Chasing Chris Campbell

by Genevieve Gannon

  The woman nodded her assent. Chris handed over the notes and we each hooked our fingers into a cage of birds. They squawked with alarm as we lifted them from the wood crates they were sitting on.

  ‘They’re heavy,’ Chris said. ‘Have you got it?’

  I put my hand under the cage to help stabilise it.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know how far I’m going to be able to carry it.’

  The birds were flapping and squawking so much inside, I was scared the cages were going to break apart and I’d be mauled by a riot of wings, beaks and claws.

  ‘Where should we release them?’ I asked.

  ‘Do you think you could make it back up to the towers?’

  ‘Mm. I don’t think so. How about the beach?’

  ‘We can cut straight back down to the beach road, it’s only about six blocks,’ said Chris.

  We walked slowly with our giant cage full of fluttery, unhappy birds. They were peep-peeping in distress.

  ‘Shh, little budgies,’ I soothed them. ‘You’ll be free soon.’

  I had chosen a cage of pink birds. They were the colour of carnations. Chris’s birds were a bright celery green. Our adventure was witnessed by the people of Nha Trang on their way home from work, Vietnamese newspapers tucked under their arms for the ride home. We had to dodge them with our large cages. Their faces registered surprise at seeing two tourists carrying birds.

  ‘Need a ride?’ A man on a motorbike called out.

  ‘No, thank you!’ Chris waved him away.

  We broke out of the busy streets onto the beachfront.

  I surveyed the strip. ‘There aren’t many trees here. Do you think they’ll be okay?’

  ‘Over there,’ Chris pointed to some play equipment that nested between six clipped topiary bushes. Walking with one arm jutted out in front, we carried the cages down to the sand and set them on the stone wall that separated the beach from the footpath.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asked, unhooking the latch on his cage. ‘We’ll do it together. Open the doors on the count of three.’

  ‘Ready,’ I said.

  ‘One …’

  ‘Two …’

  ‘Three!’ We said together and threw the cage doors open.

  At first nothing happened. I had been braced for the birds to burst out. But they were still. They shuffled on their perches uncomfortably and bustled and ruffled their feathers in irritation.

  ‘They’re not leaving,’ I said.

  ‘Give them a minute.’ Chris poked a finger through the cage wire and gently prodded one on the celery budgerigars.

  It shuffled sideways to the end of his perch and investigated the door. He hopped, flapped and corrected himself before fluttering out and onto the stone wall. In the pink cage the birds were also investigating the open door. Two fluttered and emerged. They spread their wings like coloured kites. They lifted off. They soared. More followed. One after another, green and pink emerged and escaped. Feathers flew in the cages as they rushed to the door. They opened their wings and flew into the sky. They chirped. We stood back and watched the rainbow rise in front of us with the beating of the wings.

  ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘We freed them.’ My heart filled up with joy.

  Chris put his arm around my shoulder. ‘They were scared at first, but now look how happy they are.’

  ‘This was a great idea,’ I told him. I felt a kinship with the swooping budgies. Seeing them soar filled me with optimism. I wanted to open my mouth to tell Chris what I’d been thinking all along. But I didn’t want my possibly clunky, clumsy admission to shatter this delicate new bond. Wine, I thought, one glass of wine to take the edge off. We’ll have dinner tonight and I’ll tell him then. With this decision made, I felt another wave of confidence flow through me. I reached out and grabbed his hand. He looked down at my palm, pressed against his.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘We shall.’

  We walked back hand in hand. We passed a corner store and I ducked in to get us some water. When I came out Chris was studying his phone.

  ‘The others have found a bar that serves seafood called Viet-clam. Want to meet them there?’

  ‘Oh sure, if you want.’ I was disappointed I’d have to share him again.

  When we found the others there was already a spread of food and drinks on the table.

  ‘Dig in,’ Jeremy said.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Giorgio asked Chris.

  ‘We climbed up to the Po Nagar towers.’

  ‘What?’ said Lorrie. ‘I thought we’d agreed we’d hike up there tomorrow?’

  We had planned to do it at sunrise before our flight to Hue.

