Welcome To Wherever You Are

by John Marrs

  They were at the kitchen sink rinsing punnets of fruit under a tap when Jane stopped and rummaged around her handbag, removing a plastic wallet. She opened it to reveal a portable photo frame with space for two pictures. A pair of smiling young faces with brightly coloured ice cream covering their lips beamed from behind a protective film, frozen in time.

  ‘That’s Gregory,’ Jane began, pointing to a boy of no more than five, with bright red hair and freckles. ‘And that’s Ruby. She’s seven . . . she was seven . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

  Ruby shared her brother’s features, and her auburn curls cascaded across her shoulders. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she replied, saddened that the two innocent souls she was staring at were no more.

  ‘Peter, my husband, was a very controlling, very violent man,’ Jane explained, ‘and I reached the point where finally, I couldn’t take any more. Our relationship, if you could call it that, didn’t equip us to raise a family, so when I told him I was planning to leave with the children, it was like I’d pushed a detonator and he exploded. He beat me unconscious and I don’t remember much else, only waking up on the lounge floor to find the house on fire. I tried to get upstairs to the kids’ bedrooms but the heat was too intense, so I ran to a neighbour’s house for help and they called 999. We returned with a ladder, but by then, well, it was too late. All three of them were gone.’

  Savannah swallowed hard, understanding all too well the damage a domineering patriarch can cause. ‘Oh Jane, that’s awful.’

  Jane offered a grateful half smile, but she couldn’t hold it for long. ‘The man I married wasn’t always bad,’ she continued. ‘I know there was some good left in him, somewhere. That’s why I stayed for so long, because I wanted to him to go back to being the man I fell in love with. At least that’s what I tell myself, because I don’t think I can bear the alternative . . . that I could have prevented this from happening by leaving years earlier and keeping my babies safe.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself,’ said Savannah, and placed her arm around Jane’s shoulder. ‘Is that why you came to America? To get away from what happened?’

  ‘Yes, and because my life had no purpose any more. I wanted to do the things my kids will never have the chance to do, so I decided to see the world for them. It’s a bit silly isn’t it, a woman of my age chasing a dream two kids were too young to have.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Sometimes we have no choice but to leave our old lives just to keep going.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I get that,’ nodded Jane. ‘But how long can you run for?’

  Savannah had often wondered the same thing.

  ‘What about you, you haven’t mentioned anything about your baby’s father. Is he still around?’

  ‘Huh,’ Savannah replied, ‘if I was to believe one of my father’s sermons, I’d say it was an immaculate conception. But the truth is, I was raped.’

  ‘Oh darling,’ said Jane, a look of sympathy quickly spreading across her face.

  ‘It’s okay, well, it’s not okay obviously, but it could have been worse because I don’t remember anything about it. Someone slipped a roofy in my drink and then five weeks and one missed period later, I find out I’m pregnant.’

  Jane shook her head. ‘The bastard.’

  ‘I could either let it kill me or it can make me stronger, so I’m settling for the latter option. But sometimes I find myself walking down the boardwalk and I see a cute guy who smiles at me and I wonder, ‘Is that you? Are you the one who did that to me?’ And I could beat myself up about it, you know, never knowing who it is, or I can focus on trying to make the best life possible for my baby. So that’s what I’m going to do.’

  From the corridor, Peyk quietly listened to Jane and Savannah’s heart to heart and watched as Jane put her arm around Savannah and tilted her head towards her shoulder. And he realised the night he first met Savannah, he’d made a serious error of judgment.

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘What the fuck?’

  The image greeting Tommy and Jake as they turned the corner stopped them both in their tracks. It was an A3-sized poster, taped to the landing wall, of Tommy and Jake’s kiss. It had been blown up, printed and then mounted for all to see.

  Tommy stared at it in dismay before Jake tore it down.

  ‘People are going to think . . .’ began Tommy, ‘it was only a bit of fun—’

  ‘I know,’ Jake interrupted. ‘I’m really sorry, but look, it’s gone now, let’s throw it away and forget about it.’

