The Happiness Show (19 page)

 

‘Please can I get a window seat? Please, please,
please
?' begged Celia as they checked in.

‘I'll ask. Excuse me, can we have a window seat?'

The woman behind the counter was so immaculately groom-ed that she looked as though she were made entirely of plastic.

‘Certainly. All done.' She handed them their boarding passes. ‘Gate 32, leaving at twelve. Please make your way to customs an hour before departure.'

They passed through the security checkpoint and found a frazzled-looking Becky in a café, trying to feed a red-faced baby and surrounded by nappy bags.

Tom took orders for coffees and treats and headed for the counter. In front of him was a woman speaking Japanese to a small child. When the pair had been served, Tom watched as they sat down with a man he immediately recognised.

‘Will?'

An older version of Mad Will looked up, looking not very mad but rather domesticated.

‘Shorebrook! Is that you in there?' They hugged each other tightly. ‘How the hell are you? Sorry, sorry, how rude of me. This is my wife, Momoko, and my daughters, Chikako and Yuki. Where are you off to?'

‘Bali. With my family.' Tom pointed over to their table.

‘They all yours, mate? Geez, you've been busy.'

‘God, no. My wife is Felicity, in the green, and my daughter, Celia, is the one with the pigtails. The others are my wife's sister and her twins, and her nanny. How are you, anyway? Where are you headed?'

‘Back home. I live in Japan now. In Tokyo. I run an English school there. The last time I saw you was on the Trans-Siberian Express.'

‘That's right. And this is the Momoko you ditched me for.'

‘She is! So what do you do these days?'

‘I'm a lawyer.'

‘No need to say it like you've got cancer, mate. I always knew you'd end up some kind of wanker. So much for being a photographer.'

‘I still do that too. I've got a darkroom … I'm planning on doing a story in Bali while we're there. For a travel magazine. So it's kind of a working holiday,' Tom lied. ‘We're actually going to meet up with someone else from the train. Do you remember Lizzie, the Australian girl?'

‘Let me think … the one with the big mouth and the great tits? Red hair?'

‘Yes, that's her.'

‘Didn't you two shack up in my room in Brixton after that trip?'

‘Yes. Well.' Tom lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder, checking that Felicity was out of earshot. ‘We didn't shack up, exactly. Just shared a room. Until she went back to Australia. Anyway, we're all meeting up in Bali.'

‘Don't worry, mate.' Wil leaned in conspiratorially. ‘What happens in your twenties stays in your twenties.' He tapped his nose and winked a little too theatrically.

Momoko interrupted them in clunky English. ‘I'm sorry, Tom-san. It's nice to meet you, but we need to go now.'

‘Yes, of course. Great to see you.'

‘Yeah, you too.' Mad Will pulled out a business card and handed it to Tom. ‘If you're ever in Tokyo, look me up. I'd love to sink a few
shochus
with you, talk about the old days.'

‘I will, I definitely will. I haven't got any cards with me, but look me up in the phone directory. We're under T. Shorebrook in Islington.'

‘Will do.' And Will and Momoko headed off down the corridor, trolley and kids in tow.

‘Who was that?' asked Felicity when Tom returned to their table.

‘Mad Will. The mate I went to Japan with.'

‘Oi, Tom!' yelled out Will as he was about to disappear into customs.

‘Yes?'

‘Say “Hi” to Lizzie, will you? And tell her she gave me herpes.'

Tom laughed. Felicity did too. And with that Will was gone.

 

*

 

‘Why do I always forget about these disembarkation cards? Fiddly little things. And I never remember to pack a pen. That'd be right.' Lizzie was poking through her bag, hoping to find a pen without waking Scarlet, who was curled up in a ball on her lap. ‘You take her. I'm going up to visit Keith in business class.'

Lizzie handed Jim the sleeping bundle and shuffled out of her seat. She poked her head over the seat in front to check on Reuben, who was happily plugged into a computer game. Lizzie had never approved of electronic babysitting before, but after five hours in the air and not a peep from Reuben, she was coming around.

She left the scrum of economy and found Keith's business-class seat. He was tapping away on his laptop with one hand and holding a glass of champagne with the other.

‘Up to see how the other half lives? I hope you had a shower first.'

