by Rachel Dann
Give him a chance, I tell myself. Maybe the enormity of what we’ve done has only just hit him… maybe older, wiser Harry is finding it harder to be out of his comfort zone than he thought he would… I decide all I can do about it for now is try to enjoy the night, while still watching Harry closely.
As I sit down at the table beside Gabriela, I realise why the ground is so soft underfoot – it is real sand lining the bar from the door to the dance floor. Mini palm trees sprout from the floor in the seating area, giving an illusion of privacy and luxury at each table. A widescreen TV is pumping out J-Lo music videos on the far wall over a small dance floor where some couples are already twirling each other around in extravagant salsa moves. Everything looks new, shiny and luxurious.
Gabi introduces me to the group already at the table – Luke from Birmingham, resident in Ecuador for twenty years, proprietor of an English-language centre and extremely long red dreadlocks. Then a scruffy-looking blonde couple called Emma and Dave (or was it Gemma and Dan?), who barely look old enough to be out on their own and tell us joyfully they are on their gap year before university. To my surprise, despite the variations in age and lifestyle, everyone is British. They all seem to have been drinking for some time already, judging by the collection of empty glasses strewn across the table, ice melting, bright cocktail umbrellas wilting.
Looking around, most of the bar’s clientele seem to be either obvious foreigners – blonde, sunburnt and inebriated – or very well-dressed, elegant locals. At the table next to ours an impossibly beautiful young woman with waist-length hair is sitting opposite a man of at least twice her age, feeding him mini empanadas from her fork. I only realise I’m staring when I feel someone tap me on the shoulder, and turn round with a jump as Ray hands me the cocktail menu.
I feel a bit sick looking through the elaborately named concoctions, such as the vivid green ‘Drowning Mermaid’ or layered purple and pink ‘Miami Vice’. The prices could rival any London bar, and I can’t help but think of the toothless lady’s sheer joy at the handful of change I gave her outside.
In the end I opt for a glass of wine.
Harry’s back from the bar and is already engaged in an animated conversation with Luke, and I notice with relief he has accepted the bottle of water Ray slid across the table to him, while throwing a wink at me. For a moment, I had started to worry he was taking the idea of getting ‘smashed’ way too literally and that we would end up having to carry him back to Casa Hamaca. But now, talking to Luke, he looks completely animated and engaged with whatever Luke is saying. As I watch, he leans forward in his seat, nodding avidly, his face lighting up in a smile. He’s so engrossed in the conversation, he wouldn’t even notice if…
As if with a mind of their own, my eyes come to rest on Harry’s phone, alone and abandoned in the middle of the table among the empty glasses. My itchy curiosity about his earlier phone call immediately floods back.
Could I?
I look around at our group. Gabriela is just drinking orange juice but seems to be having the best time of us all, laughing at Ray’s every word and snuggling into his shoulder as he whispers something in her ear, his arm draped across the back of her chair. The young couple are engaged in a complicated drink-downing move, arms interlaced as they hold their glasses to each other’s lips. Harry is totally absorbed in his conversation with Luke. No one is paying any attention to me.
I casually rest my arm on the table then slowly slide the phone towards me and up my sleeve, feeling ridiculously like a petty criminal.
‘Just going to the bathroom,’ I mutter to the table in general, and I’m gone.
In the ladies, I lock myself in a cubicle and pull out the phone, hating myself for the excited adrenaline flooding my veins.
I open the call log and scroll guiltily through all the missed calls from my mum, until I find it. The only number in the list that isn’t a recognised contact in Harry’s phone.
593 2 279331. I recognise the Ecuador country code, and I know that the ‘2’ preceding the number means it is a landline within Quito. One outgoing call, made at five-forty-eight p.m. It had to be the one.
I press the green ‘dial’ icon next to the number, and hold the phone to my ear, heart pounding.
It’s answered on the second ring, and a muffled, sleepy-sounding man’s voice says in Spanish, ‘Hello, Fernandez family?’
