Pieces of My Life

‘I’d really love to—’ I start to answer back, just as I see Harry coming round to our side of the table, his whole face lit up in a warm smile as he looks at me. He comes up behind my chair and wraps his arms around my shoulders, leaning in to whisper in my ear, ‘Sorry I went a bit crazy outside, babe.’ He rests a soft kiss on my cheek. ‘I was just worried something could happen to you.’

I let him kiss me and squeeze his hand back, despite the undercurrent of unease running through me and the man’s voice still ringing in my ears, saying ‘Hello, Fernandez family?’ When we’re alone, and sober, I will ask him about it, I promise myself.

‘Kirsty was just asking about my work with prisoners,’ Gabi says, before I can stop her. ‘I was telling her that if she wanted we could—’

‘Oh God, woman, you’re obsessed!’ Harry is rolling his eyes and chuckling. ‘Stop talking about depressing stuff like that!’ He straightens up and reaches for his beer.

‘Actually, how long are you guys going to stick around?’ Gabi asks. ‘Because the same couple I told you about, they have a really big apartment and are trying to rent out a part of it. It’s joined on to their house but completely self-contained. Would be perfect for you if you’re thinking of staying here a while.’

I reply ‘Oh, thanks, but we don’t know how long we’ll be around’ at exactly the same time Harry says ‘Great! How much is the rent?’

There’s an awkward silence, and I turn to stare at Harry, raising my eyebrows at him in question. The plan had been to stay in Quito for a week or so, maybe use it as a base to explore the rest of the country… but rent somewhere?

‘It might be worth it, babe,’ he murmurs to me, sitting back down beside me again. ‘Cheaper than staying in hotels, and if they’re willing to let it to us for a short time…’

I don’t get the chance to consider this further, as a loud shriek from the other side of the bar makes us all jump and turn to stare.

‘Hey, YOU LOT!’

It’s Gemma, waving her empty glass and indicating the bar. ‘Come on, what you all drinking? It’s time to get another round in!’

***

By the time we stumble back into our colourful little ‘habitation’ – as Ray would say – it’s nearly morning.

Harry falls asleep immediately, spread out fully clothed on top of the giant patchwork bed, his snores reaching to where I’ve positioned myself on the balcony to watch the sun rise. The drinks have worn off and I’m restlessly awake. I realise it must be late morning in the UK. That, combined with my marathon snooze from earlier – or should I say, from yesterday – makes any thought of sleep impossible now.

I stand and watch the city by night, stunned by the beauty of the twinkling lights on the high mountains around and above me, and by the silence. All I can hear is a stray dog barking in the distance or the occasional car pass by. If this were central London there would be ceaseless noise and activity in the street outside, even at this hour.

Standing alone in a place so unfamiliar, the enormity of what we’ve done really hits me. I won’t see England again for three months. I have no idea what the next few days, let alone weeks or months, will hold for us. The feeling of uncertainty, of adventure, of the future stretching out before me like an expanse of untrodden snow, is strangely liberating. But even so, beneath that, a feeling of unease niggles at me. Who had Harry been talking to, and could it be linked to his distracted behaviour leading up to our departure?

The sun rises so suddenly it’s as if someone simply switched a light on over the city. There are a few moments of eerie grey light, then bright sunshine. With it comes an immediate stream of cars and people and noise, appearing so out of the blue it’s as if they had been hiding behind the buildings waiting to pop out. I’d read that, due to its location right at the centre of the earth, the sun rises and sets in Quito at roughly the same time the whole year round, with none of the long, lingering sunsets or gradual dawns of a place further from the equator. I’d never imagined what it would be like to experience that in person, though.

I realise I’m hungry, but can’t decide whether it is for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Right on queue there’s a knock on the door.

It’s Ray, bearing two steaming mugs of coffee and his usual broad smile, although slightly subdued today. ‘How are your heads this morning, guys?’ he asks, handing us each a mug.

The smell of coffee seems to revive Harry enough for him to haul himself up on to his elbows and sip from the mug as if it contained the elixir of life.

‘I feel fine, actually,’ I say quietly, realising at the same time, ‘but I don’t remember much after about eleven p.m.’