  ‘I’ll go again,’ said Chris.

  ‘We’ll have to get up really early,’ Lorrie said. ‘We need to be at the airport by 9 am, no later.’

  Jeremy passed around beers. We drank, and ate clams, fish, calamari and mussels. Chris told the story of freeing the birds. Everybody cheered as he described them escaping into the air. I didn’t want the night to end, but the long day was taking its toll. I could feel my head tilting forward, heavy on my neck.

  ‘There’s a club down on the main drag called Hollywood Land. Supposed to be wild,’ said Jez hopefully.

  I yawned. My two hours of bus sleep had not been enough.

  ‘I’m pretty tired,’ Belinda said.

  ‘It’s our only night in Nha Trang!’ Jeremy insisted.

  Sarah finished off her beer. ‘You young things can all go, but clubbing wasn’t really on my agenda.’

  ‘Boys’ night?’ Jeremy asked the guys.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll go,’ said Noah. The others nodded.

  ‘Don’t forget we have to get up early,’ Lorrie pointed a warning finger at them.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ said Giorgio and took a slug of his beer. I followed the girls back to the guest house. As we walked along the main road I turned to watch the boys disappearing into the club. I lifted my hand to wave goodnight to Chris. But he didn’t see.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I dozily reached for the bottle of water on my bedside table, and froze. I was looking at one of the most horrifying things I could imagine – six creepy-crawly legs, covered in hair, two long feelers, a brown, crustaceous shell. It was a cockroach. It was on its back. Its legs were curled up in motionless. It was dead. And it was huge.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I breathed. I ran into the bathroom and tore a wad of paper from the toilet roll. Using it as a mitt, I picked up the roach then ran downstairs and dumped it in a bin. Then I returned to the room, created two fresh toilet-paper mitts and threw out everything on my bedside table. This included a nearly-full litre bottle of spring water; a new bottle of sunscreen; fake Ray-Bans purchased in Ho Chi Minh City; second hand guide to Vietnam and my copy of The Great Gatsby; a roll of mints; a bottle of hand sanitiser, and my room key – which I would later allege was stolen.

  I dampened a wad of toilet paper in soapy water and sloughed it over the table top. Then I sprayed the surface with insect repellent.

  The room cleansed, I sat down on my mattress and tried to work up the courage to have a shower. But as I sat, I couldn’t help wonder what Frankenstein creepy crawlies lay in wait in the bathroom. Cockroaches were supposed to be able to withstand nuclear holocausts. Yet this one had died in my room. What the hell was in my room that was more dangerous than a nuclear holocaust? Within minutes I was pinging the bell at the front desk and demanding they provide me with another room so I could shower.

  As I dragged my backpack from level two to level three I tried not to picture the thousand brothers to my dead cockroach, which urban legend told me were lurking somewhere nearby. My skin crawled at the thought of their tiny, bristly feet. The hotel could be teeming with them. I shivered.

  Half an hour later I met the girls in the lobby. Lorrie and Belinda were hunched forward, staring at their phones. Sarah was on her back reading a two-year-old surfing magazine from the pile at reception.
/>   ‘There’s a shuttle arriving soon,’ she said.

  ‘But we don’t know where the boys are!’ Belinda was shrill.

  ‘Jez and Giorgio’s phones are off,’ Sarah explained patiently.

  I pulled mine from my pocket. ‘Did you try Chris?’ I read his number aloud so that someone else could dial and I wouldn’t have to be the one checking up on him.

  Belinda was furious. ‘Giorgio didn’t come home last night at all. He’s never done that before.’

  ‘I’m sure they’re fine,’ I said, my mind already filling with the dozens of disasters that could have befallen Chris at a Vietnamese nightclub.

  ‘He’s never stayed out all night,’ Belinda spluttered like a boiling kettle.

  ‘Shh,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s ringing.’

  From deep inside Sarah’s phone I heard the tiny voice of Chris groggily answering.

  ‘Chris, what have you boys been up to? The shuttle will be here soon and your better halves are not amused.’

  Chris said something. The tiny voice was audible but unintelligible.

