“What if it isn’t though?” Kim looked thoughtful. “I mean, Happy Cola, that’s huge. A horrid Corporate conglomerate peddling a disgusting unhealthy drink but, in your world, it’s big cheese. It might be your chance to get your revenge on your stupid boss.”
Claire considered Kim’s words. She’d forgotten Happy Cola. What if the assignment was for real?
Maybe I should start taking it a bit more seriously.
***
SIXTEEN
“Please pass the salt.”
Claire located the salt pot amidst the silverware on the table and handed it to her father. He thanked her without making eye contact and returned to demolishing his lamb roast.
Chewing the slightly over-cooked meat, Claire looked up at her parents’ bowed heads and wondered when they got so grey. And boring. I remember when they used to talk at dinner. Maybe I’m making them feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t a nice thought. Claire was used to not getting a prodigal-son welcome when she came home but the constraint surrounding her at the dinner table that evening was suffocating.
“Kim’s dyed her hair red for a role in a Shakespeare play.”
“Hmmm.” Her mother speared a green bean and put it in her mouth.
“She looks great, like a life-size pixie.”
“Hmmm.” This time it was a baby carrot that felt the fork.
“She’s having her nipple pierced and leaving Jeff for the cleaning lady.”
“Hmmm. What?” Her mother’s face whipped up and she looked at Claire for the first time since they sat at the table.
“Joking. Just wondered if I was actually here.”
“It’s not healthy to talk and eat, it causes you to take in too much air. Your father suffers from heartburn so we have silence at the table.” She spoke the last words pointedly and returned to the massacre of the vegetables.
Sighing quietly, Claire focussed on eating her dinner as swiftly as possible. She had had plenty of time to regret coming to visit her parents in the two days since she’d arrived. She had barely shared three words with her mother and tonight at the dinner table was the first time her father had even appeared. She was shocked to see how old he looked.
Has it really been so long since I visited, or has he been aging in double-time since he retired?
Claire tried to turn her mind away from the mausoleum of the dinner table and think nice thoughts. Her future wasn’t exactly swimming in them. In the morning she had to load her hated rucksack into her loathed old banger and drive 300 miles to stay in a flea-ridden youth hostel. She had taken the decision to invest in a Sat Nav, having found it difficult to even get home to her parents’ house without the inbuilt one in her company Audi. It had taken until an hour ago for her to bring herself to plot in the route to Berwick and she was shocked to find out it was going to take at least five hours to get there when she left in the morning.
Probably six or seven in that stupid car, it only manages seventy-miles-an-hour downhill with the wind behind it. I’m going to have to leave at 5a.m. to get there by dinner time. She looked around the table at the chewing waxwork figures of her parents and gave a tiny shrug. That’s not going to be a hardship. I might not want to go to Berwick but I can’t wait to leave here.
As she tried to get comfortable in the z-bed her mother had deigned to put up for her, claiming the linen in the spare room was in the laundry, Claire mused that at least she’d had some practice sleeping in a lumpy bumpy bed. That was the only prep she had done for the big adventure that was due to start in a mere twenty-four hours.
It’ll be fine, she thought sleepily. I’m good at winging it.
***
SEVENTEEN
Claire looked at the white shape on the road and shivered. There had been a heavy frost overnight and the Skoda looked like an igloo recently teleported from the North Pole.
“Great. Just what today needed.”
She pulled her jacket tighter and scurried back to her parents’ house to get some warm water. This was beyond what could be battled with de-icer.
The house was dark and silent as she let herself in through the kitchen door. All goodbyes, such as they were, had been said the night before as Claire had gone up to bed. Her mother had managed a muttered “Good luck” and her father had told her half-heartedly to call. Not once in the two days she had spent at home had either of them asked what her assignment was. Of course she hadn’t wanted to tell them so that was fine by her.
