by Laura Kemp
Kat needs to find some sort of common denominator, something she can relate to. So she switches her attention to the blurred scrubland through which they’re passing. But she recognizes nothing.
Rusting cars which look abandoned suddenly lurch into life like the undead.
By the side of the road, the odd stall here and there selling dusty wares, mainly bottles and packets of unfamiliar stuff, sits unmanned.
Stray dogs snooze while llamas – or are they vicuñas or alpacas – graze on… what exactly? Because there’s no grass, just small thorny-looking bushes.
And there are kids in rags out walking, but where have they come from and where are they going? There is only miles of flat and sparse plain.
The women, wearing bowler hats, long black plaits and full colourful skirts, are carrying loads in bulging sacks tied on their backs. A glimpse of a face makes her gasp: they are transporting their young inside those wraps of fabric – there are no trendy pushchairs or designer baby slings here.
Vans stuffed with men, women and babes in arms overtake: every now and then she makes eye contact with one of the passengers and they both stare. With her long face, loose hair and upturned nose, she must look as exotic to them as their high cheekbones, dark skin and heart-shaped faces do to her.
What had she been thinking, demanding of Vicky that they start their travels here? They should have acclimatized first with some beach time in Ecuador or Brazil. Or forgotten South America altogether. Headed straight for the east coast of Australia with its backpacker party culture.
But no, Kat wanted to come here, to soar like a bird on the thermals of confidence. To show everyone, perhaps herself too, that coming out of her shell wasn’t a temporary thing but for life. But Bolivia isn’t Oxford: Kat can hardly believe she thought La Paz was the next logical step after three years of hockey, entz, gowns and grace before supper at Mansfield College. She shakes her head, feeling nothing but self-contempt for her stupidity at thinking she was a woman about town just because everyone made a fuss out of her for being one of a few females studying maths. Her leap from her mother’s control was no more than jumping into a cocoon. She has been kidding herself, and what a time to discover it. How easily self-esteem can become vanity, she thinks. And they are in South America for a month, booked onto tours of salt flats, Lake Titicaca and Machu Picchu and signed up for thirty-hour coach journeys and tango classes in Buenos Aires.
Bewildered, her tongue feels fat and her breathing is laboured: the air is thin and she can feel it. Inhaling as deeply as she can doesn’t draw in enough oxygen and it makes her feel uneasy because she’s used to being healthy and in control.
‘Here we go,’ Vicky says, again radiating that smile, that indecently genuine smile, as they begin their descent into the city.
But Kat is still suffocating because the volume of people and buildings expands, crushing her inside. It’s all traffic fumes now and stop-start: people don’t wait at zebra crossings but weave in between cars and there’s a toothless woman squatting on the pavement selling what looks like chewing gum.
But then as they get deeper into La Paz there are some signs of civilization in which she finds comfort: women in high heels and business suits, men carrying briefcases, billboards for McDonald’s and Inca Kola and the grand colonial buildings which she’s read up on.
Up a winding alley and down a cobbled street, the cab finally pulls up outside a battered metal door. This can’t be it. They’ve booked a nice hotel to start with, just to settle them in, with a courtyard and proper duvets. Kat was against it but thank God Vicky insisted – she could kiss her she’s so grateful.
Kat is about to whisper ‘this can't be it’ to Vicky, but she’s already double-checking the address with the guide book.
‘We’re here!’ she says and Kat’s disappointment is quickly joined by fear. On alert, adrenalin pumping, Kat grips her hand to prevent a rookie mistake – always wait until the driver has left the vehicle before exiting to get your bags or he could drive off with all your stuff.
Wanting to look on top of things, faking it in the hope she’ll make it, Kat goes to pay him a ludicrous amount of notes but he asks for dollars instead and she fluffs around in her money belt, feeling a fool for showing how much cash she’s got on her. Vicky is struggling under the weight of her rucksack and Kat feels a jab of irritation that she packed the kitchen sink. Kat’s is lighter, leaner, but she can bet she’ll end up having to carry Vicky’s because she’s not as strong as her.
