Even in my head, I referred to Adam as him.
I had travelled thousands of miles from home but hadn’t moved an inch. A year apart had changed nothing. I loved him. I had always loved him. And my decision to end our relationship had grown into the most painful regret of my life.
“I didn’t mean to read it,” he said, unconvincingly. “I didn’t even know you kept a diary.”
“You weren’t supposed to know,” I barked. “It was private.”
“I read the whole thing. Every word.”
“Ugh! Shut up!”
“It was actually pretty good. March was pretty dull but it picked up again in April.”
“Shut up, Mitchell!”
I wanted to clout him but it wouldn’t have been a fair fight. He was clearly disadvantaged by the alcohol he’d consumed. It was acting as a truth serum and it also seemed to make him keep talking. “You should find a better hiding spot if you don’t want me to read it.” He shifted to the side, producing my journal from under the beanbag. “Ta-daa!”
I snatched it. “There’s something seriously wrong with you.”
“I know,” he agreed. “But there’s nothing wrong with you.”
I shook my head, scowling. “What are you talking about?”
He made a half-hearted swipe for the book, but was too uncoordinated to take it from me. “I read it. Have you ever read what you’ve written? If you did, you’d see that there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just scared. You were scared when we left home and you’re scared now.”
He’d hit my rawest nerve, dead on. “And you’re drunk.”
“Of course I’m drunk. Do you think we’d be having this conversation otherwise? Get brave, Charli. Toughen up and go after what you want.”
Within days of leaving Australia I’d made my decision. I planned to spend a few weeks travelling with Mitchell before jumping on a plane to New York.
But time was my enemy.
After three amazing weeks of surfing in Mauritius we found our way to Madagascar. By the time we arrived in Johannesburg six weeks after that I was second-guessing my decision. What if Adam had moved on? What if he’d met someone else? Or worse, what if he’d forgotten all about me? The longer I spent without him, the more I’d convinced myself that Adam Décarie was doing just fine without me.
Writing down my fears had preserved my sanity. I was on the trip of a lifetime, visiting some of the most beautiful places on earth, and yet I couldn’t shake the hopelessness of being completely in love with a boy I’d known for only two months – a very long time ago.
“It’s not that simple,” I mumbled.
The beans crunched beneath him as he struggled to lean forward. Grabbing his hand, I helped him to his feet. Once upright he fell forward, pushing me backwards. I lay flat on the floor, struggling under his weight.
“It’s totally simple,” he said, ignoring the fact that I was gasping for breath beneath him. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Answering him required air in my lungs. With both hands on his chest, I managed to heave him off. “What if I go all the way to New York and he doesn’t want me?”
“Then you put it to bed. But at least you’ll know you’ve given it your best shot.”
I turned my head to look at him, marvelling at the fact that Mitchell Tate managed to become smarter when intoxicated. “What would you do without me?”
“I’d manage. I’ve matured a lot lately,” he insisted. A huge burst of laughter escaped me but his tone remained serious. “It’s been a long time since I did anything dumb like try to cook popcorn in a frying pan.”
“Mitch, that was just a week ago,” I reminded him, between giggles.
He reached across for my hand. “I’d be fine, Charli. And you would be too.”
***
I dragged myself out of bed at ten the next morning. Mitchell was already up, sitting on the front veranda soaking up the morning sun and eating something that looked like one of Melito’s filo pastry creations from the night before.
“Is your stomach made of cast iron?” I asked, appalled. He turned to face me, grinned and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth.
We sat on the raised veranda, dangling our legs over the edge and gazing at the uninterrupted view of the ocean ahead. The veranda was the only redeeming feature of the shack. Some days, when the ocean was a millpond and we weren’t working, we’d waste the entire morning out there.
“You just missed Bernie and Will,” he said. “They were on their way home from the sleek Greeks. It turns out that the party got a whole lot rowdier once we left.”
“What did they have to say for themselves?”
He shrugged. “Not much. They said they’re thinking of heading up the coast next weekend. I wouldn’t mind a weekend up north. Too bad we’re broke and trapped like rats.”
He bumped my shoulder and I looked across at him. I couldn’t help smiling at his goofy expression. Mitchell was back to being carefree, content and sober. Nothing fazed him – not even the prospect of being a broke, trapped, rat.
That’s where we differed. I was beginning to feel as though I was failing, and it was starting to weigh me down. The whole purpose of this journey was to find my place in the world. We’d travelled thousands of miles. How far was I supposed to go, for crying out loud?
I had to consider that I’d been wrong all along. What if happiness wasn’t a place? What if it was enough just to be with the person who made you happy? Surely then I’d be content wherever I was – even if it was New York City.
I looked at the bigger picture. There was a possibility that I had thrown away the best love I would ever know. And going through the daily grind of surfing, working and sleeping was doing nothing to get it back.
“Mitch, do you remember our conversation last night?”
A smile crept across his face. “Refresh my memory.”
I rolled my eyes. “We talked about me going to New York. I think I’m going to do it.”
“It’s about time,” he teased. “I was beginning to think I’d be stuck with you forever.”
