Paper Chains Page 4

  India linked an arm through Hannah’s and led her through the crowds and down some steps to a paved area overlooking the river.

  ‘Got the feeling you were getting a bit claustrophobic in there,’ India said, hoping she didn’t sound too accusatory, because what she really wanted to say was ‘Lighten up!!’ Instead, she continued, ‘Thought you could use a bit of fresh air.’

  ‘Thanks. Sorry, your new friends are lovely. I’m just not so good at meeting people and making conversation with strangers.’

  ‘You met me. Became my friend. I like you.’ India listed these things off matter-of-factly despite the niggling voice at the back of her head that was whispering, At least I think I like you, but I tell you what, you’re making it difficult, girl.

  ‘Yeah and I still don’t get that,’ Hannah responded immediately. ‘You’re not the sort of person I’m usually friends with. Not in a bad way,’ she added in a rush. ‘I just mean . . . well to be honest, I don’t generally have friends at all, haven’t for a long time anyway.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Not sure really. I guess I just forgot how to make friends. I moved halfway through high school, and when I changed schools, I lost all my old friends. The girls at the new school didn’t like me and from then I was just never any good at meeting new people, apart from guys. For some reason dating I could do – just not making friends.’

  Ahh, so this explains her social awkwardness, to an extent anyway. ‘Why, Hannah, I do believe we’re getting somewhere.’ India smiled mysteriously at her.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, you’re starting to give me some honest answers, my girl. It’s very exciting. Progress!’ She shot her fist up in the air in a triumphant gesture.

  Hannah gave her a startled look. ‘Umm, honest answers?’ she croaked nervously. ‘What makes you think I haven’t been truthful with you before now?’

  India laughed. ‘Oh, sweetheart, don’t fret. I could just tell that most of the things you’ve been telling me have been bullshit so far. Like the marathon that you’re supposedly training for. Ha. Call me perceptive. It’s okay, I don’t mind. You have your reasons. I mean, we all have secrets, don’t we? It’s just that I’ve made it my goal to find out yours, because I get the feeling yours need telling. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to spill everything here and now. I get that it’s going to take time.’

  Hannah gave her a slightly strangulated smile. ‘Ahh, you know what, I think I might get going back home. Got to work in the morning and it’s been a long day. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Crap, scared you away, haven’t I? Will you stay if I promise I won’t talk secrets any more tonight?’

  ‘Thanks, but it’s fine. It’s nothing you’ve said – I just really should get to bed.’ Hannah pushed her still full beer into India’s hands. ‘Here, you finish this.’

  She turned to walk away and India called after her, ‘All right, fine, you win for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow though. I’ll come and have lunch with you on your break.’

  India shook her head as she watched Hannah nod her head in assent without turning and continue briskly towards Hammersmith tube station. For a moment she wondered why she was even bothering, but then she scolded herself. Hannah needed help; that was obvious. And she felt like there was someone else, hidden inside that insecure, slightly irritating outer shell. Someone who could possibly be quite a lot of fun. India glanced down at the beer that Hannah had handed her. Apart from a glass of wine here and there, she normally didn’t drink, but she was feeling frustrated. She wanted to save Hannah, but she also wanted to keep travelling; she didn’t usually like to stay in one place for too long. The fact that Hannah was holding out on her, that she knew she was going to have to be patient, coax the truth out of her, was making her feel fidgety.

  After staring at the frothy golden liquid swirling around the glass in her hands for several seconds, she shrugged, murmured, ‘Fuck it,’ and lifted the glass to her lips to drink.

  It was dark and the air was thick with smoke and heat. A low red light illuminated the walls – walls that seemed to be dangerously swaying. Or was it her that was swaying? A base rumbled through the floor and India tried to focus her thoughts, to remember where she was and how she had got here.

  ‘Fucking Hannah!’ She hadn’t been drunk in years. But one beer pressed into her hands and next thing she was absolutely toasted, leaning against the wall in some labyrinth of a nightclub, feeling decidedly seedy. She remembered moving on to spirits. Maybe some champagne at one point? And then shots. Ahh. She remembered piling into a cab with a few people at the Old Ship and now she was . . . where?

