The Travel Auction

by Mark Green

  “Is there anything a bit, you know, racy?” said Kate, oblivious to the ridiculous scene of two middle-aged customs officers trying to hide their amusement at the sight of a skimpy studded leather thong. Its front pouch was clearly intended for the male gender, judging by the elephant trunk willy warmer. Next was ‘Mr Stiffy penis-encouragement cream’, apparently made from an old family recipe. A large ‘Sherlock Holmes’ style magnifying glass also appeared.

  “Does this stuff actually work sir?” asked one of the customs men. He was struggling to get the words out without bursting into laughter, whilst using the magnifying glass to zoom in and out of the small print on the 'rock hard’ pot of penis rub. A set of handcuffs followed, then finally a Superman outfit, tight blue and red Lycra complete with a large 'S‘ on the front. By this stage neither man was able to contain himself. They were howling with laughter.

  “Did Maria have a little fun at our expense?” Kate said in an innocent voice.

  “No. I really am an impotent, magnifying glass-toting Superman, who wears an elephant thong under his cape. Did I miss that off the advert? How careless of me. Bloody hell! Three months of this!”

  My voice may have conveyed just a touch of sarcasm, can’t think why.

  “Hang on a minute, you’re Kate Thornly,” one of the customs men said.

  Oh shit.

  I knew what was coming next. I closed my eyes and dropped my head into my hands, not daring to peek out between my fingers.

  “That’s me,” said Kate.

  “The Kate Thornly. On eBay?”

  One of them turned to me, struggling to get the words out between snorts of laughter.

  “Got yourself a real handful here mate! Three months eh, good luck…” His voice tailed off, unable to finish his sentence as he turned to his colleague and tipped his head at the door.

  “Bloody hell!” was all I could manage, making a mental note to try not to swear so much. But I knew this was probably going to be very difficult indeed.

  Kate started to laugh, and despite my best efforts to stay angry, I just couldn’t.

  I started to chuckle as well, allowing myself to relax, getting rid of the tension. I laughed until I was struggling to catch my breath. Then, for some bizarre reason, I started to cry.

  Five

  Kate Thornly (the 2nd)

  Jonathan thought I hadn’t noticed, but when emotions switch like that, body language gives it away. I couldn’t see the change, but when I reached out to hook his arm under mine, I felt the trembling and tension. It was awkward for a moment or two, standing by his side, realising he was upset, but not understanding why, or how best to comfort him.

  “You okay Clark Kent?” I said, hoping to distract him from whatever it was that had upset him. I heard him sniff, trying to pull himself back together.

  “It’s just… a trigger. It happens sometimes.”

  I nodded and smiled at him as I squeezed his arm.

  “Fancy a cup of kryptonite?” I said, this time feeling his arm relax a little. He laughed. I could just make out his blurry head shaking from side to side.

  “This is totally bizarre. Us, here, what lies ahead…”

  “Look at it this way, if you get bored of me, you can trade me in along the way for Catwoman. Deal?”

  He sighed and I felt him relax a little.

  “Deal,” he said, easing his arm away to place his hand in mine. We shook, sealing the agreement, then started stuffing clothes back into our packs. I felt through my pile, tracing hemlines and stitching, mentally identifying the clothes Maria had packed for me. There were some new things here — thanks Maria, bless you. Doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you though…

  * *

  Me

  “You said there was a trigger, back in that room. Anything you want to talk about?” said KT2. (My new nickname for Kate Thornly the 2nd)

  I sighed, toying with my cup of coffee. I’d already decided, before I even wrote the advert, that I wouldn’t open up too much to the new Kate Thornly. But now I figured it probably wouldn’t hurt, particularly given the Kate I’d ended up with. It may sound weird, but because KT2 couldn’t see, and we couldn’t exchange eye contact, it made it easier for me to open up.

  “My mum died a few weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” said KT2.

  I nodded, forgetting that an unspoken acknowledgement was lost on her.

