скачать книгу бесплатно
My stomach did that funny clawing feeling you get when you know that as soon as they mutter the next few words everything could change. Catrina was never one to beat around the bush but also lacked the tact to pull off any emotional conversations.
‘When you were off gallivanting on holiday you seemed to forget that a memory stick containing some sort of “mood” board was left on your desk,’ she seethed.
My mouth went dry. I had selected a few photos – OK, maybe a hundred – that I liked from the internet as inspiration to show to the wedding venue before the final checks were made. And yes, maybe I did turn it into a live mood board with special effects – and, oh yep, even a backing track. I’d grabbed a work USB stick and quickly copied everything across, before Catrina came back from a meeting and clocked me wasting work time again, but I must have forgotten to put it in my handbag to take home.
‘Unluckily for you, the temp covering your work, that stuck-up cow Dawn, found this stick whilst you were tanning yourself on holiday and got it mixed it up with her own usb for the presentation at today’s pitch meeting. So instead of bloody pie charts and graphs the overseas clients and the whole of the Board, including Mr Rivers, have seen frothy bridal images and Lionel bloody Ritchie blasting out.’
Crap. This wasn’t good.
I knew how slightly over the top I’d gone with the wedding montage, if you would call adding The Best of Lionel a little excessive. Looking at personal things in work time was bad, especially when this was the second time it had happened. I just found myself getting lost in wedding blogs on my lunch hour, losing track of the time until Catrina was stood watching over me, suffocating me in her heavy perfume, glowering at me with a furious scrunched-up face. I’d been given a verbal warning for this already but that time it had just affected Catrina, not the whole of the Board. Nope, really not good.
‘Oh God. I’m…I’m sure we can explain it all,’ I stuttered in shock.
‘Georgia – did all that cheap booze last week affect your brain cells?’ Catrina seethed.
My stomach lurched. I felt light-headed, the smell of a stranger’s vomit burnt my nostrils. ‘Catrina, I don’t know what to say. I am so sorry. Maybe if I speak to Mr Rivers and explain it was all my fault. I’ve been under a lot of stress planning the wedding, which didn’t actually happen, and–’
She let out a deep sigh crossed between boredom and amusement at hearing me begging for my job. ‘Georgia, it’s not going to be possible, I’ve given you enough chances to buck up your ideas and each time you throw them back in my face. So, you leave me no choice but to tell you that you’re fired.’
‘No, wait I…’ I babbled, desperately trying not to cry.
Then it dawned on me: I could try my hardest to apologise, get off this step and storm into the office, bin juice and all, demanding a chance to make this right and possibly keep my job. Or…what if I let fate work its magic, giving me a shove to freedom and into the unknown? The face of ‘R-ick’ laughing at my boring spirit flashed in front of my eyes; my mum’s voice entered my head telling me I could never be so adventurous and Alex’s patronising smile made my cheeks heat up.
Sat on that beach in Turkey I’d planned to quit my job anyway, so, yeah, this wasn’t anything like the scenes I’d imagined in which I’d leave to rapturous applause from my colleagues for my bravery and courage, not for unwittingly pitching 1001 Ways to Improve Your Wedding to important clients.
‘Georgia. Did you hear me?’ she shouted down the phone.
I made my decision.
‘Yep. Loud and clear. OK, well thanks for everything.’ My voice sounded high-pitched and wobbly.
‘OK?’ She paused, taken aback by my quick acceptance and lack of fight. ‘Well, right, good. So that’s that then. I’ll get your things couriered to your address.’
I hung up before I had the chance to tell her I no longer lived at my old address. Oh well, looks like Alex and Stephanie would be getting a bittersweet housewarming gift of post-it notes and some naff logo merchandise.
I pushed myself onto my feet and wandered down the busy high street buzzing with adrenalin, which lasted as far as Superdrug where suddenly the reality of what I’d done dawned on me. The reliable side of my conscience had a panic attack, shocked, as my other hidden, risky side looked on smirking. I was unemployed. I’d wreaked havoc in the travel agent’s, my ex was going to become a daddy and I stank of some stranger’s vomit. What had my life become?
