Chasing Chris Campbell

by Genevieve Gannon

  ‘Late night, miss?’ the clerk said.

  ‘I wanted to watch the sunrise over the river,’ I said. I avoided the porter. I didn’t need him judging me.

  ‘Can I use your computer?’

  ‘Of course, Miss.’

  There was a reply from Cass written earlier that day:

  Here’s what Zelda has to say today: Aquarius: The world is full of possibilities but it is up to you to choose which ones you explore. Let your heart be your guide.

  I shot an email back:

  Cass! That is not helpful.

  She had copied a link to Zelda Sunspot’s horoscope reading for the day:

  Aquarius: Working from home will be difficult today. If you have a business deal brewing it is best to find somewhere quieter. Other householders will seek out your counsel and come and go constantly, slamming doors and being otherwise disruptive.

  I copied this into the body of the email I had sent Cass. Then I wrote an editorial.

  Zelda is a charlatan! I am doing no business deals and I have no other householders, I don’t even have any doors! In fact, how could stars have predicted the slamming of a door? When the stars came into being doors didn’t even exist! Neither did business deals. And what about animals born in February? Do you think cows are having deals over who gets the best patch of grass spoiled by slamming farm gates?’

  I bashed the send button angrily. Cass infuriated me with her hackneyed spirituality. She was far too smart to buy into that sort of thing. I opened the Air India webpage to see how much it would cost me to fly to Kathmandu if I decided to go. The page was terribly slow. As the numbers started to load the desk clerk appeared by my side.

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said.

  Flight prices began to appear before my eyes. 50,000 rupees one way, 88,000 rupees return.

  The clerk cleared his throat again.

  ‘It’s just, miss, I was wondering if you were planning on staying another night.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I looked up, distracted. I had been trying to do the currency conversion in my head.

  ‘You see, miss,’ the clerk said, ‘you are only booked until today, but I think you will want to sleep now. Only we have someone else booked to arrive later this morning. After eleven.’

  I clicked on the website tab that would convert the flight prices to Australian dollars.

  ‘We can accommodate them in another room if you wish to stay,’ he continued, ‘however, some of our rooms are under renovation and we may have to upgrade the couple if you stay on, in which case…’

  As if on cue, three builders in overalls entered the lobby. They spoke loudly in Hindi to the clerk.

  ‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said, and retreated to speak with the men. One carried in a large bucket of tools which he dropped on the floor with a crash. The men chatted. It became clear the builders weren’t happy with what the clerk was saying. One raised his voice. The clerk tried to calm him. But another builder pushed the first aside and yelled. A third dragged a bag of something into the lobby. When he heard the shouting he let it fall to the ground.

  I covered my ears and tried to focus on the screen. Air India was more expensive than I had expected. I searched flights later in the week to see if they were cheaper.

  The shouting continued. The third builder was back, this time with an armful of timber. He opened his arms and let it clatter to the ground. This enraged the clerk.

  I turned my focus back to the computer screen and googled ‘flights to Nepal’. Some of the larger carriers were flying Delhi and Mumbai to Kathmandu. But none were leaving from Varanasi.

  I weighed up my options. What would I do if I didn’t go to Kathmandu? Head back to Hong Kong? Return to Melbourne?

  The clerk was back behind the desk, speaking loudly on the telephone.

  I opened the Skyscanner site so I could compare ticket prices. Down the side were strip ads for resorts in the Himalayas. They were illustrated with perfect mountains pointing at the alpine sky. I thought of Chris and of being there with him. There was a flight leaving later in the morning for just under three hundred dollars.

  A door slammed as the builders stormed out of the hotel. I clapped my hands over my eyes. I was already frazzled and the noise was making it worse.

  ‘Oh brother,’ I muttered and booked the flight. The hour glass appeared as the website took a few minutes to process my request. The screen went white. I began to sweat. Then a flash: Booked!

  I felt a rush of nervousness. What have I done? I fired off a quick email to Chris explicitly telling him I had decided to come to Kathmandu.

  I will be there in a few hours.

