Paper Chains Read online

  ‘Oh shut up. You drank the other half,’ Hannah replied, getting into the swing of it now. ‘What do you want by the way?’ she added as the bartender approached them.

  ‘Lemonade. I, unlike some people, don’t need alcohol to socialise,’ said India haughtily.

  Hannah ordered their drinks – a Bacardi for herself – and then they made their way to a couple of bar stools set up along a bench that skirted the wall nearby a pool table.

  ‘So you don’t normally drink much?’ Hannah asked as they sat down and India picked up a cardboard coaster and began to twirl it between her fingers.

  ‘I try not to. I prefer to always stay in control. Although . . .’ she hesitated and Hannah raised her eyebrows as she waited. It wasn’t like India to be stuck for words.

  ‘What?’ she prompted.

  ‘The other night, when you left the Old Ship, I sort of got trashed. Like, really drunk. I ended up phoning Simon in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Hannah asked, smiling. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Bad,’ said India firmly, and Hannah’s smile vanished.

  ‘Oh no, I’m sorry. What happened?’

  ‘So it went like this. I was kissing this guy – some random in the back of a nightclub. It was nice and I was definitely thinking about fucking him. And I found myself thinking about Simon, and realising that . . . well, I was sort of missing him. For some reason I thought if I called him and told him what had happened then it would help me to sort things out in my head. But I don’t know what I was expecting him to say really.’

  Hannah frowned. ‘Explain it to me again,’ she said firmly. ‘Why is it that you can’t just be with Simon?’

  ‘It’s simple, I like to keep moving.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll be leaving London soon?’

  ‘Eventually, yes. But not until I sort you out.’

  ‘And what if I can’t be sorted out?’

  ‘Everything is fixable, Hannah.’

  ‘By that logic you should be able to make things right with Simon.’

  ‘Touché.’

  ‘Right. Let’s start with why you have this need to keep moving. What’s that all about?’

  ‘It’s just what I do.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘All right, fine. Here’s the “India story”. My parents were junkies. My mum was still shooting up when she was in labour with me. She died just after I was born, and my dad was a drop-kick, took off when he found out my mum died, never even laid eyes on me. But you don’t need to feel sorry for me; I was raised by my grandmother in a tiny town in Perth called Gingin. She was a beautiful woman who loved me like nothing else. The day she found out I had cancer, it absolutely broke her heart. I almost didn’t even tell her. She was getting so old, and she wasn’t well herself; I was afraid the shock would kill her. But in the end it did the opposite. She was so damned determined to get me better. She passed away just days after I gave her the good news that I’d beaten the cancer.’

  Hannah interrupted to reach a hand out and touch India. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said quietly.

  ‘That’s okay. To be honest, it was as though she was waiting, just long enough to make sure I was going to be okay, before she could let go herself. Once she was gone, I had no family, no reason to stay in Perth any longer. But what I did have was money. Turns out my grandmother had been putting aside money for me since the day I came to live with her. She’d made some decent investments as well. She never even told me about it though – I found out when the lawyer came to see me with her will. At first I wasn’t sure what I should do with it, you know, should I be sensible? Invest in real estate? Donate it to charity? But then I realised that I deserved to do something for me. That’s when I started travelling. As it turns out, I haven’t needed to touch much of the money anyway – travelling on a budget is more fun. But it’s nice to know that it’s there . . . if I need it.’

  ‘Wow, that’s one hell of a story,’ said Hannah. India nodded, as though that was the end of it. But then Hannah spoke. ‘But it doesn’t answer my question. Okay, so you’ve had some difficult times, and maybe you want to see the world, experience life because you get how precious it is – after everything you’ve been through. But why does that mean you have to keep moving, and why does that stop you from forming a lasting relationship with someone you’re clearly hung up on?’

  ‘Long story. And like I’ve told you before, you’re not the only one with secrets. So unless you’d like to open up about your sordid past, you’re gonna want to lay off, girl.’

