The Implausible Story of Olive Far Far Away

by Tonya Alexandra

  ‘There’s got to be a reason for your terrible behaviour. Is your mother a banshee? Your father a thieving leprechaun?’

  ‘Ya don’t know what yer talking about.’ Dillon strides away, getting on his bike and sitting there, hands on handle bars, refusing to look at me.

  What the hell? I thought Irish people could take a joke.

  ‘I’m sorry. Have I hurt your feelings?’ I say, following him.

  His head dips and he mutters, ‘Aye.’

  Is he kidding me with this?

  ‘I seriously hurt your feelings?’ I demand.

  Dillon pulls his ear. He screws up his face like he doesn’t want to say it—but he does. ‘Ya did.’

  My breath hitches. How could he admit that? He’s left himself exposed. I don’t know where to go with this. Who does that?

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’

  There is an awkward silence until he says brusquely, ‘Where ya staying?’

  ‘You want to take me home?’

  ‘Aye.’

  His honesty is brutal.

  ‘The hostel?’ Dillon presses. ‘Ya staying there?’

  I get on the bike, dejected. ‘It’ll do.’

  I thought we were going fast before but the world just flies by now. It’s impossible to feel anything but regret with my body pressed against the naked warm skin of his back, my arms around his hard belly. He has a tattoo up the inside of his forearm that reads ‘play on’. I wonder what it’s about. The only reference I can come up with is Shakespeare. ‘If music be the food of love, play on.’

  But Dillon is not a Shakespeare kind of guy.

  He pulls up at the hostel and leaves the motor running. Not a good sign.

  ‘Come in and I’ll buy you a beer,’ I say, getting off the bike, trying desperately to act like a normal person.

  He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. ‘I don’t think so.’

  My desperation begins to escalate. ‘Tomorrow then?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m going to Hong Kong.’

  Another damn country!

  ‘Cool,’ I say, trying to sound lighthearted, but I’m struggling. Trying to think of anything that will keep him here, anything apart from ‘you have to stay here, you’re my true love!’

  ‘I’m travelling with your friend Simon to the Himalayas,’ I say. ‘He and my friend Jordan have kind of hooked up.’

  Dillon snorts. ‘Good luck with that.’ He looks up at me through his eyebrows, the black of his eyes dilating, and for a moment I think he sees everything and knows everything. But he turns away. ‘See ya, Irish.’ Then he kicks the bike into gear and takes off.

  I wrench his shirt off my head, ball it up and throw it after him. ‘Put on your dumb shirt, scrawny!’

  Dillon glances back and I catch a fleeting look of amusement, but he doesn’t come back. He revs the bike faster, accelerating away into the Hanoi night.

  CHAPTER

  7

  We’re in China at a bus station buying tickets for the next leg of the journey. Simon’s got some kind of issue with money which translates to him being a complete cheapskate. (Another shining quality to add to the list.) So we’re travelling in the cheapest transport with the poorest locals.

  The ticket machine is asking about fifty million questions in hànzì and Jordan and I stand behind Simon as he struggles with the machine.

  ‘He did three years of Mandarin,’ Jordan tells me.

  ‘At prep school, Jordan, not Oxford,’ he says, frowning at the screen. ‘Two tickets,’ he says, pushing a button. He is getting flustered. There is a huge line of impatient locals building up behind us. ‘Nine thirty.’ He presses another button. ‘Guizhou.’

  For three days I’ve bussed through China with Jordan and Simon, kicking myself for my stupidity with Dillon. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was weird how sensitive he was. The boy has issues, no doubt. But I shouldn’t have insulted him. I should have been sweet and attentive like one of those normal girlfriend-type people. What’s wrong with me? Am I doomed to be horrendous to anyone who sees me?

  I hate this curse. I’m completely under its power, always questioning everything about myself and acting like a crazy, desperate person. It’s humiliating.

  I don’t want to live like this, always on the edge, consumed by my invisibility.

  Maybe Rose is right, and I should go to New York to see Nan. It is possible she knows more about the curse than Dad lets on. It’s a really, really, really small chance but it’s got to be better than wasting my time here.

  ‘Maybe we should have got three tickets …’ Jordan says.