CHAPTER 6 (#ulink_ae23244d-d857-55ca-827d-e9b94549f7b8)
Serendipity (n.) The chance occurrence of events in a beneficial way
I stumbled into a nearby Weatherspoon’s, ordered a pint of fruity cider and immediately dialled Marie’s number.
‘I can’t frigging believe it,’ Marie kept repeating as I filled her in on what had happened in the brat pack travel agency, Alex and Stephanie finding me in a compromising position with the council’s bins and how Lionel Ritchie had got me the sack.
‘It was mortifying.’ I closed my eyes, willing it from my brain before downing the rest of my glass, the super-sweet bubbles slipping down my throat way too easily for a Monday lunchtime.
‘You were clinging onto a rubbish bin? Oh God, Georgia.’
‘I know! I should never have gone into that stupid travel agent’s. I don’t even know what came over me in there. I just felt like I was sick of people laughing at me, like “Oh there she goes, that stupid jilted bride that says she wants to change her life but doesn’t have the faintest idea how to do anything right. Oh here she is, boring Georgia who didn’t even know her ex got some slapper up the duff. Oh wait, Miss Green, isn’t that the bridezilla with a penchant for Lionel Ritchie?”’ If there hadn’t been a queue of people behind me I would have face slapped the bar.
‘Oh stop it. No one will think that,’ Marie tutted. ‘So what was it like seeing Sir Knob of Knobsville? I don’t know how you could have even looked at him.’
I sighed. ‘It still hasn’t really sunk in, I guess. I was too paralysed with shock and shame to react properly. But the weird thing was, as unprepared as I was to see him, I didn’t get a rush of loving emotions – just a rush of humiliation at the situation. I didn’t really feel anything for him.’
‘That’s good, Georgia. You don’t need him and yeah, well, meeting your ex whilst draped over a stinking bin probably didn’t give off the clearest “I’m over you, my life is fabulous” message, but you’re just a bit lost, that’s all. Nobody’s life goes to plan, especially not one they found in a stupid magazine quiz.’
I smiled, I knew exactly what quiz she was talking about. One warm Summer day back when we were teens, weeks before the nightmare bunker incident, Marie and I were lying on the cool stubbly grass in her back garden, scribbling our answers to a trashy ‘What kind of life will you have?’ quiz I’d found in an old copy of my mum’s Woman’s Weekly magazine.
‘But this is stupid,’ Marie had moaned as I’d asked her about her dreams and aspirations, ‘I’m going to marry Ricky Martin; he just doesn’t know it yet.’
‘OK,’ I sighed, ‘so you run off to Puerto Rico to find him – then what?’
Marie rolled over to her back and shaded her eyes from the sun. ‘Well, I want to be married by the time I’m 22 and have had my first child by at least 24.’ We both shuddered at how ancient that sounded. ‘After that, I’ll become a world-famous actress and we’ll live in Hollywood with our three model-looking children.’
‘You’d better start paying attention in your Spanish classes then,’ I teased, picking dirt out of my fingernails.
‘Nah, we’ll speak the language of lurve,’ she smiled before pulling the quiz away roughly. ‘Right then, Miss Green, what’s your life plan going to be?’
My eyes lit up as I spoke: ‘I want to travel, to see more of life than what’s on our doorstep. Oh, and also to write. Being a travel journalist would be pretty cool. Imagine waking up in a different country every day and getting paid to tell the world what you’re seeing, eating and doing?’
‘Then you can write better quizzes than what’s in here,’ Marie smirked whacking me with the rolled up mag.
‘Look what happened to my plan!’ Marie exclaimed. ‘I never did get round to marrying Ricky Martin and definitely never thought I’d be a single mum, but even though Cole wasn’t part of my original plan, I couldn’t imagine how my life could be any better without him.’
‘To be fair, I don’t think you’re Ricky’s type.’ She laughed. ‘Well, I never got to be the next Judith Chalmers,’ I sighed thinking of my unloved passport. ‘I guess I hadn’t realised how fast life passes you by. One minute you’re fresh-faced, taking the first job you’re offered, convinced it will be a springboard for better things to come, then the next, you’re older, settled and saggy,’ I said sadly, just as an unshaved old man waddled past holding a pint of bitter before hacking up a load of phlegm into a mucky handkerchief.