  ‘Fine. Game of pool?’

  The conversation returned to lighter topics as India racked up the balls and Hannah chalked a cue and prepared to break. When they started to play, Hannah forgot all about the slight tension that had arisen between them when she had perhaps pushed India a bit too hard in her attempts to figure out exactly what it was that she was hiding from. Instead she relaxed into the game and the comforting sounds of the balls rolling and clinking and the feel of the solid, cool pool cue beneath her hands. Before her parents had divorced and she and her mother had moved into a small apartment, they had lived in a large house with a separate games room off the garage, which housed her father’s pride and joy – his billiards table. When she was small, Hannah had learned to play standing on a small white stool, which she would carry around the table and place wherever she needed to set up her shot. Throughout her life, her billiard skills had often led to guys approaching her in bars and pubs, attempting to pick up the ‘cute little pool shark’. It was funny how certain talents always seemed to turn men on – girls who could surf, girls who could skol a beer or win a game of poker. Although in Hannah’s experience, they usually started to get annoyed when they realised that they were actually never going to beat her.

  India, however, seemed delighted to discover Hannah’s hidden talent. ‘Awesome,’ she whispered when a pair of guys headed over to challenge them for the table. ‘We’re going to kick their arses and I probably won’t even have to sink a single ball.’

  It was at the end of the second game that things started to go wrong. At first, India had been enjoying the playful banter between herself and one of the guys – the tall blond one – as Hannah had continued to confidently pocket one ball after another. But then she began to notice a change in his demeanour. He wasn’t enjoying losing. And the more irritated he became with the game, the more aggressively he began to flirt with her.

  ‘Okay,’ she said lightly as they watched Hannah sink the black yet again. ‘That’s it, we gave you best of three and you still lost. Time to take a hike.’ She moved pointedly around the other side of the table and Hannah looked up at her, seeming to suddenly become aware of India’s tone.

  ‘Or we could just go if you like?’ Hannah suggested.

  ‘Best of five,’ said the tall blond, while his friend shrugged and looked bored. He circled the table and positioned himself in between Hannah and India. ‘Your friend here can keep carrying the game for you and we can get to know each other a bit better.’ He stepped in close and placed his hands on her hips. India tried to pull back, but his fingers tightened. ‘I’m not going to lose with you as well,’ he whispered in her ear.

  India was holding still, trying to decide what the best course of action was going to be – knee him in the balls maybe? – when she felt another hand close around her arm and she was yanked sideways. Before she had realised what was happening, there was a set of soft lips on hers. Her brain took a moment to register. Wait a second, was Hannah kissing her? They pulled apart and then Hannah turned away from her to face the ape of a guy who had moments ago had his hands creeping towards India’s backside. ‘Sorry, buddy, but she’s not your type,’ Hannah said firmly. With that, she swung back around, grabbed India by the hand and strode out of the pub.

  Outside on their way back through the beer garden India stopped to stare in
amazement at Hannah. ‘What is it?’ Hannah asked, turning back to look at her. ‘Am I a bad kisser?’ she asked worriedly. India burst out laughing. ‘Hannah!’ she exclaimed. ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘I thought you needed help. I couldn’t think what else to do. Sorry – should I not have done that?’ she asked.

  ‘No, it’s fine – you just, took me by surprise, that’s all. You realise you’ve been like a completely different person tonight, right?’

  ‘Well, you were the one who told me to loosen up. Oh and I know what you’re going to say next and the answer is no.’

  ‘No what?’

  ‘No you haven’t just figured out my secret – I’m not gay, so you don’t need to help me come out, okay?’

  They both dissolved into laughter then and as they made their way down the road, India thought, I think I just made a new best friend.

  He had been watching the guy for a little over half an hour, just observing – fairly sure he was doing so unnoticed.

