“What?” I snap, annoyed over the snoring and the smirking.
He laughs, shaking his head. “You didn’t snore. To be honest, I wouldn’t even know. I passed out the moment I closed my eyes. I was just ribbing you.” He’s still smiling, pleased with his joke.
I just watch him as he works his way around his food. These people and their regular sense of humour astound me. I wonder what it’s like to be quick to laugh and feel confident teasing a stranger for fun. I’m not a big laugher. My giggling fit in the back of the plane was a rare occurrence for me, caused by exhaustion and not actual humour. My old co-workers used to tell me I was too serious, so I smile because it’s expected. It’s how I fit in. But laughter? I don’t remember the last time I found something truly funny. There’s too much suffering in this world, and it sucks the funny right out of it.
Pausing mid-chew, Elliot raises his eyebrows. “Are you not eating?”
“Yeah, I’m eating,” I say, snapping my gaze away from him to focus on my own plate, poking the rubbery looking eggs with my fork. I pull the foil back on my cup of orange juice and take a sip of the cold sweet liquid, gulping greedily as I realise now how thirsty I am.
“How long are you staying in London, Paige?”
I frown at my food and shake my head slightly. “I don’t know,” I say, feeling nervous about landing and why I’m going there.
“You don’t know?” he repeats. “Didn’t you get a visa? A return ticket?”
I turn my head to look at him. “I have dual citizenship. I don’t need one. My um, father, is from the UK.”
“Oh,” he says, looking slightly uncomfortable, “I ah… heard you tell Connie your family passed. I’m sorry to hear that.” We lock eyes for a moment. He’s so sincere that I break the connection, suddenly uncomfortable with the lie.
To cut a long story short, my mother went to London for some business meeting when she was in her early thirties. When she came home, she was pregnant with me. The catch? She was already married to the man I always thought was my father.
I never understood why I was treated differently from my siblings until after I was kicked out of home and ordered a copy of my birth certificate. My real father is some British guy called Daniel Ashdown. It explains so much about my life. I always thought my parents looked at me with disappointment in their eyes because I wasn’t the star athlete or pupil my siblings were. Now, I think it was sadness; sadness for a lost love and sadness because I was a constant reminder of an infidelity.
I’m going to London to find out who the other half of my biology belongs to. I don’t know what I’ll do once I see him. I don’t even know what I’m expecting. But, I need to know who he is because he’s affected my life insurmountably without ever meeting me. Maybe seeing him will give me a sense of closure, finality? I’ve been through a tonne of counselling over the last few years while I dealt with the traumas in my past. And while I’ve accepted what happened to me, I feel that finding my biological father is the missing piece of an intricate puzzle. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking? But it’s something I need to do.
I press my lips together in a tight smile. “I don’t like to talk about my family, but thank you.” He looks away and I pick at my breakfast again.
We could sit here in silence. The dead family is a pretty excellent conversation stopper. And it’s normally exactly what I want, but in this case I find myself turning back to him and asking questions of my own. Maybe it’s because I know that when we get off this plane this connection will be over? So talking to him feels safe-ish. I don’t know. I don’t hate people. I just struggle to connect with them. I’m too wary.
“How long are you in London for, Elliot?”
“Three months,” he answers quickly, his eyes brightening. “I’m working at one of the big health clubs in the gym.”
“Are you an instructor or something?”
He nods. “Personal trainer. I saw online that you can go over there for a working holiday. So I signed up, found a flat with some other Aussies, and here I am.”
“What are you going to do if you find yourself in the UK and then you have to leave it all behind?”
He lets his head fall against the back of his seat, looks up and shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought it through that far.”
Elliot
Shit. Now I’m worried. What does happen if I find myself and then I have to leave and go back to my old life? Do I lose it? I look over at her, and she’s studying me. It feels like she’s trying to figure me out. Like I’m some kind of exotic animal she’s never seen before. Strangely, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I kind of enjoy having her eyes on me, even if they’re always assessing.
“So, you’ve already sorted out a job and a place to stay?” she asks, moving the conversation along.
“Um, yeah, a friend of a friend is in a share house with a spare room. So I’m moving in there. It’s like, five minutes from a train station. Easy commute for work.”
She nods, looking slightly impressed. “It’s good you have everything mapped out.”
“What about you?”
She laughs. “I obviously didn’t think this through as well as you did. I have a room booked for a couple of weeks at a cheap and probably very nasty hotel. I'll look for work when I get there.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“A little bit of everything,” she says with a vague shrug, just as the flight attendant comes past for our trays.
I check my watch. We only have another half-hour before we’re due to land. My leg bounces up and down. Fuck I’m nervous. This past year has been full of change. I’m twenty-seven and it’s taken till now for me to be fully independent. I’ve never been one to do things by half measures so I’ve been pushing and pushing to keep my pace moving forwards. It’s not easy starting again. It’s not easy stepping out of your comfort zone. It’s not easy living with twenty-five years worth of regret.
I keep talking to try to keep calm.
Paige
“A little bit of everything,” he repeats. “What kind of job will that get you?”