‘It’s easily done, babe.’ Marie paused. ‘OK, I’m going to be real with you for a second, and don’t get mad. I hadn’t wanted to say anything because, you know, the whole not getting married thing, but actually, hun, you’ve changed. Going away with you last week reminded me what the real Georgia was like. Not the one who fusses over Alex, who stresses about table runners and ruddy place mats. Not the one who checks the weather to see if they can put their washing out rather than if it’s hot enough to head to a beer garden, not the one who pretends to enjoy eating kale and drinking pomegranate juice. You never used to be like that, but over time you’ve changed. So maybe you did get lost along the way, but now it’s like you’ve been given a ticket to start again, to reinvent yourself and do exactly what you want. Not go along with what Alex likes, or follow Catrina’s direction, but actually think: what does Georgia Green want to do?’
‘I guess,’ I mumbled tearing the moist edges of the beer mats in front of me. She was right, about all of it. Kale is bloody nasty.
‘I’m serious hun, if I was in your situation, but obviously minus a child, then I’d be out of here faster than when Big Claire orders her kebab at closing time. The world is your oyster. Go and grab it by the pearly balls!’
*
‘Oh hello, I’ll be with you in just one tic. Oh you silly bugger just work!’ A woman was wrestling with an ancient printer almost half her petite size. Papers were strewn everywhere and a strange gurgling noise was blaring from the knackered machine. ‘This is why I write everything down. Don’t trust these impetuous things. You know where you are with a paper and pen.’ She ran a wrinkled hand through her grey hair, flattening down loose strands that had formed a halo in the dust-particled light streaming through the window.
I’d taken Marie’s advice and left the pub having googled nearby travel agents, one I hopefully wouldn’t be humiliated in. ‘Have you changed the ink recently?’ I suggested stepping over documents flung on the floor to get a closer look. ‘We used to have the same model at work and all it needed was a good whack. Like this.’ Without thinking I thumped down hard on the lid. It wheezed to life then began churning out copies like brand new.
‘Oh my days. Thank you so much. Do you know how long I’ve been faffing with this? Turning it on and off again, trying different paper and I never once thought to do that.’ She beamed a genuine heartfelt smile at me.
‘No problem. Glad to be of service.’
‘So now that’s working, I can properly introduce myself and make you a cup of tea, the least I can do for saving my sanity!’ She wiped her hands on her trousers and came round from behind the desk, cautiously placing her pale pink court shoes amongst the carpet of paper between us. ‘Welcome to Making Memories. Owner, explorer and technology-phobe Trisha at your service! How can I help you?’ She stuck her ink-splatted hand out to me.
This small slightly sweating woman was a world away from the intimidating chimps at the other travel agency. Trisha was more like someone’s grandma. In fact, how had she not yet retired? Her cotton wool-coloured hair was loosely pulled into a low chignon and gold necklaces jangled against her crinkly tanned neck. She was wearing a smart trouser suit with a name badge and smelled like incense and sun lotion.
I shook Trisha’s hand and smiled down at her. ‘Hi. Georgia. Wannabe backpacker, gherkin hater and printer fixer who would love a brew,’ I said gratefully.
‘Coming right up! Eurgh I hate gherkins too, why ruin a perfectly good burger by plonking slimy bogey-coloured strips on the top?’
‘Exactly!’
Trisha smiled. ‘Oh, and please excuse the mess, usually there are two of us here but Deidre’s had to take some time off. To be honest I’m not sure if she’s coming back. Her son’s just had a baby you see, a little girl, so now it’s babies rather than brochures,’ she chuckled. ‘I’m so pleased for her but I could probably do with another pair of hands around the place, especially where modern technology is involved.’ She laughed lightly, awkwardly hiding some dirty mugs behind a framed picture of a handsome young man grinning by the Empire State Building. ‘I guess it’s good to keep busy though. Right, now for tea.’
