us might find solace and perhaps love again together...

No. However attractive she was, I would not hit on her, she was not the answer. The tragedy that we shared was a bond and a connection, but we each had our own journeys to go on. I may be able to help her, but I was not the answer any more than she was for me.

"Matt?" a voice said behind me. I turned, expecting to see Bailey, but it was a man. "Matt Saunders?" he asked again, the twang in his voice identifying him as American. He was remarkably good looking, blemish less skin, high cheekbones and dark brooding eyes. His clothes matched his looks too; expensive looking jeans and a branded red top. I had never seen him before.

"Yes, that's me," I answered cautiously.

"I thought so," he said, and without warning, drew back his fist and slammed it into my stomach. "You fucking cocksucker," I heard him snarling as I doubled over gasping. A fist connected with side of my face, and pain burst into my head like a firework. I couldn't really comprehend what was happening and started to sag to the floor. I could hear shouting, but it was distant, as if in another room. I felt a boot connect with my body, and then I lost consciousness.

***

"Sir, sir...."

I was drifting in a hazy sleep, somewhere warm and comfortable.

"Sir, SIR!"

Something was interrupting the floating. Pain. Pain in my side, pain in my head, pain in my stomach. No, I didn't want to wake up.

"SIR, SIR, ARE YOU ALLRIGHT?"

I groaned, and opened my eyes. The barman and a couple of other staff were crouched over me, concern etched over his face.

There was pain in my side, pain in my head, pain in my stomach. I took a couple of breaths. No, the pain was bearable. I could move. Nothing seemed broken, just badly bruised. I struggled up, the barman helping me.

"What happened?" I asked him, shaking my head, trying to clear the ringing. The bar was now uncomfortably silent; the band had stopped playing and the drinkers were staring wide eyed.

"A man came in and attacked you. He tried to run off but fell down the steps. He is downstairs now in the shop. You want me to call Police?"

"Yes, no, hang on, let me think." I held onto the bar as another concerned barman gave me a glass of water. Who the fuck was this guy and why did he attack me?

"You know him?" the barman asked.

"No, I don't think so. I didn't really see him."

"I think call Police," the barman carried on. "This must be reported." He went to the other side of the bar and reached for the phone. This was the second time I had been attacked for apparently no reason; Anika had taken a good swing at me in Pokhara too. It had felt then that karma had taken a swipe at me, punishing me for all my past transgressions. Perhaps this was the same.

"Wait, I don't know who he is or why he did this. Can I see him first to see if I know him?"

The barman looked doubtfully at me. "Yes, OK, you can. Deepak, the singer from the band, is with him."

I took a breath. "OK, let's go."

The Barman put some music on the stereo, and led me down the stairs. The drinkers returned to their conversations, and life seemed to return to some kind of normality.

I held onto the railings as we went downstairs. The pain was almost gone now, but I was still a bit shaky. At the bottom a door opened into a small travel agents shop, closed now for the night. Sat in a chair, his nose bloody, and a bruise starting to form over his eye, was the man who had attacked me. Standing over and glaring at him was the big singer from the band.

He looked in a lot worse state than me; his clothes ripped and his handsome face battered. He must have taken quite a tumble down the stairs. I wondered, looking at the muscle bound man, Deepak, beside him, if this is what had really happened. I didn't feel any pity for him.

He was raging and shouting as I entered. "Who the fuck do you think you are! Let me go. Fucking no one. You are nothing. I'd fuck you up so bad, but I think you'd like it too much..."

"Who the fuck are you?" I marched up to him and pushed him in the chest, cutting off his rant. "Why the fuck did you attack me?" He just stared at me. He didn't seem afraid, in fact if anything there was anger in his eyes.

"Come on, you piece of shit. Who the fuck are you, why did you attack me?"

He regarded me, and slowly blinked. "My names Nate," he began. "That was because you have been fucking with my sister."

His sister! What was he talking about? I wondered if it was something to do with Miri. But no, she was here alone, and I hadn't fucked her anyway. This was not something I was expecting.

"What the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck is your sister? What have I done to her?" I asked, my voice still angry.