  ‘What do you mean you’re still at the club?’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s nearly 8 am.’

  More muffled humming from the other end.

  ‘Okay, bye,’ Sarah said, with far more patience than I would have had. Belinda flew off her seat.

  ‘They’re still at the club?’

  ‘Well, we’re not waiting for them.’ Lorrie folded her arms. ‘The plane tickets are booked and I’ve paid for airport shuttle passes. We’re getting on that bus.’

  Belinda called Giorgio again. He didn’t answer. She slammed her phone down on the coffee table. The airport shuttle beeped from outside.

  ‘C’mon,’ said Sarah, lifting Belinda’s backpack over her shoulder. ‘They boys will figure something out.’

  We climbed into the bus and made our way to the empty back seat. The shuttle pulled out onto the main boulevard where traffic was stopped at a red light. The driver turned and said he had one more hotel to collect from.

  ‘Look, look there they are!’ Belinda pointed.

  Arms and legs flying, Chris, Noah, Jeremy and Giorgio were sprinting towards the bus.

  Belinda pulled open the window. ‘Hurry up, get your stuff, the shuttle has one more stop to make!’

  A couple in front of us turned to see what was going on.

  ‘The men have been out all night,’ Sarah told them conspiratorially.

  The old Canadian gentleman in a fedora told us the last stop was the Palm Glades, about five hundred metres up the road. ‘Tell them they’ll make it if they run.’

  Belinda relayed the information, finishing with an emphatic, ‘Hurry!’

  ‘Let’s go!’ Giorgio shouted at the boys and they bolted into the guesthouse.

  The traffic started to move.

  ‘Jeremy hasn’t even packed,’ Lorrie said, shaking her head.

  ‘I packed Giorgio’s things last night,’ Belinda said icily.

  We sped towards the Palm Glades. Out the front was a queue of elderly tourists in Florida whites. I thought silently they should buy the boys some time. But I was wrong. The old troupe was organised and ready to go. A porter conveyed their suitcases into the undercarriage of the bus as they filed on one by one, presenting the tickets they had at the ready.

  The black road behind us was shimmering in the heat. In the distance I could see the manic shapes of drunk, running men.

  ‘There they are.’ I pointed.

  Chris was carrying two packs while Jeremy buttoned his shirt. Giorgio was shoeless. Noah was waving a stylish, vintage suitcase, while holding his hat on with his other hand.

  ‘Come on,’ Belinda urged.

  Noah’s case unlatched. Clothes flew everywhere. He stopped and turned, horrified. I could see Chris shouting for him to leave it. But Noah was on his knees, scrambling to pick up his clothes. A car honked as a pale green shirt sailed into its path. Jez stopped to help too. Giorgio turned and shouted for them to hurry. The bus shuddered as the driver put it into drive.

  ‘All okay?’ he asked the old dears who had taken their seats.

  They confirmed that they were.

  ‘Can’t we just wait a minute?’ Belinda implored.

  The driver shook his head. ‘Airport shuttle, people need to get to their flights.’

  Belinda hung her head out the window. ‘Just leave it.’ she called.

  Jeremy looked up to see us pull onto the road. He stood and started to run. Noah turned as a gust of wind blew a dirt-smeared shirt into the ditch by the road.

  I could see him shouting at the boys to help. The flying shirts would have been Prada and Calvin Klein, each probably costing more than the price of a flight north. Chris had stopped and started to laugh.

  Belinda laughed too. So did Lorrie. The bus driver shifted gears and moved into the centre lane, then gathered speed.

  The boys watched us wave from the back seat.

  Bright shirts fluttered into the air. A pair of royal blue boxer shorts hit Jez in the face. He pulled them off and threw them aside in disgust. Noah clocked him over the head. We could see him yelling. I imagined he was saying something like ‘Those were Hermes!’

  ‘They’ll be able to hitch a ride on xe oms,’ Sarah said, turning back to face the front.

  We laughed and waved as they fell behind the bus.

  Half an hour later we’d checked in and were waiting for our flight on the hardest seats in Vietnam. There was still no sign of the guys.