  “She made me promise to book this trip six months ago, when she was first diagnosed…” I began, then stopped short.

  Something was niggling at me. I froze, listening to the tannoy announcement, then glanced down at my watch.

  “Shit! We’ve got to go. NOW!”

  I started running, then stopped in mid-stride, taking a look over my shoulder back at the table. I dashed back, silently cursing KT2.

  “Give me your hand. Let’s go!”

  I hurried KT2 along as best as I could, one hand clasped in hers, the other holding her elbow to try and give her some stability as I jogged beside her at an awkward angle.

  It was a close call, but fortunately the departure gate was still open when we got there, breathing heavily and sweating. The airline staff frowned at us until they realised that KT2 was blind. As they checked our passports, there were also a few raised eyebrows and comments along the lines of “She’s that Kate Thornly…” but we didn’t waste any time and rushed past them towards the plane, where the Madrid-bound Brit-pack in the middle section slow-clapped us aboard. It wasn’t the best of starts to our travels.

  I sat back, shut my eyes and pushed my head into the seat.

  “Did we make it?” KT2 asked, looking a bit flustered.

  “Only just. Sorry, my fault,” I said.

  “Apology accepted. You are such a bad fiancé.”

  I snapped my eyes open. KT2 turned towards me and studied me with her blank eyes.

  “Didn’t Maria tell you? I’ve been looking for a husband for, oh, about a month now. Just woke up one morning, looked in the mirror and decided.”

  She turned and glanced across to her right where an overweight middle-aged man sat with a filthy look on his face.

  “We’re getting married, you know.”

  “Make sure you’re not late that day,” the man said as he turned away to look out of the window, clearly not happy we’d kept the plane waiting.

  I nudged KT2 in the ribs.

  “Married?”

  “Yes, in Rio. Everyone wears white on the beach to see in the New Year. I just assumed, what with your advert and all, we’d be getting hitched. Isn’t that what you were intending by ending up there? With the first Kate Thornly I mean. I don’t mind taking her place. You’ll have to do something about grinding your teeth though, terrible turn off when I’m, you know, getting in the mood…”

  I felt my heart pound and all colour drained from my face.

  KT2 leant forwards, felt her way up to my chin and gently pushed my lower jaw up. I pulled away from her, then stared into her eyes, which for obvious reasons, were impossible to read.

  “You’re joking,” I said at last, relief pouring out of me. I half laughed, shaking my head as the plane started to creep backwards.

  “Gotcha!” said KT2, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Excuse me,” said the man next to KT2.

  “Are you the Kate Thornly?”

  I groaned. The sooner we got away from the UK the better…

  Six

  Buenos Aires, Argentina

  Me

  I have a feeling it’s going to take me several days to recover from the seventeen hour flight, plus transfers. All in all I reckon it was a good twenty-four hours non-stop travelling. Factor in having to escort KT2 everywhere and it’s no wonder I was shattered when we arrived. It’s hard having to keep up an almost constant running commentary when we’re on the move; turn left here, speed up a little, stop. Yet another public toilet visit.

  But, I’m getting the hang of it. Or I was before we left Madrid behind. That’s when a
ny chance of intercepting an English-speaking woman on her way into the ladies and asking her to escort KT2 disappeared. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the Spanish lessons I’d had a few weeks before we left.

  We left.

  Now that’s an odd thought. I’d closed myself off, there had been too much to think about - placing the ad and trawling through the replies. I hadn’t had the time to think it through and come to terms with the break-up. But for the next three months I had all the thinking time in the world. No working twelve hours a day, no hectic weekend social life, no friends to distract me. I’d stepped out of my old life, a safe, cocoon-like existence and was now lying in a hotel bed at what, four o’clock in the morning, sharing a double bed with a blind girl…

  “Are you asleep?” KT2 whispered, making me jump despite her soft voice. She’d interrupted my train of thought at the precise moment I’d started to think about her. Surreal, especially at this time in the morning, eight thousand miles from home and about eight million miles from reality.