"You know exactly what you have done," he snarled back at me. "Sending emails about her boyfriend. Saying he was dead. Making her come out to this God forsaken place. Fucking her right up."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Bailey fucking Stanton, you fucking idiot. I'm her brother, Nate" He was really shouting at me now, his anger palpable. "You have been sending her fucking emails about her ex boyfriend Jan. She was almost over him, and then you suddenly pop up out of nowhere and bring her right back down."

"She wrote to him in India, I found the letter..."

He interrupted me, shouting again. "I fucking know he was in India, I made him go. Told him if I ever saw him around my sister again I would smash his fucking smug Dutch head in."

The realisation suddenly hit me. Bailey's brother had threatened Jan and forced him to go abroad. Fucking hell, did she know? What a shitty thing to do. "What did you do to him?" I tried to keep my voice level, but I was appalled.

He paused for a second obviously replaying in his head what had happened. His expression if anything grew uglier, but there was a satisfied leer on his face.

"Got to him just before he went out to meet Bailey in America," he sneered. "Fucking coward, it didn't take much to scare him off. Just pushed his throat in a bit and threatened him. He squirmed man, shat himself. Some guys are just fucking pussies." He seemed very pleased with himself as he was saying this.

"You beat the shit out of him you mean? I've seen how you deal with people." I could imagine this handsome but devilish man terrifying someone in a dark alley somewhere. I wouldn't want to be in that position.

"You know if he really loved Bailey," he carried on like he hadn't heard me, "he would have stood up to me. But no, he was just like all the others. A fucking pussy."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He looked like a handsome decent guy, but underneath he was pure evil. It made me sick and I wasn't going to let him off the hook.

"You fucking piece of shit Nate. You arrogant fucking shit. Because of you, Jan went to India, met my fucking wife, fell in love with her, got on a coach with her and died. If it hadn't been for you making him go, none of this would have happened." I was working myself up into a rage now as well and shouting almost at the top of my voice. Deepak the singer looked impassively on, but I could sense he was a bit nervous. The sound of our voices was probably audible on the street and might bring more attention.

He smiled, a big toothy, shit eating grin. "Yeah, I'm fucking glad. He deserved nothing less. I would gladly fucking stamp on his rotting head right now. If only he hadn't blabbed about where he was going, I could even forgive him. Now, you're a different matter..." he paused.

"You, I think I despise even more. Look at you with your dumb desperate face, hoping that there is some reason for all this happening. There isn't. You think its all karma, or the gods or something supernatural, but the fact is she just got unlucky. She came over here, fucked some guy and then died. Luck of the draw. That's it. It's not payback for her being a slag, its...."

He stopped at that moment as my hand connected with his face in an open slap. I was white and shaking with anger, sick to the stomach. It was with a supreme effort that I stopped myself from jumping him and really trying to kill him.

"Shut it, shut it or I swear I will fucking smash your pretty boy face in so bad you will be sucking on a straw for the rest of your life." I think that my intent rather than my words made him stop, and for a moment look scared. Deepak held me back from him, obviously not wanting any more violence.

"It's ok, I'm not going to hit him again," I said to Deepak taking a deep breath. "Now you," I said turning back to Nate. "I don't know what to say to you. You're so fucked up, you are not really human. It's not belief in fate or karma, or a search for meaning that bought me here, probably not Bailey either. It's because we loved, because we cared. I don't think that means much to you, but it is what makes us human."

"Yeah, whatever," he sneered at me again.

His flippant, dismissive answer just angered me. "Listen you piece of fucking shit. I could have the Police here in a second and take you away to some Asian fucking prison for attacking me. There were plenty of witnesses in there to back me up, not like now. This isn't America, and the police here are not nice guys. Now, are you going to fucking behave?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. "OK. Look, I'm sorry for hitting you. Can I go now?"

"What hotel are you staying at?" I asked, suddenly deciding what I was going to do.

"The Radisson," he answered after a pause. "A proper fucking place, not some traveller shithole round here. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go there now. I'm going to tell her all about Jan, and then I am going to tell her exactly what kind of piece of shit she has for a brother."

