Run Away

by Laura Salters

  Am I grieving wrong? It hasn’t even been a month yet. Why am I not this publicly distraught? Shouldn’t I be weeping into whatever nearby material I can find, crying Sam’s name repeatedly through a dry and sticky mouth? Or dabbing at my haggard face to try and soak up some of my never-­ending tears?

  Dr. Myers insisted everyone dealt with loss differently, and Kayla understood that. But she couldn’t help but feel guilty that she wasn’t as overtly upset as she should be. It wasn’t that she didn’t love or miss the ­people she’d lost. It was more that she couldn’t connect with the deaths, couldn’t make enough sense of them to even begin to feel that kind of sadness.

  She found herself looking at her mum’s watch. Eight minutes. Kathy Kingfisher hadn’t spoken a word since saying, “Hello hi Kayla nice to meet you I’m Kathy would you like a coffee or maybe some cake,” all in one sentence, as if trying to get the words out before she had a breakdown. Which she did, three-­point-­five seconds later. Kayla had bought the coffee and the cake, and sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair in equally uncomfortable silence ever since. For eight minutes.

  Kayla looked around and saw a queue, as there always was at a busy chain like this, waiting to order, a generic soundtrack of inoffensive, devoid-­of-­personality music playing in the background. The controlled temperature was on the cooler end of the thermostat—­lower temperatures made you feel hungrier and more likely to overindulge in cake, her coffee shop expert of a father had taught her. The air smelled of espresso and the warm rain clinging to customers as they traipsed in from outside.

  They were in Newcastle city center, as Kathy had driven up from Yorkshire that morning to chat with Kayla about what Sam had been like in his final days and weeks. She’d initiated contact with Kayla by asking Escaping Grey for her number, and considering the circumstances, they’d waived their confidentiality rules. Kayla was glad they had. She felt less alone, knowing she wasn’t the only one suffering in the aftermath.

  Through a line of mothers with prams and a group of teenagers with vibrant hair colors, Kayla caught the tattooed male barista staring at her. She looked away quickly, guiltily, before remembering she actually wasn’t in a relationship and flirtatious eye contact was by no means off-­limits. She also realized the poor guy was probably just concerned for her companion’s mental well-­being. She shot him an apologetic glance, but he’d turned his back to her.

  Kayla cleared her throat. No reaction. “Kathy? Would you like me to get you anything? Some water or some fresh tissues?”

  Kathy looked up, as if noticing her for the first time, and sniffed deeply. “Oh Kayla, I’m so sorry,” she said, her words lulling with a gentle Yorkshire accent. Just like Sam’s. “This is so pathetic of me. I’ve never been such an emotional person but . . . losing your son . . . it just—­it ruins you.” Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, with grape-­sized dark bags underneath that betrayed her lack of sleep over the past ten days.

  “We don’t know that you’ve lost him for sure,” Kayla argued, albeit gently.

  “Oh, I know, love, but you know what they say about Thailand. Once you’ve disappeared there, you’re never coming back. Especially when there was so much blood, just from one boy . . .”

  “But I still think—­”

  “Come on, Kayla. There’s no use clutching at straws. You can’t lose that much blood and survive. Sam’s dad . . . I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s usually so hard. Steely faced. But not now. I’m the strong one of the pair of us these days.” A feeble laugh. “Sam took after me, you know. Always had his feelings on show.” Kayla winced at the past tense. It sounded like a fresh wave of tears had erupted behind Kathy’s eyes, but her face was dry. She had cried for so long that her body had abandoned all hope of trying to keep up.

  “That’s weird,” Kayla said. “In the past month, he never really . . .” She didn’t know how to approach the subject. She had no idea how much Kathy knew about her and Sam’s relationship. “I mean, he didn’t really talk about what was going on in his head. Kept his distance. Did he . . . did he talk to you about anything strange?”

  Kathy shook her head slowly, and not very convincingly. “Not really. He did seem a bit distant in the last six weeks, which wasn’t like him. The phone calls got a bit more abrupt, whereas usually he’d tell me every little detail. He spoke a lot about you, especially for the first month or so,” Kathy forced a smile. “But that’s why I didn’t think anything was wrong, Kayla, because I thought that if there was, he’d surely tell me.”

