Journey to the Centre of Myself

by Andie M. Long

  I walk through the gates of the Southern Cemetery and down to the meadow where she lays. It seemed fitting to return her to nature. Here in the meadow, there is no memorial headstone, just a number which I still hate, but I wanted her amongst the butterflies, birds and flowers, with ‘All things bright and beautiful,’ which I had played at her service. The meadow is sodden, plants are broken and dying and the place looks like something from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. It kind of appeals to my nature. I always liked dark stories and vampires. Perhaps she lives on as a beautiful angel or a little butterfly spirit? Nature shows the death and rebirth. I’ve suffered the death, I have to hope she was reborn somewhere else.

  I realise I should return in the Summer, though, to experience Gen’s resting place at its finest.

  Adrian comes to mind as I go into the Remembrance Lodge. He insisted we had the Lodge’s craftsmen create a memorial inscription, so he had something he could view to remember her name. I didn’t understand back then. Why did we need something written in a book? We had thoughts, memories, photographs, but today, as I’m here, I get his point of view. It shouts that she was here, she counted, and she lived amongst others.

  I realise I haven’t wanted to cry. It would be so easy to think of my loss and collapse into a heap, but today hasn’t been about that. It’s been about facing things head on, not running away from everything. In some ways, though you could say I’m running away to Paris, I don’t feel like that’s the case. It’s like I’m going around collecting parts of myself and fitting them all back together.

  I sit in the Remembrance Lodge for some time, remembering fond memories of my baby girl.

  Sleep evades me most of the night. Memories surface of how happy Adrian and I were with our baby. Then came my breakdown and his gambling and somehow we got lost along the way. I realise I need to take part-responsibility for what happened. I’ve been so focused on the fact that what happened to me afterwards wasn’t my fault, that I’ve excused myself for everything I did. For the first time, I think our relationship might have a chance. I need more time to think about things. Perhaps Adrian lies because that’s the only way he can survive? Or am I making excuses for him again? Steve would be enraged at my even considering giving him an excuse for his behaviour.

  ‘Urrrrrrggh.’ I turn my pillow to the cool side as I realise I’m letting my brother’s opinion count again. Karen, I tell myself, go stand on your own two feet. Then I sleep.

  I’m back at the airport Friday afternoon. This time, I’m stopped while I’m going through the scanner and frisked, and then, as I go through to the gate, they’re doing spot checks and I have to have my bag and body searched again. Dear God, it must be this new hair, I’ve never had so much attention.

  I buy myself a Top Ten Paris guide from the bookstore and write the date of my trip on the inner page, making a mental note to do the same with my Berlin one. The new book contains multiple photos and I lose myself in the sights and ideas within, making the odd little note in my journal of places and shops to investigate on the days with no excursions.

  Next it’s a wander around Duty-Free where I treat myself to some luxurious new cosmetics after the girl at the counter gives me a makeover so I can sample the products before I purchase them. The smoky mauve colours pick up my brown eyes and the chestnut of my hair. I walk with a swing to my step as I return to my seat to await boarding.

  No. It can’t be? I recognise a familiar face, three rows over. Christ, can I not catch a break here?

  My breath is held as I wait for him to rush over, but he opens his newspaper and starts to read. I’m wrong-footed, sure the bastard would hurry over. Please don’t let him board the flight. I try to read my book, but I can’t concentrate. I keep having little peeks from under my fringe to check if he’s looking at me. He doesn’t. Has he not recognised me? I’m looking a lot different today.

  The expression ‘ants in your pants’ is apt. I can’t seem to sit still. In the end, I can’t leave it any longer and I go up to him.

  ‘What are you doing here? I asked you to leave me alone.’

  He looks at me as if I’ve asked him what two and two add up to. ‘I’m catching a plane to Paris.’

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  ‘Karenza, if you’re going there too that’s a complete coincidence. You aren’t the only person who can travel around.’

  ‘Oh, don’t Karenza me.’

  ‘But you were always my Karenza.’

  ‘Years ago.’