  “I was. How are you KT2?”

  If she was surprised by her new name she didn’t let on, and if she was mildly amused then I wasn’t aware of it because our room was pitch black.

  “Awake.”

  I chuckled.

  “I’m not. I’m in a sleep-deprived dreamlike state with reality and fantasy merging together.”

  “Are you sober?”

  I laughed and tilted my head towards her to see if I could make out her facial expression, but I could only just see the vague silhouette of her head.

  “How can I be anything but? You’ve been with me constantly…” I stopped before my tone hinted annoyance at having to be by her side twenty-four seven.

  “You could have a secret hip flask to dull the pain. Vodka, so I couldn’t smell it on your breath…”

  “I think you’d know,” I interrupted, an amused smile twitching across

  my lips. “But in answer to your question, yes I am sober. Are you?”

  “Me? No. Three sheets to the wind. Absolutely plastered. It’s the only way I can stand your damaged aura.”

  “My aura?!”

  I had to laugh again. What a strange conversation. Must be the tiredness, making me soft in the head.

  “Yes. Fixated, distracted and emotionally stunted. Special cosmic glue is required, aura-specific of course,” said KT2, a playful tone in her voice.

  “You’re shaking your head, I can feel the sheets moving. Do I amuse you Jonny?”

  “This situation is what amuses me. It’s weird, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. But this is only day three. Ask yourself the same question at the end of the trip. It’ll be interesting to see if your view has changed.”

  “Do you have a prediction?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Care to share it with me?”

  “Nope. Sleep tight Jonny.”

  And that was that. KT2 rolled over, pulling some of the duvet with her. We tugged it back and forth a few times, then both settled back into our pillows.

  I couldn’t help an amused smile as I drifted off to sleep, too tired to register that I don’t normally settle that well with someone new lying next to me…

  * *

  KT2

  I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Jonny who’d booked the hotel, it was far too chic and fashionable to have been chosen by a man. Not a straight one anyway! The Baucis Boutique Hotel was located in the fashionable and bohemian Palermo part of Hollywood, downtown Buenos Aires. A recently opened courtyard hotel, it was relatively small, but had tastefully decorated rooms that were both original and artistic. I’m relying on Jonny’s description of course, but I think he was quite taken by our glamorous and heavily perfumed hostess, so he was unusually enthusiastic describing our surroundings.

  The floor was rugged flagstones, there was a hint of gothic in the modern artwork on the walls and a minimalistic, ultra cool bathroom with a frosted glass partition. I liked the place, it was quirky. I didn’t even mind there being no hot water. But Jonny complained about everything including freezing in the shower and having to pee in the dark because the light switch didn’t work. I suggested he wear his head torch.

  “Oh, good idea. I didn’t think of that,” he said.

  Typical male office worker, I thought; not very resourceful and a bit of a whiner. I didn’t mind the cold shower, it woke me up and was refreshing after the hot, muggy night.

  “Whose big trip was this, yours or the first Kate’s?” I asked as we sat eating breakfast.

  Okay, it was a slightly loaded question, but I was curious about his relationship with the other Kate.

  “It was always my idea. Actually that’s not strictly true because my mum encouraged me and…”

  He pulled himself up short. I waited patiently, feeling my way around the bread, cheeses and ham until I found my coffee cup. After a long silence I decided to press on.

  “Is your dad still around? What does he think?”

  “He died when I was twenty. Car crash.”

  Jonny sounded lost talking about his family. It must have been tough, losing both of them.

  “What about you KT2, any family history you want to discuss?”

  “Not right now. But maybe later, in the fullness of time…”

  “You mean we need to become friends first,” he said, a trace of irritation in his voice. I took my time before answering.

  “Some things belong in the past.”

