Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  “Living?” He raised an eyebrow, which unsettled one of his spots.

  The shuttle pulled in, early, and I breathed. “Gabe,” I forced my hand to let go of the bag strap and held it out to him, “it was nice seeing you again. Stay safe, please.”

  He didn’t take my hand but just scowled from close range.

  “Ok, well, please take care.” I turned, hefted my bag and knew after only two steps he was still there behind me and now, as I entered the bus and took my seat, he was still there. I dumped my bag on the seat beside me, which unsettled him for a moment, but then he landed on the pew directly to my rear and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the rail beside my head, as the stench of last night’s beer pervaded my nostrils. “Gabe, you do know this is the shuttle to the airport?”

  It pulled out, only to join the slow-moving traffic and I briefly considered stepping off and paying for a taxi.

  He ignored my question and asked another, “what are you doing living in Italy?” His voice was suddenly deeper than before, which made it about as croaky as I’d ever heard it.

  At the least, it was an opportunity to make him feel better about no longer being with me and I seized it. “I’ve taken a job working on a vineyard, so I won’t be taking residency and…” I was about to elaborate that he could feel free to choose any of our options, safe in the knowledge I wouldn’t be there but he cut me off by grunting, which turned into a mocking laugh.

  “A vineyard? Doing what? Picking grapes?” It had been intended as a put-down, little did he know.

  I nodded, “that’s right, I enjoy it.”

  He barked and I heard him thump back against his seat. A second later his elbows were back near my head. “Oh, God, you know, I used to think you were rational, but you’re just like all the rest.”

  “Rest? What rest?”

  He flapped a hand and I saw the grazes on his knuckles, “all women. You’ve thrown your life away because of how you feel,” and he screeched the word, trying to sound like some demented woman, “in the moment and when you come around, which you will, it’ll be too late, cos I’m training to be a doctor and like your ogre of a dad says, I’ll have the pick of the women, despite my ridiculous hairline,” he said the last two words trying to sound like my dad, and I could almost visualise how that conversation must have gone.

  I shook my head and sighed, sinking down into the seat and praying for this ride to be over. An old woman on the other aisle was staring directly forwards and we went over a bump.

  “Angus? Angus?” Gabe began his monologue. “I always thought that was the stupidest name I ever heard. Not as stupid as your grandparents for naming him Angus. I Googled Angus … turns out it’s a breed of cattle … also the title of a film about a fat boy who was bullied. Maybe that’s why your dad, Angus, turned out to be such a pathetic weasel and a tyrant. Angus! And what’s the short form? Gus? Oh, because that’s so much better.” He laughed and sat back. “I fucking hate your dad. He’s responsible for all of this, for everything that happened to us.”

  Through it all, I’d been staring blankly out the window, as the small territory passed by, and the truth was I just didn’t know what to make of it, any of it.

  But he’d silenced, which was a temporary blessing, and now all I could hear from him were his fingers as they tapped against his phone screen.

  The shuttle entered the airport, which was the smallest I’d ever seen, so small its runway crossed the main road that led into the territory and only one plane sat in an open space a short walk from the terminal, which was a single small glass-fronted building.

  I hurried to file out amongst everyone else and strode in the direction of the terminal. “What the fuck, Gabe? What are you playing at?”

  He was walking beside me, with a belligerent smirk, and I feared I already knew what he’d done. “Thought I’d keep you company on the flight.”

  I stopped on the tarmac, spun around, for whatever reason, and then continued toward the terminal. What was the use? I couldn’t stop him from getting on a plane and since only four left every day, it wouldn’t have been hard to guess I was flying to London Gatwick. “You really want to waste your money just to insult my dad and upset me? You don’t even have your bag and what about your passport?”

  He produced his passport from his back pocket, waved it in front of my face and gurned, which was when I noticed the chipped tooth.

  I threw up my arms and checked in. The wait to board was around thirty minutes, the entirety of which Gabe spent sitting at the bar, watching me from a distance, beer in hand.