  Kayla nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I keep feeling angry at myself for not trying harder to make sure he was okay. But then I think that if anything were really wrong, like . . . like what the police are saying, he would have told me. We were pretty close.” As she talked, she was systematically destroying a discarded sugar wrapper in her fingertips. “I should have . . . I would have known.”

  “So you’d think. But one thing was a bit weird.” Kathy was staring out of the window, not focusing on anything in particular. “Sam was always good with money—­always. As a little kid, he would meticulously save every single copper he could in his piggy bank, until you physically couldn’t squeeze another penny in. He cried when I smashed it, so I bought him another, much bigger one. He just put all of the money from the first into that and kept saving. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She sighed, taking a sip of what must have now been a rather tepid latte. “I guess it just took me by surprise when he phoned me a few weeks ago and said he needed to borrow some cash.”

  “He did?” This was news to Kayla. Sam hadn’t seemed particularly tight for money. Though he was rarely extravagant in his purchases, he would never turn down a meal out or a day trip for frugality’s sake.

  “Yes. He said he’d run out of funds quicker than he’d thought, and needed more if he was to follow the four of you to Cambodia after Phuket. I thought it was odd too, you know? He’d budgeted the trip so carefully. But I knew it must have been genuine for him to ask me. He knows I’m not exactly Richard Branson. I live in my overdraft most of the time. And considering how much he was asking for . . .”

  “How much?”

  Kathy pursed her lips and cradled her coffee cup between her hands. “Three thousand.”

  There it was again. That sudden sinking feeling in Kayla’s stomach that felt like she’d reached for a top step that wasn’t there. Drug money. It has to be. But three grand?

  Kathy was oblivious to Kayla’s shock. “I couldn’t give it to him, though. I did want my boy to have an amazing trip, see the world like I never did. But I just couldn’t afford it, so I told him he would have to come home. I had no idea he might have needed it for something else.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Kathy.”

  More tears. “I should have tried harder to get the money together, then none of this would have . . .”

  A knot was starting to form in Kayla’s stomach. If she’d pushed Sam for an explanation, she might have been able to help. It was common knowledge that her family wasn’t exactly strapped for cash. Three thousand pounds would have been pocket change for her dad, who’d spend a similar amount on a suit without a second thought. To think Sam might have lost his life over something as vulgar as money was unthinkable. No wonder Kathy was so distraught. She would forever carry around the knowledge that if she’d had some savings behind her, she might still have a son.

  Kayla asked the question she’d been dying to know the answer to. “Do you really think, though, that Sam would have got himself into so much trouble over drugs? I mean, he was so careful and thoughtful. He’s the kind of guy who would never cheat on a test. If he found a wallet on the street, he’d take it to the police station, or if he saw somebody fall over, he’d rush over to help them up while the rest of us laughed uncontrollably. He was—­or still is—­a good person. You must know that more than anyone. I mean . . . cocaine? Debt? D
rug deals gone wrong?” The room seemed to have suddenly quieted a few decibels, and Kayla lowered her voice in case anyone was listening. “I just can’t see it. I really can’t. Those theories do not fit that boy.”

  “That was my initial reaction, too,” Kathy said, nodding. “I thought they had the wrong person. Then when they told me it was definitely my Sam who was missing, something inside me still wouldn’t believe it. I thought the DNA tests would show it was somebody else’s blood, or he’d pop up somewhere in a ­couple of hours having cut his foot on a rock, or something equally clumsy and Samlike.” Kayla couldn’t help but smile. Sam’s ungraceful mannerisms were like a shared secret between the two grieving women. “But the hours turned into days, and the days into weeks. Still no Sam. I don’t know what else to think, Kayla. There’s no other explanation. I keep trying to think about what would drive him to that.”

  The knot in Kayla’s stomach tightened.

