Our brief happiness at the news of Saul’s bail had been snuffed out like a candle. Now we had been plunged back into the darkness of the unknown once again, where hope was but a dim spark.
London in the grey drizzle of February seemed to envelop me, infusing me with its gloom as I went about my daily life. People huddled into their winter coats, heads down as they scurried about their daily business. No-one looked up from the ground, no-one smiled, or made eye contact. It seemed like the whole world had a weight on its shoulders, my feelings mirrored everywhere I looked. If we hadn’t had our flights booked, giving us something to look towards, I don’t know how I would have coped.
Most of my friends were supportive and called me as often as they could, but it was hard with me living in London and them being back in my home town, especially as I worked such long hours and barely had the chance to go back and visit. I missed them all terribly.
Then one day, out of the blue I got a phone call at work from Steve. He rang and asked if I would like to come down for the weekend. He said he knew how upset I must be feeling, especially with the news of Saul’s rearrest and thought it would be nice to come back home and see everyone before I left. I could catch up with all my friends and stay over at his house.
I was really surprised. After the way he had treated me when Saul and I first met, he was the last person I expected support from. Apart from arranging the party we had thrown for Saul, Steve had had no time for me. Maybe his fondness for Saul was making him re-assess his treatment of me – perhaps he wanted to make amends for Saul’s sake if not for mine. I thought it would be a lovely idea. I needed to see my friends and really hadn’t seen them much at all since moving away.
I arrived at Steve’s house on the Friday after work.
“Wow, you look great Floss,” he said approvingly. Although the compliment was out of character for him, I truly felt he was making an effort to be a friend to me.
We went out to the pub and met up with everyone. Sal and Jimmy were there, and both gave me huge warm hugs. There was a party going on in the pub that most of our friends were at, and I let myself relax and enjoy the reassurance of being with people I had known for a long time. For the first time in weeks, despite my worries, I let go and enjoyed myself. I sat with Sal and poured my heart out, allowing her to comfort me as she listened. Jimmy, in his usual style, made me laugh and I could feel the tension unwinding and loosening its grip on me as my friends gave me their support.
After a few drinks Steve suggested we get back, and hook up with them all again the next day. I was a little surprised he wanted to leave early, but I was tired and happy to go back. I thought he might want to spend some time talking about what was happening with Saul in private.
At Steve’s house there was no TV in the lounge, only in his room, so when he suggested taking a cup of tea upstairs to watch a film, I didn’t feel suspicious. We sat and watched a movie, and then I felt myself begin to wilt with fatigue as the credits began to roll. I was looking forward to curling up in Saul’s old bed.
“I’m off to bed now Steve, thanks for a really great evening!” I said, moving to stand up.
But it seemed Steve had other ideas! He put his hand on my thigh,
“You know what Floss, why don’t you just sleep here?” He gestured to his own bed, “Seems pointless for us both to sleep alone when we can cuddle up together, don’t you think?”
I was dumbstruck. How could he think even for a second that I would want to lay in anyone’s bed but Saul’s?
“What? Are you serious or is this some sort of bizarre joke? Do you really think that I would sleep with anyone, least of all you, who calls yourself Saul’s best friend?”
I fled from his room feeling violated by his suggestions. I lay in Saul’s bed hoping that he wouldn’t try to come in. I had been excited about this evening, about seeing my friends, and sleeping in Saul’s bed. I had been touched by what I thought was Steve reaching out to be my friend; I had not bargained on this act of iniquity from him, and shuddered at the thought of his lewd suggestion.
Eventually I drifted off to sleep and spent the night undisturbed. The following morning, I woke with a start as I heard the door of Saul’s room open. It was 7am. Steve walked in with a cup of tea. Was he going to apologize? I pulled the covers up to my chin and watched him approach the bed, hoping that he wasn’t going to try to make another pass at me.
“I’m going to take Bob for a walk,” he said coldly. He put the tea down next to the bed.
“When I get back, I will expect you to be gone.” He turned without waiting for a response and left the room.
If he had slapped me, he could not have hurt or stunned me more.
I didn’t hear from Steve again. I felt betrayed and sullied. How could he do that to Saul? Was he trying to entice me into bed so that he could tell Saul I was no good? Did he hate me that much? It was the worst thing he could have done both to me and to Saul. I was so ashamed by my own stupidity for allowing myself to be fooled by him, that I didn’t tell anyone. What he did was unbelievably cruel and I would never forgive him.
Adam called again just one week before we were due to leave. Saul’s brother Daniel was going out to help. I had never met him. He lived in America, and probably didn’t even know I existed. Adam assured us they would be in Bangkok. Daniel was persuasive, he said, and could speed things along and get him out. It would be fine, he said, go to Bangkok and wait for them and we would all be laughing about it and telling stories with relief of how real life was not like Midnight Express at all!
Chapter Seven
I needed to go and visit my parents, but although I longed to feel the comforts of home, I was dreading having to pretend that everything was hunky-dory. My parents had given me a very loving but old-fashioned childhood, taking me to church on Sundays, and doing their best to instill their strong Catholic beliefs into both my older brother and me. I had rebelled against this somewhat stifling arrangement, by being attracted to the wrong type of friends and boyfriends alike, trying subconsciously to be independent by defying my parents.