  As they walked towards the kitchen bin, both were aghast to see every wall plastered in more posters of their kiss. Jake frantically began to rip them down by the handful – the low profile he’d worked so hard to keep was unravelling.

  TWO YEARS EARLIER – LONDON

  Stuart paced around his apartment for much of the night, working out his options and devising explanations and excuses for being caught with a convulsing teen soap star and lines of cocaine on his lap.

  As soon as the limousine’s door had opened and the cameras started snapping, in a blind panic, he’d shoved the two remaining wraps of cocaine into his pocket and shoved Katie’s clutch-bag to the footwell, showering them both in a cloud of white powder.

  Stuart had left Katie to face the consequences of her actions alone while he fought his way through the paparazzi, elbowing one in the nose and knocking another to the pavement as he darted towards the hotel lobby. Once inside the fancy Cardinian building, guests and staff turned their heads to stare at the commotion outside, and all eyes fell on a clearly agitated Stuart as hurried towards the elevators. He pressed the button for the 23rd floor where Zak always camped out when in town and glanced at his reflection in the copper-coloured metal doors. He could feel himself sweating as he tried not to dwell on how social media and the press were about to have a field day with what their lenses had just captured.

  Stuart was desperate to see Zak because Zak would know what to do. As a child star, he’d grown up in the public eye and could count on the best Hollywood PR machine money could buy to cover any indiscretions. Stuart thought back to how he and Zak had first met a year earlier in the green room of a Dutch TV chat show, Zak promoting his latest movie and Stuart and the band performing their new single to try and crack the European music market. They’d chatted politely, but the unspoken spark between them was impossible to ignore. And when they met up again later that night in the bar of their shared hotel, their dangerous liaison began.

  Geography and gruelling work schedules meant their time together was often brief and always kept under the radar, away from prying eyes. And the covert nature of their relationship suited them just fine because, as their working lives were spent as public property, both appreciated having something that was theirs alone.

  As the lift approached the ground floor, a thought suddenly struck Stuart – with a new type of press attention suddenly thrust upon him, would it be such a wise move for him to see Zak that night? When Stuart lived just a few miles away in Canary Wharf, why would he be staying in a hotel? He’d abandoned Katie in the car, having convinced himself her seizure had been a brief but minor incident, and that if she had any sense – which was debatable – she’d have come around and told the driver to get the hell out of there. If reporters did a little digging, it would only take a small amount of financial encouragement for an indiscreet member of staff to reveal Zak Stanley was also a hotel guest, thus allowing them to put two and two together. Granted, it was a long shot, but it wasn’t a risk worth taking. So Stuart made a snap decision to leave the hotel and hurried towards a rear fire exit he’d snuck out of after a past tryst with Zak.

  With no battery power left in his mobile phone, he was forced to wait until the taxi dropped him off at his apartment block before he could call Zak from his landline, but it went straight to voicemail. Stuart paced around his flat, took a deep breath and logged on to the Daily Mail’s website from his iPad. Ninety minutes after being caught white-handed, there at the top of the page and al
so in the infamous sidebar of shame, was his photograph in all its glory: a wide-eyed Stuart Reynolds with two lines of cocaine on his teenage actress girlfriend’s handbag. There was also a link to video of the incident, but as soon as Stuart saw the headline, he knew things were worse than he’d feared. It read: ‘Soap actress critically ill after drugs binge with pop star boyfriend – she has seizure while he runs.’

  ‘Shit,’ thought Stuart, realising that in a no-win situation, he’d only made matters worse by leaving a poorly Katie alone. The media and fans wouldn’t care it was her drugs and that she’d done it to herself; he would be the scapegoat.

  Stuart knew he shouldn’t, but he switched to his Twitter app and keyed in his name, but he couldn’t keep up with the number of threads that mentioned him, many reposting the Mail’s pictures. The UK was alight with a new celebrity scandal, and Stuart was in the eye of the storm. He was relieved Lightning Strikes had yet to conquer America, and immediately decided that’s where he would set up camp until the furore blew over.