  Chapter 11

  April 16, Thailand

  “SAM’S STILL IN bed, marinating in shame and tequila sweat,” Dave practically sang, the café’s air-­conditioning allowing his voice to resume normal, ear-­piercing ser­vice.

  “Delightful.” Russia shot Kayla a sideways look. Kayla hadn’t fully divulged what had happened between her and Sam in the park the night before. That would mean explaining about her brother. But Russia had a well-­trained radar for these things. Two ­people disappearing together for two hours, then returning to the hostel in mutual silence, spelled gossip.

  Sam, it transpired, did not share the same sense of discretion.

  “So, Kayla. I hear you shot old Sammy boy down last night. Brutal—­I like it!” Dave offered his hand to Kayla, demanding a high five.

  Kayla declined. “He told you?”

  “Well, yes,” Dave said, dropping his arm and looking hurt at the rejection. “But he would have told me anything last night. He told me all of the passwords and security questions I’d need to commit serious fraud on his Internet banking, but I’m a top friend and just pinched a tenner.”

  “That was noble of you.”

  Russia chimed in, “I think I deserve a cut, Dave. I did buy him that shot rack of black Sambuca, so I’m to thank for getting him in such a state to begin with.” She winked at him.

  “All right then, missus, I’ll buy you breakfast. Full English?”

  “Please.” Russia smiled, pecking him on the lips with a delicate, entirely romantic kiss. They both froze, realizing that their public display of affection meant they could no longer deny that things between them were going a little beyond a drunken hookup. They’d been nearly inseparable in the three weeks since they first met. Kayla and Bling exchanged a smirk, but decided not to humiliate the happy ­couple with the dramatic scene the moment warranted. Kayla couldn’t help but wonder when Dave, the eternally loose-­lipped chatterbox, would bother telling Russia about his ALS.

  Bling turned to face her. “So, uh, Sam tried to kiss you?” She couldn’t meet Kayla’s eye, instead making miniature mountains of salt on the table they were huddled around. The café’s booths were dirty, the smell of grease clung to the air, the laminated, handwritten menus were peeling, and the owner was a lecherous old man with a hunchback. But when you need bacon, you need bacon.

  “Yeah,” Kayla admitted, unsure why she felt guilty for telling Bling. Maybe because she’d seen her friend’s eyes linger on Sam for a moment longer than usual, or because Bling often made excuses to initiate skin-­to-­skin contact. Nobody was quicker to take up Sam’s request for sunscreen to be rubbed into his back than her. “It was a weird moment. We were both pretty drunk. But it was nothing.”

  “Oh my God, do you think he likes you?” A girly giggle an octave too high and a failed attempt at a casual tone. Subtle, Bling was not.

  “Nah, we’re just friends.” Kayla found herself wondering what Sam had told Dave in answer to that inevitable question. Or whether boys even discussed that kind of thing beyond the obligatory, “She’s hot.”

  “Really?” Bling tucked a lock of hair behind her ears and sipped the watery apple juice in front of her. As a strict vegan, it was the only thing she could really order. “Do you like him as more than a friend? You guys do spend a lot of time together.”

  Before she could reply, Sam entered the café, scanning the room for some familiar faces. Kayla’s stomach fluttered. She wondered how he’d act today, uncertain which of them was actually in the wrong. Was he the kind of stubbornly proud man her father was, who’d pretend that nothing had happened and treat her with even more aloofness than he had before?

  “Hi guys! Would anyone like a coffee? Kayla? Let me guess . . . triple shot espresso with cream?”

  Kayla smiled to herself.

  THE BUS JOURNEY to Kanchanaburi took almost three hours. Instead of sitting next to Sam as she’d have liked to, Kayla decided to make him sweat a little longer and chose Bling as her travel partner. It took all of the willpower in her arsenal not to make eye contact with him throughout the whole journey, even though she knew already that she forgave him for being overly forward.

  Whether she forgave herself for rejecting him was an entirely different matter.

