Welcome To Wherever You Are (31 page)

Tommy smiled and held her hand. ‘Then let me help you.’

HOLLYWOOD HILLS

‘The home to your right used to belong to Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin back in the mid-2000s,’ continued Jenny. ‘Although the marriage didn’t last, Gwyneth remained here until quite recently.’

She switched the microphone to silent mode and yawned, willing her last tour of the day to finish. She drank from a bottle of carbonated water as the mainly European sightseers inside the air-conditioned minibus took photographs of the Spanish-style villa roof behind tall, red brick walls.

It was Jenny’s fourth guided tour of the day, and her voice was gradually turning into a rasp. ‘Just one more trip and I can get some rest,’ she thought to herself as the bus slowly wound its way up the road and she turned the microphone back on and prepared to fake more enthusiasm.

‘And this is for the ladies, because just around the corner is the home of actor Zak Stanley!’ she continued, as the female tourists and two gay men chatted excitedly and got their cameras ready. ‘Zak has lived here for a year,’ Jenny continued, ‘And oh, look, his gates are open . . . and that looks like his car . . .’

Her voice trailed off as the minibus driver suddenly hit the brakes, trying to make sense of what he saw. The excited chatter soon fell quiet as their eyes stared at Zak, lying face up on the sidewalk by his open car door, covered in blood and with a woman pressing her head upon his chest.

‘Oh my Lord,’ gasped Jenny, as the first of the tourists screamed. Suddenly mobile phones were set to video mode and cameras flashed at the dead celebrity and his killer.

‘Call 911,’ she whispered to the driver.

DAY TWELVE

With her facial swelling and bruising from the fracas at the club beginning to fade, Savannah disguised her injuries with make-up and returned to work for a six-hour afternoon shift at the Pink Pussycat club.

It had been an unusually quiet day, and Savannah’s takings were meagre, but she had spent much of the day distracted by a conversation she’d had with Jane. In their six days together as roommates, she’d found herself growing closer to Jane, and because her friend had experienced so many tragic personal events in her life, Savannah appreciated her counsel.

The second payphone booth Savannah tried on Fourth Street had a working receiver so she removed sex workers’ flyers from the dial and typed in an out-of-state number she knew by heart. She clenched her fist in her hoodie pocket until the number rang and was answered.

‘Hey,’ a female voice answered.

Suddenly doubting her decision, Savannah pulled the phone from her ear and was about to hang up, then paused, and changed her mind.

‘Hello?’ the voice said again. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Hey Roseanna, it’s your sister.’

Ron didn’t ask why when Tommy asked if he might know of a jeweller who could offer an honest price for something without asking any awkward questions.

Instead, he flipped through his roller-desk and pulled out a card with an embossed name and telephone number printed on it. ‘Tell him you work for me,’ muttered Ron, then ushered Tommy out of his office. One phone call and ninety minutes later, Tommy was standing in a brightly lit office above a dry cleaner’s in Marina Del Ray.

The deeply wrinkled man with the waxy pallor sitting behind the large mahogany desk had yet to identify himself, either on the phone or in person, while two stocky South East Asian men stood guard at a either side of the steel door. If the diamonds were real, there was little Tommy could do if anyone in that room decided Tommy wasn’t going to leave with the merchandise he’d arrived with. He could just disappear and no one would be any the wiser.

The man squinted at Tommy through his thick-framed glasses and rubbed his tongue across his dentures before he asked to see the jewels. He poured them from the pouch into a gloved hand, counted them out with tweezers and carefully examined them one by one though his loupe. Then he weighed them on digital scales and measured them with the tiniest of steel rulers.

Tommy was glancing nervously around the room when a framed photograph on a filing cabinet caught his attention. ‘Is that the Hostel in the Woods?’ he asked suddenly.

The man pulled his glasses down to the tip of his nose. ‘You know it?’ he asked.

‘Yes, my mate Sean and I stayed there a few months back.’

The man nodded. ‘Then you’re a man of good taste, because I paid for the fucking place. My son built it and runs it.’

‘Adam, the manager? He’s your son?’ asked Tommy, surprised, as there was little family resemblance.

‘Yeah, he’s a good kid. I never really went in for all that hippy-dippy bullshit, but I gotta say, he’s done a beautiful job with it.’

‘Small world,’ replied Tommy, and for the first time, the man smiled.

THREE MONTHS EARLIER –
Missouri

The left hand side of Sean’s face was planted firmly on a Travel America guidebook lying on the seatback table.

He quietly snored as the Greyhound bus left the highway and made its way slowly towards the tiny village of Adrian, Missouri. Tommy popped his headphones into his ears, pushed a memory card into his digital camcorder and began to watch video footage he’d taken of their first two months in America.

There was a Fourth of July fireworks display at Cape Cod; Sean being engulfed by a huge wave at Daytona Beach; Tommy snorkelling in Key West; drinking warm hot chocolates in Starbucks as the rain poured down outside in Atlanta; Sean clapping along to a gospel choir in a downtown Chicago church; and the both of them covered in blue waterproofs as the
Maid of the Mist
sailed close to Niagara Falls’ cascading wall of water.

In a short space of time, they’d amassed some incredible memories, and as Tommy looked at his sleeping friend, he knew that he wouldn’t have had the guts to travel America without him. Only once had Tommy experienced homesickness, but he soon came to his senses when Sean reminded him the home he craved had crumbled the day his brothers died. Tommy felt confident being around Sean, but at the same time he knew the part of him that remained broken meant he was using Sean as a crutch.

In the two dozen hostels they’d passed through in a few short weeks, they’d been in each other’s pockets almost twenty-four hours a day. They’d met people along the way, but neither had committed to building fresh relationships with new faces while they had each other for support. There was going to come a time when they’d want to take separate paths, and Tommy hoped that once that happened, they’d still find their way back to each other.