‘Don't worry, I was disinfected on the way through.' Lizzie plonked herself down next to him, took the glass from his hand and skolled it. ‘I'm just here to borrow a pen.'

‘Oh, that's right. They don't allow writing implements in economy because you people might use them as weapons.' He handed Lizzie a pen.

‘No, it's because we might graffiti the toilets.' Lizzie opened her passport and began copying the details onto the disembarkation card. Keith leaned over and checked out her picture.

‘Very nice. You look like you were suffering from religious melancholy when they took this photo.'

‘Close. Alcohol poisoning.' Lizzie was concentrating hard. After five wines it wasn't easy to write the numbers in the little boxes.

‘Elizabeth Gwenda Quealy. Gwenda?!' laughed Keith. ‘Is that after the good witch in
The Wizard of Oz
?'

‘No, that was
Glinda
, you tool. It's a family name. What's your middle name? It couldn't be worse than your first name.' Lizzie snatched Keith's passport from the tray table before Keith had a chance to stop her.

It was red, like Tom's was. She remembered seeing Tom's passport on the Trans-Siberian Express. At three in the morning they went through a checkpoint and were woken by grumpy communist bureaufucks wanting to see their papers. Tom and Lizzie were lying on a top bunk together. Their passports were inside the pillowcase and Tom fished them out and handed them to the officials. The bureaufucks made them sit up in the bed and looked back and forward between their passports and their faces. The lights were on and the frat boy and the stinky Dutch guy were, to their credit, doing their best not to look. Lizzie was naked apart from the bed sheet and she felt cheap and sprung. The bureaufucks muttered something to each other and she was gripped with panic that they were going to make her get out of bed and stand on the floor. She felt so exposed that tears started to well in her eyes. At that moment Tom put his arm around her shoulders and it felt like a ray of sun.

‘Married?' one of the bureaufucks asked, gesturing to the two of them.

‘Yes,' lied Tom quickly. ‘Two weeks ago. We haven't had a chance to change the passports.'

The bureaufucks broke into smiles. ‘Congratulations!' They shook Tom's hand and kissed Lizzie on both cheeks. And then they turned the lights off and left.

Lizzie and Tom lay awake, turned on like only a couple of twenty-something travellers can be. Tom lay behind her, nuzzling her neck and stroking her skin with the back of his fingers. She felt his hard-on press against her and she grabbed his cock between her thighs and moved herself up and down it. She was so turned on she could have come just playing with her nipples. The train was stopped and the carriage was very quiet. Her heart was beating so fast and her breathing was so heavy that Lizzie was certain the boys below could hear them, but she didn't care. Tom muttered into her ear, ‘You're absolutely gorgeous. You have the most amazing body. You're a fucking goddess.' And that just made it worse.

Lizzie rolled over to face him and kissed him hard on the mouth. He slipped his hand between her legs as the train pulled away from the station. She slid on top of him and Tom said, ‘Wait a sec.' He pulled a condom from the pillowcase and slipped it on. Then he pushed her down onto the mattress and as he slid inside her, he said, ‘I think you're a little confused.
I
am the one shagging
you
.' And they rocked with the rhythm of the train and came together while they kissed.

A shiver of excitement ran through Lizzie. It was only hours now. She opened the passport as Keith tried to wrestle it off her.

‘What a photo! What did the guy taking it say, “On the count of three, look like a serial killer”?' Then Lizzie checked out his name. ‘Merlin Keith Race. Merlin?
MERLIN?
Your first name is Merlin?'

‘I told you my father drank.'

‘Yes, but I had no idea how much. When do Becky and the little ones arrive?'

‘They'll get there before we do.'

‘Is Becky flying on her own with the twins?'

‘No bloody way. Not my posh wife. She's got Helena the Danish nanny coming and Felicity and Tom are on the same flight.'

They were interrupted by an announcement. ‘The captain has begun his descent into Denpasar. Please return to your seats and prepare for landing.'

Lizzie's heart jumped and there were butterflies in her tummy. She gathered her things and climbed out of the seat. ‘Save us a spot in the queue at immigration, will you, Keith?'

‘Anything for you, darling,' slurred a pissed Keith, kissing her hand.

She made her way back to her seat and strapped herself in. She looked out of the window and let out a gasp of delight. Rice fields. Asia. Glorious fucking Asia.