  Their new accommodation was the height of luxury in comparison with the last, though still squalor to anyone in possession of nostrils or, well, retinas. Kayla felt a little grateful that she’d been too hung over to insert her contact lenses that morning. When it came to hostel decor, ignorance really was bliss, though there was no disguising the intrinsic scent of mildew. It gave her a strange little thrill to imagine her snobby parents’ faces if they could see where she was staying.

  Oliver had shown them to their room. After last night in the park, Kayla had started to notice the way he looked at her—­like he was hungry. Sam was right. It was gross. Over the past few weeks, he’d taken quite the liking to her, staring intensely and making derogatory comments whenever she was in the vicinity. It was almost as if he believed that referencing the “slutty blond chick” he’d “nailed” the previous evening would convince Kayla of his sensational lovemaking skills. It didn’t.

  Still, whether he remembered the events of the previous night or not, Oliver resumed his usual disgusting ways. As he was eventually leaving Kayla, Russia, and Bling’s bedroom, he’d offered to show them around the finest drinking establishments in the area. He’d said this while twiddling his spiky, overly gelled hair and smoothing down his groomed eyebrows in their murky mirror, and so hadn’t noticed Russia’s stifled laughter from the farthest bed. With a final, delightful parting comment (“If your bed is too gross, you’re welcome to share mine”), he strutted back into the hallway.

  Kayla let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. His presence made her uneasy.

  As the girls were unpacking, there was another knock on the cardboardlike door, which was folded pathetically against the wall at an extreme angle. Sam stood in the doorway. He looked proud of himself, despite his disheveled mane, which hadn’t seen a hairdresser’s scissors since they’d arrived in Thailand. “Ladies, I come bearing snacks,” he said triumphantly, tossing a family pack of tortilla chips onto the nearest bed. He knew the way to a hungry girl’s heart. “Kayla, can we chat quickly?”

  Kayla grumbled. “All right, but not for too long. The Doritos will be demolished by the time I get back.” Russia had already torn into the packet like there was gold dust at the bottom.

  “I love where your priorities lie,” Sam laughed as he followed Kayla out into the narrow hallway. Then, glancing in both directions to make sure they didn’t have company, he shuffled his feet awkwardly and said, “Look, Kayla, I’m sorry—­”

  “It’s fine,” she interrupted. “We were both drunk. Let’s just forget about it.”

  “Yeah, we were, but . . . do you really want to just forget about it?” Sam pretended to examine his flip-­flops.

  “Se
ems like the right thing to do.”

  “Okay. If that’s what you want.” He tried, and failed, not to look too put out.

  “Yeah.”

  Uncomfortable silence filled the corridor. Sam started to dig around in his pocket. “I got you something. I was going to give it to you last night, but . . . well, I forgot.”

  “You forgot?” She laughed. “Must be a special gift.”

  “Hey, I forgot my own name last night. I forgot what country we were in. I forgot what year it is. Give me a break, I’m a useless drunk. Anyway, it’s really stupid. Totally daft, really. But, um, here you go.” He opened his palm to display a friendship bracelet. It was a delicate, woven creation in blue, green, and turquoise threads, with a single silver bead in the center. “It’s so cheesy, I know. I got it off some random woman at Songkran. She wouldn’t leave me alone till I bought it. Honestly, I swear I only looked at her for a fraction of a second, but she pounced on me . . .”

  Kayla grinned. She almost didn’t want to smile. She wanted to act cool, not like a schoolgirl being presented with her very first Valentine’s Day card. But Sam’s ridiculous cuteness did something funny to her facial muscles. They no longer behaved as she told them to. “That’s so sweet, Sam!”

  “Oh, I mean, it’s not really. It’s just because she, uh, made me buy it. And I thought I might as well give it to someone, ’cause I’d bought it, obviously. And it sort of made sense to give it to you.” He bashfully rubbed the back of his head, tilting his head and allowing his lips to twist into a semismile. Kayla imagined what it’d be like if he tried to kiss her again. Probably salty, from the heat-­induced sweat on his upper lip, but gentle and tender. She’d have to reach up on her tiptoes, as he was so tall, and he’d wrap his thick, muscular arms around her waist to support her. Her skin tingled at the prospect.