‘Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything serious to embarrass yourself,’ Ray winks at me.

‘Well, actually you did keep on asking to touch Gabriela’s belly…’ Harry pipes up, obviously finding it tremendously amusing, ‘…and going on about the miracle of life or something, every time you felt the baby kicking.’

Oh no. I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours and will already be getting a reputation as the next Single White Female.

Ray sees the humiliation on my face and says gently: ‘It didn’t bother her. She enjoyed talking to you about babies. Don’t stress.’

I smile at him gratefully.

‘But you!’ Ray turns his attention to Harry. ‘Well done, pal – I can’t believe on your first day here you managed to land—’

I watch Ray’s facial expression change from the usual smile to dawning horror, and whip round just in time to catch Harry sitting bolt upright, making panicked, wide-eyed waving gestures at him.

‘Managed to land what?’ I ask, feeling like I used to as a small child when my parents would talk in broken French to avoid my finding out what my Christmas present was. Except something tells me the secret being kept here is far less innocent than a Polly Pocket playhome or Thundercats action figure.

The changing expressions on Ray’s face would be comical, in any other circumstances. Confusion rapidly giving way to horror as all the colour drains from his cheeks and leaves him looking like he wants to cut out his own tongue. ‘Land… er… land in Quito at such high altitude and go out drinking with us, but still wake up fresh as a lemon!’ Relief floods his face as he internally congratulates himself on covering up whatever it was he said to put his foot in it.

Except he hasn’t. I don’t believe a word of it. And Harry certainly doesn’t look fresh as a ‘lemon’ today, or any other fruit, plant or animal that may be the local term.

‘How do you do it, pal?’ Ray continues, oblivious. ‘Transatlantic flight… all those cocktails…’

‘Thank you, Ray.’ Harry’s tone is suddenly cool as he cuts in. ‘I think I’ll take a shower now. So… we’ll come downstairs for breakfast in a bit?’

Ray recognises he has been dismissed and backs out of the room, holding his hands up.

‘Thank you for the coffee,’ I manage before he disappears.

There is an uncomfortable silence. ‘What was all that about?’ I ask.

Harry runs his hands through his hair and hauls himself to his feet. Distractedly, I notice the dark circles under his eyes and the lines that form when he frowns. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you yet. I wanted to see what happened. But…’

An irrational blast of panic jolts through me, and for a split second I imagine what it would be like if Harry broke up with me now. Left me all alone here in Ecuador. I’d have to book an early flight home and get Mum to pick me up from Heathrow. I wouldn’t even have a house to go back to, as I wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage on my own, so it would get repossessed immediately and I’d be back in Mum’s spare room, living out of a suitcase, turning up back at work three months early… my life would be OVER.

Wait – what the HELL are you thinking? I ask myself. Of course he’s not going to break up with me. We’re Harry and Kirsty, we’ve been together five years. We have a mortgage. We have a three-month sabbatical. We decided to do this together.

Oblivious to my irrational moment of panic, Harry continues: ‘So you know Luke from last night – the Brummy guy – dreadlocks? He offered me some work at his language school.’

I stare at him, feeling wrong-footed yet again.

‘Some… work? But… you’ve already got a job. You asked for time off from it, to come here. I don’t understand.’

My hangover unexpectedly makes its presence known with a lurch of nausea and wave of dizziness. I sit down abruptly on the end of the bed, rubbing my eyes. ‘What do you want a job here in Ecuador for? We’re supposed to be travelling.’

‘Yes, of course, but… Luke’s offer last night made me think. This seems like a cool place, and what harm can there be in sticking around here for a bit? You know, get to know Quito, find a proper place to stay. We could even rent that apartment from Gabi’s friends like she said last night? So we’re not just living in hotels…’

But that’s the whole point of going travelling, I think. You move around and stay in hotels and see different places.

‘… and it’s not like a permanent fixed contract or anything. They just really need someone to help out with the beginners’ English classes. It’s just for a few weeks or so, a month at most… because a teacher had to go back to the USA suddenly last week for a family issue. They’re offering good money, as they really need someone to stand in.’