  Simon turns on her, red-faced. ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘Just to be safe. It’s so busy.’

  ‘You want me to diddle-daddle around and start the whole process again?’

  ‘Okay. Two’s fine.’

  ‘I’ll say.’ Simon rolls his eyes. He’s not in the mood for the imaginary friend routine this morning. ‘And hopefully we can stay a little longer in this next province.’ The tickets drop into his hand and I feel my jaw clench. Hearing him say it consolidates my thoughts. I don’t want to stay in Guizhou at all. I need to see Nan. I want New York asap.

  ‘Can I speak to you?’ I hiss in Jordan’s ear.

  She nods. ‘I think you’ll like this province, it has loads of minority cultures,’ Jordan says when we’re out of earshot. ‘It’s like the cool, old, real China.’

  ‘You’re so eloquent, Simon. You should write guidebooks.’

  ‘Shut up. You know what I mean.’

  We walk into the bathroom and I sigh. I do know what she means. And I wish I was here with her under different circumstances, but I don’t want to look at people and places anymore. It feels like I’m treading water. I can’t keep floating around doing nothing when I have so many questions unanswered.

  ‘Pins. I’m sorry. I’ve had enough.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I want to go to New York. Like now. Do you mind if we skip this?’

  ‘Skip this?! What about the Himalayas?’

  ‘I don’t give a crap about the Himalayas.’

  ‘Yeah but what if I do?’ she snaps. ‘You’re so unreasonable.’ She turns her back on me and stalks into the toilet cubicle.

  ‘You’ve known that since we were five!’ I yell after her.

  The squat toilet is disgusting. It makes my mood worse. When I finish, Jordan is washing her hands, frowning in the mirror. I’m spoiling her fun. I know it. But I can’t help it. I need to pursue this curse thing with Nan.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know we were going to all these places on the way to the Himalayas. It’s taking forever and I have things I need to do.’

  ‘Well I’m sorry you’re having such a miserable time. I thought we were having fun.’

  I snort. ‘Fat chance with Simon here.’

  Jordan slams the tap shut with victory. ‘And there we have it!’ she says. ‘That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re jealous of Simon. You want me all to yourself. I can’t be with anyone but you.’ She’s looking around for somewhere to dry her hands but there is nowhere. ‘You’re so selfish.’

  ‘I’m selfish?’ That makes me mad. ‘We’re travelling to your itinerary with your boyfriend!’

  Jordan’s eyes narrow. ‘You totally would have ditched me if Dillon was the least bit interested in you.’

  Ouch. ‘Well, we don’t have to worry about that, do we? Because that’s never going to happen! There’s nobody for me to choose over you.’

  ‘Lucky me.’

  My heart drops.

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’ She knows she’s gone too far but the damage is done.

  There’s a call from the door. Simon. ‘Jordan! We need to go. The bus—’

  Jordan walks to the door. ‘We’ll talk about it on the bus, okay?’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ I say
before I can keep my big mouth shut. ‘I’m out of here, next stop, with or without you.’

  We push through the people, searching for our bus. Simon grips Jordan’s hand and I trail behind them, refusing to take Jordan’s other hand when she holds it out for me. Groups mill around with huge amounts of luggage. Why so many are travelling with electronic goods like rice cookers and speaker systems I have no idea.

  ‘I think this is it.’ Simon stops in front of a red bus. It looks modern, air-conditioned. A crowd of people are fighting to get inside. There are way too many people for one bus. One man is actually passing goods through the window to someone on board.

  ‘No!’ Jordan gasps, her horror reflecting my own.

  ‘Hold your bag close and push,’ Simon says, and starts ramming people aside. ‘Coming through. We have tickets! Tickets!’

  Jordan is squeezing through the crowd behind him. ‘Olive!’ she calls. ‘Get your ass on this bus!’

  I don’t understand. Surely not all these people have tickets? Simon is making headway—it helps that locals are surprised to see a foreigner, so they let him and Jordan by. I try to squeeze through too, but the people are wedged together.

  ‘Move!’ I call out. ‘Please! Move!’ But nobody understands, or notices. They certainly don’t move.