I think, looking back, that my rebellion against their style of parenting began when I was seventeen. For many years prior to this, I hadn’t wanted to continue attending Sunday mass, never really understanding the need to go and sit in an uncomfortable building and listen to a priest preaching endless biblical stories and analogies intended to make one see the error of their ways, and become a better person for it. I believed that being a good person came from within and was measured by the way we treated others, not in how often we went to church. I didn’t have the guts to tell them how I felt, so continued to go, as was expected of me, but all the time resentment was growing inside, like an unborn child getting stronger every day. Then one day, I decided that I needed to tell them how I felt. It wasn’t a flippant decision, but one that I had considered long and hard. Surely they would respect me for being honest, and for having my own mind? But they didn’t react in quite the way I had hoped. They both broke down, telling me that they must have failed me by doing something wrong, if I felt this way. I was mortified! In their eyes I had ruined their lives, bringing shame and disappointment and driving it into their hearts. I felt confused, rejected and above all riddled with guilt. I wish, in hindsight, I had had the maturity to talk to them more about how I felt, and that they had been less devastated and more able to accept that I had a mind of my own. Nevertheless, that’s not how it happened, and from then I obliviously went on to rebel against everything by seeking unsuitable boyfriends and living in sin with them, knowing deep down it was against everything my parents stood for. I didn’t set out to hurt them more, but I guess on some level I felt the need to break away and prove a point, only managing to drive the growing wedge between us deeper still. This then became a pattern for our relationship, where I would shut down, telling them as little as I could about my world, always fearing their reactions, but doing things I knew they did not approve of, thus feeling that I at
last had control of my own life.
My brother, by contrast, appeared to all intents and purposes to be the sensible son they had hoped for, but was simply cleverer than I was at living his life as he saw fit. He was able to be diplomatic in his approach to any clashes, a trait for which I had great admiration. Somehow, he was able to let my parents know just enough of how he wanted to live his life for them to accept it, even though he may not have their full approval. He didn’t rush headlong into baring his soul to them and risk their disappointment, but had the knack of presenting a good case that was unarguably well thought out and seemed at least justifiable even if not desirable. As far as my parents were concerned, he had all the right credentials for being a model son. He had a very respectable job as a bank manager, and was getting married to a good wholesome girl from a religious family. So although, on the face of it, he never rebelled in the way I did, neither was he quite the straight-laced son he appeared to be. Consequently, he acted as a great buffer between my parents and me during the years when I created friction, by talking sense to me, and defending my corner to them. I looked up to him and often sought his advice, as he had my respect but also gave me room to be who I wanted to be. I adored my parents – they were the sweetest people on earth – but I don’t think they ever really understood me, as they seemed to me to be from an entirely different world. So there was no way I could let them know the truth about where Saul was, or what was happening to him. I knew there wasn’t a shred of hope that they might understand, or even let me go if they found out. Additionally, I had another reason to withhold the truth from them. My dad had not been a well man, having suffered a fairly major heart attack only a few years ago. He had undergone successful surgery and now lived a normal healthy life, but stress was something he needed to avoid at all costs. When I went home, I had to be prepared to lie to them very convincingly.
So I carefully constructed my façade, fixed on a hearty smile and went home to see my folks. Walking into my mother’s warm kitchen with the smell of Sunday dinner filling my nostrils almost made me crumble. I hadn’t seen my parents much at all in the last few months and knew that it could be a long while before I saw them again. The fear of the unknown stretching before me, in what I knew was going to be a difficult time, only made it harder to keep up my pretence. Fortunately for me, they naturally assumed I was excited. After all, I was going to see Saul after weeks of saving and working hard and we were going to see the world together. After a forced beginning to the conversation I somehow managed to focus on their assumptions and talk of my impending trip with some degree of honesty.
My father had a vested interest in my travels. He was part Goan-Portuguese and had lived in that part of India as a child. He still had two sisters who lived near there; one a sweet spinster who had very regular contact with Dad and the other a selfish spoilt individual who only contacted him when she wanted something. However, there was a house he told me excitedly, that, if I got a chance, I should try to visit. It had belonged to his parents, and as far as he knew was still in the family, although he had relinquished any rights he had over it to the two sisters. After dinner he dug out some photos and we looked at them together. I promised him I would try to visit the house and take some up-to-date photos to bring back for him. He told me that as far as he was aware the housemaid whom he knew as a young man still lived in the house and took care of it.
As I enjoyed my mum’s cooking and listened to my dad’s advice about travelling in that part of the world, I sat nodding in agreement with them, and told them not to worry about me. I was travelling with Cathy and Saul was meeting me, they had nothing to fear. If they knew even a fraction of the truth they would have handcuffed me to the garden gate and thrown away the key to stop me leaving.
