Welcome To Wherever You Are (4 page)

As soon as he heard the bedroom door hinges creaking open, Eric closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

He’d been lying on his bed, quietly brooding over Nicole’s decision to spend time with a boy she didn’t know rather than with him, planning the next chapter of their journey. Even though neither was sure where they were supposed to be heading with the vague instructions they’d been left, he was keen to escape the squalor currently suffocating him.

Nicole sat down on her bunk, making the bed frame bend and squeak. Eric opened his eyes and sat up.

‘What time is it?’ he asked, continuing the charade by rubbing his eyes.

‘It’s just gone three. Sorry, have I woken you?’

‘Yeah. Where’ve you been?’

‘Tommy was showing me Venice Beach, remember? You’ll love it down there, Eric. It’s got this fantastic vibe to it, there are so many places we can explore.’

‘I’m sure there are, but we’re only here for a couple of days, aren’t we.’ It wasn’t a question.

Nicole paused. ‘Well there’s no reason why we can’t stay a bit longer, is there? It’s not like we’re on a tight schedule or anything, and we’ve got enough money to tide us over for at least a couple more months. We’ve been on the road going from one motel to another on a wild goose chase. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, so let’s start enjoying it a bit more.’

Eric bit his tongue but quietly seethed at Tommy for opening Nicole’s eyes. He was also sore at himself for not protesting when she’d asked if he minded her going out.

‘If that’s what you want,’ he replied, using a tone that made it clear he was irked but not irked enough to warrant a confrontation. ‘But remember why we’re here and what we’re trying to find. And – any chance you can tidy your stuff away? You’re the messiest person I know.’

‘Sure,’ smiled Nicole and gave Eric a peck on the forehead. ‘Oh, and Tommy says there’s a party downstairs tonight if you fancy it?’

Eric offered a smile, which Nicole took to mean ‘yes’, and moved towards the bathroom, only to spot the woman in the jogging bottoms and long-sleeved T-shirt sat in the same place she’d been hours earlier.

‘Hello,’ began Nicole.

‘Hi,’ replied Ruth, then closed her scrapbook and clutched it to her chest before Nicole could work out whose face was stuck on the cover.

‘My name’s Nicole.’

‘I’m Ruth,’ replied the woman in an Australian accent, before lowering her head, rising to her feet and scuttling from the room. She headed towards the empty kitchen and, once she was confident she was alone, she carefully placed her book on the table and smiled at the magazine cutting of Zak Stanley stuck to the cover.

FIVE WEEKS EARLIER – VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA

‘Potato chips for breakfast? For Christ’s sake, girl, it’s not even 7.30!’

The disgruntled tone of her mother, Denise, failed to move Ruth to push her unconventional breakfast to one side or turn the television off. Instead, she remained sprawled across the white faux-leather sofa, her head propped up by a cushion and a bowl of corn-based snacks balanced on her stomach.

‘Hey, bludger, I’m talking to you,’ Denise continued to jibe, pointing at her daughter with a French-tipped fingernail. ‘Get your fat arse up, turn the television off and go out for a run or something.’

Ruth ignored her mother’s obvious frustration and remained transfixed by the figure on the television screen. No matter what insult her mother or younger brother Kevin threw at her – which was usually weight-related – Ruth’s indifference to dieting, make-up or fashion persisted.

In Ruth’s universe, the only person whose opinion mattered was Zak Stanley. He was a man who had never picked on her, criticised her, mocked her appearance or made her feel any less of a woman despite of her 5-foot 8-inch, 15-stone frame. Zak made Ruth feel like a real princess, and not Princess Fiona, the ogreous Shrek character Kevin compared her to.

And if Zak were ever to leave his Hollywood home and cast aside his A-list movie career for a relationship with a stranger who could offer him more love than all of his thousands of fans put together, Ruth would be waiting for him with open arms.