He removed the memory card from his camcorder, placed it back in its plastic case and then glanced at a second one, paused and shook his head.

*

For almost a decade, the Hostel in the Woods had led a quiet existence, hidden in a forest about thirty minutes from Missouri’s Greyhound terminal.

From the moment the battered orange VW camper van decorated with Grateful Dead stickers picked Tommy and Sean up from the station, they understood it was not the traditional hostel they’d come to expect. The van came to a halt under palms, cedars, myrtles and moss-covered great oaks, and from the vehicle’s window, they noticed dormitories housed in hexagonal, two-tier wooden houses, with some perched high in the treeline above the eighty-acre site.

Sean stepped out of the vehicle and grinned as ahead of them, a man swung from a rope attached to a tree branch and plunged into a pool below, where two friends rested their arms on the wooden edges and cheered him on. Behind them, other hostellers busied themselves picking vegetables from small, irrigated plantation areas and swept wooden verandas. According to Sean’s guidebook, which awarded the hostel a rave review, accommodation was inexpensive but guests were expected to help with chores like cleaning, washing up, digging over vegetable patches and cooking.

However, Tommy was too overcome by an instant dislike of their temporary new home to notice Sean nodding his appreciation as he took in nature’s sights and smells.

‘This is it, the Hostel in the Woods,’ began Sean.

‘Probably more like
The Cabin in the Woods
,’ Tommy replied, recalling how the film of the same name had scared him to death.

‘No gas or electricity – you cook your own food over open fires, sleep under the stars and boil your water from a well. It’s back to basics for us, Tommy.’

‘What part of any of that description do you think appeals to me?’ Tommy replied, already pining for the bustle of a big city.

*

Sean was already awake and outside the next morning, acclimatising himself with his new neighbours by the time Tommy woke up and unzipped his sleeping bag.

Tommy’s lumbar area ached from the firm mattress he’d slept on, so he stretched and ventured towards the porch, rubbing his pollen-affected eyes. His head itched, and he felt small clusters of raised lumps where mosquitoes had dined on him throughout the night. It didn’t help to lighten his dark mood, the same one he’d fallen asleep in.

Outside, many of the hostel’s guests were already up and eating a communal breakfast around wooden picnic tables. Tommy was looking at his watch, which read 5.50 a.m, and scowling at the ungodly hour when he felt two sharp jabs in his ankle.

‘What the—?’ he began and glanced down to find an angry cockerel with a razor-sharp beak pecking him. He tried to kick it away, but the bird stubbornly refused, so he broke into a jog as the flapping creature chased him. He could hear people chuckling at his predicament until the bird finally lost interest and returned to wherever it’d been hiding.

‘Always a hit with the birds,’ laughed Sean, sitting bare-chested with two women in oversized checked sleeping shirts. ‘Charlotte and Rochelle, this is Tommy.’

As Tommy went for a handshake and Charlotte opted for a peck on each cheek, he became flustered and his hand bounced off her breasts instead.

‘We’re going for a swim if you fancy it?’ continued Sean. ‘There’s a pool over there made from a natural spring – how cool is that?’

‘I’m going to pass, I need some breakfast,’ Tommy replied, unable to fake any enthusiasm.

‘Oh, breakfast was at 5, sorry, but there’s a Twix in my bag if you’re hungry?’

Before Tommy could formulate a suitably sarcastic reply, Sean and his new friends began to peel off their clothes and walk naked to the pool. Although Tommy was used to seeing his best friend without a stitch on, he’d had never seen him be so public about it.

‘When in Rome!’ Sean declared, sensing his friend’s surprise.

‘Remember what happened to Caesar,’ muttered Tommy, and walked towards the toilet block. Behind the cubicle door was a hole in the ground and a bottle of disinfectant.

He opened his mouth to vent in frustration, but closed it quickly when the stench made him gag.

TODAY

‘Oh my God, Savvy, where are you?’

Savannah’s sister Roseanna tried to contain the volume and excitement in her voice when she realised who was on the other end of the telephone line.

‘It’s best you don’t know, honey,’ Savannah replied, comforted by her little sister’s voice, ‘but I wanted you to know that I’m safe. How are you doing?’

‘It’s like living in jail here since you left. I hate it,’ Roseanna whispered. ‘I can’t go anywhere or see anyone without one of Daddy’s men following me.’

Savannah closed her eyes, wracked with guilt. ‘I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry that I left you, but please know that I had no choice. When I’m settled I’ll call and maybe we can find a way for you to come and join me?’

‘I’d love that,’ Roseanna replied, before the tone in her voice altered. ‘You need to listen to me, Savvy. Be careful, because I heard Daddy talking and you can’t trust—’

Suddenly the line went quiet.

‘Can’t trust who, Rosie?’ Savannah asked, but there was no reply. ‘I can’t trust who? Rosie? Hello?’

When Savannah heard a deep, throaty cough coming through the receiver, a chill ran down her spine. She slammed the phone back onto its cradle and ran to hail a cab.

Matty lay in his bed until late morning, exhausted after a dreadful night of broken sleep.

His dreams alternated between watching the postmaster falling to the floor over and over again, and himself struggling to fight off a pack of snarling wolves taking it in turns to sit on his chest.

The sound of a shrill car alarm below his bedroom window made him give up any hope of further sleep, so his opened his eyes and felt his head pulsating. Quietly, he took a couple of painkillers from his bedside table and swallowed them with a mouthful of flat Pepsi.

‘You okay there?’ muttered Declan from his side of the room, his eyes half closed.

‘I don’t want to be a killjoy, but do you mind if I give the beach a miss later?’