At last Claire was inside the car staring out through the only part of the windscreen that hadn’t immediately refrozen. My Audi would have told me how cold it actually is out there, warned me to drive carefully and heated my seat for me. The Skoda seats were freezing and she couldn’t hold the steering wheel with her bare hands. Please start, Claire prayed as she yanked out the choke and turned the key. She raised her eyebrows as the Skoda fired up immediately.
I guess being designed for Eastern Europe must have some advantages. Who knew?
The Sat Nav was already programmed to take her to Berwick-Upon-Tweed so Claire stuck it to the windscreen and tried not to dwell on the five-hour journey time. The current estimated time of arrival was 11am but Claire knew it was going to be nearer twelve hours on the road by the time she had coaxed the car three hundred miles north.
Claire had been driving for nearly three hours when her gurgling tummy prompted her to take a break. The Sat Nav said she had travelled only a third of the distance to Berwick. Despite most of the driving being on the dual carriage way or motorway Claire was exhausted. Driving the Skoda was much more involved than driving the Audi. Remembering to turn on the fan when the engine got hot; pushing the choke back in when the car coughed and spluttered; trying to judge the gaps in traffic with wing-mirrors that moved out of position when the car went over fifty miles per hour; overtaking with zero acceleration. Claire sighed and began looking out for Services signs.
A sleek black BMW pulled up behind her position in the outside lane and immediately began flashing his lights. Claire looked down at the speedometer: she was doing 72 miles an hour.
“I’m doing the speed limit you arsehole. Can’t you see I’m overtaking?” She looked left at the articulated lorry doing 56 in the inside lane. As she pulled ahead of the lorry it also flashed its lights and Claire wondered what he had to be grumpy about. Then she realised he was telling her it was okay to pull in. Her cheeks flushed hot as she swung her car in front of the lorry and raised a hand in thanks.
At last she saw a sign for the Services and gratefully took the exit. “Robin Hood Airport? I want to go there!” Claire smiled for the first time that day as she headed for the roundabout. She was tempted to drive into Bawtry and have a proper stop but she wanted to get nearer to her final destination before she relaxed. She followed the signs for the Services instead and heaved a huge sigh as a Costa billboard filled her vision.
“Coffee, hurrah.”
Claire sat at wobbly metal table, surrounded by harassed families and focussed business men. She looked at her phone and was shocked to see it was only ten o’clock. Hey, maybe I will be in Berwick by lunchtime.
She gazed out the window, her massimo skinny latte clasped between her hands for warmth. It wasn’t quite Starbucks, and there were more calories in a Costa, but after three hours of driving it was extremely welcome. A strange feeling settled over her. Claire tried to analyse it. It was a soft feeling, the kind associated with snuggly duvets and the Sunday papers in bed. She felt… relaxed.
“Oh my goodness, Claire? Is that you? What are you doing in this hell hole?”
Claire didn’t register the voice immediately. There was no reason for anyone to know her here. The hail was accompanied by the tip-tapping of heels across the polished floor. The voice spoke again, nearer this time.
“It is Claire, isn’t it?”
Claire turned and saw a wave of blonde hair surrounding immaculate red lips and an insincere smile. Her stomach plummeted as the snuggly feeling evaporated
.
“Linda. How lovely to see you. Apologies, I was miles away.”
The woman adjusted the strap of her handbag and took a seat opposite Claire without asking. Stifling a sigh Claire hitched a smile on her face and tried to remember all the pertinent facts about the woman sat beaming in front of her. She was marketing director for an electronics company but the name of the business eluded Claire. I’ve never forgotten details like that before. What’s happening to me?
“So, what brings you this side of the country? I thought your stomping ground was Cheshire.” Linda looked Claire up and down, taking in her jeans and hiking jacket. “Holiday?” The sneer was palpable.
“In a manner of speaking.” Claire had no intention of giving anything away to this woman. It would be all over Twitter before her coffee got cold. Claire’s tone of voice would have silenced lesser beings but Linda was made of more impenetrable stuff.
“How… novel.”