"Tell him to let me go," he called out to me as I walked out.

I turned to Deepak as I was by the door. "Keep him here for at least an hour. I have to go and see his Sister. I don't want him attacking me from behind." Deepak nodded.

As I left, I heard shouting, "at least bring some fucking whiskey you fucking faggots..."

~~~~

# Chapter 12

## Bailey – Kathmandu – Early November

I ran my eyes over his fatigued face and stooped body and didn't know what to say. He looked beaten and desperate. He could hardly get his words out in order. There was so much story there it was impossible to know where to start. I could hardly recall a situation when someone wanted me to listen so badly.

"Start at the beginning," I told him.

***

Twenty minutes or so earlier what I imagined had to be someone who worked at the hotel had been knocking impatiently and tirelessly at the door to our hotel room. I wasn't expecting anyone and hoped I could hide in silence. The knocking sounded heavier than it probably actually was, thundering as it was through the cheap wood. The brass sign on the inside of the door advertising breakfast and escape routes in the case of a fire dipped and swung like a boat at sea.

I sat on the end of the bed kicking my legs, tired and despondent and wondering what sort of shit Nate had got himself into now. It had to be about him. It always was. I tensed, waiting for the knocking to cease and had to hold in the screams, desperate to get out, to shout to whoever it was to go away. I couldn't face the fact of being confronted by any other sort of problem now. And that knocking was the type that foretold problems. I had had enough of being harassed and chased. It seemed like everyone wanted to exhort something from me, be it money or emotion.

"Miss? Miss? Miss Stanton? Miss Stanton, are you in there?" It was a voice I hadn't heard before and not a local accent.

The unsure voice punctuated the quiet like a gun firing as I focussed on the motes of dust that fell from the ceiling like snow-flakes in the sunlight.

"Miss?" The voice sounded a little shriller this time and cracked with the effort of calling for me.

I ignored the impulse to get up and see what they wanted. Caution or cowardliness gripped me to where I sat.

The knocking continued after just the slightest pause.

"Hello? Is there anyone there?" The voice insisted like it knew my lie.

I wondered whether I could ignore it. I had put one of those usual and ubiquitous 'Do Not Disturb' signs on the door longing to take a moment of undisturbed peace as I lay in just my underwear on top of the covers.

"Bailey?" They spoke my first name.

I stopped swinging my legs.

"Bailey?" My name rang out like a question.

Another call from the emotion-streaked voice caused me to sit up rod-straight on the bed feeling the adrenaline pulse through me in the effort to stay absolutely still. The tail end of a whisper seemed to feel its way around the door, searching. Perhaps I heard the word 'please...', but I couldn't be sure. I hated the presence of whispers. I felt the giddiness of thinking of old experiences and memories like ghosts that had come back to haunt me. I closed my eyes and pushed the sound away and waited until the knocking stopped and silence resumed and became the loudest noise around me. The dust kept falling like the room was shedding skin instead of snowflakes this time.

Ever since I had come to India I had been thrown into an alternate spin of sadness and confrontation. I couldn't seem to shift the sour taste in my mouth. There was this constant sense of tepid discomfort that wouldn't go away. I hated the way I was looked at here. It felt as if I was being thrust into an unwilling spotlight, magnified and objectified like an insect on display, expecting to be dissected at any moment. It was stupid but this paranoia wouldn't shift. I was sick of feeling the need to have to apologise with every glance or token conversation that I was from somewhere else, somewhere where I wasn't brought up to piss in the street and eat with my hands. I needed to be some place that wouldn't gawp and make me feel the enormity of disgrace that dragged its heels behind me at every turn. Like I should know and do better and I was a waste of opportunity.

I could of course see that now, in many ways, holding the truth as I did, it was logical that everything should become easier, that patterns of acceptance and healing would make themselves visible like single footsteps across a sandy beach, that if I could hold out and allow for patience I would start to see the way again. Trouble was, I thought, those tears had to dry up first or I wasn't going to see any route out of this. I scratched at my arms in frustration, watching the redness etch and bloom like a flower onto my skin, or a weed more likely. They were much easier to grow.