  And what would you know, but I found myself sitting next to him on the plane and then we were in the air, beginning the three-hour flight to London.

  I finally broke the silence after what must have been half an hour. “Have you honestly been squatting in Gibraltar for all of five weeks? All on the assumption I’d eventually turn up?”

  He looked away, which said it all. “Let’s see how you’d react if I stole your vehicle and drove away with some man I’d only just met.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I did not steal the bloody camper and we’d already broken up by that point. “And where’ve you been staying?”

  He scratched his neck and rubbed at the residue that stuck to his fingers. “Like you give a shit.”

  I turned suddenly to face him, “well actually, I do, but be like that. And I know you’ve been blabbing about my private life to anyone who’d listen but what I’d really like to know is if you spoke to my dad about it?”

  “What, Angus?” He folded his arms and made a smug face. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” Five weeks, apparently that’s all it took for Gabe to lose the ability to answer questions.

  “Fine, and what are you going to do when you arrive in London? Because you ain’t following me back to Italy, I can tell you that right now.”

  He fell silent and then after several minutes spoke again. “Are you honestly not taking your residency?”

  I’d settled down since the last outburst and now sounded composed. “I’m honestly not, Gabe. I’m happy where I am.”

  His jaw trembled, “but … but, you would really give up your career for her but wouldn’t even marry me?” It was obvious that realisation cut him deeply, even though the two things were hardly the same. “Was I really so bad? I know I messed up at the end but … but … Freya, you’re giving up your entire career.” He bit his lip. “Is it because you don’t want to risk being at the same placement as me?”

  It was so tragic I was briefly lost for words. “Gabe, I’m not…”

  “Because I’ve decided on Cornwall, so you should go somewhere else or,” his hand seemed to float towards mine but changed its mind halfway, “or maybe you can come to Cornwall too?”

  I tried to sound stern yet understanding. “This has nothing to do with being afraid to be in the same hospital as you, that would be ridiculous.”

  After a second, he stared down into his lap. “So, it’s true then, you must really love her.” He turned away, which saved me from having to respond, to hurt him even more.

  On account of feeling sick, he left to use the bathroom on three separate occasions and because it was a small plane, and there were queues, I was left alone for much of the flight.

  We landed and during that annoying period where everybody stands crowding the aisle waiting to disembark, Gabe watched me the whole time.

  I occupied myself by sifting through my hand luggage and shortly after we were leaving the plane, walking through the bridge and converging in an atrium where there was a surge of passengers merging from other planes, many of whom were running to make connections. My flight to Pisa left in an hour, which meant I was in a rush and Gabe, well, I had no idea where he was going and doubted he’d tell me if I asked.

  “Right,” I turned to him and nodded, “this is it,” I didn’t want to remember him in this state but as the happy guy who got me through medical school. It was a damned bloody shame.
“I have to make my connection so I must scoot. I wish you well in Cornwall but I would advise you to quit drinking before you start.”

  “Don’t you dare patronise me,” he said ungraciously.

  “I wasn’t,” I shook my head and threw up my arms, “well, I tried, have a good life, Gabe.” I was about to turn away but froze because he’d dropped to his knees and before I could move, or think, his arms were wrapped around my legs.

  “Please don’t leave me, Freya, please, I don’t care what you did, I still love you and I forgive everything, I just want you back, I miss you so much, please don’t leave me.” He wailed and his arms were absolutely shaking as a huge crowd drew up to watch the spectacle.

  I lost the feeling in my face as a chill rushed through my body. “Gabe, what … please … what are you doing? Get off me.” I tried to stoop, to work his arms off me but couldn’t and at least two people stopped mid-run to see what was happening, their urgent connections forgotten.

  He felt me trying to squirm away and increased his hold around my knees. “Freya, please? I still love you, I don’t know what to do without you.”

  “Gabe! You’re scaring me.”