“The kind I apply for, I suppose.” I offer a smile as I insert the buds back into my ears. That’s enough conversation for one day.
I blast Stone Temple Pilots until the seatbelt sign lights up, removing my headphones as the captain’s voice comes over the speakers, telling us we’re making our descent into London’s Heathrow Airport.
“The weather on the ground is cold and overcast so I hope you brought your jackets. It’ll be a bit of a shock to the system after Sydney’s recent heatwave. On behalf of myself and the cabin crew, we hope you’ve had a pleasant flight. Cabin crew, please prepare to land.”
“Here we go,” Elliot says, as he clips in his seat belt. “Did you bring a jacket?”
I nod and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I desperately need this fresh start away from everything that’s defined me until now. When you get kicked out of home at fifteen, you fall into a lot of different situations in an effort to take care of yourself. No matter how hard I worked to change my lot, people from the past kept popping up with their long memories, reminding me what I once was, of everything I lost. When I get to London, the reminders will stop. I’ll just be Paige, the girl from Australia. I don’t need to be any more than that.
Four
Elliot
Waiting at the baggage claim, I look around to see if I can find Paige. I lost her as we went through our passport checks. I spot her as she hauls her bag off the carousel and starts to wheel it away.
“Paige,” I call after her. She stops and looks around for the source of her name, eventually spotting me.
She smiles slightly, and I feel lucky all of a sudden. “Elliot. Have you found your bags?”
I look at the crowded carousel and shake my head. “Not yet. I just wanted to say bye, I guess. Maybe see which direction you're headed. We could share a cab?”
She shakes her head. “There’s no need.
There’s a shuttle bus that’ll take me where I’m staying.”
My hopes deflate as I realise this is it. Goodbye. I’ve really enjoyed her company—even though she didn’t talk much. “Oh, well… maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
She smiles again, her eyes telling me she thinks I’m naïve. “I doubt that, Elliot. London is a lot bigger than Sydney. It was nice to meet you though. Good luck finding yourself.” She lifts her bag and walks away, waving over her shoulder as I stand here doing nothing and watch her walk out of my life.
* * *
Paige
My room is tiny. I can take four steps in one direction and only three in the other. There’s a small wardrobe, a minuscule desk and chair, and a single bed with a polka-dot quilt on top. The carpet is royal blue, and the walls are stark white. It's clean and doesn’t have any funky odours hanging about, so for that I’m thankful. I’ve stayed in some disgusting motels in my time. Cleanliness is the top of my pre-requisite list, and this place wins.
I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and lie down, the jet lag already seeping in and dragging my eyes closed. I sit up, not wanting to fall asleep and ruin my night by being wide awake. With no TV in my room, I would like to spend it sleeping.
Reaching into my bag, I find the folder of papers I’d printed out before I left Australia. I’m a trained hairdresser, so I made a list of salons to call about work in an area close to the city I can afford to live in. I’ve done some research on share accommodation, but I got really confused with what the different ‘zones’ mean. I’m planning to have a look around to see what’s what tomorrow. But for today, I’ll make phone calls to enquire about a job. I have limited funds, so a job is a high priority.
Leaving my room, I head for the hotel shop, sucking in my breath when I'm blasted by cold air the moment I open the main door to cross the small courtyard. Still hugging myself against the cold, I purchase a prepaid phone card and return to my room to activate it. The first place I call is a shop called ‘Stylz’ in Waterloo.
Elliot
I get out of the black cab in front of the block of flats I’m staying in and look around. It feels so strange knowing it’s the end of January but feeling so freaking freezing. Lifting my bag, I climb the short flight of concrete steps leading up to the rendered white building and press the button for number twelve.
“Hello?” A female voice with an Australian accent, crackles through the intercom.
“Hi, it’s Elliot. I just arrived from the airport.”
“Of course, I’ll just buzz you in.”
As I hear the buzz from the entry door, I push. “Got it, thanks,” I call out.
“Great, see you up here,” she says, I can hear the clunk over the intercom as she replaces the handset.
As I ascend the stairs, I can’t get that stupid Abba song out of my head. It’s the name of the town I’m staying in, Waterloo. I hope I get over that fast because I’m not an Abba fan and three months with that song in my head is gonna drive me mad.
A petite blonde girl waits at the door when I round the corner, she’s wearing jeans and a woollen turtleneck. Her brown eyes widen when she sees me, and I get the sense I’ll need to keep my distance from her now that I have put my screwing around days behind me. Unless she wants to screw around… I shake away the thought. Bad, Elliot. Your dick’ll fall off.
“Wow. You must be Elliot. I’m Naomi. Stephanie told me you were good-looking but wow.” Her mouth is actually open. I think this girl might be missing a filter or something.
“Hey.” I nod, walking into the flat as she steps to the side, but only enough so I have to brush past her. She even places a hand on my bicep and squeezes.
“Nice,” she says, meeting my eyes with a wicked glint in hers. “Let me show you where your room is then I’ll give you the tour.” Naomi leads me through the lounge room where another guy and girl are sitting draped across each other watching TV.