I stare at my boyfriend across our hotel room, and for the second time in the last month wonder how we could spend every day together yet sometimes operate on such completely planes of existence.

‘But… you’ve got savings. We talked about this, worked it all out. We’ve got enough to last us the three months, if we’re careful, then you have a well-paid job waiting for you when we get back in June. I don’t understand why you would need to think about earning money out here?’

Harry is looking down at his empty coffee mug, swilling the dregs around in the bottom, seemingly unable to meet my eyes.

‘Don’t you like Ecuador?’ he eventually mutters.

‘Harry, we’ve been here twenty-four hours! Yes, of course I like it, but…’ My voice trails off as I think of my travel folder, full of ideas and potential, already unpacked and resting on top of my backpack just waiting to be opened and explored.

‘Well, there you go then.’ He’s smiling at me and getting out of bed and walking towards the bathroom as if that’s the subject settled. ‘People always say you experience a country and its culture much more vividly from the inside… when you actually live there for a while. And we’re not committing to anything, right? I’ll teach a few hours a week and we’ll still have plenty of time together… we could go to the beach? The jungle?’ His voice takes on a pleading tone.

‘I want to go to the Galápagos Islands, and Angel Falls,’ I mutter.

‘And you will, Kirst… we’ll go everywhere you want. Let’s just take a little bit of time here first, okay? Settle down a bit, get used to things, save some more money… Luke asked me to go and see the school on Friday. If it doesn’t work out then we’ll move on. I promise.’ He’s standing in front of me now, peering earnestly into my eyes and stroking the side of my face with his thumb.

Settle down a bit. We’ve been ‘settling down’ – without really actually settling down – for the last five years. With the idea of this trip, Harry woke up the adventurous spirit in me. I had just started to get into the mind-set of a wandering backpacker, albeit temporarily… and now he’s talking about settling down.

‘Just for a few weeks… it won’t be that much longer than we’d planned on spending in Quito anyway, I promise,’ Harry continues. Looking back at his earnest face and pleading blue eyes, I realise this seems to be something really important to him. Perhaps, in the way I’ve been seeking volunteer opportunities, using his teaching skills in an exotic setting is something Harry needs in order to really make the most of this experience.

And if he does this, it would give me time to get involved with the prison volunteering, I realise. Perhaps staying in Quito a little longer than planned wouldn’t be such a bad idea…

‘One month,’ I hear myself saying. ‘One month tops, okay? I don’t want to spend any longer than that in one place, otherwise we won’t have time to fit in all the other things we’ve already agreed to do. We had planned to visit two other countries as well. And I am not missing out on those places.’

‘Amazing, babe!’ Harry enthuses. ‘I knew you’d understand. Spending some more time here will really help us get a true feel for the place, experience the country from the inside, do you know what I mean?’ He leans down and kisses me, acutely reminding me of the conversation only weeks ago in which he’d convinced me so utterly to embark on this venture with him – blindly, trustingly. Except, this time, it’s going to be slightly different…

I stare levelly back at Harry, and take a deep breath. ‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean,’ I reply, not completely recognising the new, firm tone in my voice. ‘And that’s why, if we’re going to stay in Quito for a few weeks, I’ve decided I’m going to do some volunteer work. Visiting prisoners.’

I watch the smile slowly fade from Harry’s face.

Bet you weren’t expecting THAT.

‘But… are you serious? Isn’t that a bit… dangerous?’ He’s frowning at me with a truly confused expression.

‘No, it’s quite safe,’ I tell him, wishing I felt as certain as I sound. ‘Gabriela told me all about it last night. They go in with proper authorisation from the prison authorities, it’s all official. And it’s something I want to do.’

The confusion on Harry’s face deepens. ‘Babe… are you sure? This just doesn’t seem like… like you. I mean, no offence, but at home you don’t even like going downstairs to lock up and turn the lights off on your own. Now you’re talking about going inside a prison? A place full of dangerous people?’ He forces a chuckle, but I keep my expression serious.

‘Maybe it is like me,’ I say, feeling increasingly filled with a new form of determination. ‘Actually, I was already researching various types of volunteering out here to possibly get involved in. If not here, then Peru or Venezuela… there’s loads out there. And this, now, seems like the perfect opportunity.’