  Definitely gay, he decided. But in the closet still. Shame. He was cute in an ‘I’m fit and I fucking know it’ kind of way. James knew there was no point trying to chat him up though; the guy would probably run a mile. Man, he wished more guys would just get their shit together and come out already. He was getting sick of being single.

  As James watched, the guy pulled an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and tapped the edge of the table top with it. He seemed to be weighing something up in his mind. Suddenly he gave a derisive snort, shook his head and crumpled the envelope up in his fist. He tossed it onto the table next to his empty coffee mug and stood up, causing his chair to scrape noisily across the tiles as he did. He strode out of the café and James smiled to himself as he noticed the guy’s eyes flick towards him on the way past.

  Totally gay.

  Intrigued about the envelope, James waited until the guy had vanished around the corner and then leapt up from his chair and walked briskly over to his table to snatch up the letter before it could be cleared away by a waitress.

  On the front of the envelope were the following three words:

  Simon,

  ‘The Aella’

  Huh, maybe he’s not in the closet then. Guess I should have given it a go after all. Who’s Simon? An ex-lover maybe? And what the hell does ‘The Aella’ mean?

  James couldn’t help himself. He tore open the envelope to find out what was inside. At the top of the letter he saw the following words: ‘Dear Simon . . .’ He continued to read.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was Thursday again, Hannah’s day off. She was woken early by the sound of the front door buzzer being pressed insistently, over and over. She sat up in bed feeling bleary and confused. What time was it? What day was it? And who was at the bloody door? She climbed out from under the covers and stumbled over to the intercom with the heels of her hands pressed hard against her eyes.

  ‘Hello?’ she said croakily when she pressed the button to respond.

  ‘Hannah!’ came back India’s unmistakably bright and bubbly voice. ‘Get dressed and come down, babe. I’ll wait out front.’

  Hannah glanced down at her watch then leaned heavily against the intercom. ‘India! It’s five in the morning!’

  ‘Yep. Hurry up.’

  Hannah pulled away from the speaker and stood still for a moment, staring stupidly at the wall. Last night she and India had been out drinking – again. Although now that she thought about it, India’s drinks had pretty much all been of the non-alcoholic variety. Hannah’s, on the other hand, had not. The top of her mouth had that furry carpet feel and her stomach was turning as she remembered that her drink of choice last night had been vodka. Ugh, evil, evil vodka.

  She took one longing look back at her bed and then dragged herself into the shower, reminding herself to make sure she took a couple of paracetamol on the way downstairs.

  India tried not to laugh when she saw Hannah finally emerge from the apartment block. Her face had just a slight tinge of green to it and she was hiding her eyes behind giant, dark sunglasses.

  ‘Did I wake you, sweetie?’ she asked in a mock cutesy voice.

  ‘Yes,’ Hannah replied bluntly.

  ‘Told you not to drink so much last night.’

  ‘You did not! You were the one doing the ordering.’

  ‘Hmm. Good point. Ah well, never mind. It’s your day off, let’s do something.’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  India shrugged. ‘I don’t know, let’s just get on a train and go somewhere.’ Because you’re so close Hannah, you’re just so close to opening up. She grabbed Hannah’s arm and pulled her down the last few steps to the footpath. ‘Come on. Fresh air will do you good.’

  ‘Coffee would do me better,’ India heard Hannah mumble in response, but India just started striding down the road in the direction of the tube station, forcing Hannah to follow her.

  They ended up travelling down to Brighton Beach for the day. It took over two hours and two trains to get there and Hannah complained most of the way. The sun’s too bright. The train’s rocking too much, I’m going to be sick. India spent the trip entertaining herself by making fun of Hannah. Nothing better than feeling fit and healthy when someone else is hung-over, she thought, as she waved her sausage roll in front of Hannah’s face, making her clap her hands to her mouth.

  Although by the time they arrived, India herself was actually starting to feel a little ill. Hmm, maybe she shouldn’t have grabbed that sausage roll from the food cart at Blackfriars station when they had changed trains. She didn’t admit this to Hannah though; it was too much fun being all superior about the fact that she had remained sober the previous evening.