Even though this shop had a prime position just off the packed high street, I’d walked past it every day not giving it a glance. It was a beautiful old room. I remember my dad telling me that there used to be an old bank on this street, I guess a few of these smaller shops must have been born from spare bank rooms when it moved location. Looking past the messy stacks of paper, a striking ornate marble fireplace drew my eyes, my feet sank into the faded, thick plum-coloured rug that partially covered decorative floor tiles, and large lanterns hung from the high ceiling that was iced with gilt trim carvings. So grand, for such a small travel agent’s.
Apart from the stacks of bright, glossy brochures the rest of the room was dark, muted colours with a weathered world map above the fireplace and an ancient-looking globe standing proudly in the corner. A melodic tune emanated from some hidden speakers; it sounded aboriginal and enchanting.
Trisha noticed me tilting my head to listen. ‘It’s from a remote Botswanian tribe I stumbled across when I visited the country many years ago. The bushmen from the Kalahari Desert performed at this tiny camp I was sleeping in for the night and their voices, rhythms and unusual dance moves were nothing like you would find down the local discotheque back home. I just fell into a trance and persuaded the tribesman to let me tape them on my Dictaphone. It’s not the best quality, but it takes me back.’
‘I’ve never heard anything like it,’ I admitted, as Trisha returned to making the tea, humming along.
Brochures on a walnut bookcase were meticulously separated into areas – exactly how I would have placed them, with European breaks at the top followed by Russia, China, Asia, Africa, the Americas, Australia and New Zealand and even Antarctic brochures. Trisha had the whole world covered here. My fingers reached out instantly to a South East Asia brochure. I lazily flicked through pages of colour from Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand, each exotic image drawing me in.
‘You take milk and sugar, love?’ Trisha called out, making me pop the brochure back on the shelf nervously.
‘Just milk please.’
‘Ah, sweet enough are you?’ She smiled, repeating my dad’s favourite catchphrase.
‘Yeah, something like that,’ I grinned and padded over to the far wall that was covered in postcards from all over the world. Must be from happy clients, I thought, absently picking one that had dropped to the floor and turning it over. ‘Greetings from Uganda! You were right Trish, the tilapia is incredible here. Who knew I’d be choosing fish over greasy kebabs, how things have changed hey! Having an incredible time. It’s hard work getting around this beautiful country, especially in the heat, but it is so worthwhile. Hope all is good with you and you’re following the doctors’ orders? Love Stevie x’
‘Ah, most of those are from Stevie, he’s such an adventurer,’ Trisha said warmly. I quickly put the card back on the wall, flushed from reading her personal messages. Who was Stevie and why did Trisha need to be following doctors’ orders? I thought she seemed quite sprightly, albeit a little tired-looking.
A liver-spotted hand passed over a cup of tea, breaking my thoughts. Beckoning me to sit on the sofa with her, Trisha explained that she’d picked up the beautiful emerald green teacups in Iran eighteen years earlier. Sat close up Trisha didn’t look like your typical explorer; there were no stuffed animals hung on the walls, none of those round brown hats you imagine adventurers wearing or rifle guns proudly displayed. She looked like she would be more at home watching Bargain Hunt rather than bartering for crockery in an exotic eastern market.
‘Your shop’s beautiful, how long have you had this place?’ I waved my hand around the mysterious room, taking in the heavy aubergine velvet drapes hung majestically at the windows and a large sumptuous chandelier casting droplets of golden light from its vertical glass shards. It was a mix of safari meets Moroccan boudoir.
‘Ah, this is my baby,’ Trisha beamed as if seeing the room for the first time. ‘Never got round to having children of my own as me and my wonderful late husband Fred spent most of our time globetrotting. When we finally settled in Manchester I’d unfortunately missed that boat. His health wasn’t in the best condition back then so we used every penny we had to buy this place and focused our energies here.’
‘It’s a stunning space; you must actually enjoy coming to work here every day?’ A world away from my nondescript desk in the ugly grey office building I used to work at.