  The whole world shifted into slow motion as my heightened senses brought horrifying small details to greater clarity. People filming, laughing, covering their mouths, the digital clock striking seventeen past the hour. “I think he likes you, love,” and, “get a room,” were called and the laughter was unbearable.

  His chin tilted up, his face white, tears soaking his cheeks, he looked so pathetic. “I can’t take it anymore, if you leave me, I promise, I’m going to kill myself.”

  “Gabe? Please, you must let me go.” I wasn’t sure how long it had been, probably not more than thirty seconds, and from the direction I wanted to dash, passengers were fanning out to make room for three burly security guards in official uniforms who were running towards us.

  The leading guard barged into Gabe so roughly that he was sent tumbling to the floor, knocking away his glasses, as yet more people began filming and laughing.

  “Are you all right?” I was asked by the second guard and I nodded.

  “Just my crazy ex … need to catch my connection … in a rush … you don’t need a statement I hope.” I felt disorientated and my brain was blotting out much of the crowds and buzz.

  Gabe was even more dazed, in fact, I could see now he must have hit his head and there was a small pool of red beneath his face which was being held down against the tiles as they pinned his arms painfully behind his back.

  “It would be nice but you can email it if you’re in a rush.”

  I nodded and he took the details from my passport. “What will happen to him?”

  He shrugged, didn’t seem too worried and I guessed stupid incidents in large international airports were hardly a rarity. “For now, he’ll go to the immigration holding cell.”

  “He’s British,” I said, as though that might mean anything and then watched as they hauled the former love of my life to his feet, which were pointing limply inwards. “He should probably get some treatment. You’ve hurt him. All he ever wanted was to help hurt people.”

  The border guard laughed and looked at me funny and then Gabe was dragged past, his head sagging and blood dripping over the tiles. “I can fast track you through the gates if you’re in a rush?”

  “Huh?”

  “Queues … if you’re late, I can get you straight through so you don’t miss your flight.”

  I shook my head, “I think I’ve time but thanks.”

  He left and then several women, who’d been watching from somewhere close, came forward to offer comfort, or obtain gossip to satisfy their morbid curiosity, as I stood numb and a cleaner arrived to mop away Gabe’s blood. He didn’t see the glasses and accidentally kicked them across the floor. He made his way over to them and stooped, inspected the frames and seemed in two minds what to do with them. He was about to dump them in the rubbish but I acted quickly to intervene.

  “Please, I’ll take them.”

  He shrugged and handed them over. They were a cheap set of frames, probably temporary until he had chance to obtain a permanent pair.

  The clock ticked twenty-six past the hour and I was still standing on the same spot, holding the frames at twenty-seven past.

  The crowd had dispersed and there were no fresh surges of passengers coming from the seven bridges attached to the atrium.

  Men. They place women at the centre of their lives, which gives us the highest power over them, whether or not we’d like to admit it, and women must learn to be careful with that power. He was once a fine man and look at him now.

  A trail of blood revealed a path and a choice.

  The clock struck twenty-eight.

  * * *

  The bloody trail did not lead to a holding cell, of which we were both becoming accustomed, but to a first aid room and when I entered, Gabe was sitting on an examination couch, pinching his nose to stem the flow of blood whilst staring into the floor tiles. A nurse was sitting beside him holding a bag of ice to his forehead.

  “Freya,” he croaked without looking up.

  “You lost your glasses,” I reached meekly towards the couch to place them on the edge and spoke to the nurse, “mind if I take over?”

  She frowned at me, I must have had that look, and she seemed about to reject my request but then shrugged and handed me the bag of ice before walking to the other side of the room to begin typing into a laptop.

  “They’re a piece of junk but thanks.” He groaned and because he was still pinching his nose, his voice came out nasally.

  “You’ll need them to get home, right?”

  “If you’re suggesting my travels are over, you’d be right.”

  I sat beside him and placed the bag against the bruise, “I’m not gonna lie, it looks pretty bad.”