I nudged his shoulder, faking annoyance. “Don’t get too excited. It’s going to take months to save up.”
“Why don’t you just call Alex? He’d send you money if you needed it.”
The mere suggestion bordered on lunacy. As far as Alex knew, I was comfortably living on the proceeds from the sale of Adam’s boat. If he ever got wind that we were broke he’d have a coronary.
“I’m going to work it out for myself.”
“I’ll find extra work, Charli. I’ll do what I can.”
“You don’t need to do that. I only need one thing from you.”
“Name it.”
“Don’t let me talk myself out of going. No matter how long it takes.”
Mitchell slung an arm around my shoulders. “You got it, sister.”
2. Crazy Brave
The midweek markets in Kaimte had to be seen to be believed: vendors selling everything from local crafts to fresh fish and vegetables crowded into a row of tin humpies lining the main street. I loved the atmosphere.
I roped Zoe and Rose into coming with me. I usually went with Mitchell, but true to his word he’d found extra work that week, labouring for a landscaper.
“It’s so grotty,” whispered Zoe, much too loudly.
Rose shushed her, grabbed her elbow and quickened her pace.
“It’s all really fresh,” I told her.
“Of course it is,” she agreed. “It’s all still covered in dirt.”
Zoe was a mixed bag. I’d always suspected that backpacking was more Rose’s bliss than hers. She was a girly girl who liked her creature comforts far too much to be completely content living in the cardboard village. On the other hand, carrying out a torrid affair with a beach bum surfer like Mitchell showed that she wasn’t totally averse to slumming it once in a while.
Mitchell’s attraction to Zoe was much easier to define. She was part Beau
tiful, just like his sisters. She was prissy, although her penchant for tiny bikinis and matching sarongs bordered on trashy. But Zoe would never graduate to full Beautiful status. She was far too smart and too kind-hearted, even if scrubbing dirt off vegetables was beneath her.
“Can we sit for a while? It’s hot,” she complained.
I looked around, trying to see somewhere suitable to dump her for a few minutes while I finished browsing.
“There,” suggested Rose, pointing to a small shed over the road. The makeshift café only traded on market days. Patrons sat outside on dirty plastic chairs, drinking lukewarm cans of Coke.
“Will you be okay here for a minute?” I asked hopefully. “I just want to check out the stalls over there.” I pointed further down the street, but she paid no attention.
“We’ll wait here for you,” promised Rose.
I had walked only a few metres before the crowd swamped me. I couldn’t even see the café when I turned around. All I could do was keep pace with the flow of traffic. Some days I hate being short. I walked for a few minutes, seeing nothing but people’s backs before finally breaking off to the side. I had no idea where I was. I didn’t seem to be in the markets anymore. The buildings were permanent structures but still ramshackle and dilapidated.
To my left was a fabric store, overflowing with bolts of brightly coloured cloth. A heavyset African woman stood in the doorway calling me inside with a flick of her head. “Come and see, little girl,” she coaxed.
“No, thank you.”
I began walking again but got no further than the shop next door. A man tugged my backpack as I passed his doorway, yanking me inside. “Little girl,” he purred. “Come inside.”
It was hardly an invitation. I was already inside. The relative safety of the road might have been miles away.
To regain control, I turned around, pretending to browse. Crooked wooden shelves lined the corrugated tin walls, displaying dodgy-looking electrical items and bric-a-brac. The man followed closely behind me as I walked; but he wasn’t the scariest one in the shop. Another two men sat near the back wall, leering at me.
Playing it cool was not an option. I was terrified. No one knew where I was. I didn’t even know where I was.
“You have a nice shop,” I complimented shakily.
He looked past me to the other men, speaking in a language I didn’t understand. Unnervingly, they all laughed.
I didn’t dare look at the thugs behind me. All my attention was on the one blocking my exit.
“Find what you like,” he instructed. “We buy and we sell.”
I nodded, unable to swallow the lump in my throat so I could speak.
They weren’t typical villagers. Their clothes were western style. The ringleader wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt – totally inappropriate, considering the hot weather. Around his neck was the thickest gold chain I’d ever seen. The necklace looked authentic, but the huge kitschy gold Rolex he wore looked like a prize out of a gumball machine.
“We have phones. Do you need a phone?” he asked.
His question reminded me that my phone was in my bag – albeit useless. Who was I going to call? Mitchell’s phone had been stolen during the mugging. I could call Alex. If he hurried, he could catch the next flight out and come to my rescue in about three days.
Quickly, I hatched a plan. Mitchell needed a phone. I’d buy one, thank the scary men, and hopefully be on my way in one piece.
“I will buy a phone,” I told him, trying to sound strong.
Rolex man clicked his fingers twice. “Get the box,” he ordered. I heard the goons behind me shuffle to their feet.
Please don’t let it be a Charli size box, I prayed.
I contemplated making a run for the bright light of the outside street but wasn’t sure I’d make it out before he grabbed me again. When he called me over to the counter, I went.
The smaller of the henchmen upended a cardboard box on the counter sending at least fifty phones tumbling in all directions.
“I’ll give you a good price,” he assured. “Choose one.”