She and Jim buckled the kids' seatbelts and Lizzie's heart started to pound with excitement – and with fear. She was jumping out of her skin with anticipation but she was terrified as well. Well, she thought, too late to turn back now. They were five thousand feet from whatever it was going to be.

 

*

 

‘Celia. Celia! Come here and let me put some sunscreen on you,' called Felicity from the banana lounge.

Celia hoisted herself out of the pool and ran over, dripping. She quickly towelled herself down. ‘When will they be here, Mum? We've been waiting all day!'

‘I know, I know. Soon. It looks like you've already found some friends, though.' A couple of kids had followed Celia out of the pool and now watched as Felicity lathered her in sunscreen. ‘What time did Becky say they were landing?' Felicity asked Tom, who peered over his newspaper.

‘About five, I think. Or arriving here at five. One or the other. Jetlag brain.'

‘What's her name again?' asked Celia.

‘Whose name?'

‘The girl's.'

‘Lizzie's daughter? I've forgotten. Tom?'

Tom sat up with a start. It was freaky hearing Felicity say Lizzie's name.

‘Oh, I can't remember. But she's little, Celia.'

‘I know, Dad,' said Celia in her ‘
Like
,
whatever
' voice. ‘I love kids.' She ran back to the pool.

‘She loves kids. She's seven.'

‘I think it's time for a drink. What do you think, Flick? Something with an umbrella in it?'

‘Lovely. I'll have … I don't know … a strawberry daiquiri. We're meeting Becky in the restaurant for dinner. She's going to leave the twins with the nanny.'

‘Excellent. I'll go to the bar.' It was the first time he'd ever known Felicity to drink anything other than wine.

Tom was happy and loose and excited. The sickening nervousness had worn off and been replaced by a melty feeling. He was happy. Blissfully happy. And a little bit pissed. The sun, the pool and a drop of alcohol were certainly a great cure for jetlag. Felicity had been plying him and Celia with homeopathic pills, as well. But the thought of Lizzie was the best tonic of all.

‘Here you are, Flick,' he said, handing her her drink. ‘Bottoms up.' They clinked glasses and Tom resumed his position on the sun lounge.

From the pool Celia yelled, ‘LOOK! It's Uncle Keith.'

Felicity leapt up. Tom put his newspaper down and slowly stood. There was Keith, grinning like an idiot and offering Felicity a hug. A tall man was holding the hand of a little boy – that must be Jim. But where were the others?

And then suddenly there was a shock of wild red hair scooping a frazzled little girl off the ground. Lizzie.

 

*

 

The Shangri-La was the last stop on the airport transfer bus. The closer it got, the less Lizzie believed it was really happening. No, it was all too weird; it must be some fantasy she had invented.

The little bus turned left and they crept along a driveway lined with lush tropical vegetation and festooned with Balinese flags. Then the bus stopped and the driver called back, ‘Shangri-La. This is our last stop. Shangri-La.'

Well, this is it, Lizzie thought. Wake up, Scarlet, she whispered to the dozing lump on her knee.

The bus doors opened and she stepped out into paradise. Porters wearing silk shirts and matching pants appeared and Lizzie pointed out her bag. Jim and Keith had already shepherded the kids into the reception area, a covered courtyard of tropical plants, teak floors and cane chairs, all under the comforting whir of ceiling fans.

Jim walked towards her with a goofy grin, carrying a goblet with an enormous hibiscus poking out of it. ‘I got you a welcome drink,' he said. As she reached for it, Lizzie realised her hand was shaking. She clutched the glass and took a gulp.

The tranquility was shattered by a piercing crash and they turned around to see Scarlet covered in orange cordial and surrounded by broken glass. And, of course, wearing no shoes. A handful of staff members ran to help, which only made her more distressed. Within seconds her sniffling had escalated into screaming. Lizzie raced in and plucked Scarlet from the mess while Jim steered Reuben away from the spectacle.

Scarlet was just calming down when Becky appeared. She kissed Keith before embracing Lizzie and Jim, and Lizzie couldn't help noticing how awkward Keith looked. Lizzie and Becky had met in London, but now Lizzie saw something she hadn't noticed before. Becky was gorgeous and very exotic-looking – half Indian or something. Lizzie knew it wasn't important but it was a bit of a surprise.