  Simon and Jordan have reached the bus door. Simon helps Jordan up the steps. She turns to look back over the crowd. ‘Olive!’ she calls. ‘Where are you? Get on!’

  I start to feel panic. I’m not gaining any ground. In fact, people are cutting in from the sides and it feels like I’m actually going backwards. If I fell right now, I’d be trampled to death. What a way to go. Lying on the cement floor of a Chinese bus station, my invisible body bruised and battered by relentless Chinese feet.

  It makes me panic more. ‘Please! Let me through! My friends are on there!’ I push harder.

  Two ladies turn angrily and release a tirade of sharp words and sharp elbows. I’m winded. I want to bend over but there’s no room. ‘Jordan!’ I cry out.

  I surge forward with the crowd, clinging to the women in front. With relief, I see I’m getting closer to the bus. I’m going to make it.

  There is a thrust from the crowd behind, crushing me, but I don’t care. I’m six, maybe seven, people from being let on board. But then the driver appears. He stands on the top stairs holding out his hand. He calls to the people, and though the words are foreign there’s no mistaking the hand. No more. Full.

  The doors snap shut and the bus pulls away.

  CHAPTER

  8

  When I was seven years old I fell out of a tree, two streets from my house. I bellowed in pain but nobody came to help, because nobody could see me. Rose found me hours later and was crying as much as I was. ‘I need to know where you are!’ she scolded me. ‘It’s not safe on your own.’

  Being alone is scary when you’re invisible. Right now, I’m so scared I can’t move.

  Calm down, I tell myself. Think. You can figure this out.

  As I stand there stupidly, another bus pulls in. There is a cardboard sign on its window I can’t read. It’s an older bus, dirty-looking, no air con. People are not in such a hurry to get on this one.

  The driver opens the door and yells something. I am fifty percent sure I hear the one word I’m listening for. ‘Guizhou.’

  Could it really be this easy?

  I take the chance and push my way on board. The driver is checking his phone; he doesn’t look up, let alone ask for tickets. ‘Guizhou?’ I ask him.

  ‘Guizhou.’ He nods, still not looking up.

  I thank the lord in heaven, whoever he or she might be. Has my luck changed?

  Inside, the seats fill around me as I stand in the aisle. I’m not surprised that every seat is full when the doors shut. The bus takes off and I sit on the steps next to the driver. It’s the one place I won’t get knocked about. I pull out my phone and find a barrage of texts and calls from Jordan.

  Jordan: Are u ok?

  Jordan: Call me!

  Jordan: Call me!!!!

  Jordan: Call me!!!!

  Olive: It’s ok. I’m on the next bus.

  Jordan: Thank god! What a nightmare! We’ll wait for you.

  I sift through my mind for something witty to say, but all I come up with is:

  Olive: Thanks.

  Time passes and regret overwhelms me. Regret for fighting with Jordan, regret for fighting with Dillon. Desperate for comfort, I press my cheek into the shoulder of his Killers T-shirt. After Dillon left, I couldn’t resist picking it up off the street and wearing it every day. I’m trying to get a whiff of his smell. But the only stink is mine. The countryside flies by and the growing number of miles between us makes me sick. I need to take a chance. I pull out my phone and text him.

  Olive: Hi Dillon. This is a bit out of the blue but I wanted to apologise for upsetting you the other night in Hanoi.

  Dillon: Is this lemon ice?

  Olive: Yes.

  Dillon: I shouldn’t have tipped ice on your head. You’re right, my Ma would be ashamed of me.

  Olive: You call your mother ma?

  Dillon: Like a good paddy son

  Olive: I did too.

  Dillon: Did?

  Olive: Yeah.

  Dillon: Sorry.

  Olive: Long time ago now. I was 3.

  Dillon: I was 11

  Olive: You too? Hell. I’m sorry.

  Dillon: We get by

  Olive: We do.

  There’s nothing left to say after that. Anything else seems false and wrong. I can’t suggest flying in to Honkers for a catch-up and a snog.

  So the miles stretch between us—but somehow we feel closer.

  Nine hours later, I get off the bus with my butt aching from the dirty metal stairs and my legs cramped from being wedged against the filthy doors. I’m hungry, thirsty and stressed that I’ve been sitting on the wrong bus this whole time and could now be in the wrong town. I don’t know what to say to Jordan, if Jordan is here. The bus trip has shaken me.