The thing is I realised, that I had to focus on the future, and a future now without Jan in it. I was already rehearsing what I was going to do and how I was going to be from this day forward. Just the process of concocting a defence made me feel better.

If someone asked me I would tell them that I didn't love Jan anymore. I would say that I discovered his moroseness, lies, deception and hate for me and that my love had gone. A love vanished. Every doubt I had had (which I would say of course had been for a very long time) had crystallised itself when I had come here. Salt. Like dried up tears or evaporated sea water. No more. This trip to India was driven only by a sense of purpose to do the right thing and close chapters. Nothing else. Nothing. The revelations that I had discovered whilst I had been here had only pricked my skin and drawn the slightest of blood, nothing significant, I hardly felt anything at all. Imagine getting a jab, that's all. I was (to be said with emphasis) over him. You see, whilst I was here, my findings had only sought to confirm the absence of anything I felt for him. I was fine, happy in fact, to leave him behind. I had a life in front of me, didn't I?

Satisfied that they had got my point, this intrusive stranger with their hurtled questions, I would smile with closed lips and a frozen heart and change the subject. Talk about the holidays, how old the kids were now, what was going on at Thanksgiving, anything, just so long as it was mundane and stupid. Actually, thinking it through, the more stupid the better. Whilst it was dumb and ignorant anyone would lay off the intensity of their scrutiny wouldn't they? And to make the cover-up complete I would have to wait until the conversation tailed off, until all the dumbness had dried up, until there was nothing mundane left to say, and I would offer a goodbye and watch them until they found their feet and walked out of view. They were bound to walk away slowly, and perhaps once, look back over their shoulder, but all I would do was wave and try not to flinch with pain. I would of course be lying. I would be lying about it all. I will never stop loving Jan and anything said to the contrary would be bullshit.

I crossed my legs and shivered under the blast of cold that escaped the old air conditioning unit above my head in the hotel room. It felt like a mortuary. Surprising, I thought darkly, how easily somewhere hot can become so cold.

Time pressed on regardless. I knew I should get dressed and face the world with this new version of myself I had compiled but I kept finding a reason not to move, to delay action as it were. But then I decided, something had changed, because I had to go and find Nate and tell him that we were going home, not back to Europe, but home, California. I was going to see and feel the ocean with my brother by my side, like it always was. Not the muddied water of sullied canals in The Netherlands or the shit-stained polluted rivers of India. I wanted the backdrop that had nurtured me through childhood and would help me now.

I shivered again, except this time excited with the keenness of my plans and my escape route from this personal hell. Nate was going to laugh his head off when I told him! I loved that idiot so much sometimes, I knew, although he could be a prick, my life would be nothing without him. I thanked God that at least he kept my brother with me and looking after me.

I stood up and tried to rub the goose bumps off my skin, creased with too much time spent wrapped around twisted bed sheets, that simplest of sanctuaries. I found myself laughing. I felt, that now, it was going to be alright. Nothing more complicated existed than packing our stuff, calling a cab, bundling Nate into a car and finding flights back to the States. Fuck Amsterdam, it didn't matter anymore. I pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a thin white shirt and made to leave the room.

***

"I..." he got up from where he was slouched against the wall, pressed as he was against the maroon and gold wallpaper and reached his hand out at me before I had the chance to speak or react. He looked terrible, like he had just stepped out of a fight or something. I gasped and took a step back, unsure of the stranger with the bruised faced who launched himself at me.

"Sorry... who...?" I had one hand on the door knob, ready to dive back in the room.

He stopped with his arm outstretched like he was trying to offer me something.

"No, I'm sorry; I've been waiting for you. I, umm, I knocked earlier, but..." He looked at me sadly, "I thought I would wait for you. Here." He paused and stared at me with those sad eyes and took a deep breath.

"OK, let me start again. Bailey, I'm Matt. Matt Saunders."

I didn't say a word. I imagine how I must have looked to him, ready to bolt and calculating whether I would be able to escape him. I studied him as he introduced himself and felt the air go clammy as he stepped towards me in the narrow corridor. I couldn't speak. He must have sensed my confusion and unease.