Claire ground her teeth and tried to think of a way to get rid of the woman without being rude. Thankfully Fate intervened in the rather modern guise of Linda’s ringing phone. Signalling her apology, the woman got up from the table and trotted to the door to get a better signal.
I hadn’t factored in meeting people I know. I haven’t really thought this through at all. Even with a new Twitter Handle, Facebook page and blog, people are going to find me. This is so not cool. Carl I am going to make you wish your sorry arse never crossed my path.
***
EIGHTEEN
Claire peered through the dark at the place her Sat Nav had decided was her Final Destination. It looked like a small car park surrounded by an eclectic mix of buildings. Her ears rang with the silence of the evening as she pulled into a bay and turned off the ignition. Every part of her body ached.
I’m not going to have to worry about how to stay fit without my annual gym membership; this car is a workout all by itself.
Claire looked through the windows for the green YHA sign that she thought would greet her arrival but all she could see were cars and walls. She pulled out her iPad and loaded up the hostel page but there was no more information.
Bugger. I guess I’ll just have to wander around until I find it. Claire got out and looked around the car park. She didn’t welcome the prospect of staggering about in the dark. I wish I’d managed to get here in daylight. She turned and glared at the car.
“We would have done too if you hadn’t overheated three times in that traffic jam. Stupid car.”
She could hear a clock chiming the half-hour and realised she had no idea which hour it was. The last fifty miles had passed in a daze of exhaustion and misery. It was one thing travelling around the country in a modern Audi, knowing you were staying in a four star hotel when you got there. A bit different hauling this heap of shit three hundred miles up the country to stay in a flea-infested hostel.
Claire dragged her rucksack from the passenger seat, not willing to leave it in the car even though she barely had the strength to lift it onto her shoulders. Please God let this damn place be close by.
“Are you lost my dear?”
Claire looked round but couldn’t locate the source of the voice.
“Are you staying at the hostel, perhaps? The YHA one?”
Claire caught a faint scent of perfume, the kind her grannie used to wear. She looked down and saw a petit lady standing in the shadows smiling at her.
“I guessed by the rucksack. I’m staying there too, would you like me to show you how to get in? It’s easy to miss in the dark.” When Claire didn't answer the lady walked a bit closer. "Do you speak English my dear?" She enunciated the words as if talking to someone hard of hearing.
“I'm English," Claire managed. "And yes, thank you, I am looking for the YHA.” Claire was too tired to question why someone who looked the wrong side of seventy was staying in a Youth Hostel. I guess I don't really count as youth either if it comes to it. She followed the lady a short distance to a building which loomed four or five stories above them, blocking out the star-spattered sky.
“I’m Hattie, I’m in one of the dorms. Are you staying long?”
Claire forced her scattered mind to focus on the voice. “Er, no, two nights.”
“That's a shame. Lovely hostel this." When Claire didn't respond Hattie peered up into her face. "You look done in. Get yourself checked in and get some sleep. I’ll probably see you at breakfast?” She made the statement into a question but turned and scurried away before Claire could answer.
Claire let the rucksack drop from her shoulders and gazed around without seeing, unsure what to do next.
“Can I help you?” Another voice hailed her, male this time. “I’m the hostel manager. Are we expecting you?”
Claire turned and smiled at the man. “Yes, my name is Claire Carleton.”
“Ah yes, you’re booked into a twin room for two nights. Come with me I’ll get you checked in and you’ll be snuggled under your duvet in no time. You look like you could sleep standing up.”
Twin room? Claire’s mind latched onto the only part of the sentence that mattered. By myself? No sharing, no strangers snoring? For the first time in weeks Claire was conscious of a feeling of gratitude towards AJC. She stood waiting by her rucksack but the man didn't offer to carry it, just walked off without checking whether she was following. Claire felt her cheeks flush red as she stooped to retrieve her bag.