‘Volunteering is one thing, babe, I’m all up for that, but… prisons?’ Harry is still staring at me as if I’ve just popped up in the middle of the room inside a time machine.

‘It’s my condition,’ I say firmly, turning away from him and walking over to the balcony to indicate the conversation is closed. ‘If you want to stay in Quito a few more weeks and work at this language school, fine – but I’m going to help Gabi with her prisoners.’

Harry is silent for so long, I start to wonder if he’s heard me. I stare out at the vast expanse of mountains and unexplored city stretching out below us, hardly daring to breathe. Eventually I turn to look back at him, and see he hasn’t moved from the spot, and is staring at me with the same baffled expression as before, rubbing his hand over his hair in a familiar sign of stress.

‘I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so determined to do this,’ he finally says, grumpily.

‘You don’t have to understand,’ I say calmly, stepping past him towards the bathroom. ‘But you do have to support me. Now, I’m going to have a shower.’

As the bathroom door closes on Harry’s still-bewildered expression and the hot water streams down around me, I feel a churn of different emotions. A sense of triumph at having put my foot down and imposed some conditions of my own on this whole venture. Mixed with a healthy dose of nervousness at the thought of actually going through with the idea of visiting the prisons – now I’ve said it to Harry, I will simply have to do it.

Too scared to go downstairs and lock up for the night – pah! I’ll show him…

But underneath all this I also feel a deeper unease, a sense of misgiving about Harry and me that I have not ever fully admitted to myself before. If we’ve only been here a day and are already talking at cross purposes over our plans for this trip… what do the next three months hold for us? Surely it shouldn’t be necessary to negotiate, to lay down conditions to your own boyfriend about a mutual adventure?

Going abroad won’t solve anything, you know. My father’s voice bursts unbidden into my mind.

Determinedly I block him out again. Dad knows virtually nothing about my life, so how could he comment on my relationship with Harry?

If he was even talking about my relationship with Harry?

It’s not that by agreeing to go travelling with Harry I wanted to solve anything… but somehow I had felt that if we left our old life behind for a while we would draw closer together again, realign on the same wavelength.

I close my eyes and let the water stream over my face, holding on to the sense of strength, of conviction, that filled me just now when I told Harry I was going to volunteer with the prisoners. A feeling, I realise in an instant, that I’m not going to let anyone take away from me.

Chapter Five

‘Here we are!’ Gabi pulls up her clunky old Chevrolet and turns to smile at me in the back. Harry, in the passenger seat, has his eyes closed. ‘This is Liza and Roberto’s house.’

My heart starts to pound in excitement as I look up at the modest, yellow-painted, box-like house standing before us among a row of similar, colourful houses in this narrow, pot-holed side street. A few minutes from now, not only will we meet our potential new landlords, but also – far more excitingly – I’ll finally be able to find out more about the prison volunteering.

We’re only about fifteen minutes from Casa Hamaca but I’ve watched the bustling town centre give way to quieter, residential surroundings. Now we’re parked in a narrow side street, lined either side with more of the box-like, tumbling apartment buildings we saw in the city outskirts on the drive from the airport. Some are well cared for and neatly painted, others faded and stained with graffiti, while others are still bare concrete blocks with ugly corrugated iron roofs. A reflection, I suppose, of the varying economic circumstances of their owners. As we step out of the car into the blazing sunshine, I find myself marvelling again at how almost all of Quito is built on some degree of slope. We seem to be about halfway down one side of a steep valley – like gradient seats in the cinema, our road is just one of many parallel lines scarring the side of the hill. It has taken five minutes of bumpy downhill driving, during which Gabi has surprised me by unleashing a series of colourful Spanish swear words, before a sharp left turn brings us on to one of the narrow streets branching off to the side.

Harry is rubbing his eyes and looking around him.

‘You okay?’ I reach for his hand as we follow Gabi a few feet down the road.

‘Gnnnrgh. Yeah. Just didn’t sleep too well last night.’

As Gabi stops outside one of the better-cared-for buildings and presses the buzzer beside a heavy iron door, I search Harry’s face and realise how tired he looks. His usually alert blue eyes have heavy shadows under them and there are some new frown lines on his forehead.

