Girls Who Travel

by Nicole Trilivas

  “Mina, I’ve got it.”

  She raised her eyebrow apprehensively.

  “Invite her over for a sleepover!” I declared triumphantly.

  “And then what? Get her to wash her hair with hair-remover? Draw a Hitler mustache on her face in permanent marker when she’s sleeping?” she asked, enlivened.

  “No, no, no,” I protested. “Come on, Mina. Think bigger!”

  “Poison her?” she asked with wide eyes.

  I almost wiped out on the ice. “God, no! Mina, seriously?” I shook my head at her. “What kind of an au pair do you take me for?” I paused. “Don’t answer that,” I quickly added.

  I pirouetted on my skates and clutched Mina’s shoulders, forcing her to face me. “You make friends with her. In fact, it was what you did in your head to solve the problem: You said she was your best friend.”

  “Um, Kika, in case you didn’t notice, Peaches Benson-Westwood hates me,” Mina pointed out.

  “But does she really, though? I mean, does she have a real reason to hate you, or is she just threatened?”

  Mina shrugged and kept skating.

  I hurried after her. “Look, picture this: You’re the queen bee of the school and all of a sudden a new girl comes along. She’s obviously cool and pretty, and worst of all, she has a kickass American accent and is from New York Freakin’ City.”

  “I’m from Long Island.”

  “Same difference as far as these girls are concerned. Look, everyone was probably curious about you when you first got there, right?”

  “Well, they did ask me about my American clothes. They’re kind of obsessed with them over here.”

  “Right. This is what I’m thinking: Invite her over to the house to hang out. I’ll help you. I’ll be there the whole time to intervene if you need me. But I really think you guys can be true friends. I mean, why not?”

  Unless she’s a total monster, I said to myself.

  Mina nodded but stayed quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’ll do it. But we need to keep Gwen out of the way. I can’t risk having her karate chop Peaches. I’d never hear the end of it,” she said, sounding dangerously like Elsbeth.

  38

  WHEN THE DOORBELL rang, both Mina and I looked at each other with brave faces.

  I had scheduled the playdate through Peaches’ au pair. I knew I had to move fast, so we planned to have Peaches come over right after Mina’s Mandarin lesson the following night. (I know, don’t get me started.)

  I reached for the doorknob.

  “Hey, Peaches,” Mina said like the good sport she promised me she’d be.

  I waved hello to Peaches. Next to her stood a girl around my age. “Oh, hey, are you Peaches’ au pair?”

  The girl crumbled her features together. “Oh God no,” she trilled. She quickly added, “No offense intended, of course. It’s just that I’m Peaches’ sister. Chantelle Benson-Westwood, lovely to meet you. I thought I’d pop over for a little chat.”

  Both Peaches and Chantelle pranced their way into the foyer without waiting for an invitation.

  Peaches looped a strand of hair around her finger, looking bored—you could tell her parents made her come. Chantelle inventoried the room. She had the same English-rose complexion and that whole dark-hair-and-green-eyes combo as her sister, which made them look witchy and tubercular.

  “I’m Kika,” I announced with a charmed smile. I promised Mina (and myself) that I would play nicely.

  “I’ll let you get the girls sorted and then I’ll take some tea.” Chantelle dumped her coat on a decorative armchair in the foyer (located directly next to a coatrack) and swanned waifishly into the sitting room.

  So if Peaches was the junior bitch, this must be the senior one, I thought to myself with an inner eye roll.

  I trailed Mina and Peaches down the hall.

  Peaches eyed me suspiciously. “You’re the terrible lady who shouted at us.”

  “Guilty,” I said with a psychotic smile frozen on my face. Shit, she remembers me.

  “So you’re the nanny, then?”

  “I’m Mina’s sister’s nanny,” I lied. “Mina and I are just good friends.” Mina looked pleased at this.