  I bashed the keys, gave him my mobile number and told him to contact me. I looked at my watch. I would have time for a speed-of-light shower then I would have to hop in a cab.

  ‘I’m leaving, I’ve just got to grab my bag,’ I said to the clerk and raced upstairs.

  I showered in record time, ripping off my bandages and jamming them into the bin. I said a hasty prayer to the patron saint of disorganisation, gathered up everything I could see and crammed it into my backpack. I was sixty percent sure I had all the essentials. I did a final check and reached for my phone. A text had arrived while I was in the shower. Unknown number. Chris. My fingers shook as I opened it.

  Where would he be now? Pakistan? Slovenia? Timbuktu?

  Great! Can’t wait to see you! When do you arrive? Xx

  With those ten and a half words my anxiety melted. I had done the right thing. I wasn’t going to let him get away this time.

  I land at 11 am. Where shall I meet you?

  I threw my pack onto my back and ran to the main street to hail a taxi. My phone buzzed.

  Go to the Swayambhunath Stupa at noon. I’ll be there!

  My mind was once again trained on seeing Chris. I smiled at the gentleman at the check-in desk and practically skipped to security. Of course I had to stop when I reached the metal detectors because of the queue comprising what felt like every second person in India, but nothing could get me down. Things were finally starting to get back on track.

  Twenty minutes later I was still in line. My buzz was draining and the presence of all the officials unsettled me. I wondered if they could smell the marijuana on my clothes. I started biting my nails. I fumbled in my pocket for my hand-sanitiser and smeared it over my palms.

  ‘Miss, excuse me, miss!’ a security guard with a Bolshevik moustache waved me over. He grunted and started running a long plastic stick over my trembling body.

  Oh God, I thought, certain I could smell the pot lingering in my clothes.

  He didn’t explain what he was doing. Paranoia molecules were racing around my blood stream. Marijuana was a class one drug in parts of Asia.

  The guard gave me a stern look.

  ‘Lovely day,’ I coughed nervously. His mouth was a straight line of disapproval.

  Stress was bursting through my skin in great sweaty beads. I wasn’t sweating bullets, I was sweating cannonballs. I could feel it seeping into my shirt and running down the gutter of my spine. The guard didn’t take his eyes from me. I wanted to fan my reddening face with my hands, but feared it would heighten his suspicions. He had a small round swab on the end of his wand which he ran over the outside of my backpack.

  I wondered how sensitive his equipment was, if it would be able to pick up tiny particles of cannabis that had been swirling in the air last night as Bradley and I smoked and smoked and smoked.

  He took the swab off the end of his wand and fed it into a machine. He waited. I waited. He looked at me. I looked at the floor. Finally he spoke.

  ‘Standard explosives test,’ he said.

  Explosives. Thank God. The machine made a noise. Ping!

  ‘All clear.’

  I ran towards the boarding gate high on relief.

  As I stood on the apex of the Swayambhunath Stupa, all those good feelings deserted me. Chris hadn’t arrived. My heart was beati
ng like a drum on dub-step. Where was he? I had that sinking feeling, like I’d swallowed wet cement and it was hardening in the bowl of my belly.

  I checked my phone. Nothing. 12:07.

  Around me happy tourists were fussing about in pairs and groups. I looked longingly at friends with their arms linked and hugged myself. There were couples posing for photos, a family feeding the monkeys.

  ‘Excuse me.’ It was a man’s voice. I broke into a smile.

  ‘Yes?’ I turned.

  ‘Would you take a photo of us, please?’ It was an Australian tourist and his wife.

  ‘Oh. I mean, sure.’

  My throat tightened as I looked at them through the view finder and clicked.

  ‘Namaste,’ they thanked me.

  I’m an idiot, I thought. A headstrong, naive idiot. My head and my heart together scrolled through a rolodex of emotions – fear, hope, anxiety, anticipation, adoration and disbelief, then back again. The dominating climate in my mind was dread.

  My pocket vibrated.

  ‘Vy! We got held up! Our driver never arrived this morning. You know how it is. Can you hang tight for half an hour? See ya soon.’

  A second later another message arrived: So sorry XXXX.