  ‘There she is! Thought you’d run off on us, sweetheart!’

  India squinted her eyes to peer through the darkness. A dark shape materialised in front of her. Hot breath on her neck as he leaned in close. Too close!

  ‘Wait,’ she murmured as hands began to slither up and down her waist. Who are you again? Lips pressed against her earlobe and India racked her brain as she tried to remember who this was and why he would think it was okay to be groping her in the back hallway of a nightclub. A name was teasing the edges of her mind. Nick? Nate? Tate?!

  ‘Tate?’ she tried hopefully.

  ‘It’s Jase, baby,’ he replied, unperturbed.

  If you say so. . . But at the sound of his name an image popped in her head, and she remembered dancing, remembered a cute guy eyeing her from across the dance floor. Blue eyes, cute curls, and one of those indents in a strong chin, Matthew McConaughey style. She hit fast forward on the instant replay that was airing in her mind and saw them moving closer and closer together on the dance floor, an invisible cord drawing them towards one another. And then . . . oh God, she’d already kissed him, hadn’t she? Rather passionately if she recalled correctly. That’s right; she escaped back here to give her tongue a much-needed break.

  Right, so he was cute, there was definitely an attraction there. And now she knew his name. Oh well, may as well go with it.

  But as she succumbed to Jase’s wandering hands and lifted her face to begin kissing him again, her thoughts began to turn. She was remembering the last guy she’d slept with. Simon. And she was thinking about how different Simon’s hands had felt on her body. How when they kissed it felt as though they had been kissing one another for years. How his fingers would glide over her back and how the stubble on his cheek would gently tickle her skin.

  Dammit! Without another thought India raised her hands, placed them square on Jase’s chest and then firmly pushed him away. ‘Sorry, babe,’ she said a little sadly and turned and walked unsteadily down the hall. A shame, she had really been missing sex these last few weeks, but apparently she was going to have to make a phone call. She made her way through the sweaty, gyrating bodies in the nightclub and then finally emerged outside, the cool night air hitting her face and sobering her up – just a fraction.

  She briefly wondered what the time was as she headed up the street, looking for a payphone – her mobile wouldn’t have enough credit to phone Europe. Whatever time it was, she didn’t care though; she needed to have this conversation. If she woke him up, he’d get over it.

  When she finally found a phone that worked, searched through her pockets for the right change, slotted it in and dialled the number, she paused for a moment to take in a deep breath. What exactly was it that she wanted to say here? But there was no time to consider – a click at the other end told her someone had answered.

  ‘Hello?’ came the sleepy sounding voice. The familiar tone caught her off-guard and she leaned back against the glassed wall of the phone booth. ‘Simon,’ she breathed contentedly.

  ‘India?’ came back the voice uncertainly. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yup.’

  There was a pause and the muffled sound of movement, as though Simon was perhaps pushing back the covers, sitting
up in bed. Then he spoke again, ‘It’s 4 am! Where are you? Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘No, seriously . . . are you okay? I thought I wasn’t going to hear from you ever again. You realise you broke my fucken heart when you left, right?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Jesus, are you going to say anything other than “yup”?’

  India giggled. ‘Yup.’

  ‘That’s not funny, India.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to. I’ll go if you like.’

  ‘No! Don’t hang up. Where are you?’

  ‘London at the moment.’ She curled her fingers around the receiver cord. ‘Tell me, Simon. Why is it that you’ve been on my mind lately?’

  ‘Guilt,’ he replied immediately. ‘You knew I fell hard for you. Three weeks together, day and night. And you just take off one day. Then . . . nothing. Six weeks and I don’t hear a thing from you – until now. What’s that all about anyway?’

  ‘Told you I was a free spirit, Simon.’ As soon as she said it India felt like a douche. ‘Sorry, can we pretend I didn’t say that? I just don’t like to stay in the one place for too long. Never meant to stay in the Greek Islands for as long as I did with you.’ I have to keep moving Simon, because if I don’t, then everything might start catching up with me . . .