  He flinched when I made contact with the ice, at least, I thought it was from the ice. “That bastard broke my nose.”

  “You could sue,” I said softly, “plenty of witnesses.”

  “Freya, ugh, I’m so sorry. Sorry for Gibraltar and sorry for embarrassing you, as well as myself. What the fuck was I thinking?”

  “Gabe, I hurt you really bad.”

  “Yeah but still … That is what you call hitting rock bottom and that is the lowest I’ve been in my entire life.” He removed the cloth from his face, inspected the dark red contents, grimaced and braced for the inevitable continuation of blood which didn’t come. “At least that’s stopped.” He winced from a sudden pain in his nose. “Sue them?” He hummed but after a moment shook his head. “No, I think I needed a clout on the head. Perhaps not quite so hard, but I needed something.” He leaned back against the wall and I had to follow him with the ice, and then he began to laugh and only stopped because it hurt his head. “Don’t they say you have to hit rock bottom before you can … oh, I don’t know … and I can’t think right now but you know what I mean.”

  “I do, it’s just a shame things had to go this far, right? Here,” I took the bloody cloth from his hand and wanted to inspect his nose, “look at me,” he hesitated before shifting and could only meet my eye for a flicker. “It is broken, Gabe.”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled and I knew that the old Gabe would be thinking about the kind of impression he’d be making at his placement. “You’ll miss your flight if you don’t leave now.”

  “Sod the bloody flight, you’re more important and yes, Gabe, I do bloody care.” There was a short period of silence. “How long until your placement, two weeks?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then let’s hope you get lucky.” This was in reference to the fact most broken noses required two to three weeks to heal, and Gabe was most definitely due some luck. “You worry me, Gabe. This talk about suicide?”

  He stared blankly forwards. “Did I really say that? You know, I worry myself sometimes but you needn’t. No, I’m fine, honestly, and it’s weird, I have such a bad headache r
ight now,” he groaned deeply, “but the thing is, never before have I had such clarity of thought, even if I can’t articulate the bloody words, I’m thinking clearly, for a change. I mean, Jesus Christ, Freya, fighting when I’m no good at it, drinking until I pass out. I’ve spent the last five weeks moping about Gibraltar, hoping to bump into you at some point, when I was in the worst shape of my life. How was that supposed to win you back?”

  “That was trying to win me back?” I joked, even though it wasn’t funny.

  He stared blankly at the wall ahead. “I’ve not been me, not for a while … I mean, I’ve been sharing a small room with a heroin addict.” He was tapping his leg with a finger. “He kept asking for money and I had to spend several nights sleeping under a tree just to get away from the guy.” He met my eye for the first time since my arrival in the room. “If that’s not low then I don’t know what is.”

  I took the hand that was tapping a nervous rhythm. “Please, Gabe, no more. You’re so much better than that.”

  He nodded, “I’m glad you still think so, I was beginning to forget what self-respect felt like. This whole bloody trip, huh?”

  I tried not to laugh, “it’s been an experience for us both.” An understatement. “What will you do now?”

  “Can I just,” he took the ice from my hand, “I’d prefer to see you when I speak to you.” But all the same, it wasn’t easy for him to look. “Now, I clean myself the fuck up. Get my head straight. Fix my bloody appearance. Try not make a fool of myself when I begin residency. Do my bloody best to make a success of it. And stay the fuck away from women. Well, for a while anyway.”

  “That’s definitely a good idea,” I remembered how shitty I felt that month without Arwen and could only assume that for Gabe, the feeling would be intensified many times over. He’d loved me a lot longer, I’d been his world and I left him in a way that prevented him from gaining closure. “I’m sorry I never said goodbye. You deserved that at least.”

  He opened out his palms, “that’s just it, Frey, because had you done that you probably wouldn’t have been able to get away … I’d have pulled some shit to get you to stay, or followed you and sabotaged you in some way.” He took a breath. “I needed to recognise when it was over. I’ve not been able to see it but now I absolutely do.”