I take the phone away from my ear and stare at it in horror, imagining a strange man somewhere else in the city scrambling to answer the phone by the bed. It’s nearly midnight, what was I thinking?
‘Hello?’ I hear the tinny voice ask again, and quickly press the hang-up button.
‘Are you alive in there?’ an angry American accent is calling as someone bangs on my cubicle door. Muttering an apology I fumble my way out of the bathroom in a daze of confusion. Who the hell are the Fernandez family? We don’t know anyone in Quito, except the people we are in this bar with. Harry said all the people he met travelling the first time had long ago dispersed back to their countries, and lost touch. Why would he be calling someone on a landline in Quito and shouting at them?
‘Kirsty! There you are.’ Ray is smiling at me and grabs my arm to pull me down into the seat next to him, then immediately turns back to his energetic conversation with the others. I quickly deposit Harry’s phone back out of my sleeve and on to the table.
The male half of the young couple – Dan or Dave – seems to be telling a long and complicated story about the process of exchanging his British driving licence for an Ecuadorian one. I notice Gabi’s eyes start to glaze over, then her gaze drift away across the bar. I realise now would be a perfect time to ask her about her volunteer work in the prisons. As if reading my mind, she catches my eye and smiles at me.
Do it, I tell myself firmly. What are you waiting for?
‘So then they told me the office was closed, and I had to go back on a Wednesday, but only in the afternoon, and I needed a copy of my birth certificate, but that was in the UK so I had to call Gemma’s mum and ask her to fax it…’ The story continues unrelentingly, and Gabi flashes me an almost imperceptible eye-roll.
Do it now. Just ask her.
‘…and then they insisted I got a special signature from a lawyer, can you believe it? So I phoned round about ten people, and there weren’t any appointments for two weeks…’
But what if she thinks I’m weird for being interested in something like this?
Gabi leans forward and starts playing with the straw in her drink, barely concealing the boredom on her face. I take a deep breath and lean forward.
‘Hey, so… Gabi? Ray mentioned you’re involved in some volunteer work here. With the, um… prisoners.’
Gabi’s face lights up immediately. ‘Yes! Oh, don’t get me started on this, I’ll bore your ears off about it. Worse than…’ She grins and flicks a glance at Dan (or Dave), still holding forth about his driving licence. We both giggle. ‘But,’ she suddenly frowns, ‘I hope Ray hasn’t been going on about these things to you… he sometimes gets a bit overenthusiastic about what I do.’ She stops to nudge her husband. ‘Hey, amor, I hope you haven’t been boring our new guests with talk about prisons… they are here on holiday, and probably don’t want to hear about—’
‘Actually, I’m really interested,’ I interrupt to reassure her, and try to quickly pull her attention back to me before Harry overhears. Glancing over at him I see he is still deep in conversation with Luke, but I lower my voice anyway. ‘You see, I once did some work in a solicitor’s office and there was this guy… actually, never mind that. But let’s just say it’s kind of an area of personal interest for me. And… actually, I was already looking at doing some volunteer work while we’re out here in South America. So…’ I trail off, feeling suddenly very exposed.
Gabi, to my great relief, is smiling broadly.
‘Well, I volunteer for a charity that offers support to prisoners here in Ecuador. Mainly women, the more vu
lnerable ones, and foreigners. We visit them and try to help where we can – little things like posting letters for them to their families, bringing them snacks, or simply listening to them when they have no one to talk to.’
My eyes must be open like saucers. ‘There are foreign prisoners here in Ecuador?’
‘Oh yes, lots,’ Gabi says, and something about her kind smile makes me feel like the most naïve person in the world. ‘Almost all for drug trafficking,’ she answers my unspoken question. ‘Some friends of mine started a small charity, years ago, to help them. I’ve been involved since…’ She trails off and frowns. ‘Since even before I met Ray.’