  “I see. I’d like a glass of orange juice now,” said the demanding mini-monster. “Fresh squeezed.” She had already mastered that face of professional champagne-coolness that expensive restaurant hostesses give you when you ask to use the bathroom in your grubby backpacker gear.

  “I’ll get it,” said Mina sportingly.

  “No. Make her. I’ll want to see your room now, won’t I? I’d like to see your American clothing.”

  “You guys go on. I’ll set up some snacks,” I said in an upbeat fashion. I knew what the junior bitch was playing at, and I would not let her get to me. There was still a real chance that she and Mina could become friends.

  After setting up some snacks for the girls, I shelved my bitch face and grabbed two iced teas from the fridge knowing perfectly well it was not what Chantelle wanted. I joined her in the sitting room.

  When I entered, Chantelle immediately started prattling on: “When Mummy said Peaches was coming over here for a playdate, I just said to myself, I must stop by and see Aston. Aston Hyde Bettencourt, just next door? We’re quite good friends, you know. Since primary school, really, though I went to Harrington Gardens—same as Peaches and Willamina.”

  “Oh, cool.” I picked a bit of lint off my sweater. I gave her a faraway smile and wondered how long she planned on staying. Celestynka would be over soon. Things were going well with her English lessons. (I recently taught her what “crunching numbers” meant.) And today we were going to do some mock interviews, and she had some questions for me about the budget she was making for my website.

  I handed Chantelle the iced tea, but she held it away from her person with two fingers. I took an unladylike guzzle of mine and flopped my jean-clad legs inelegantly over the side of the stuffy armchair.

  “He is an absolute delight. Isn’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “Aston Hyde Bettencourt! You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?” she tsk-tsked in a cutesy voice.

  “No, I was. Sorry.” I actually hadn’t been. “You were talking about Aston.”

  I was relieved not to have run into Aston since our night at the Arts Club. And I did my best to keep it that way. The hot water wasn’t working in my room, and since Aston was in effect our landlord, Elsbeth told me to call him to have it sorted. But I wouldn’t. Cold showers weren’t so bad; they were sort of invigorating first thing in the morning.

  I wanted to keep my mind on Lochlon and only Lochlon. Plus, I was going straight on our “no technology” vacation once Lochlon left. I hoped that enough distance and time would make everything normal again between Aston and me . . . whatever “normal” meant.

  Chantelle made a stifled, contrived sound from the back of her throat.

  “So you and Aston are friends, then? I’m certain I saw you speaking with him at the Wolseley party. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh yeah. You were there?” I asked, peering out the window in distraction. Where is Celestynka?

  Chantelle looked affronted. “I’d be mad to miss it. It was marvelous fun.”

  “Yeah. Marvelous.” Who speaks like that?

  “Yes, yes, wasn’t it? So are you all sorted in London? Do you have many friends here?”

  Happy she changed the topic, I made an effort to be friendlier. After all, I had just heard a burst of singsong giggles coming from Mina’s room. If she could play nice, so could I. “London is really great. And no, I don’t have many friends here, but it’s cool. I make friends quickly.”

  She gave me a rapid-fire once-over in a single blink, which I didn’t miss. “Have you been to Shoreditch yet? I’m a member of Shoreditch House, so I could take you
one day, I suppose.” She draped her arm over the back of the couch and reclined.

  “One day,” I said, knowing that it was an empty invite.

  “But you’re very naturally pretty,” she said as a sort of pesky afterthought. “I’m sure you do make friends quickly.”

  “Um, thanks.” I was unsure if etiquette required me to return the compliment. I wasn’t sure it was a compliment.

  Just then, we both looked toward the foyer at the sound of jingling keys. I felt a draft hurry into the room like a late guest.

  “Celestynka,” I called out, thrilled with the disruption.

  Celestynka tip-tapped down the hallway and entered the sitting room. “Good evening, Kika,” she said before noticing that I wasn’t alone. “Oh, hello.” She nodded to Chantelle.

  Chantelle immediately looked Celestynka up and down in an undisguised evaluation.