  ‘So what made you phone?’

  ‘Was kissing some random guy in the back of a nightclub. Planned on sleeping with him. But then you jumped into my head. Why is that, Simon? How did you get there? What’s that all about?’ Her voice was sing-song as she threw the question back at Simon.

  ‘Christ. You have to tell me that stuff? You really think I want to hear about you getting it on with another guy?’

  Simon’s voice was agitated but India shrugged it off. ‘Why not? We’re not a couple, are we? I’m single; I can do whatever I like.’

  ‘Fine. You’re single, go sleep with whoever. But could you maybe not call in the middle of the night to tell me about it? Where are you? Hiding out in the guy’s bathroom or something?’

  ‘Yup,’ she replied, unsure why she was purposely provoking him further.

  ‘Well, that’s really great, good for you.’ There was another pause, as though Simon was thinking it through, considering what to say next. Apparently, though, she had pushed him too far. ‘For FUCK’s sake!!’ he suddenly shouted. And then there was a click as the phone hung up.

  India held the phone against her head, listening to the sound of the disconnected line, a long insistent beep, until her ear began to ache.

  ‘I’ve been sending you letters,’ she whispered to the dead air. ‘But I guess none of them have made it yet.’ And then slowly, gently, she hung up the receiver and stepped out of the phone booth. A strange uneasy feeling was stirring in her stomach as she walked on up the street towards the tube station, but although she wanted to cry, she just didn’t seem to be able to.

  He was lighting up his cigarette when the two girls sidled up to him. He recognised their faces; they were on his tour bus. They were the ones who were always giggling, usually at something inane. He also recognised the looks on their faces.

  Jeez, one of them is about to hit on me. Maybe both.

  They couldn’t seem to keep the bubbling hysteria out of their voices as they explained what it was that they wanted him to do. Fuck me, calm down, thought Blake as they gushed on about the pure romance of the story they were telling him.

  They held out a slightly crumpled looking envelope and looked up at him with wide, puppy dog eyes, which he assumed must usually work for them. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they had been licking ice-cream cones, seductively circling their tongues around the chocolate peaks, just to complete the image.

  In the end Blake snatched the envelope out of the blonde’s pink tipped fingers and said, ‘Sure, whatever,’ just to get rid of them. When they continued to stand in front of him, bouncing up and down on their toes and waving their perky tits in his face, he sighed and gave them a smile.

  ‘Girls,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ they chorused hopefully.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Do you remember when the last time was that you cried?’

  Hannah looked up from her menu, startled. Did India know? Was it that obvious? She had cried just that morning, in the shower. And before that, in bed last night. If she thought about it actually, she wasn’t sure when the last time was that she had made it through an entire day without any tears.

  ‘Umm, I’m not sure really. Probably the last time I chopped up an onion,’ Hannah attempted to joke.

  They were sitting at an outdoor table at a café around the corner from the museum. True to her word, India had turned up at the gift shop right on 12.45 pm and announced that she was taking Hannah to lunch. At first Hannah almost hadn’t recognised her – her hair was bright blue today. When asked how she knew what time her lunch break was, India had smiled mysteriously and responded, ‘Ahh, India knows all, my child.’ And then laughed hysterically at herself. Later she explained that she had just called the gift shop and asked Helen, her boss, what time her break was. Not so mystifying really.

  Now India frowned at her. ‘No, cutting up vegetables doesn’t count, Hannah. When was the last time you actually cried? Like really sobbed?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ Hannah said, a little too quickly.

  ‘Liar,’ India replied casually. ‘I’ll have the chicken and avocado panini, thanks, but can you add mushrooms too, please?’ she addressed the waitress who had materialised by their table.

  Hannah ordered the same because she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the menu with India probing her, and when the waitress left she asked India, ‘Why did you want to know anyway, especially if you’re not going to believe my answer?’

  ‘No reason, just something that’s been on my mind.’

  India leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms out above her. This resulted in her knocking a glass of fizzing lemonade that was balanced on a tray being carried past their table by a waiter. The glass rocked back and forth as the waiter tried to steady it and then toppled from the tray and smashed onto the ground.