When Ruth heard Denise’s stiletto heels tap their way across the lounge’s laminate flooring and into the kitchen, she turned up the television’s volume. Although she’d watched the DVD many times over the last two years, Ruth still scowled at the blonde-haired, large-breasted presenter, proudly standing on the red carpet in London’s Leicester Square with Zak’s arm around her waist. Ruth didn’t care for the way she flirted with Zak but conceded that anyone in the presence of such talent and masculine beauty would find it impossible not to try their luck.

‘So what made you take the role, Zak, it’s quite a departure?’ asked the presenter with a name Ruth had no interest in remembering.

‘Well,’ began Zak, struggling to hear through the screaming teenage girls penned in behind metal railings. ‘I’ve always been a big supporter of animal rights, and if my movie helps bring the illegal trade in elephant ivory to the forefront of people’s minds, well, that makes it all worthwhile.’

‘I bet he loves dogs like I do, too,’ thought Ruth. Along with pizza, sunsets,
Friends
reruns and cuddles, it was yet another thing she could add to their list of common interests.

‘And what about love – have you found a potential Mrs Stanley yet?’ continued the interviewer. Ruth swore she saw her hand slip further down Zak’s back and towards his buttocks.

He grinned bashfully. ‘No, I’m still looking for her.’

‘And what qualities does a girl need?’

‘I’m a simple kinda guy. All I want is an ordinary girl who inspires me to be a better man, and who I can wake up loving a little bit more each day.’

‘And you think she’s out there somewhere?’ The interviewer fluttered her eyelashes and no longer tried to disguise her desire to be auditioned as Mrs Stanley.

‘Oh, I’m sure of it,’ replied Zak, brushing his hand though his dark, floppy fringe. ‘Who knows? She could be right here tonight or she could live on the other side of the world, but I believe in destiny, and I’ll know who she is the moment we meet.’

The butterflies that always materialised in Ruth’s stomach when she thought of Zak were now fluttering so briskly, they made her feel sick. ‘You mean me,’ she mouthed silently, and then smiled.

Once the footage ended and Zak moved on to mix with a British singer called Stuart she’d never heard of, Ruth rewound and played the interview twice more before her mother appeared again.

‘You’re never going to find a boyfriend if you’re stuck in this bloody house every day,’ she barked, ‘The TV won’t love you back.’

Denise picked up her jacket, folded it over her arm and swung a Chanel handbag over her shoulder. ‘Look at the state of you, it’s no wonder your father left,’ she sneered as a parting shot.

Ruth swallowed hard, then began to eat a partially melted chocolate bar she’d kept hidden under a cushion and away from her mother’s sight.

TODAY

By 8.15 p.m., the first of the week’s two hostel parties was in full swing.

Five beer kegs placed on the floor by the window overlooking the street below were quickly being drained as guests queued to fill their red plastic cups and glasses with free booze.

Others took turns in selecting their own carefully composed playlists from MP3 players and smartphones to plug into a speaker dock. All styles of music, from hip hop to bhangra, from reggae to pop, played as residents danced, chatted, flirted and quaffed beer or cheap bottles of wine they’d purchased from the liquor store across the road. Some hostellers played pool on a table with torn felt using cues with worn-down tips. Others regularly left the room to smoke cannabis out of sight on the building’s two second-floor balconies.

Tommy scanned the room and spotted Eric and Nicole talking in the corner. He waited for Nicole to approach the kegs and refill their glasses before he approached Eric. If he could get Eric on side, he reasoned, then he might be able to persuade Nicole to stay in LA a little longer.

‘How are you settling in?’ Tommy began with a rehearsed smile.

‘Oh this place is just delightful,’ replied Eric, making no attempt to disguise his disdain. ‘A bedroom that reeks of stale feet, people falling through ceilings, and German techno music deafening me. What more could I ask for?’

‘Well, there’s something I wouldn’t mind asking you – is Nicole seeing anyone?’

Eric glared at Tommy, making him instantly uncomfortable, before Nicole reappeared.