‘I truly love it and have been very blessed to have loyal clients help me, but I’m not getting any younger and the day will soon come when all this gets passed on to my godson, Stevie.’ She nodded towards the collection of postcards. ‘He’s about your age and just one of the few family members I have left.’ She rubbed her neck, wincing slightly. ‘He’s always sending me postcards from the countries he travels to, mostly on work trips. We have a lot of itchy feet in our family if you know what I mean!’
‘Athlete’s foot?’ I asked.
Trisha let out a long chuckle. ‘No dear, I mean that our feet itch to be on the move. To travel. That’s why sometimes I worry that when my time is up Stevie will struggle to cope with staying in one place indefinitely. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good boy, but exactly like his mother was when she was his age, always looking for the next challenge and country to discover. I don’t think he’s lived in one town for longer than a year, keeps you on your toes our Stevie!’
God, this guy sounded like the polar opposite of Alex, who wouldn’t have moved to turn off the television if he’d lost the remote. Imagine leading such an exciting and fun life, always on the road, travelling all over the world. I could understand why the poor lad didn’t want to come rushing to Manchester to help his godmother’s business, it would be such a comedown.
‘I saw you earlier actually, running with a handful of brochures from those idiots up the road. I wanted to open my door and shout out for you to come in here as I was certain you wouldn’t find what you were looking for in that noisy, childish place. They should be ashamed, being so dismissive of anyone who isn’t 18 years old, doesn’t look like them or is only clutching pocketful’s of Daddy’s money on some sort of enriching gap year,’ Trisha said before breaking into a laugh. ‘Ha! The only thing those kids will be learning is how to get out of a Bali jail after being caught with marijuana on them. They think that traveling is just risking their lives, livers and futures for a jaunt around Asia with their eyes completely closed to the beauty and hospitality that receives them. But you – you remind me of me when I was your age.’
I spilled a little of my tea. ‘Oh, erm, really?’
‘Now, of course I don’t know you, but I don’t think you do either. That can be confusing, scary but also exhilarating.’ She had a point. ‘Over the years I’ve become pretty adept at understanding others; you need to, if you want to see the world. You also have to understand that everyone has a story and many of those stay hidden unless you really look for them.’ She sipped her tea. ‘So, have you just finished work for the day?’
‘I got fired.’ The words tasted bitter in my mouth.
‘Ah, I see. I’ve also noticed you’re not wearing a ring on an important finger and I look into your eyes and see a sadness, so I’m guessing there has been some recent mess-up in the love department?’ I fidgeted slightly, almost getting swallowed up on this cloud of a sofa. ‘You want to make changes in your life, but are scared of what these will mean, both to you and others around you.’
‘Yeah, something like that.’ She was right, of course. After I gave Trisha a much shortened story, as apparently I was sat with ‘Mystic Meg’, she rose and handed me the South East Asia brochure – the one I’d previously picked up myself.
‘It sounds like you’re new at this game, so I don’t want to fling you in some Outer Mongolian goat shed. Not just yet, anyway,’ she smiled, taken back to some distant memory. By the look on her face I thought maybe I did want to stay in some stinky goat shed.
‘I think Thailand would be perfect for you. They mostly speak English; it’s a country full of joy, charm and smiles. Just what you need to be around at the moment. It has beaches, jungles, metropolitan cities and the capital, Bangkok, is a place I’d advise anyone to go at least once in their life.’
‘That does sound pretty great.’ I thought back to my travel wish-list that I’d hastily unscrunched from my wastepaper bin, mentally checking things off: ride an elephant, laze on white sandy beaches, get some culture and visit temples. The images shining from the sleek pages were so tempting. Suddenly my mum’s shrill tones clanged in my head: Who would help me if I got sick? What if someone tried to drug me, or even worse, force me to become a drugs mule?
Trisha must have sensed my hesitation: ‘For the first-time traveller it can all feel a bit overwhelming, so why don’t we look at joining you onto a tour group? That way you’ll be with people in similar situations to yours; maybe first-timers or nervous about solo travel, but you also have the safety and ease of the trip being planned for you?’