"You know the one that wrote the letter about Jan explaining how he died? The shit letter, the one that probably broke you?" He said tensely.

"Matt. Shit. Oh."

"I'm sorry I know you weren't expecting me but I found out you were here and I wanted to speak with you. I didn't want to mess about with another email, this is too important."

Now it was my turn to reach out as I sought to bring his arm down to his side. There was a hysterical edge to his voice. He looked like he was about to explode.

"Matt, it's OK. Come in. Relax. Let's talk."

"Thanks. That would be good." The darkness had gone from his voice and he seemed to relax a little.

I led him into the room but something made me hesitate. I folded my arms across my body and tuned back to face him. "How did you...?" My voice tailed off.

"Your brother, Nate gave me the hotel address." He said without emotion.

My mind raced, wondering what had happened. I couldn't imagine that was an easygoing meeting.

"Right..." As I spoke I saw his forehead crease with worry and I wondered what had happened between them.

"It's alright Bailey. Nate's fine."

"Where is he?" My instinct told me something was wrong.

"He's at the bar. We met in a bar. He's OK. I left him there to come and see you."

I could tell that there was something he was keeping from me but that if anyone would get hurt it would be Matt, not Nate. He would be OK.

"Come on, come in. I'll make us a drink from the mini-bar." I stepped behind him and closed the door behind us. I watched him stand awkwardly in the middle of the room surrounded by the messed-up bed-linen and clothes. It felt like he was standing in my bedroom and I felt his eyes watch me closely. He hovered uncomfortably.

"Matt, take a seat." I pointed to the chair near the window as I poured him a beer from the fridge.

He pulled up the chair as I handed him the beer and I sat opposite him on the bed, crossing my legs under me and pulling a large sweater over my head. The light from the window gave him a strange sort of halo and drew like a high-lighter the shadows under his eyes. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. He looked so tired and hurt that I wanted to take him in my arms. I didn't though. I sat unmoving and told him to talk. So he started his story and I let him speak and the beer sat forgotten as the words rushed from him.

"I think Bailey you may be the only one that can really understand. What it has been like," he stopped and pulled his hand over his tired looking face. He looked like he might cry. "What it's been like over the last couple of weeks, coming to terms with everything out here...."

"Yeh I suppose I can."

"...trying to piece together everything that went on, what happened to her. It's been the hardest thing I have ever done..." he trailed off and looked at me forlornly, as if his heart was about to break again.

"I know all this. It's not been easy for me either. You think you had your heart ripped out but you have no idea what I have been through and the things I have been forced to know about." Suddenly I felt like I wasn't in the mood for someone else's self-pity. I felt angry all of a sudden.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," he seemed to be gauging his words as if he didn't really feel sorry at all. "I should have tried harder to contact you," he continued. "I should have given you more information, should have written more, but it was difficult. I had other shit going on too. But you had more information about Jan than I did about Lara. I had to come out here with nothing."

"How did you know what I had? Are you serious?" I said with my voice raised.

"Well, all that I meant was..."

I wouldn't let him finish. "Sorry. What the fuck? Can I fucking re-wind here? You talk about you and the love of your life and you weren't even together anymore! It was your EX for Christ sakes! You were separated! All you can talk about is you! I was together with Jan. He was my boyfriend! We weren't split up like you were. Can you for one moment imagine that our situations are just a little bit different?" I felt myself going over the edge. I could not believe that he was drawing comparisons. There were no tears. I was furious.

Now it was his turn to raise his voice. "She was my fucking wife! We were together for six fucking years, not just some fly in the night boyfriend who fucked you over." He stood up and shouted back at me furious too. But then he seemed to collapse in on himself. "Look I'm really sorry," he said suddenly and this time I could see that he meant it. "I really didn't come here to see who has suffered the most. I really didn't. I don't know why this has come up, but we shouldn't fight, we have both been hurt enough already. It doesn't really matter how long you have been with someone or even if you are together at the time, it hurts the same. I really am sorry; I didn't mean to shout at you. I had no right to do that."

"No you didn't."