  ‘Yes, but here I watch you, sitting alone, and I think, hmm, maybe there’s still a chance for romance. Don’t you wish to spend time with Arjan?’

  I narrow my eyes at him. ‘The last thing I need right now are your games. I’m here—alone. Make sure you leave me that way.’

  ‘Oh-kay.’ He sighs in disappointment.

  ‘I mean it. Anyway, how come you’re here? How did you know I’d be here?’

  ‘Maybe I’ve been following you?’

  ‘I don’t have time for this. I really don’t.’ My eyes fill with tears, I feel like everything is spoilt.

  He touches my shoulder. ‘Hey I’m sorry, I thought it was a good idea, but I’ll leave you alone, okay?’

  I shrug him off and stand in front of the window overlooking the planes.

  They call for boarding and I let everyone else get on the plane—including him. I’m unsure now whether I’m going to get on. Damn him. I want to go to Paris. Arjan can do whatever he likes. I’m looking at my future, not my past. I walk past the Air Hostess, show my boarding ticket and step onto the plane. Searching around, I can’t see him so at least he’s not sitting near me. Just over an hour of flight time and I’ll be able to continue challenging myself to rediscover the real me.

  I feel butterflies in my stomach and hope they’re because of the Paris trip.

  Chapter 11

  Amber

  There’s a visceral pain, an agony. It begins in my throat. ‘What? What?’ My eyes close. It’s impossible to open them, to accept the current circumstances, the horror. My brain won’t function to work things out. I shake my head. This isn’t happening. ‘No. No.’

  I slide to the floor. My elbow thuds against the laminate. Blood seeps from the wound, but there’s no pain. It’s all concentrated inside, like my intestines are being pulled out of my throat.

  I point my finger at Sam.

  Will jumps up to stand in front of her. His back to me. ‘You’d better go.’

  I hear her say, ‘I’ll meet you at the hotel.’

  ‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘I’ll be there as soon as…’

  He points in my direction as if I’m excrement on the floor to be cleaned up.

  My world goes black.

  I’m aware that I’m half dragged, half carried to the sofa. A hot cup of coffee is put at the side of me. I pick it up, hands shaking, and throw the contents at him.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ he screams as the coffee burns. ‘Are you insane?’

  I curl into a ball and rock. ‘Stop this, stop this, stop this, stop this…’

  Will goes upstairs.

  My mind spins like I’m inebriated; Will, Sam, baby, Olly—how, where, when?

  Will returns. He has a suitcase in his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

  I sit up. ‘How did this happen? I need to know.’

  He sits across from me on his own sofa.

  ‘I called round to see Olly one night. He wasn’t there. It just happened.’

  I shake my head from side to side. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

  ‘But I did.’ He begins to cry. ‘And now I’ve made a huge mess. I’ve destroyed my marriage, and I’ve destroyed my friendship. I need to think about the baby now.’

  ‘But when—’

  ‘Amber, I’m sorry. When she told me, I panicked. I thought if she told Olly it was his and we had our own we could pretend it never happened.’

  I try to dry heave, I lean across my knees towards the floor.


  ‘Oh, my God.’ I clutch my stomach. Thank goodness there’s nothing in there.

  ‘Stupid woman told Olly. Their marriage has been in trouble for some time. I’m doing the best I can with such a difficult situation.’

  I sit up. ‘Saint fucking William of Sale.’

  He reaches and takes hold of my hands. ‘Amber, if you think there’s any chance—’

  ‘Take your hands off me,’ I scream. ‘Get out. Get out!’

  ‘Okay.’ He puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender, steps back. ‘I’ll go. Call me if you need me, okay?’

  He goes, locking the door behind him. I stare across at the empty sofa. No-man's-land.

  I stay there all night, sometimes drifting off, other times sobbing, constantly ruminating the events of the evening. It spins through my mind. I’m repeatedly nauseous and sip water. I step through the thrown coffee on the way to the kitchen, my socks are wet and I can’t be bothered to change them.