I hadn’t even thought about that as an option. ‘Yeah, I reckon that could work,’ I smiled, giving Trisha the date I wanted to leave – basically as soon as possible – and she began tapping at a clunky keyboard.
‘Let me see… I think all my popular Thailand tours are booked up as it’s so last-minute. Looking at your dates of travel and discounting geriatric retirees, the only one I could book you on is this one.’ Her printer spluttered into life, acting as if it had always been so efficient. ‘It’s a family-owned business and will hopefully open your eyes to the world.’
The itinerary consisted of Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Kanchanaburi, and island-hopping, with organised visits to temples, street markets, cooking classes, language school and paradise beaches. ‘It sounds perfect,’ I breathed, noticing the uneasy look on Trisha’s face as she chewed her bottom lip. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing, nothing. The accommodation isn’t going to be 5-star luxury and at times it may feel far from home, especially after everything you’ve told me you’ve been through. My advice would be to keep your mind open and if it all gets too much then you must head to the Blue Butterfly Huts on this island here.’ She pointed to an ant-sized speck in the ocean off the larger Koh Phangan island called Koh Lanta. ‘They’ll look after you.’
An hour, nearly a full pack of biscuits and a few more cups of tea later, we had everything finalised; I was booked onto the six-week tour leaving in ten days! I didn’t want to worry about what I’d do once that was over and I was back here again. Stop trying to make plans for the future and just, for once, go with the flow. Trisha helped me apply for a fast-tracked Thai visa, sorted my travel insurance, booked me in for a few immunisations and gave me a list of all the things I needed to buy and pack. My cheeks were hurting from smiling; there was no going back now.
OM effing G! Georgia Green was going travelling.
CHAPTER 7 (#ulink_0fabc2c8-de88-5a18-9219-d5b4c9d6d05f)
Eleutheromania (n.) An intense and irresistible desire for freedom
This evening was my leaving party, and also the first time I’d seen my mum since our slight disagreement over the phone last week when I’d come clean about my travel plans.
‘Georgia Louise Green.’ Oh God. She’d full-named me. ‘Why, when I called your work phone, did some rude woman tell me you’d been fired?’
I was transported back to being 11 years old, to when I’d accidently broken two of my mum’s china dogs that stood proudly on each end of the mantelpiece. I’d been dancing slightly too energetically to the Spice Girls album, trying to perfect Sporty Spice’s high kick, when my heel took out the left dog. In an effort to hide the evidence, I figured my mum would be less likely to notice if both were smashed and hidden in the bin. Genius logic. What I forgot was that my mum has the nose of a bloodhound sniffing out any change in her surroundings. I’d been grounded for a week and had to save a month’s worth of pocket money to replace them.
‘I haven’t been fired, no I, erm, quit,’ I replied, hoping she was sat down. OK so that was only a half-truth but I needed to rein in some control over this messy situation called my life.
‘What?!’ My mum’s shrill tones screamed down the line, forcing me to hold the phone away from my ear.
‘I need to have a change of scene and get out of Manchester for a while. You know I wasn’t happy in my job and it wasn’t going anywhere, so I quit.’ I felt like I was being interrogated over the china dogs all over again. Where did you put its right paw? What happened to its left ear?
‘I’d hoped this hoity-toity lady was wrong and this was all a misunderstanding.’ She paused, collecting her thoughts. ‘So what are you going to do? Please tell me you have another job lined up?’
‘I’m going to travel.’ I didn’t wait for her reaction as I continued, feeling braver with every word. ‘I’ve bought a plane ticket to Thailand. I’m going to go and see the world, Mum.’ There was silence on the other end of the phone, punctuated by a deep sigh.
‘Oh, Georgia. I thought you said all that was just a silly game you played with Marie, not that you were going to go and actually do it! I understand you’ve been through the wringer, but gallivanting off is not the answer. You can’t run away from the past. It will always find you.’
‘Mum, I’m not running from but running to. I’m changing my life. Surely you want me to be happy? And I really think by going out there to see the world, I will be,’ I said, full of confidence and a little bit of fear, having never been so forward with her before.
‘But…but how on earth will you survive? You’ve never done anything on your own!’