  Stuart’s charging phone suddenly burst to life and vibrated the first of dozens of missed telephone call alerts. They were mainly from numbers he didn’t recognise, but he speculated they belonged to reporters looking for exclusives. He’d also received voicemail messages from other members of the band. Tentatively he listened to them and grimaced as the words ‘fucking idiot’ and ‘ruined it for us all’ were thrown about.

  With Zak still on his mind, Stuart called him again, but this time a woman answered.

  ‘I’m sorry, but he’s still at the premiere party,’ began Mimi, Zak’s sister and personal assistant. But Stuart knew she was lying because Zak loathed those parties and only ever stayed for ten minutes to network with the big players in the industry before slipping out. ‘I’ll tell him you called,’ she added and hung up. ‘He knows what’s happened,’ thought Stuart. ‘He knows.’

  There was only one person who could sort this mess out – his manager, Geri Garland. So Stuart braced himself, flicked through his contacts and dialled.

  ‘Ahh, if it isn’t the Wolf of Wall Street,’ she began.

  ‘Geri, please let me explain.’

  ‘No need, sweetheart, let Mama G. get you out of this one. It looks bad at the moment but I promise you I’ll have it sorted by the morning. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Stuart, surprised by her relaxed tone.

  ‘Really. Trust me. Now go and get some sleep.’

  Stuart hung up, turned his phone off and slumped into a large leather armchair.

  While grateful to her for whatever she had planned, Stuart wondered what Geri would expect as payback for digging him out of his hole.

  CHAPTER 24

  DAY ELEVEN

  Nicole had, at best, just a twenty-minute window of opportunity to find Tommy.

  Hours earlier, and with Eric filling the truck with petrol, she’d called ahead to the Venice Beach International Hostel and booked two beds in a dormitory room as she didn’t want to be alone in a private room with him.

  On their return to Venice, she and a reluctant Eric checked in, and on seeing Sadie covering the reception desk, Nicole momentarily feared that in her four-day absence, Tommy too had ventured forth on the next leg of his travels.

  More than seven continuous weeks together meant Nicole knew Eric’s habits and routines, and she counted on him taking his regimented twenty-five minutes to shower, groom and freshen up. Once he’d announced he was getting out of his sweaty car clothes and the shower began running, Nicole flew out of the starting blocks.

  She sprinted to Tommy’s room and found it empty, but was relieved when a quick scan revealed his sleeping bag and backpack were still by his bed. She considered writing him a note, then decided it’d be easier explaining to him in person what she’d learned about Eric.

  She checked her watch, then ran to the lounge and half-heartedly smiled at a few familiar faces as she scanned the room for Tommy. The kitchen and courtyard were also Tommy-less, and, out of frustration, she smacked the wall with the palm of her hand. Now she had ten minutes to run to the hotdog stand, tell Tommy she needed to urgently speak to him, and get back to her room before Eric was any the wiser.

  En route, she asked herself whether telling Tommy about Maria’s note was the wisest thing to do. Eric was correct when he’d suggested she wasn’t the best judge of character, and it annoyed her now to think he was probably enjoying a smug laugh at her expense when he’d said it. But she was honest enough to admit to herself her track record was poor. So could she really trust a boy she’d known for a handful of days, or was she setting herself up for more trouble? Unfortunately she was running out of options.

  Nicole’s run slowed to a walk when she arrived at the hotdog stand to find the help she urgently needed wasn’t working there that day. ‘Fuck it, where are you Tommy?’ she thought, and reluctantly retraced her steps back to the hostel and back to her room.

  ‘Why are you panting?’ asked Eric when he stepped out of the bathroom less than a minute after Nicole returned.

  ‘I was doing a bit of exercise,’ she lied, and flashed him graphics on her phone from a fitness app.

  ‘Too little, too late,’ Eric replied, rolling his eyes. ‘I think the horse has well and truly bolted through that stable door.’