‘It’s just the altitude.’ He smiles down at me and squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t forget we are over two thousand metres above sea level. I think a lot of people find it hard to sleep here to begin with.’

I’d almost forgotten about the altitude. Climbing stairs is a bit harder than usual, but it certainly hasn’t stopped me sleeping. In fact, after staggering my way through the first two days of horrendous jetlag, I feel more energised than ever, thanks to the constant supply of fresh, delicious food and perfect weather.

Needless to say, Harry’s trial teaching day at the English school went well, and he came back raving about how laid-back everything was and how they let him use art materials as part of the English classes for adults. I haven’t even seen the school yet, but Dreadlocked Luke has stopped by Casa Hamaca several times (notably, only when the bar is open) and also raved about what a great job Harry is doing and how grateful he is for the last-minute help.

The problem is there doesn’t seem to be any particular schedule, with Harry being called in to work every day for either a few hours in the morning or the afternoon, usually at the last minute. So, after nearly a whole week in Quito, we haven’t been able to plan any trips or visits anywhere. Almost all my free time has been spent with Ray and Gabi, who have naturally taken on the role of friends as well as hosts in the few days we have spent at Casa Hamaca. On Harry’s first day at the school, Ray took me to the top of the Pichincha volcano, one of the imposing peaks surrounding Quito and after which the whole province is named. We stood at the top and took panoramic photos of the city spread out before us, legs trembling and pulses racing from the nearly 4,000-metre altitude, then rode the dizzying cable car back down the mountainside, where Gabi was happily devouring a large ice-cream sundae while waiting for us in the café at the bottom.

Every morning they have invited me into the back room of the hotel for a coffee and some form of homemade local treat – yesterday it was llanpingachos, the impossible-to-pronounce fried potato cakes typical of the mountain region, the day before pristiños, sugary deep-fried types of mini doughnut. After the first few days I stopped thinking about calories or cholesterol and just tucked happily into the colourful, delicious, horrifyingly fattening food.

I would have preferred to spend more time with Harry, of course – especially in moments like seeing the sun set from the top of Pichincha and riding the cable car – but I keep telling myself we’ve only just got here, and he’s only doing this job temporarily. Harry’s weird phone call is there at the back of my mind all the time, too – like a tiny splinter in your finger, aggravating enough for you to know it’s there, but not enough to make you want to prod around and sort it out… yet.

Gabi reaches out to press the door buzzer again, turning to smile apologetically.

‘Sorry about this. Sometimes they’re a bit…’ She doesn’t finish her sentence, but makes a ‘crazy’ gesture and rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, and they don’t speak a word of English…’

What? Oh no… we’ll have to communicate solely in Spanish…

I don’t have much time to dwell on this unnerving prospect, because we hear a woman’s voice cry out from inside, in perfect Quiteño dialect:

‘They’re here! It’s them!’

Then a man, in a lower, measured tone: ‘Calm down woman, we don’t want them to think we’re completely—’

The female voice replies shrilly: ‘But they’re early! We haven’t even finished the packing up yet!’

Back to the man again, sounding irritated now: ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, it doesn’t matter, just open the—’

Suddenly the door swings open. Standing before us is a tall, stern-looking man dressed in a smart grey suit, which matches the last tufts of hair clinging on behind his ears. Beside him is the owner of the female voice, as short and dumpy as her husband is tall and stately. She’s wearing heels, smart trousers and a bright-red poncho swathing her upper body, her jet-black (presumably dyed) hair in short, neat curls, and bright-red lipstick to match the poncho. They both look about sixty-something and very formal. I cast a glance at Harry’s saggy jeans, ancient SuperDry T-shirt and scruffy hair, and even my own cut-off trousers and plain top, and feel a sharp twinge of embarrassment. Not to mention nerves at the imminent requirement to speak Spanish properly for the first time since we arrived.

No one else seems to have noticed any of this, as the woman has already propelled herself forward to envelop Gabi in tight hug, crying ‘Gabriela, sweetheart!’ and planting an enthusiastic lipstick stain on her cheek.