  Me

  I was frustrated, I thought we were starting to get on okay, trust each other with personal information, but over breakfast we’d ground to a halt. So we spent the rest of the morning each doing our own thing. I read a forgettable paperback and KT2 listened to music and a talking book. I didn’t ask her what book it was, I wasn’t really interested in making an effort. What was the point? So long as we got along reasonably well and she was with me at meal times, then she was fulfilling her part of the arrangement. We didn’t really need to communicate other than at these times.

  With hindsight, this might have been a little selfish on my part. KT2 probably needed to hear me talk more, but that’s just the way it was.

  Later on I’d got over my grumpiness and suggested we go for a wonder around. Palermo is like an arty, fashionable part of London, a bit like Camden Market or Portobello Road in Notting Hill. Only it’s a lot hotter with a European like cafe culture heavily influenced by its Spanish and Italian immigrants.

  The Argentine people themselves are really friendly and inquisitive about the British, overturning my preconception that they might still feel hostile towards us over the Falklands. Leaving the Palermo district for the down town area however is much like any big city, although the traffic is different. There are lots of big American 1960s buses, which contrast with the smattering of smart modern buildings amongst the drab concrete.

  After a reasonably pleasant and largely uneventful day that lacked any non-essential communication, I decided to try and break the slightly awkward atmosphere between us. I asked our voluptuous hotel glamour puss to recommend the best place for a steak dinner, which is how we found ourselves at Don Julio’s, just a couple of blocks walk away. Any doubts about the quality of the establishment vanished as soon as we entered its bustling atmosphere. The two tier, split level wood-panelled restaurant was packed with happy diners and I did my best to describe the scene to KT2. There was an open plan kitchen area, which sizzled with dancing flames as the steaks were cooked. It smelt amazing. The walls were decorated with hundreds of empty wine bottles, crammed into every nook and cranny. They all had some sort of comment written on them with a thick black marker pen: celebrations, thank yous, birthday memories.

  I’m a bit of a red wine enthusiast, so I felt right at home in the place. Not to the extent that I can name grape mixes or wax lyrical about the pedigree of specific vineyards, but I definitely know what I like and Argentina produces some of the world’s finest red wines. So we had a bottle over dinner. Th
en what the hell, I ordered another. It would have been rude not to, it was so cheap.

  Good job KT2 wasn’t a vegetarian, (now that would have proved awkward, as she had to taste all my food first) she would have gone hungry in Argentina. The steak was so melt-in-the-mouth tender that they didn’t even bother to set the table with steak knives, ordinary cutlery was sufficient. It was the best steak dinner I’ve ever had.

  We sat in companionable silence, letting the background restaurant chatter wash over us. My mind started to wonder.

  What was the other Kate Thornly doing? Did she regret not coming with me? Was she still seeing the plumber?

  “I had a few weight issues, when I was younger,” said KT2, a distant voice pulling me back.

  “Issues?”

  “Mmm. I was teased a lot as a kid. They used to call me Katie the Cake.”

  “But they couldn’t say that anymore,” I said, knowing that I should pay attention, gently encourage her to carry on.

  “No. But… I went through a stage, in my teens. Went off the rails for a bit.”

  I nodded, too tipsy to realise my body language was lost on her.

  “Was that when the RP started to damage your sight?” I asked.

  KT2 nodded, but said nothing. Despite the wine haze, I made a mental note not to push too hard for information, that’s when she’d dried up before. I decided to try a different approach.

  “But you found your way back, onto the tracks.”

  She beamed and the furrowed lines on her forehead disappeared.

  “That I did. I met Maria. Her friendship changed everything. She made me see the fun in life, whatever hand you’re dealt.

  “How did you meet?”

  “At the eye hospital in London. Her son also has RP. Then she saw that ad on eBay and decided it would be good for me to go on an amazing trip around South America with a complete stranger. And the rest Jonny, is history.”

  “Perhaps by the end of this trip we’ll be good friends,” I said without thinking too much about what I meant.