  CHAPTER 25

  For three days, Ruth survived on chocolate bars, potato chips, 7Up and very little sleep.

  But it was hope and conviction that spurred her on in her vigil outside Zak Stanley’s home, even if to date, it had only had resulted in two meetings with him, neither of which had gone as she’d envisaged.

  Ruth anxiously looked at her watch and realised it had been thirty-seven hours and twenty minutes since Zak had left his home, and she was desperate to know where he was. There was no battery power left in her phone, so she was unable to go online to see if his whereabouts had been reported on social media. She’d bought a USA Today on her last journey to the store at the foot of the hills, but nothing had been reported about Zak either in the news section or its ‘Life’ supplement.

  She paced in a circular motion like a caged bear in a zoo. She nibbled the skin around her dirty fingernails and fretted about his safety. What if he’d been involved in a car accident or if he’d taken ill and was poorly in hospital? How would his friends and family know how to get in touch with his biggest fan to tell her what had happened? Every hour she pressed the intercom buzzer or waved her arms at the security camera to get attention from Zak’s staff, but no one responded.

  The more Ruth tried to reassure herself that Zak was okay, the more dominant the irrational side of her brain became, warning her something terrible must have happened to him. And as sleep deprivation and hunger took its toll, Ruth’s emotions switched from anger to frustration, concern and then distress, and she promised herself she would remain exactly where she was, no matter how long it took.

  CHAPTER 26

  The stains on the threadbare lounge carpet were the only things holding it together, thought Tommy as he vacuumed the remnants of the previous night’s party.

  The vacuum cleaner dated back at least two decades, and was so noisy and vibrated so intensely, he wondered if he should be wearing earmuffs like a pneumatic drill operator.

  Sprawled across a sofa, Jake kept him company, skimming through a book on Eastern philosophy he’d plucked from the hostel’s library shelf. But he was finding it hard to focus on its teachings in the presence of a shirtless Tommy, stretching backwards and forwards, cleaning the carpets.

  Jake already knew how Tommy’s mouth tasted, but now he wondered what his body would feel like wrapped against his own, or how his warm breath might feel on his neck . . .

  ‘Stop it!’ Jake suddenly interrupted his daydreams and moved his head from side to side as if to dislodge the inappropriate thoughts. He told himself he’d only been thinking about his friend in that way because he hadn’t been intimate with another person in almost a year. ‘It’s
lust you’re feeling – nothing more, nothing less,’ he told himself, and placed the book on his lap to disguise his growing arousal.

  He noticed Tommy scowl as Matty and Declan walked past the lounge carrying footballs under their arms.

  ‘Ladies,’ nodded Declan, slowing his pace. ‘You know, it really warms our hearts to see a bit of man on man romance. That touching photo of you guys is the talk of the building.’

  ‘Oh fuck off,’ replied Tommy, and took a swig from a bottle of Pepsi.

  Matty turned to Declan. ‘I’d have expected a bit more gratitude for capturing such a tender moment on camera.’

  ‘I should have known it was you idiots,’ said Tommy, to which Matty and Declan grinned and waved before continuing their journey. Tommy opened his mouth to shout to them but Jake spoke first.

  ‘Don’t bother replying, they’re not worth it,’ he said.

  ‘They’re going to regret it.’

  ‘Why? What’s the point? They’ve had their fun, just let it lie.’

  ‘They’ve humiliated me!’

  ‘So you’re saying people thinking you’re gay is humiliating?’

  ‘No, that’s not . . . . no, I meant—’

  ‘Then leave it.’

  With the carpets as clean as Tommy could manage without the aid of paraffin and a match, he took a dustpan and brush and began working his way through the first of six sofas, removing the cushion seats and scooping out stray nickels and dimes that had fallen from pockets into the creases. Tommy was fumbling around to pull out confectionery wrappers when his fingertips touched something leathery. He removed a brown tan wallet and looked inside; there were only a few dollar bills, free McDonald’s vouchers and an old debit card with the name Matthew O’Keefe embossed on the front next to a driver’s licence.