  They spent the day using India’s camera to take artistic photos of the Helter Skelter at the end of the pier, the merry-go-round with the sea in the background and the mad Londoners who were braving the ocean despite the fact that the water temperature was still less than ten degrees. They both agreed that while Brighton was beautiful, it basically didn’t compare to Australian beaches – and India found herself feeling quite loyal towards her old local beaches back home.

  India and her grandmother used to spend Christmas every year at the beach. They would pack prawns and salads into an esky, take fresh buttered bread rolls, one bottle of lemonade and one bottle of champagne, then catch the one and only bus that ran on Christmas Day to the nearest beach. To India, it was the perfect way to spend Christmas – just the two of them, sitting on the picnic rug that they spread out across the white sand. Usually in the afternoon, her grandmother would take a nap in the shade of a tree while India swam in the ocean. It was why India had been drawn to the beach last Christmas in Ibiza – her first Christmas without her grandmother – but it simply hadn’t been the same.

  ‘Seriously, what’s with all the pebbles?’ asked India, as they stood on the beach, watching yet another swimmer emerge from the surf with their arms wrapped around themselves, shivering.

  ‘Did you know that there are apparently over six hundred million rocks on this beach?’ asked Hannah in response.

  ‘Really? And where did you get this very useful piece of information?’ India asked with interest.

  ‘Something my dad told me when I was a kid. He’d been on a business trip to England. Must have decided to visit Brighton while he was here, because he brought me back one of those snow globes with a little model of Brighton pier inside. It’s sort of weird looking at the life-size version of it actually. Like I keep expecting to see snowflakes swirling down around it. Anyway, it’s just one of those facts that stuck with me.’

  India watched as Hannah’s eyes remained fixed on the pier and she thought for a moment that Hannah was about to cry. But then she suddenly brightened and suggested they find somewhere for lunch, and India decided that just for today, she would leave Hannah be – no probing her for
information or demanding to know her secrets. Today, she would give her a break – a proper day off, from everything.

  They stayed in Brighton until late in the afternoon, exploring the town, taking more photos – of the pavilion, of art sculptures, of pretty buildings and of interesting people if they thought they could do it without getting caught. On the train on their way home, India fell asleep with her head resting on Hannah’s shoulder and she woke to the sound of Hannah’s voice as she gently eased her upright. ‘Sorry – our stop,’ Hannah whispered.

  ‘You’re much nicer than me,’ India said as she sat up and stretched. ‘I would have elbowed me in the ribs after what I did to you this morning.’

  ‘Ha. Couldn’t do it to you – you looked so peaceful.’

  They headed out to the platform and India gave Hannah a hug as they said goodbye. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘today was fun. Been nice lately, just hanging out with you instead of always meeting new people, making new friends every bloody day.’

  ‘You should stick in the one place more often then,’ Hannah replied.

  ‘Maybe . . .’ said India.

  A couple of days later Hannah convinced India to – reluctantly – join her for an early morning jog before her shift at the museum.

  ‘How’s things?’ Hannah asked conversationally as they wound their way along the track.

  ‘Are you joking?’ gasped India. ‘You want to have a chat while we’re doing this?’ Her face was bright red and her chest was heaving. Hannah on the other hand had barely a pink spot on her cheekbones. She would jog lightly on the spot to keep moving each time India stopped to catch her breath.

  ‘Sorry, I’ll slow the pace down a bit . . . better?’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s much better,’ responded India sarcastically.

  Hannah relented and slowed right down to a walk, realising as she did just how much more you noticed when the world wasn’t whipping past in a blur. They were following a runners’ track that wound its way through the outer suburbs of London. In a park on their right a couple were kissing passionately on a picnic rug. A dog was prancing around them, every now and then dropping a saliva-covered ball by their feet and waiting hopefully before picking it up again and resuming its prancing.