‘This is beyond!’ Vicky says, banging away until a member of staff opens up to reveal a glorious square of quiet. It's not the height of luxury but it’s better than she'd expected. Cafe-style tables are on the left by the bar-restaurant and a heated pool is on the right. No one is actually in, the backpackers are either on or queuing to use the computers, reading guidebooks or drinking cans of Taquiña beer. Kat feels slightly easier now, but only until Vicky grabs her, making her jump.
But Vicky isn’t warning of a threat – she’s beside herself with glee, hugging Kat then herself, looking around, wanting to get stuck in.
‘Let’s go out and explore!’ she says. ‘Right now!’
This was how Kat had imagined she herself would react. But how she feels in reality is the total opposite as it dawns on her that her previous five-star structured travels had just been her mother’s sanitized, controlled version. She wants to organize her bedside table, curl up and sleep. She wants to regroup, make sense of where she is. Anger spikes inside at how easily Vicky is taking this.
‘Shall we check-in first?’ she says in a clipped voice, which she knows Vicky catches. She sounded patronizing and she feels bad, but why isn’t Vicky finding this weird? She’s a right home-bird, she’s already said she misses Mikey a thousand times, which made Kat wonder if she’s second-best. This self-doubt, this thin skin is how she used to be. When mum would tell her ninety-eight per cent wasn’t good enough or she was ‘a piggy-wiggy’ if she ate all her tea. It has taken a lot of self-help books plus a course of counselling at uni to see that she can switch off her mother’s critical narrative inside her head. She doesn’t want it back.
‘You all right?’ Vicky says, warily.
‘Yep, just want to, you know…’ Kat tries to soften her voice, ‘dump my stuff.’ She manages a smile which Vicky gobbles up.
‘Phew, thought you were having a bit of a freak-out there, Kat!’
The nail hammers into her head and she feels a surge of attrition: she’s the one who’s supposed to be brave, she’s the one who landed a first and a job and fought her mother to be here. Vicky has always had it good; supported and cuddled and mollycoddled. She should be the one feeling vulnerable.
Kat stalks off to reception and has a word with herself as she fills out forms. You’re under stress, she thinks, don’t take it out on Vicky, she’s your best friend and it’d be so cruel to piss on her parade. Her enthusiasm is infectious, it always has been, so relax and lap it up.
Kat gives Vicky a squeeze when she returns with the key, to show she’s sorry. Then they walk arm-in-arm as a porter carries their bags to their room.
Oh my wow, it’s gorgeous, Kat thinks, as she inspects the white walls, shuttered window, animal-skin rug and Andean textiles draped over a small sofa. A calm begins to emerge on the horizon – if she can come back to this, she might just be okay!
Kat laughs as Vicky bounces up and down on the edge of the big bed, saying: ‘Bagsy the left side!’
But then she reminds Kat that this is a one-off – ‘Make the most of it, after this it’s dorms all the way’ – and she begins to shrink again.
Her temples begin to pulse to the rhythm of her heartbeat which is still fast.
‘Have you got any paracetamol?’ she asks Vicky, who gives her a look.
‘Ha! I was waiting for you to need something from my overpacked bag!’ Vicky sings it in victory.
Kat pokes out her tongue and holds out her hand as Vicky finds her Boots kit of
lotions and potions and chucks her a box of painkillers.
‘You all right?’ Vicky asks Kat’s back as she goes to the loo to get her shit together.
Inside, she splashes water on her face – then panics as some goes in her mouth. It’s not safe to drink, she thinks, spitting it out then gulping back two pills with the last of her mineral water.
‘Kat? You feeling rough?’ Vicky says through the door.
She can’t admit she feels shaky and grey and baggy.
‘Nope,’ she calls, ‘just a bit of a headache.’
‘Cool,’ Vicky whoops as Kat steps out into the room, finding it an enormous effort to breathe.