  At six am, I get up and wash my face. My eyes are so puffy I resemble some kind of fish I’ve seen in a magazine, or pictures of people who’ve had allergic reactions to hair dye. I make a coffee and wet a tea-towel, carrying them back to the sofa. I lay down with it draped over my eyes until I guess my drink will be a reasonable temperature.

  As I take sips of coffee, I stare at Will’s sofa. I can’t bear it. Tears well up in my eyes again. I slam my fists into his sofa and punch it over and over. It’s not enough. He has to pay. I run into the kitchen and take a kitchen knife out of the drawer. I feel the sharp edge of the knife with my finger tip, and then I regard my arm. That’d serve the bastard right. I could do small cuts and call him. Let him find me covered in blood.

  But do you want that?

  God, no. I run back to the sofa and stick the knife in it. It doesn’t slice through the leather as easy as I expected, but I hack and hack until the blade breaks off in the sofa. Then I push it through to the dining room where I don’t have to face it and turn my sofa around so it now faces the television.

  Now what?

  I decide I’m going to work. I can’t miss going, they might get rid of me after the other day and the last thing I can afford right now is to not have any wages. The tea-towel has soothed my eyes somewhat and I only have today to suffer through and then it’s the weekend.

  I put on a thick layer of concealer, lots of eye makeup and let my hair fall over my face at one side. It makes me think of Will as he’s always pushing it behind my ears. Now it’ll serve as a mask to hide behind.

  I wonder if Will will return while I’m out. He might come to collect his belongings. I hope when I return there is no trace he ever existed.

  It strikes me as ironic that almost a week to the day I flirted with another man, I find out mine was shagging another woman.

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  Jo looks at me with a horrified expression. She remains quiet.

  Mirelle is another story. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  ‘She doesn’t want to talk about it,’ says Jo.

  ‘Bugger off, you can’t come in here in this state and not tell us what’s going on.’ She turns to Jo. ‘What if someone’s tried to mug her or something and she’s in shock?’

  ‘I’ve not been mugged. That I could deal with. I need to focus on work right now. ’

  Mirelle goes quiet for what must be the first time in her entire life.

  It’s lunchtime before I manage to tell them. ‘Will’s been having an affair.’

  Jo splutters some of her lunch onto the table. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘He’s got his best friend’s wife pregnant.’

  ‘No way,’ adds Mirelle. She pushes her seat next to mine and puts her arm around me. ‘How the hell did you find that out?’

  ‘They told me last night, over dinner.’

  ‘Bear with me a moment,’ says Mirelle and she leaves the office. I hear her ask Andi if she can pop out to fetch a box of tea bags.

  I go back to typing.

  She returns ten minutes later.

  ‘Why’d you fetch tea bags when we already have tea?’

  ‘I didn’t you muppet.’ She pulls three miniature vodkas out of her handbag.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shhh, it’s needed.’ She passes us one each. ‘Straight down your necks and follow with a sip of coffee.’

  We drink up. We chat further about my predicament. I feel a better for their support.

  At five to five I put on my coat.

  ‘Hey,’ says Mirelle. ‘I know you probably don’t feel up to it, but I’m free tomorrow night if you want to go somewhere?’

  ‘Don’t you have other plans?’

  ‘Saturdays are family night.’ She shrugs. ‘I see my friends. Thought you might want to tag along.’

  ‘I dunno. I need time to think.’ Then I imagine a long weekend at home.

  ‘No, I will flipping well come. I’m not sitting in like a sad loser.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s my girl,’ says Mirelle.

  ‘In fact, do you know what?’ I say as an idea blooms in my mind.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I am going to do your challenge. Sod it. Why should I bother if someone else is faithful or not?’

  Mirelle frowns. ‘I don’t know, Amber. Are you sure about this?’

  I suck on my bottom lip. Am I? Screw it. ‘I need something to keep me occupied.’

  She leans against the desk. ‘Was he married then, Mr Friday night?’

  ‘He wore a band on the relevant finger, I’m sure.’ I make a note to ask him by text. I’m only interested if he’s married. ‘So what are the categories?’

  ‘Oooh, you can do as many of them as you like now,’ she says. ‘That’ll serve Will right. Let him see you don’t need him.’