  Celestynka noticed and tugged her faux animal print coat tightly around herself. I made the introductions, but Celestynka quickly excused herself to go to work, the cheer gone from her face.

  “She cleans the house dressed like that?” Chantelle asked loud enough for Celestynka to hear in the kitchen. She started cackling and covered her mouth.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I shook my head. “She takes off her high heels first,” I said in Celestynka’s defense.

  Chantelle bowled over. “Oh, come now, Kiki, she rather does look like a stripper tragedy. She was wearing silver trousers!” She made no effort to lower her voice.

  I didn’t bother correcting her about my name. I stood. “You need to go now, Chantelle.” How dare she make fun of Celestynka?

  “I’m sure Aston will just be over the moon to see you,” I said with overdone sweetness, beckoning her out of the house.

  “Oh, come now, I was just having a bit of a laugh. She seems rather sweet. I’m sure she is an excellent scrubber,” she said, dissolving into another eruption of self-satisfied giggles.

  I desperately wanted to run my mouth at her, but thoughts of Mina stopped me. “Why don’t you go over to Aston’s and I’ll call you when the girls are done playing?” I walked into the foyer and swung the front door inward on its hinges.

  Chantelle composed herself and stroked down her hair, which was still magazine perfect. “Right. Well, Aston will try and keep me there forever, so do ring when you need me. Lovely meeting you,” she said with well-bred, forged enthusiasm.

  I slammed the door behind her and watched through the window as she went next door. When Aston opened his door, they clasped their arms around each other like best friends forever. My breath fogged up the cold glass, and I yanked the curtains closed.

  39

  “SO, HAVE YOU had a bit of time to read the pages I’ve sent you?”

  I got up from my velvet chair and looked out the window. It was way past midnight, and it felt as if the rest of the world was in bed. Unpredicted early-spring flurries twirled in the glow of the streetlamps, cocooning the South Kensington streets in a silver-white silence. This cold spell would freeze the overeager crocuses and daffodils that were starting to peek out.

  “Aren’t you needy? I told you in the email that I loved those pages. Are you fishing for more compliments, Lochlon?” I rubbed my hands over my skin, soothing down the goose bumps.

  “’Course. It gets me hot and bothered when you tell me you like my writing. Go on, then.”

  Lochlon sent me snippets of stories he wrote while we were traveling together. He was writing his own version of The Sun Also Rises meets The Rum Diary (read: a book about traveling while drunk).

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t written since getting home to Ireland, but he promised me that he’d start again soon. “As soon as I get back on the road. I can’t write here. No inspiration in Ireland,” he’d like to tell me.

  “I wrote that bit when we were in India. Got some brilliant work done there. Do you remember how lovely it was?”

  “I think about it all the time,” I said truthfully.

  “And I.” Lochlon made an irresistible smirking sound. “I still go mad thinking about you in that bikini. By the end of that trip, it was so worn that it was just falling off you.” Lochlon was horny. That made two of us.

  “So has everyone gone to bed over there?” I questioned.

  “That’s right, I’m just here all on me lonesome. Why so?”

  “Just curious. It’s snowing here. Well, flurries, really, but it’s the first time I’ve seen snow here. It’s very romantic.” A passing car beamed fast-moving, buttery shadows over the blackened room.

  “I wish I were there with you,” he said quietly.

  I sighed. “I have a fireplace in my room. We could make a fire and snuggle under the covers and watch the snow.”

  “You know if I were under the sheets with you, I’d not be watching the snow.”

  “So,” I started overly innocently, “what would you be doing?” I was well aware of what I was starting. But I missed him. And I needed a way to keep my mind from wandering.

  “Your clothes would be gone. That’d be the first thing.”

  “But wouldn’t I be cold?” I teased the skin of my inner forearm with my fingertips.

  “I’d keep you warm,” he rumbled softly into the phone.

  “Would you, now?”

  “’Course I would. Now you got me thinking about you naked. Look what you’ve done.”