“Hi mate, you must be Elliot,” the scruffy-looking guy says. He’s wearing tracksuit pants that have a massive hole in the knee, and a hoodie that's also seen better days. His dark-brown hair is sticking up all over the place, and I’m not sure if he has a beard, or just hasn’t bothered to shave for a few days. He gets up to shake my hand. “I’m Gavin and this is Petra.” He indicates the tiny girl with a dark-brown pixie haircut, and large chocolate coloured almond eyes set in a face with small but pointed features. She gives me a finger wave but remains seated.
I nod at both of them as I shake Gavin’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you both,” I respond.
“I’m just showing him to his room,” Naomi tells Gavin, who nods his understanding and doesn’t hesitate before he flops back on the couch.
I follow Naomi down a hallway with four doors leading off it. She stops at the second one on the left and opens it. Inside are two single beds, two wardrobes, and some mess. That’s all. One bed is unmade and there are clothes on the end.
“You’re sharing with Brian. He's at work right now. But he’ll be home by dinner. You’ll meet him then.”
I nod again and rest my suitcase on the end of the second bed. I didn’t realise I was sharing a room with someone, but whatever. It’s only three months.
Naomi is standing in the doorway watching me unzip my bag while she twists, side to side, happily twirling her hair around her fingers. I pause my unpacking and look at her with raised eyebrows.
“Do you want me to show you around?” she asks.
Straightening up, I look at her and place my hands on my hips. “I think I’ll be OK. It’s pretty much kitchen, living area, bedrooms and bathroom at the end right?”
“Well, yeah,” she says, giggling a little. “But I could show you my room.”
“We just met.”
She shrugs. “Yeah. But time is limited. No sense beating around the bush when you might only get one chance.”
I can’t help but smile at her logic. She’s cute. Pretty in the ‘girl next door’ way. My dick even twitches a little, disappointed in me for the lack of exercise I’ve been offering it lately. Down, boy.
“Thank you, Naomi,” I say, placing my hand on the door. “But I think I’ll pass.”
“Well, I’m just at the end of the hall if you change your mind.” She walks back from the door, maintaining eye contact until I’ve closed it on her. When I’m alone, I blow out my breath, walking away the gentle blood flow waking up my crotch. This reinventing myself thing will be harder than I thought. I’m just a man after all.
Paige
Wow, that was easy. I have a trial shift set up already. Tomorrow. Shit, now I’m petrified I won’t find my way there, or that I will get a terrible case of jet lag and cut some poor person’s ear off during the trial. Crap. Bouncing my legs up and down, I look at my phone screen and notice it’s picking up a Wi-Fi signal. When I select it, it has the name of the hotel I’m staying at, and blessedly it connects with no password.
I search for a trip planner to tell me how to get to Waterloo Station. The salon is in one of the shop fronts housed in the actual station, so finding it shouldn’t be hard. But, it will be over an hour’s journey. I’ll need to make sure my phone is fully charged so I'll have something to do.
I’m wishing I had sprung a few extra pounds for one of the rooms with a television. I have games and books on my phone, but it would be nice to kick back and watch something when I can’t sleep—which is often. Lonely nights in the dark are the worst. Maybe I should download Netflix…
Five
Elliot
“Here's to Elliot he's True Blue!
He's a Piss Pot through and through.
He's a legend so they say.
He meant to go heaven, but he went the other way!
He’s going down! Down! Down! Down! Down!”
I skol my beer without taking a breath, and the singing erupts into cheers when I hold up my empty pint glass. My new flat mates are the loudest people in the entire pub. Which is a pretty good effort becaus
e the whole place is noisy. There’s a football game on the telly, and the whole place is a cacophony of sound. It’s fucking great.
“Welcome to London, mate,” Gavin says, hanging over my shoulder after he plonks another beer on the table in front of me. I’m going to have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow, but I pick it up and drink, anyway. You only live once, right?
My arrival called for a celebration as far as Gavin was concerned, and the moment everyone got home, we took the five-minute walk to Waterloo station and jumped on the train—or maybe I should call it the ‘Tube’ now—to London Bridge and came to a place called the Southwark Tavern. It’s amazing. I feel like I’m in a movie or something, because pubs don’t look like this in Australia. Well, not any I’ve come across, anyway.
It’s on a corner and has this round-tiled façade with lead-light windows and these old-style lamps that look like the old gas lamps that had to be lit manually every night. I feel like taking photos, but don’t want to stand out as a tourist when everyone else acts like they belong here. Inside it’s wood panelling as far as the eye could see with leather-cushioned bar stools set around high tables.
“How’d you enjoy your first meal in an English pub?” Naomi asks, taking the stool beside me when Gavin vacates it. He’s jumped up to get a closer look at the big screen, making lots of ‘Aw’ and ‘Ar’ noises along with everyone else.
“Better than the plane food. And better than anything I could ever cook.”
She leans on her elbow and plays with her earring, giving me her undivided attention. “Not much of a cook?”
I shake my head.
“I can teach you if you like. We all take turns putting on the evening meal. I’ll show you a few tricks when it’s yours.”
Forever: Beautiful Series, book two Page 3