The next ten minutes were a blur of forms and questions. Claire had a vague recollection of being shown a bistro which seemed just a sea of lime green. Very on-trend was Claire’s only thought. She was then ushered into a lift and escorted to her room on the third or fourth floor, she didn’t notice which. This doesn’t seem right for a hostel. I thought they chucked a key at you and handed you a sheet? They certainly don't carry your bag. Claire felt the straps digging into her tired shoulders and gave up trying to make sense of it all.
As the hostel manager opened the door to her room Claire felt she might weep. It was bright and neat, if slightly like a posh prison with its grey wall and grey metal beds. Not a plush hotel by any means but the duvet looked thick and comfortable and she could spy an en-suite through another door.
The hostel manager handed Claire a sheet. “You’ll need to make up your bed and you can hire towels if you haven’t brought any. You’re booked in for breakfast and if you want dinner you can go down to the Bistro, or there’s a pub and an Indian not far away. I can’t imagine you’ll want to cook tonight but, if you do, the guest communal area is on the fifth floor.”
He stood for a moment as if waiting for Claire to respond. When it was clear she had no words he nodded a farewell, handed her the key, and left the room. Claire’s senses were overwhelmed by twelve hours of new experiences. Her body fought conflicting needs: a shower, coffee, dinner and sleep all seemed equally important. Half-heartedly flicking the sheet over one of the beds Claire collapsed full length and dragged the duvet over her head.
Sleep first, everything else could wait.
***
NINETEEN
“Hello there, Good Morning. How did you sleep?”
Claire flinched at the bright voice and wondered if she could ignore it. She didn’t recognise the wrinkled face beaming at her, but a vague recollection of the night before threw up a name card.
“Hattie? Yes, I slept okay, thanks.” Years of training allowed Claire to be nice when what she really wanted to say was, Sod off, I’m not here to make friends, I’m working and, even if I weren’t, I’m not about to be best buddies with an octogenarian.
A quick glance round the café showed Claire a surprising number of bodies tucking into breakfast. Hattie patted the seat next to her and Claire had little choice but to sit with her new friend.
“Is it always this busy?”
“Yes, dear. The hostel has a dozen or so rooms and it’s very popular. The locals come too, although not so often for breakfast. Between you and me…” she leant in close to Claire and a cloud of ta
lc and perfume wafted over her, “…their dinner is better. I think the chef doesn’t like mornings.”
“But you eat it anyway?” Claire looked at Hattie’s plates of bacon, eggs and other Full English delights and shuddered.
“Not every day, only at the weekend. They have a lovely little kitchen on the top floor but it gets a bit mucky on a Friday night, what with takeaway boxes and late night munchies.”
Claire smiled at hearing a word like munchies coming through pristine false teeth. “You sound like you’ve been here a long time?”
“I have, dear, on and off. At my age there’s little point spending money on rent and bills. Besides, it gets lonely. There’s only me and I hate cats.”
Claire turned round in her chair, taking her eyes off the laminated menu to stare in wonder at the beaming, line-patterned face. “Let me get this straight. You live here? In a hostel dorm room?”
Hattie nodded enthusiastically. “Not always here, although it is a lovely hostel. Where else could I stay with all my bills paid for £7 a day? It used to cost more than that to heat my flat. I don’t have to clean and I meet some lovely people.”
The words entered Claire’s brain but made no sense. Why would you choose to give up your apartment and live in a hostel? Share a room? No one could be that poor, surely.
“Have you been travelling long?” Hattie spoke around a mouthful of sausage and her chewing gave Claire a chance to choose her answer. In the end she decided honesty was probably easiest. There was no need to impress this garrulous old biddy.
“Not really. This is my first day actually. I’m… I’m writing a blog about hostelling.” Well, that’s true enough.
“Oh how charming. What will you write, will you include me?” Claire was touched to see how delighted Hattie was at the idea, like a small child being offered a tremendous treat.
Claire shrugged. Why not? I have to put something in the damn blog.
Two-Hundred Steps Home Volume One Page 5