  “What have I done?” I naively asked.

  But I just heard ragged breathing in my ear. “You’re going to get it if you keep going on like this. God, is it Saturday yet?”

  “I know. I can’t stop thinking about seeing you again,” I told him. I paced around the room. I was desperate to feel him again. The need ached inside me since India; it was like a broken bone that hadn’t healed properly. I never told Lochlon that I hadn’t been with anyone since him.

  “Lochlon?”

  I wanted to ask him if he had been with anyone, but then I stopped myself. We said in India that there was no point in discussing exclusivity. Still, I wondered . . . I hoped that he hadn’t been with anyone else, even though I didn’t really have the right to ask that of him.

  “Yes, Kika?” he asked. I could tell by his slowed breathing that he was lying down flat on his back.

  “I’m going to go to bed,” I said.

  “Are you sure? All right. Wish I could kiss you good night, at least.”

  “You can in a few days,” I promised, confident that everything would fall into place soon.

  40

  “WHAT IS YOUR funny face about?” Celestynka asked, drumming her glittery nails over the financial plan she was trying to explain to me.

  Lochlon was finally arriving today, but I shook my head and tried to focus on the spreadsheet of monthly expenses that Celestynka had created for me. After hours of questioning, she was able to extract a budget for me and my website.

  “This is so exciting,” I said, spreading out my hands over the papers. There it was: 390 days until Gypsies & Boxcars would go live again—if I kept saving as I had been since I arrived in London.

  Celestynka was more than just good with numbers; she had good business sense and she helped me get the steps in the right order.

  With the money I’d save in a little over a year, I would be able to hire a web administrator and relaunch the site starting with the British contacts I had been cultivating. After the relaunch, I would start taking mini trips for scouting purposes. I could afford two of these a month. My aim for these trips would be to find artisans with unique goods and photograph the items for the site. Though this was over a year away, I hoped I could work out a way to take these trips while still keeping my job as an au pair, since it was a guaranteed source of income.

  But either way, with Celestynka’s guidance, I had a concrete strategy to follow!

  Celestynka cli
cked her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “I know you are excited about this, but maybe you are more thinking of Lochlon’s arrival today.”

  I couldn’t help stealing another quick glance at the clock. Throughout the whole discussion, I couldn’t help but watch the clock every two seconds, thinking: Lochlon’s plane just landed. Lochlon is on the Tube right now. Lochlon is at his hotel now.

  I had felt a prickling heat spread over my skin when he had told me he booked a hotel. We were both hardcore backpackers and knew exactly what hotels meant: splurge, decadence, and, most of all—privacy. What is it about big white hotel beds that makes you want to have copious amounts of sex in them?

  Everything was set. Immediately after Lochlon left, I would leave to meet the Darlings in the south of Italy. I had spent the morning packing so that once Lochlon departed, all I’d have to do was grab my bag and go to the airport.

  “Okay, okay. I see. You cannot concentrate today.” Celestynka smiled and collected the papers.

  I couldn’t even protest, so I just smiled dopily. “Thanks for everything,” I told her. “This is exactly what I needed.”

  “You need something else, I think. Have a wonderful time. We will talk of this later.” Celestynka left the house, and I filed away the papers and took a long, soothing breath.

  This is it. After a whole year apart, it’s really happening! I wiped my sweaty palms down my thighs and started making my way out the door. I was meeting Lochlon at Gordon’s Wine Bar, and I wanted to be early. I locked the door behind me, wondering: Will it be any different? God, I hope it won’t be.

  41

  I RODE THE humming Circle Line to the Embankment Tube stop, and I arrived at Gordon’s Wine Bar with plenty of time to spare. The whole time my heart fluttered against my ribs like a jittery bird in a too-small cage.

  I slipped into the slender alley called Watergate Walk, where little café tables were arranged in the shade just outside the cavelike candlelit bar. It was still early, and the sun hadn’t set yet, so I chose a rickety table in a wedge of sunlight.