  Belinda and Lorrie called and called, until Belinda finally got through.

  ‘Noah refused to leave without his gear,’ she told us. ‘They’ve got a flight in a few hours. They’re waiting at the guesthouse.’

  Chris sent me a text. We’re killing time searching for Noah’s underdaks. Bummer hey. But part of the adventure.

  I smiled.

  The flight north was just over an hour. Hue was a pretty town known for the giant fortification at its heart. It is pronounced H-way. Not H-oo, as I had been saying it. This was something I learned only after having the same conversation about six times.

  ‘How do we get to the centre of H-oo?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘No! H-yoo.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘No! Hoo!’

  By coming this far north we had crossed over the invisible climate line into the rainy season. It was muggy and drizzly. As soon as we got off the plane we stocked up on a supply of disposable ponchos. They were a brilliant electric blue plastic that stuck to our skin and acted as portable green houses to trap sweat and rain inside. But they did enable us to explore.

  We found a luxurious old hotel with high ceilings and heavy green velvet curtains.

  ‘The good thing about this is we can take charge of the accommodation,’ Sarah said. ‘No more flea-bitten guesthouses.’ She hooked an arm around my neck. ‘We can share a room. I’ve got a new book. This one’s about a swarthy stable hand who works for a nobleman with five daughters.’

  ‘Sarah,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ She gave me a sly grin.

  I told her about Nha Trang – the hand-holding, the birds, the invisible pull I felt when I was near him.

  ‘I think you could have been wrong about Chris.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Sarah whispered to me. ‘We’ll book a set of doubles in the hotel. Noah and I can share if you and Chris decide you want a room to yourselves.’

  I bit my lip.

  ‘Oh, come on. You should be pleased. The birds, the ocean swim, the hike. You’ve done it. You’ve got your man.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Sounds like it.’

  ‘What are you two talking about?’ Lorrie demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I hope it wasn’t about me.’

  My head snapped up at the sound of the male voice.

  ‘Giorgio!’ Belinda flew into her husband’s arms, kissing him and berating him with balled fists all at
once.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ Lorrie asked.

  ‘Jez talked his way onto a chartered flight with these rich Pommy tourists.’

  ‘Jez did?’ Lorrie looked bewildered and enchanted.

  ‘Well, where are they all?’ I blurted. I felt that old familiar terror. That seeping, creeping dread that somehow, something had happened to detain Chris.

  ‘They’re coming, they’re coming.’

  Jez popped his head through the door, followed by Noah. I swallowed. Where was he?

  ‘Hey, Vy.’ Chris snuck up on me from behind. ‘Came in the back way.’

  He was holding his bag in one hand and he pulled me to him for a hug with the other. ‘We’re just going to dump our bags,’ he said. Then he kissed me gently on the corner of my mouth. ‘Might have a shower too.’

  ‘Okay, see you soon.’

  Sarah winked at me. I snuck off to write to Cass.

  An email from Michael was sitting in my inbox. There was no subject. I was thinking it would just be a polite response to my previous polite email. But I was wrong.

  Hi Vy,

  I don’t know how to say this but I ran into Rebecca Forster the other day. She asked how I was doing. She seemed to know we had broken up, which surprised me. She said she’d seen photos of you on Facebook with Chris Campbell.

  I stopped reading. Oh no.

  I racked my brain. What photos could he have possibly seen? Chris and I had had a few intimate moments, but never when other people were around. And certainly never other people armed with cameras and Facebook accounts. I returned to the email for clues.

  Vy why would you do this to me? Are you travelling around the world with another guy? With Chris? I can’t believe you could do that! Here I am sitting at home trying to work out what went wrong and you’re off having a holiday with another man. We only split a few months ago and you’re already with someone else. Did I mean nothing to you?! I thought we were going to talk when you got back! We were going to buy a house together! I thought we were going to build a life!

  I could feel the vomit rising in my throat. Horror spread through me. I imagined Michael’s stomach dropping when Rebecca told him. His blood turning cold and his fingers going numb as if his heart beat had slowed. The same way I’d felt when he’d revealed the motorcycle.