‘Hi, Tommy,’ she smiled.

‘How are you enjoying the party?’

‘Yeah, it’s good fun. Oh, and we’ve decided to stay in Venice a bit longer.’

‘Really?’ Tommy tried to contain a grin.

‘We?’ interrupted Eric.

‘Okay,
I
have decided we’d like to stay in Venice a bit longer.’

‘You don’t seem so keen, Eric.’

‘Do you blame me?’

‘I’ve stayed in worse places. This hostel is more about the people than the deco. There’s a good crowd here if you just give them a chance.’

Just as Eric was formulating a suitably sarcastic response, a plastic tap burst from the side of a keg and a fountain of beer sprayed his face and chest.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ he yelled, wiping alcohol from his stinging eyes and dropping his glass to the floor. ‘I’m soaked!’

‘Go back to the room and dry yourself off, it’s not the end of the world,’ Nicole giggled.

‘It’s the end of this All Saints T-shirt,’ Eric shot back, and turned towards the door, mopping his face with a paper napkin. Before he left, he turned to Nicole and whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t tell him anything.’

With Eric gone, Tommy burst out laughing. ‘Did you see his face?’

‘Oh, we shouldn’t laugh,’ Nicole smirked.

‘All Saints? You can tell he’s a tourist.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The difference between backpackers and travellers is that backpackers don’t wear £50 T-shirts. In fact £50 is probably the total value of my wardrobe.’

Nicole nodded and fiddled with the Calvin Klein label at the bottom of her vest to make sure it wasn’t visible.

‘Well it’s a shame to let his beer go to waste,’ Tommy continued, and bent down to pick up Eric’s glass. He didn’t notice a hairline crack down the side and, as he reached for the rim, the glass snapped and tore into the palm of his hand.

‘Shit,’ he yelped, and pulled a shard from his wound. Nicole instinctively reached for Tommy’s hand and inspected it, before pressing a handful of napkins to stop the flow of blood.

‘Where’s the first aid kit?’ she asked.

‘In the kitchen.’

Tommy clasped his throbbing hand and led Nicole upstairs to the kitchen where she rinsed it under the cold water tap.

‘It’s not deep enough to need stitches but it might be worth going to A & E.’

‘You’re assuming I have medical insurance,’ replied Tommy, watching Nicole carefully as she cleaned up his wound with iodine. ‘And you’ve done this before.’

She smiled, and wrapped a bandage around his hand, securing it with two safety pins and some gaffer tape.

‘I may have, once or twice,’ she added.

TWELVE WEEKS EARLIER – LONDON

‘So much for being bloody waterproof,’ muttered Nicole to herself as the torrential rain lashed against her mackintosh and seeped into her collar, dripping down her back.

The rain that began as harmless drizzle was now torrential and soaking her to the skin. Nicole regretted her decision to cycle the three miles to work instead of catching the bus, and reminded herself of her mother’s words, ‘a bit of rain never hurt anyone’.

Suddenly, with the hospital in sight, the hem of her coat became caught in the back wheel’s spokes and yanked her body to the right. After failing to regain her balance, she toppled off the saddle and landed cheek first on the pavement.

‘Bollocks,’ she yelled, picking herself up, then her bike, before kicking it and walking with it the rest of way.

*

Hospital rules stated that a person could only run through a ward in an emergency.

But having fallen foul of Matron’s displeasure over poor time-keeping three times already that fortnight, Nicole decided that to avoid being any later than she was, it was indeed an emergency. Quickly, she squeezed the sanitiser from the wall-mounted dispenser into her palm and rubbed her hands as she dashed past the beds on the geriatric ward, before reaching the room behind the nursing station where Eric sat, reading
Esquire
magazine next to a half-full, tepid pot of coffee.

‘How have you got the time to sit down and read?’ Nicole asked.

Eric’s reply was to act out looking at his watch, tapping it and then raising his eyes towards Nicole.