"I came here to share with you a couple of things I did find out. I don't know if they will help you, it may even hurt, but it helped me."

"Go on."

"I've met a lot of people on my way here, all have had something since to say to me. Some of it's been good, some of it's been tough to hear, some of it has even been shit," he rubbed the side of his head as if it was sore, "but the man I met this morning seemed to say something that really made a difference. He said to truly say goodbye to someone, you have to make them a stranger. You cannot really part with people you love, they will always stay with you." He looked like he was about to say more but stopped himself there.

I hated all that self-help shit and fucking life lessons I thought. "I can't think of Jan as a stranger Matt, it doesn't work like that for me."

"It may not be the way for you, everyone is different. It's just something to think about."

I shrugged and looked out the window. People were rushing around. I wondered where they were going and what they were doing.

"Look, there is something else I wanted to ask you as well," he paused and looked at me, "I decided a few weeks ago that I am going to walk to Everest Base Camp. It was something that I meant to do with Lara a long time ago. It is there that I am going to really try and say goodbye to her. I don't know if it would be right for you, but maybe it would be the right place to say goodbye to Jan too."

"It's a nice thought Matt but it's not for me. I'm sorry. I just want to go home."

He looked half relieved half sorry. "OK, I understand, but I thought I would make the offer. You can think about it if you like. I won't be leaving for a few days."

"I think I want to be on my own now." Suddenly, I wanted him to leave. That slamming thought when you realise you are sobering up and you need your own space. The party had ended.

"OK, I understand." He stood up. "It was good to meet you, I'm just sorry it was in such circumstances. I would like to stay in touch though." He held out his hand.

I looked down at his hand but I didn't reach out. I waited until he dropped his hand to his side and watched him turn towards the door.

Just as he opened the door, he turned around and spoke. "Look, there is one other thing. I'm not sure if I should really say this, but your brother Nate isn't the good guy he claims to be."

"Pardon?" At the mention of my brother I felt my despondency vanish, replaced by something else that had nothing to do with apathy.

"Nate, he...." Matt paused, and then the words came out in a rush. "He threatened Jan. He said that he would kill him if he stayed in Amsterdam with you. It was just before the Burning Man festival. That's why he came to India, that's why he left you."

I froze. My body went cold. Nate had started this. It was Nate all along. Jesus. Oh God.

Matt was looking at me with pity and concern, but his face just made me feel sick.

"I just thought you should know that's all. It's up to you how you deal with it." He carried on.

"Fuck off." I said with cold, even tones. I had to get him out of there.

"Fair enough. It's not really any of my business, but," his voice suddenly rose in anger, "it does affect me. Because of Nate, Jan fucked off to India, met my fucking wife and put all this shit in motion. If it hadn't been for him they might both have been alive."

"What are you trying to say exactly? You must think I am some truly stupid bitch. I know all this Matt. All of it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know." I was babbling, I knew it, but I couldn't let Matt know this. I stared back at him, unflinching and with the sleeves on my sweater gripped with anger over sweaty palms. I watched the colour in his face drain from his cheeks. Red to white. "I'm not fucking stupid Matt. Of course I know. I knew that night when he slunk off to have a go at Jan, to warn him off. He probably roughed him up a bit. But what does that change? The fact is it doesn't change anything. Why did Jan let him? Why didn't Jan stand up to him? Why did he run away? Let him win? Let Nate dictate things and abandon me?" As I said these words I realised it was true. Deep down I did know that Nate was behind this. He loved me and couldn't bear me to love anyone else. He was a fool and an idiot, but Jan was a coward. It was another blow to my heart and I couldn't hold back the tears. "He said he'd never leave me and he did." The last word came out in barely a whisper. I broke down sobbing on the bed.

"Really!" He seemed genuinely staggered. "You know all of this about your brother and you still bring him along with you. Fucking hell, you're fucked up, really fucked up."

"...please Matt I think you'd better go."

"OK, I think you're right." He was upset and on the verge of tears too, but he stopped to say one last thing. "Bailey, listen to me, you have to get Nate out of your life. I know he is your brother, but he is fucking you up. You have to say goodbye to him." He turned and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.