‘Gabi is an amazing woman,’ Ray interrupts, slurring and squeezing his arm around her shoulders.
‘If you’re interested, I could introduce you to them – they’re a lovely older couple, and they basically run this charity from their home. I know they’re always keen for another pair of hands, especially with everything that’s going on at the moment.’
I’m already nodding enthusiastically.
‘I can’t help out that much at the moment,’ Gabi continues, smiling down at her bump. ‘I’m not going to be actually visiting the prisons myself for a while. But I’m sure they’d be happy to talk to you about their work, or even let you go on a visit yourself, if you were interested…’
‘I’d really love to—’ I start to answer back, just as I see Harry coming round to our side of the table, his whole face lit up in a warm smile as he looks at me. He comes up behind my chair and wraps his arms around my shoulders, leaning in to whisper in my ear, ‘Sorry I went a bit crazy outside, babe.’ He rests a soft kiss on my cheek. ‘I was just worried something could happen to you.’
I let him kiss me and squeeze his hand back, despite the undercurrent of unease running through me and the man’s voice still ringing in my ears, saying ‘Hello, Fernandez family?’ When we’re alone, and sober, I will ask him about it, I promise myself.
‘Kirsty was just asking about my work with prisoners,’ Gabi says, before I can stop her. ‘I was telling her that if she wanted we could—’
‘Oh God, woman, you’re obsessed!’ Harry is rolling his eyes and chuckling. ‘Stop talking about depressing stuff like that!’ He straightens up and reaches for his beer.
‘Actually, how long are you guys going to stick around?’ Gabi asks. ‘Because the same couple I told you about, they have a really big apartment and are trying to rent out a part of it. It’s joined on to their house but completely self-contained. Would be perfect for you if you’re thinking of staying here a while.’
I reply ‘Oh, thanks, but we don’t know how long we’ll be around’ at exactly the same time Harry says ‘Great! How much is the rent?’
There’s an awkward silence, and I turn to stare at Harry, raising my eyebrows at him in question. The plan had been to stay in Quito for a week or so, maybe use it as a base to explore the rest of the country… but rent somewhere?
‘It might be worth it, babe,’ he murmurs to me, sitting back down beside me again. ‘Cheaper than staying in hotels, and if they’re willing to let it to us for a short time…’
I don’t get the chance to consider this further, as a loud shriek from the other side of the bar makes us all jump and turn to stare.
‘Hey, YOU LOT!’
It’s Gemma, waving her empty glass and indicating the bar. ‘Come on, what you all drinking? It’s time to get another round in!’
***
By the time we stumble back into our colourful little ‘habitation’ – as Ray would say – it’s nearly morning.
Harry falls asleep immediately, spread out fully clothed on top of the giant patchwork bed, his snores reaching to where I’ve positioned myself on the balcony to watch the sun rise. The drinks have worn off and I’m restlessly awake. I realise it must be late morning in the UK. That, combined with my marathon snooze from earlier – or should I say, from yesterday – makes any thought of sleep impossible now.
I stand and watch the city by night, stunned by the beauty of the twinkling lights on the high mountains around and above me, and by the silence. All I can hear is a stray dog barking in the distance or the occasional car pass by. If this were central London there would be ceaseless noise and activity in the street outside, even at this hour.
Standing alone in a place so unfamiliar, the enormity of what we’ve done really hits me. I won’t see England again for three months. I have no idea what the next few days, let alone weeks or months, will hold for us. The feeling of uncertainty, of adventure, of the future stretching out before me like an expanse of untrodden snow, is strangely liberating. But even so, beneath that, a feeling of unease niggles at me. Who had Harry been talking to, and could it be linked to his distracted behaviour leading up to our departure?