  But there she is, sitting on a low wall looking at her phone. I’m so relieved to see her the muscles holding up my spine slacken. I go over and hug her legs.

  ‘You made it,’ she says, jumping down to hug me properly. ‘Thank god.’

  ‘Where’s Simon?’

  ‘He left. He’s going to stay here in China for a while.’

  ‘He left you here? Alone?’

  Jordan steps away from me and I notice how exhausted she looks. ‘I’m not alone, I’m with you.’

  ‘Yeah but he doesn’t know that!’ I’m furious with the guy. ‘It’s not cool to ditch a mentally unstable girl alone in the middle of China!’

  ‘I’m not unstable.’

  ‘Again—he doesn’t know that.’

  ‘I made him go, all right?’ Jordan snaps, running her fingers over her scalp. ‘We had a huge fight and he made me choose. Is that what you want to hear?’

  ‘He made you choose between him and me?’ A sick feeling is creeping into my stomach.

  ‘Why do you care? I thought you wanted him gone!’

  I do and I should shut up but I feel terrible. Jordan’s eyes are red-rimmed from crying. It’s hard to make Jordan cry.

  ‘You could stay. Go and meet up with him,’ I say, but my tone sounds unconvincing even to me. ‘I mean, of course I want you to come with me to New York, but—’

  ‘I’m not leaving you. I promised Rose.’

  I don’t want obligation to be the reason Jordan chooses me over Simon, but I don’t want her to change her mind, so I don’t push the subject. I just hope once we get some distance from Simon, Jordan will get over him.

  ‘It’s probably for the best,’ I say. ‘You would have broken up with him soon anyway.’

  Jordan’s chin jerks up. ‘You don’t know that.’

  Too soon, I scold myself. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

  There is a long pause where Jordan is deciding whether to be angry
with me or not. Finally, she just sighs and opens her phone. ‘I found some flights. It’s a pretty convoluted route but we’d be in New York in two days.’ There is no enthusiasm in her tone. She’s like a ghost version of Jordan. I don’t like it.

  I look at her then. The girl who has given up everything for me. ‘Is that what you want to do?’

  ‘No. You know I want to see the Himalayas.’

  ‘You weren’t just saying that to be with Simon?’

  ‘No! I’ve always wanted to see Everest. Ever since I saw the doco on Tenzing Norgay, the Sherpa who went to the summit with Hillary.’

  My little History Channel boffin. I take her hand and squeeze it. ‘Then let’s go. A few days won’t make a difference.’ I want to make her happy. She’s ditched Simon for me. It’s the least I can do.

  ‘There is a sleeper bus that goes direct to Lhasa from here?’ Jordan says, her voice hopeful.

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  Unfortunately, the bus trip is misery. I imagine the bus operators stole the itinerary from similar voyages into purgatory.

  Three rows of bunk beds run down the length of the bus and we’re forced to cram our bags into the beds with us because the luggage locker underneath is jam-packed with crates of piglets. Yes. Piglets. Every time we hit a bump (i.e., a lot), they squeal. The thirty-eight-hour trip becomes over fourty-four hours because we break down on the side of the road for almost six hours.

  Don’t get me wrong, I try to be positive. I point out how charming it is, taking off your shoes at the door and wearing plastic bags on your feet. I’m quick to notice how the sheets are mostly clean, and that there’s a TV, which will help the time pass.

  But then a man next to Jordan lights up a cigarette and continues to chain-smoke for the entire journey. Around us, people hack up phlegm and spit on the floor with a frequency that stuns me.

  When the TV is on, it blares incomprehensible local Chinese programs, making sleep impossible. Worst of all, the woman in the bed adjacent to mine is sharing her bunk with a baby who doesn’t wear nappies. It has a split in its pants, and whenever it needs to go—it goes.

  Jordan is miserable.

  She’s been awesome about travelling rough over the last six months, but now, she either sleeps or stares at the roof of her bunk. I know she’s wishing she stayed with Simon. I need to fix this, make it the most incredible place we’ve been to yet. She’ll get over Simon. He’s such a dweeb, it should be easy enough.