I sat with my head in my hands, measuring the time that was passing as I imagined Matt walking out of life, forever. He would be walking along the hotel corridor, down towards lobby and out the front door. I stared at the carpet, taking in the old stains that someone had tried to scrub away and fluff from my woolly jumper that had shed here and there. With each step, I felt him leaving my life. Thank God, he had bought me nothing but pain. Or had he?

Something was broken inside me that was for sure. I felt a numbness and emptiness deep down in a way that I hadn't felt before. There was a gaping hole where my heart used to be. Where I loved and where I was loved in return. Matt might have shown it to me, but it wasn't him. It was Nate. Nate had done this to me.

But I realised something else was missing too. The pain and ache for Jan. Where I once loved and wanted and missed him, there was nothing now either. Nate had caused this too. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Was this feeling of emptiness better than the never ending feeling of being separated from someone you love?

And with a flash of absolute certainty I knew that I didn't love Jan any more. Perhaps I never really had. I had wanted and needed and relied upon him, but this was not love. He didn't return it. He wanted me for sure; the sexy cool exotic American girl, to show off how cool and sophisticated he was. But did he love me? His actions in abandoning me answered that one.

What about Nate? Could I forgive him for sabotaging this relationship? Could I accept his actions and behaviour? He might have been right about Jan, he might have acted out of love for me, but I doubted it. I realised too that he was just as needy and dependant on my love as I had been on Jan. He was acting because he couldn't bear the loneliness of me loving someone else.

I was his sister. I couldn't abandon him. Whatever Matt said, however fucked up he was, I would not leave him like I had been left. I would not do that to him. He was an idiot, maybe even a damaged and fucked up idiot, but he was still my brother and I loved him.

I dried my eyes. Perhaps this was what I had come to India and Nepal to find out. Perhaps it wasn't about Jan at all, perhaps it was about Nate. Perhaps it was about me. I might not have all the right answers now, but perhaps I was asking the right questions.

I had to find him and get out of here. We were done here.

I made a call to the girl on reception and arranged for our bags to be collected and a cab to take us to the nearest airport. My only plan was that we would buy a ticket for the first plane back to the States. I was suddenly ecstatic with the knowledge that we would soon be out of the place. Fuck India and Fuck Nepal. I was so over it. I even found myself smiling as I checked through the room for anything we might have left behind or tucked behind drawers for safe keeping. Everything was in place and happily I got my make-up bag out to reapply my mascara and wipe away the dark smudges under my eyes. Nate hated it when I cried. I wanted to be strong for him.

Satisfied with my touch-up effort, I stuffed away my make-up and grabbed my over-sized sunglasses, slamming the door behind me and walking purposely towards the lobby. I did wonder why Nate hadn't come back yet, but still, I knew what he was like when he had had a drink and given that I had just spent the last hour or so with Matt, if was probably not such a bad thing that Nate had stayed away. It wasn't like him though. I ignored my misgivings and thought I knew the bar Nate must be at, given that there was only one bar he thought worth going to near-by. I almost tripped over my feet in my espadrilles coming out of the lobby.

"Nate you are going to be so happy!" I said, laughing to myself. I put on my shades and looked up to the bright sky. I wondered whether I should play a joke on him and find some way to tell him what I had planned. I spotted a stall outside the hotel selling all sorts of memorabilia and saw one of those small flags being sold with the good old stars and stripes and bought it in a whim. I was gonna get ready to wave it in Nate's face with a flourish! I was ready. Surprise! Guess what! I had the words ready in my head. I felt a twinge of love as I thought of his dopey face and the way he made me laugh in the face of anything.

There was so much traffic whizzing around that day. I checked my watch and confirmed that it was rush hour. The locals drove like crazy, blowing up dust and testing each other as they wove their bikes in and out of cars. No signalling, just hand on the horn. I was pleased when we wouldn't have to deal with the impossible scariness of the Indian traffic anymore.