  ‘Dead right.’

  ‘Okay then,’ she counts them out on her fingers.

  She points to the phone in my hand.

  ‘One - Message.

  Two - Flirt.

  Three - Kiss.

  Four -First Base.

  Hmmm, I’ll name the others if you get there cos you know what begins with F like five.’

  I laugh. ‘You’re on,’ I say.

  The challenge is set.

  Chapter 12

  Amber

  The beat of the base booms through my body. I run my hands through my hair and down my dress and sway to Nicki Minaj Va Va Voom. Every song seems to carry lyrics about giving people one last chance; it’s just been Maroon 5’s One More Night. We’re in the middle of the bar; I’ve been drunk since lunchtime, after I woke up at home and figured who was going to stop me having vodka for breakfast?

  Mirelle is giving doe eyes to any bloke within bar distance. I don’t think we’ve even bought a drink yet. She’s dressed in a colour pop, fuchsia pink, bandage dress and silver peep-toe sandals. I couldn’t hope to compete. I’ve accentuated my best features, my bosoms, in a black jersey wrap dress. I’m only a couple of inches shorter than Mirelle, but I’m curvier; Jessica Rabbit to her Carnival Queen.

  Mirelle comes up and bumps and grinds against me, she’s a hoot. The poor men of this bar, they are in so much trouble. Women glare at us in undisguised fury, downing their drinks and taking their men out of harm’s way.

  I grab a nearby guy by his tie and draw him in. He dances in between us, his face triumphant as his friends watch on in envy. I push his tie under my nose, inhaling the scent of aftershave like it’s the hottest pheromones. Then I push him back to them and they laugh. He tries to come back, but we turn away, freeze him out.

  I pass Mirelle my phone. ‘Here, take my picture.’ She acquiesces and passes it back. I am lucky. The photo makes me appear hot and in my element. ‘I’m off to the loo,’ I shout, pointing in the direction of the toilets.

  She waves me off, smiling at another of the guys in the nearby group and beckoning him with her finger, ‘Come here.’

  I turn around and she’s dancing with him.

  In the loos, I upload the photo
to my Facebook page and hope Will sees it. I hope he realises what he’s missing out on while knee deep in vomiting lovers.

  Someone hammers on the door, ‘Hurry up in there.’

  I put my feet up against the wall, they can do one.

  I scroll through my messages and find Adrian’s. I type ‘Green for go’ and send it.

  I wait for what must be five minutes but seems like an hour. No response.

  I head back to the bar.

  ‘This is Kevin and his mate Shaun,’ says Mirelle. Shaun is about five feet three, pot-bellied and balding. Of course, his mate Kevin is a walking sex God. Typical. Mirelle’s eyes fasten on mine and I know the next part of my night is sealed. She’s not giving up Adonis.

  Luckily Shaun can dance.

  Sometime later Mirelle comes up and tells me she’s leaving with the Adonis.

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’ I whine.

  ‘Him?’ she points at Shaun.

  I make a retching sound. ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘Well you need to do something with him or Kev won’t come home with me.’

  ‘You’re a slut, you know?’

  ‘You’re so complimentary when you’re drunk, do you have lots of friends?’

  ‘Just fuck off and abandon me like everyone else.’

  ‘Oh grow up, Amber.’ Mirelle flicks her hair, grabs Kevin’s arm and stalks off.

  Shaun asks me if I want another drink.

  I say yes and then run back into the toilets.

  I check my phone, still nothing, but I note it’s now eleven thirty-eight pm. I get a pen out of my bag and write on the back of the door, ‘Mirelle sucks dick,’ then slump to the floor laughing. After a couple of minutes, I burst into tears. The room spins and I start to throw up.

  Perhaps life with Sam isn’t as different for Will after all.

  I wash my face in the sink. My mascara isn’t waterproof and drags down my face. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is wet at the side and I have a streak of vomit down my dress. I sway and have to clutch the counter top, jeez everything is spinning. I make my way out of the bathroom and sit on the floor next to the toilets.