The sun rises so suddenly it’s as if someone simply switched a light on over the city. There are a few moments of eerie grey light, then bright sunshine. With it comes an immediate stream of cars and people and noise, appearing so out of the blue it’s as if they had been hiding behind the buildings waiting to pop out. I’d read that, due to its location right at the centre of the earth, the sun rises and sets in Quito at roughly the same time the whole year round, with none of the long, lingering sunsets or gradual dawns of a place further from the equator. I’d never imagined what it would be like to experience that in person, though.
I realise I’m hungry, but can’t decide whether it is for breakfast, lunch or dinner.
Right on queue there’s a knock on the door.
It’s Ray, bearing two steaming mugs of coffee and his usual broad smile, although slightly subdued today. ‘How are your heads this morning, guys?’ he asks, handing us each a mug.
The smell of coffee seems to revive Harry enough for him to haul himself up on to his elbows and sip from the mug as if it contained the elixir of life.
‘I feel fine, actually,’ I say quietly, realising at the same time, ‘but I don’t remember much after about eleven p.m.’
‘Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything serious to embarrass yourself,’ Ray winks at me.
‘Well, actually you did keep on asking to touch Gabriela’s belly…’ Harry pipes up, obviously finding it tremendously amusing, ‘…and going on about the miracle of life or something, every time you felt the baby kicking.’
Oh no. I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours and will already be getting a reputation as the next Single White Female.
Ray sees the humiliation on my face and says gently: ‘It didn’t bother her. She enjoyed talking to you about babies. Don’t stress.’
I smile at him gratefully.
‘But you!’ Ray turns his attention to Harry. ‘Well done, pal – I can’t believe on your first day here you managed to land—’
I watch Ray’s facial expression change from the usual smile to dawning horror, and whip round just in time to catch Harry sitting bolt upright, making panicked, wide-eyed waving gestures at him.
‘Managed to land what?’ I ask, feeling like I used to as a small child when my parents would talk in broken French to avoid my finding out what my Christmas present was. Except something tells me the secret being kept here is far less innocent than a Polly Pocket playhome or Thundercats action figure.
The changing expressions on Ray’s face would be comical, in any other circumstances. Confusion rapidly giving way to horror as all the colour drains from his cheeks and leaves him looking like he wants to cut out his own tongue. ‘Land… er… land in Quito at such high altitude and go out drinking with us, but still wake up fresh as a lemon!’ Relief floods his face as he internally congratulates himself on covering up whatever it was he said to put his foot in it.
Except he hasn’t. I don’t believe a word of it. And Harry certainly doesn’t look fresh as a ‘lemon’ today, or any other fruit, plant or animal that may be the local term.
‘How do you do it, pal?’ Ray continues, oblivious. ‘Transa
tlantic flight… all those cocktails…’
‘Thank you, Ray.’ Harry’s tone is suddenly cool as he cuts in. ‘I think I’ll take a shower now. So… we’ll come downstairs for breakfast in a bit?’
Ray recognises he has been dismissed and backs out of the room, holding his hands up.
‘Thank you for the coffee,’ I manage before he disappears.
There is an uncomfortable silence. ‘What was all that about?’ I ask.
Harry runs his hands through his hair and hauls himself to his feet. Distractedly, I notice the dark circles under his eyes and the lines that form when he frowns. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you yet. I wanted to see what happened. But…’
An irrational blast of panic jolts through me, and for a split second I imagine what it would be like if Harry broke up with me now. Left me all alone here in Ecuador. I’d have to book an early flight home and get Mum to pick me up from Heathrow. I wouldn’t even have a house to go back to, as I wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage on my own, so it would get repossessed immediately and I’d be back in Mum’s spare room, living out of a suitcase, turning up back at work three months early… my life would be OVER.
Wait – what the HELL are you thinking? I ask myself. Of course he’s not going to break up with me. We’re Harry and Kirsty, we’ve been together five years. We have a mortgage. We have a three-month sabbatical. We decided to do this together.
Oblivious to my irrational moment of panic, Harry continues: ‘So you know Luke from last night – the Brummy guy – dreadlocks? He offered me some work at his language school.’