Destination Thailand. Katy Colins
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‘Triple E’ sounded like some dodgy drug found in the underbelly of secret raves that my mum had warned me about after recently reading an article in The Daily Mail, her newspaper of choice after spotting a copy at Alex’s parents’ house one time.
‘My name’s Rick. What can I do for you today?’ He pronounced the ‘ick’ part of his name as if licking the strawberry sauce off the top of a Mr Whippy. I shuddered slightly and shifted in the trendy but uncomfortable seat. What could he do for me today?
‘Well…I’m…erm.’
‘Sorry, can you speak up?’ he bellowed, making me jump.
‘I want to quit my job and go travelling,’ I blurted out surprising myself.
‘Don’t we all, luv,’ he sniggered, rolling his eyes. ‘So, where do you want to go as part of this radical plan?’ He signified speech marks with his fingers, looking pleased with himself, shaking his head in silent mirth.
I felt his eyes take in my practical ponytail, flowered blouse and straight-legged light denim jeans. I thought it was quite a nice look, but it just echoed the rest of my bland and dull wardrobe, a bit like the owner. I’d never been into fashion, always wanting to blend in rather than stand out. Alex had said he preferred it that way, saying it was less hassle having a girlfriend who didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, but sat here I felt like I stood out a mile.
‘Well, I’d like to experience different cultures, taste exotic food and maybe learn a new language?’ I replied, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
‘Sounds all right, that, but where’s the adrenalin? The excitement? Got some cracking bungee jumps in Oz or white water rafting in New Zealand I could book you on?’
It felt as though he was taking the piss out of me as his colleague had turned his attention to our discussion, providing Rick with an audience. God. What was I doing here? I didn’t know how to travel, how to live out of an uber-sized backpack or share a dorm room with strangers. I wasn’t ready to hang out with the ‘R-icks’ of this world. I’d fantasised about travelling without thinking about any of the practicalities and how difficult the reality might actually be.
‘Um…no…that’s not really my sort of thing,’ I muttered dejectedly.
‘Listen darlin’, I like your spirit an’ all that, but you may want to try “Tasteful Travels” down the road; they do a lovely two-week package to Spain that would be more your scene,’ he laughed.
‘Um…OK…well, thanks for your time.’ I got up from my seat and turned to the door feeling humiliated and pathetic. Of course I couldn’t just swan off to some meditation retreat in outer India, who was I kidding?
As I was about to leave I overheard the two guys talking together: ‘God! Talk about a mood killer. Can you imagine her at a full moon rave? It’d be like taking your mum–nah, your nan.’ They both burst out laughing.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about. Enjoy Costa Bianca,’ Rick smirked, waving his pen and pointing to the exit. I stood still, staring at his pudgy grinning face.
In that moment a tide of fury rose in my stomach. I don’t know if it was the realisation that Alex was starting a new life and family without me, that my wedding dream was over or hearing my mum’s instant dismissal of my travel dreams but my body tensed and my veins fizzed with anger. I couldn’t remember even one of the snappy put-downs Marie had taught me, so, I did the most grown-up and mature thing I could have done; I scooped a pile of brochures into my arms, knocked over a glitter ball that was artfully balanced on a side table and with a loud thud, sent a life-sized cardboard figure of bikini-clad babes doing the peace sign to the floor. The two men just sat open-mouthed gawping at me.
‘And it’s Costa Blanca, not Costa Bianca, you idiot!’ I yelled, stalking out as fast as my sensible flats would take me, slamming the door behind me, causing an inflatable beach ball to drop from the ceiling, adding to the destruction I’d left behind.
My legs were shaking, my chest was pounding and I felt like I might be sick. Running down the street I heaved the heavy brochures into the nearest bin before gripping onto it to catch my breath.
‘Hey!’ a guy’s voice shouted out. I froze. What if R-ick had called the police? What prison time came with brochure stealing? I’ve seen Orange Is the New Black and I wouldn’t last a minute locked up. I forced myself to look up but it wasn’t the stern face of the law peering down on me. No. It was much, much worse.
Stood just feet away was Alex.
‘Georgia, are you OK?’ he asked coming closer, wincing at how sweaty I was. He looked different; he was walking taller and was wearing clothes I didn’t recognise. Why, oh why, did I have to bump into him today?
‘I don’t want to talk to you.’ I tried desperately not to cry and willed my heart rate to slow down. My voice sounded weird. I was gulping at smelly bin air.
‘I know. But – are you sure you’re OK?’ He pointed to the overflowing bin and the scrambled egg-like vomit I was unwittingly standing in.
I shook my head as if I could make him vanish. My legs had frozen to the spot, my knuckles had turned white, and I was gripping the bin hard for support. This was not how I had ever imagined seeing him again; in those daydreams I was confident and dressed to kill, not perspiring and panicking.
‘There’s nothing left to say. I never want to see you again,’ I forced myself to spit out defiantly, hoping that he couldn’t see my trembling chin and bottom lip.
‘OK, OK.’ He spoke like a negotiator would to a hostage taker, rubbing the back of his neck. He had had his hair cut shorter, neater, more grown up. He looked like his dad. Or maybe just like a dad. My confused and humiliated brain couldn’t focus.
‘Did you get your things from the house yet? I’ve not been back for a few days. I’m staying at…err…a friend’s place for the moment.’
I nodded, trying to swallow down a burp of bile scorching my throat. I knew exactly which friend he was talking about.
‘Thanks, appreciate it. Both gotta move on and all that. Maybe it’ll be good that you don’t have to rely on me so much now.’
I couldn’t believe this! He’d relied on me. I’d tried my hardest to fit the role of homemaker that every woman in his family neatly slotted into, and I’d done it all to make him happy. For cooking, cleaning, planning our diary, reminding him of when his mum’s birthday was and then buying her presents that she always cast aside once one of her other daughters-in-law presented some artisanal made-with-the-blood-of-a-virgin-unicorn thingymajiggy. My gift card to Next never stood a chance. But that was all I was to him; a lousy maid, chef and Filofax. I stared at him open-mouthed, cheeks flaming in embarrassment at the attempt to leave my life here in search of a new one, only to come face to face with my past.
‘I can’t believe you! I–’ I stopped mid-sentence as a woman with highlighted blonde hair and a neat freckled nose had joined us. Stephanie. Seeing her doll-like features I instantly remembered her. She’d asked to borrow my hairbrush in the ladies’ toilets at Alex’s work Christmas party last year. Bitch. She was pretty. Of course she was. She looked down at me through long lashes, her green eyes flicking between me and Alex as if working out how he had traded up so dramatically. I could almost hear her thinking, This was his ex? This bin lady?
‘Oh hi, erm OK, you ready to go?’ Alex said stumbling in between us both and taking the shopping bag from her hands, not before I noticed the slight bump under her tight striped jumper. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you and er…the bin to it. Take care.’ Alex waved bashfully and headed off down the street steering Stephanie forward without a backwards glance.
My head was suddenly filled with snapshots of them, perfectly filtered Instagram photos of their new life together. Her with her lithe body that would no doubt snap back to pre-pregnancy