I looked left and right standing outside the hotel looking for a place to cross. As usual the overwhelming sound was horns blaring out at each other. I coughed in the mist of exhaust fumes. Come on! It was taking me ages to find somewhere to cross and I needed to get across two intersecting roads to get to the road I remembered the bar on that Nate must be at. My attention was distracted from the sound of a large vehicle breaking suddenly and a cacophony of horns all screaming at once. I shook my head wondering what was going on and as I did so focussed on a lone figure staggering across the main thoroughfare waving his arms at the traffic. What the hell was the lunatic doing? He must on some sort of suicide mission. He was going to get himself killed, I thought grimly. It was then that I recognised the red baseball cap and saw that it was Nate looking to cross the road in a zig-zag, taking his chance with the storming traffic.

I froze in terror. What the fuck was he doing? He looked absolutely hammered as he swerved and tripped his way at the edge of the street looking for somewhere to pass.

"Nate!" I screamed, but of course he couldn't hear me over the noise of the traffic.

"Nate! Watch out! Wait." I screamed again, running as I did so to try and get to him. A car swerved noisily around me and flung up a plume of dirt in my face.

"Nate! Don't fucking move! Nate!" I wiped the hair out of my face trying to see where he was. The noise of cars and bikes reacting angrily continued to assault my hearing.

"Nate!" I screamed as a gap emerged in the traffic and I ran across two lanes, horns blazing.

I saw him step into the street and a bike swerved around him, sounding their horn loudly. Nate reacted angrily waving his fist. He could hardly stand and stumbled before regaining his footing. He stepped out further into the road as cars and bikes weaved around him. I ran for everything I was worth.

"Nate!" I was crying now as I tried to get to him but I had to cross another road first.

I watched him take another step as he similarly pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and in that moment a bus rounded the bend and took him clean off his feet. I watched through crippled eyes as his body was flung over the front of the bus and up towards the window screen like a doll, his arms flaying by his side before he slid back down the front of the bus and fell in a lump onto the road.

"No!" I yelled, ignoring the car horns as I ran. "No..." I screamed weakly, my voice breaking.

Traffic came to a complete stop as people milled everywhere. I pushed my way through stubborn bodies, seeing through tears, trying to get to my brother and finding him in a crumpled bloodied heap on the road. I dropped to my knees holding his head in my hands. There was blood everywhere.

"Nate... Nate... Nate..."

His milky life-less eyes stared up at me and I gasped in horror and shock.

"Please don't. Please, honey. I love you. I love you so much. Please..." my words were drowned by the talk of strangers and the yells of people that didn't know us and didn't care. Car horns beeped everywhere, just relentless loud noise. People nudged me and I slapped hands away. "Someone help! Someone get someone to fucking help! Help me! HELP ME." I shouted. My tears were relentless. "Nate, we're going home. Someone's coming to help. I wanted to tell you we're going home. I've packed our things. We're going back to California. You can do this. Come on. Come on, stay with me... You're not fucking going anywhere...you're not..." I stopped speaking and sobbed into his bloody neck. "Please God, please." I clutched desperately to his still and mangled body and stared up at the unforgiving and harsh Indian sky, waiting for help and prayed.

~~~~

# About the Authors

## Lucy Robson

Lucy Robson lives a duel-life as a Commercial Solicitor and Semi-Professional Windsurfer whilst writing extensively in her spare time; many such inspiration being brought from travels and adventures that have taken her all over the world. Lucy can often be found spending the summers in England whilst migrating to the southern hemipheres in winter to pursue her passion of windsurfing.

_Letter to India_ co-written with Benedict Beaumont is her first novel.

##

## Benedict Beaumont

Benedict Beaumont has led several lives; IT engineer, Secondary School Teacher and Chef to name but three. He grew up in the south of England, but has travelled extensively. He now divides his time between Asia, the Alps and Brighton.

His travel book 'A Last Chance Powerdrive: Part 1 Gods on Tour and Dreaming in High Places' detailing his travels across the Himalayas on a motorbike is now available on Amazon.

Links to other books, social media including twitter, facebook and linked in can be found on http://about.me/benedictbeaumont

If you enjoyed the book, please could you support us a bit more by writing a review on Amazon. For more information, interviews, explanations, photos, and even a promotional video, please visit our facebook page <http://www.facebook.com/LetterToIndia> . Thanks.