  ‘Oh God, sorry!’ India exclaimed as she turned to survey the damage.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said the waiter as he bent to start picking up the shards of glass.

  ‘AGAIN?’ came an angry bellow from the counter inside the café.

  India gasped. ‘Have I just got you into trouble?’ she asked. She swivelled in her chair and squinted inside the café, then called out, ‘No, no, it wasn’t him. It was my fault, I knocked it, when I was stretching – like this, see?’ And she demonstrated with an over-exaggerated stretch.

  The manager inside ignored her and grumbled something that sounded very much like, ‘The last straw, honestly, last straw.’

  India scrambled from her chair to help pick up the glass. ‘Now,’ she asked the waiter, ‘when he says “last straw”, does he mean you just dropped the last straw with that glass of lemonade and he’s upset because now you’ve run out of straws? Or does he mean it in a metaphorical kind of way? As in you’re about to get fired? Cause if it’s the latter, I’ll go in and sort it out. Do you know how much guilt I’ll be weighed under if I find out I’ve got someone fired? I’ll be staggering around under it all day.’

  The waiter laughed. ‘He means the latter, but don’t worry, he won’t actually fire me – today’s my last day anyway, I’m leaving London tomorrow.’

  ‘Really? Where are you going?’ India asked conversationally as she collected the last pieces of glass and piled them helpfully onto his tray.

  ‘Greek Islands. Been saving up for the past six months and now I’m going to take a proper holiday – as opposed to a working one.’

  Hannah had been sitting a
wkwardly in her chair as the exchange had taken place between India and the waiter, unsure as to whether she should offer to help or just stay out of the way, but now she frowned as she watched an inscrutable expression cross India’s face. There was a pause before India responded, and when she spoke her voice didn’t have the normal bright and bubbly tone of confidence that spelled India. ‘The Greek Islands? Great. That’s great,’ she said, her voice subdued. ‘You’ll have a blast there.’

  The waiter smiled appreciatively and then headed inside with the tray of broken glass. Hannah’s brow creased, as she tried to follow what had just happened. She hesitated, and then asked casually, ‘You’ve been to the Greek Islands?’

  Hannah watched as India allowed a ghost of a smile to pass across her lips before she replied. ‘Yeah, I spent a few weeks there. Beautiful,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Hannah asked. It was clear that something was up.

  India shrugged. ‘I guess. I mean yep, sure. I haven’t told you about Simon though, have I?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘I met him a month or two back, travelling through the Greek Islands. He works on a boat that takes tourists between the islands. It was one of the rare occasions when I decided to stay in the one place for a little while. Usually I move on after a few days. But when I met Simon – Aussie guy, from Sydney actually – I kind of got stuck for a little while. Stayed much longer than I intended. Didn’t help that he was gorgeous: dark, spiky hair, great shoulders, cheeky green eyes – you know, all the nice trimmings. About three weeks I spent with him. Then I came to my senses, remembered why I’m doing this. I left him in the middle of the night. Put a note on the pillow, kissed him on the lips as he slept, never looked back. In hindsight, I suppose it was just a tad melodramatic, wasn’t it? Like I was a CIA agent on a secret mission or something. But anyway, I guess I missed him. So I’ve been writing to him ever since. But he has no idea, and none of my letters have ever made it to him. Oh, I don’t post them,’ she added when Hannah gave her a confused look. ‘I just give them to other travellers, usually backpackers like me. Doesn’t matter where they’re headed; if it’s not towards Greece, then I ask them to pass them on to someone who is. On the front of the envelope, I just write “Simon” and the name of his boat – “The Aella”. It’s more fun like this. That way, if he ever gets one of my letters, then it’s fate, right? Otherwise, it’s not meant to be. I suppose most of them might have ended up pasted into the inside cover of some backpacker’s journal as a sweet memento of their travels. It’s surprising how many people that I give them to think it’s the most romantic thing they’ve ever heard of – they’re always comparing it to a message in a bottle scenario, but it’s not really, is it?’