They all looked the same to me – with one exception. Mitchell’s phone had a distinctive bright orange cover, just like one of the phones in front of me.
I picked it up, moving quickly to hide the fact that my hand was shaking.
“I like this one.”
“A very good choice,” praised Rolex man. “It’s only just come in.”
I was certain it was Mitchell’s phone. My potential murderers were also thieves. Fear quickly gave way to anger. Standing in front of me were the men who’d knocked the stuffing out of Mitchell and left him bleeding in an alley. Convinced that my fate would soon be the same (or worse) I realised I had nothing to lose. “I have something to sell,” I announced, shrugging my off my backpack.
The men watched silently as I took out my camera and unscrewed the lens. If there was a chance I might live to continue my trip, I didn’t want to do it without my beloved camera. Parting with one lens was bearable.
Rolex man studied it closely. “This is no good without the camera. I will take both.”
I shook my head. “No. Just the lens.”
“No.” He handed it back to me.
I actually felt deflated. For a second, I’d been hopeful of solving all of our money problems. I saw no point in haggling with him. He was calling the shots and I’d just revealed all my cards. The thieving would-be murderers now knew I had a valuable camera in my possession.
“What else do you have?”
I tried to think quickly but came up blank.
“The stone,” he said, pointing to my necklace.
I brought my hand to my throat, clutching my black opal pendant.
“No.” My rough tone made them laugh.
“Black opal is rare and valuable,” said Rolex man, amazing me with his knowledge of gemmology. “Give it to me.”
I wanted to put up a good fight. He was probably about to rip it off my neck at any second anyway. “I want five thousand for it. U.S. dollars,” I declared.
A huge grin swept his face and I could hear the other men snickering. “You are a very funny girl.” Funny was good. Funny meant they might not kill me.
“Five thousand,” I repeated.
Rolex man paced around, rubbing his chin while he deliberated. “I will give you three thousand.”
It was actually a pretty fair offer – much less than what it was worth but not altogether unreasonable. I had to consider it. Three thousand dollars was a ticket to New York and back again if I needed it. I tried to focus more on the bigger picture and less on the heartbreak of parting with the opal Adam had gifted me.
“Fine. Three thousand… and the orange phone,” I agreed. “And I want U.S. dollars.”
“I do not keep that amount of money here. There are many thieves around.” I almost laughed out loud but thought better of it. “I will have to go and get it.”
“I’ll wait.” I truly was an idiot.
More than an hour and a half passed before Rolex man returned. I had no choice but to wait for him. I got the distinct feeling I wasn’t free to leave. He strolled in as if he’d been gone only minutes and dropped a tattered manila envelope down on the counter in front of me. “Count it,” he instructed.
I thumbed through the notes, counting silently in my head. I was glad I counted silently. Unbelievably, there was an extra four hundred dollars in the pile.
“Three thousand dollars, right?” I asked, confused.
“That is what we agreed.”
I quickly tucked the envelope under my arm, hoping that the smugness wasn’t evident in my expression. With a heavy heart, I undid the clasp on my necklace and handed it to Rolex man.
“Come back any time,” he said, focusing all his attention on the necklace in his hand.
I didn’t bother answering. I turned and walked as fast as I could, straight out into the safety of the crowded street. It had been almost two hours since I’d left
Rose and Zoe at the café. Knowing they’d be long gone, I began walking home, oblivious to how frantic Mitchell would be.
“Where the hell have you been?” he yelled, running down the beach toward me. “The girls said they lost you. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, bracing myself as he threw his arms around me. It wasn’t a tight hug, just badly executed. Perhaps he forgot that he was a foot taller than me and that’s why he hugged my head.
He looked me up and down, inspecting for damage.
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
“Where have you been?”
I was excited to tell him. Doing business with gangsters wasn’t an every day event for me. Mitchell didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm, but to his credit, he let me finish the tale before berating me. “You sold your necklace to thugs? Are you out of your freaking mind?”
“You’re the one who told me to get brave.”
He wrinkled his nose at the reminder of his drunken remark. “You weren’t meant to take it so literally! What if something had happened to you? Imagine that phone call to Alex.” He groaned in absolute disgust.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m done. Don’t talk to me.” he quickened his pace, knowing there was no way I could keep up with his long strides.
Mitchell didn’t go home. He trudged through the sand to Zoe and Rose’s hut, disappearing through the front door as soon as it opened. I didn’t really care. I was still flying high, exhilarated by my rare rush of courage. The feeling remained long after I arrived home. I sat on the floor, counting out the hundred dollar bills and stacking them in a neat pile, elated to confirm there was indeed an extra four hundred dollars in my bounty.
I, Charli Blake, had successfully crossed into the big leagues. I’d ripped off my very first gangsters.
The money was safely tucked away under the loose floorboard when Mitchell arrived home. He thumped down beside me on the beanbag, throwing me aside like a rag doll. I waited for him to speak first, unsure if he was still angry.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. You deserved it but I’m sorry. I’m not your keeper. It’s not my job to look after you.” His speech was obviously well rehearsed. He spoke slowly and precisely.