  Filled with relief, I bolted to a store and bought myself some supplies: water, mints, more hand sanitiser, and a soft drink. I wandered around sipping from a bottle of Limca. This place really was breathtakingly beautiful.

  I returned to my post to continue to wait. It was 12:23. Seven minutes. A moment later I felt hands over my face. They were warm and course. My heart slowed.

  ‘Guess who.’

  One large hand spun me around while the other stayed clamped over my eyes, blacking out everything. I gulped.

  All I could manage was a squeak: ‘Chris?’

  Chapter Sixteen

  I was in darkness for three seconds, maybe four. It felt like a thousand.

  ‘Chris?’

  The noise of the busy tourist spot – the clang of bells and the holler of children – disappeared.

  ‘Violet!’ He whipped his hand away.

  ‘Hi.’ I broke into a smile. I felt strangely calm. After all I’d been through he was finally here. He beamed at me, baring his flawless teeth. His hair had been brightened by the sunshine. It looked like Apollo’s rays here on earth.

  ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’ he said. ‘Well,’ he hugged me. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good,’ I managed, hugging him back. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  I held him tight and breathed him in. He smelled of hemp and sweat.

  ‘I cannot believe you’re here,’ he said, releasing me from the hug. ‘Wonders never cease!’

  I nodded, analysing every detail of him: scraggy facial hair, battered red thongs, tanned legs. I was scared he’d disappear again.

  ‘It’s beautiful, huh?’ he said, stretching his arms high above his head.

  I wanted to reach out and touch him again. His was leaner, yet more muscular, than I remembered, and he had a short beard. He wore aviator sunglasses and baggy clothes that were different to the designer jeans and crewnecks I was used to seeing him in. But it was him.

  ‘How’ve you been?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s been great to get away.’ He lowered his glasses. I felt a jolt. There were those eyes. Those searing blue, alpine sky eyes. Those champion, blue ribbon eyes. Krishna eyes. Cornflower eyes. Chris Campbell eyes.

  ‘Vy! God, look at you. You’re so skinny,’ he said, appraising me. I lay my hand on my stomach and tugged down my T-shirt self-consciously. ‘Come and meet the gang.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve got a gang?’

  He slung his arm around me and directed me down the temple steps.

  ‘You’ll love these guys,’ he said, grinding his knuckles into my skull the way an older brother would. ‘So how’ve you been? Tell me everything. What did you think of Varanasi? Amazing, huh? And the river – stunning, but dirty! And Delhi – wow.’

  He chatted as we walked out of the temple gates. I kept stealing glances at Chris.

  ‘Here we are.’

  The cafe was more of a stable – merely a tin roof held up by heavy wood beams. The tables were packed with people eating curry off copper plates. Chris stopped at a group of tea drinkers who were arguing furiously. They were dressed in patched jeans, fisherman pants and T-shirts. One had a pair of bongo drums strapped to his backpack, another had a small guitar.

  ‘Guys, guys.’ The conversation stopped. ‘This is Vy.’

  Moving as one, they waved and said hello. ‘Hi! ‘How are you?’ ‘Welcome!’ They shuffled around to make space on the benches for me and Chris.

  I took a spot next to a woman who I guessed was about my age. She was muscular, with large, motherly breasts and long dreadlocked hair. She stood and greeted me with a hug followed by a bow, her palms pressed together reverently.

  ‘Namaste.’

  A red dot marked the centre of her forehead. Her name was Sarah. She told me she was from North Sydney, originally. ‘Now, my address is wherever on planet earth I find myself.’

  ‘Welcome,’ said a tall lanky guy.

  ‘This is Noah,’ said Chris. ‘He’s a Sydney-sider too.’

  Noah slapped Chris a high-five. He wore the same traveller’s uniform of fishing pants with T-shirt, but his were somehow neater. More expensive looking. His beard was trim and neat. I had thought the only travellers who dressed as Noah was were the ones in advertising campaigns for premium airlines.

  Next to Noah was a young couple balanced on the same stool.