However, I did feel the need to confide in someone. So I went to visit my big brother, and his fiancée. He would have good advice for me; he would know what to do to make things better. All through my life I’d looked up to him, not just as the rebellious teenager but from when I was a small child who believed that he knew everything, the fount of all knowledge. Even if he didn’t have the answers, I reasoned, he would be supportive and that alone would be a huge comfort.
I told him everything. I cried, sobbed at last, and felt a surge of relief as I let it all out to someone who cared, but wouldn’t judge me or Saul. I waited for his response, searching his face for his wisdom. He would be able to think rationally and help me reason things out. For a few moments he remained silent, exploring his mind for the right things to say to me. Slowly I watched his brow begin to furrow, as deep lines of disapproval formed.
“Why would someone let that happen to themself? What sort of man gets into that kind of trouble? What are you getting yourself into?” he asked me.
I told him I loved Saul with all my heart and wanted to spend my life with him. My brother stared at me as if I needed psychiatric help. I had needed him more than ever, and he had let me down. Although I knew he didn’t know Saul and was basing his views on the cold hard fact that he’d been arrested for something illegal and therefore wrong, I felt so deeply hurt that he couldn’t see how much I needed him and his support, and that without it I felt alone and scared. I didn’t understand at the time that it was his fear for me and my safety that had dictated his reaction. I could only feel pain and rejection at his response. I felt my heart close protectively around the love I felt for Saul, knowing now that I had to keep both my love and fears to myself.
“You don’t know him,” I said, with tears stinging my eyes. “If you did you would understand.” I fled from his house feeling more alone, and more abandoned then I ever had in my entire life.
I arrived back at my rented room in London feeling more down than ever, and there waiting for me was a letter from Saul. I picked it up and held it to me as if I could somehow draw some of him into me, needing his love more than ever. This piece of paper had been in his hands; a connection to him, the only one I had. I sat on my bed and carefully opened the airmail envelope, surprised at its thickness. This was the longest letter I’d ever had from him; it must have been so hard to explain what happened. As his words drew their painful picture for me, I tried not to let my tears fall on the thin paper.
My Darling Flossie,
I hope you get this letter before you leave, as I want to try and give you some idea of what has happened. I know Adam has called you and told you about my bail and my rearrest, but I want to try to explain somehow. I feel as though I have been to the brink of my freedom, just long enough to feel liberated and then hauled back again by some large unseen force like a huge cosmic vacuum. I really thought we were on our way to wait for you – I was so looking forward to calling you from Bangkok and telling you my news!
Once again I feel like I have let you down. I wouldn’t blame you if you said you’d had enough and didn’t want to go through this anymore. Yet, I can only hope, my darling, that you still love me enough to come to Thailand and wait for me there, because Adam is on the case, and my brother is arriving any day now too, and he has money Flossie – and I think I explained before that if you shell out enough of the stuff you can buy anything here – freedom included – so all is not lost; however frustrating this is, it’s only a setback.
Let me try to explain what happened. On the day I got out on bail, we had a car waiting around the corner from the courts. It wouldn’t seem strange to see me get into a car, but we were being cautious. Adam had packed our stuff, booked tickets to Bangkok, and had had my passport forged with a false visa. We drove to Bombay, having to cross a few police check points on the way, so we took some whisky with us to bribe our way, stopping only twice in the sixteen hours to go to the toilet and get some food.
We arrived in Bombay and checked into a cheap guesthouse on the outskirts of the city. It was pretty scummy in there, but after my prison cell it was pure comfort! We had a few beers and celebrated for most of the night but without drawing attention to ourselves.
The next d
ay, we got up early to go to the airport. It was all going so smoothly, the check-in, even passport control. Then we went to board the flight. While we were standing in line, an attendant called my name. I looked at Adam, feeling unnerved, but said nothing. Then they called again. Adam said it must be routine, they couldn’t possibly know who I was – their system was so old fashioned: no computers or anything – no one would even know I had left Goa. How could they know? (Later, I found out that the guesthouse we had stayed in had realized my visa looked forged and alerted the police!)
So I went up to the desk, and they asked me to stand to one side. Suddenly two policemen arrived and clamped handcuffs on me, telling me I was under arrest for trying to jump bail! Adam was arguing with them saying they had made a mistake, but I knew then, Flossie, that we couldn’t get out of this – we had lost; my escape had been sabotaged. All I could think of was you Floss. I had been so excited thinking I would be with you so soon, and now that wasn’t going to happen. I was beyond devastated. As they dragged me away from Adam, I shouted to him to board the flight without me, and go and meet you and Cathy – he had done so much for me, I wanted him to go, but he was shaking his head, saying he wasn’t leaving me here. He kept asking where they were taking me, but they ignored him.
They took me to a prison in Bombay. Oh god, Floss, if I thought the prison in Goa was bad, this was like some sort of hell! I was thrown into the first cell I arrived at, a room no bigger than 15 foot square. There were about seventy-five men sharing four of these cells and over-spilling into the corridor, I’m not joking – all crammed on top of each other jostling for space. It was filthy, and stank of rancid body odour and stale curry. There was no natural light and no air, only a rickety old ceiling fan that looked as though it might crash down at any moment.
Journey From the Summit Page 5