  ‘I’m Giorgio.’ The man offered his hand. ‘This is my wife, Belinda. We just got married.’ They pressed their noses together to demonstrate their newly-wedded-ness.

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ I shook both their fingers, which they untangled from each other’s for a brief second to complete the greeting. They were both plump, and had matching Mediterranean brown eyes and hair.

  Jeremy was an Englishman in a wife-beater singlet that showed off a mural of tatts spread over his back, shoulders and chest. He offered his hand and grinned, unveiling teeth that were crooked and stained.

  ‘You all right?’ he winked.

  ‘Rack off, ratbag.’ A bossy blonde woman pushed him aside. ‘I’m Lorrie.’ She put her palm to her chest. She was the oldest of the group – about thirty-five I guessed – and had brassy, over-dried hair. She told me she was a social worker from Northcote in Melbourne. Then she introduced Matt, a long-haired Perth expat with a stoner’s dress sense whose bloated body was a testament to robust and regular attacks of marijuana munchies. He looked familiar.

  ‘Hey,’ he said dozily. With a shock I realised it was the busboy from the Ambassador.

  ‘Hi.’ My hand flew to my brow to hide my face and stop him from recognising me. I didn’t want him telling Chris I’d been looking for him. But he didn’t seem to remember.

  ‘What brings you to Nepal?’ Sarah asked.

  The group members trained their eyes on me.

  ‘Um. I just wanted to get a different perspective.’

  They cheered.

  ‘Great,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Too right,’ said Jeremy.

  With that, the conversation returned to what they had been discussing when I’d arrived: what was the most environmentally and socially responsible way to travel around Nepal.

  Chris leaned over and whispered in my ear. ‘You’ll get used to them. Want some tea?’ Goosebumps shot up along my arms as the tip of his nose brushed my ear.

  ‘Sure.’ I jumped up and followed him to the counter.

  ‘I started this trip alone,’ Chris said in a half-whisper. ‘I know Noah from Hong Kong but I didn’t expect to run into him in Delhi. We met Jez in a hotel bar on our last night there. Sarah joined us in Varanasi. We found her on the ghats early one morning. We’re a weird crew, but we’re all friendly. Glad to have you as part of our troop.’ He slapped my back. I wished he wouldn’t be so matesy with me.<
br />
  We reached the counter and a pretty Nepalese girl took our order. Chris paid her, pushing my outstretched money away.

  ‘Namaste,’ she said, lowering her spidery lashes and smiling flirtatiously. Chris didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said and took his change. ‘Here you go.’ He passed me a cup and lay his hand on my back. A swarm of fireflies glowed in my chest.

  ‘Perhaps after we have some tea I could drop my bags off?’ I said. ‘Are you staying around here?’

  ‘We spent last night in a hotel down the end of Durbar Marg,’ said Chris. ‘But we were planning to go up into the foothills tonight. You game?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, wishing we were heading to the hotel, instead of the foothills, which sounded cold and devoid of clean showers.

  ‘We’ve booked rooms in a resort in a place called Nagakort.’

  ‘A resort?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Perfect. Five minutes with Chris and already things were looking up.

  ‘We’ll party all night then watch the sun rise over the Himalayas.’

  Brilliant. A party where there would be dancing and music and discreet corners and dim lighting. Where I could drink a little to loosen my nerves. I couldn’t have planned it better.

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  We drank our tea then Chris helped me with my backpack, chatting as we walked to the bus stop.

  ‘So tell me, Vy, what have you been up to? You still dating that insurance guy?’

  ‘No,’ I gushed. ‘It … we … It didn’t work out. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?’

  He gave me a winning smile. ‘You know me …’ he trailed off. I said nothing, thinking, no, I didn’t know him. I waited to hear what he meant, but we were interrupted.

  ‘Chris!’

  Lorrie was barging towards us with a middle-management stride, her elbows jutted back and forth like oars helping her to propel herself forward.

  ‘You didn’t tell me we were going to have an extra guest,’ she chided him, then whispered, as if I couldn’t hear. ‘I haven’t booked enough beds.’

  ‘Relax, Loz,’ Chris bent and picked up two bottles of water by their lids. ‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of room.’