‘Fab, because the first place I want to go to is the witches’ market, where they sell llama foetuses and amulets and dried frogs. Then we could go to one of those canteens, the ones that do salteñas, those spicy pasty things, or we could eat “cuy”, that’s what they call guinea pig here, it’s a delicacy apparently. And maybe we could get a pisco sour after! Have a few drinks!’
The room is whirling, Kat feels nauseous and she just shakes her head. ‘I just need a lie down.’ She doesn’t care now that she’s shown herself up. ‘You go out there, have a bit of a fact-finding mission, I’ll be fine, honestly.’
‘Oh God, I can’t leave you. Is it the altitude? Shit, I thought I’d get that not you.’
Kat mentally agrees with her because she is fit as a fiddle whereas Vicky gets every bug going and she’s… Her head hits the pillow and she shuts her eyes, disgusted that the next words that she was thinking were ‘a bit of a slob’. She feels ashamed that one test, one blip, has made her spiteful and mean. She begins to backtrack: she didn’t mean it nastily, it’s just that she’s read somewhere that fitter people have more – or is it fewer? – red blood cells and require more oxygen or something? Her mind is jumbled and dizzy.
‘I just need a quick nap. Go and check out the hotel, get some water and snacks and stuff. I’ll come and find you in a bit. Meet you in the bar.’
‘Right, okay, if you’re sure, but say if not because—’
‘Go, honest.’
And then as Vicky leaves the room, Kat sinks with her regret into the covers wishing she was anywhere but here, accusing herself of the utmost stupidity for thinking this up.
A blackness pulls her under for God knows how long until a sound of metal saws in her ears. She sits up and can see Vicky with her key in a kind of twilight.
‘Hey! How you doin’?’ she whispers in their Joey Tribbiani-style greeting, born of a mutual teenage obsession with Friends. Usually, Kat says it back to her, but it feels foreign, inappropriate. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ Vicky stumbles. ‘I’ve been in twice but you were doggo so I’ve just been in the bar. Bit pissed actually. You okay?’
‘What time is it?’ Kat says, feeling out of sync, suddenly starving hungry.
‘Ten. I’ve brought you some water and there’s a toastie, sorry it’s cold but…’
Kat couldn’t care less. She glugs the water greedily and polishes off the cheese sandwich, feeling slightly better. Here in the dark, she can finally say it out loud. ‘Christ, I felt terrible earlier. What a wash-out, I bet you must think I’m a right weakling. I just felt overwhelmed. I’m sorry for being a cow.’
‘That’s all right, mate, you weren’t,’ she says, joining her in bed. ‘It is mega mental here. Just the strangest place on earth. Apart from Mikey’s house! I mean, the furthest I’ve been before this was Turkey with Mum and Dad.’
Kat grabs on to Vicky’s acknowledgement like a life raft.
‘Hey, I’ve been talking to some of the people out there, they’re just like us, taking gap years or whatever and they’ve got loads of tips and suggestions. Oh, and most were affected by the altitude when they got here too so don’t worry.’
This was music to Kat’s ears – perhaps she’d fallen apart because she was ill not naive.
‘Flic, this girl I spoke to, who was really nice, said it’ll take a few days to acclimatize. The trick, she says, is coca tea, apparently. It’s not drugs or anything, although it is related to cocaine but just distantly, like. A herbal infusion which alleviates the effects of being so high up. We’ll get some tomorrow for you, they sell it everywhere.’
‘Brill,’ Kat breathed, relieved this shortness of breath and anxiety wasn’t her but being two point two eight miles above sea level.
‘God, do you know, I was so scared before we got on the plane. But the weirdest thing happened when we took off. I just had this feeling that my life starts now: that this is what I’ve been after the whole time. New things, different faces, like. You read books to change your reality, but for the first time I’m living it. I’m free! And so are you! We’re going to have the most epic adventure, Kat!’
Kat lays back down and reaches out for Vicky’s hand.
‘Thanks, mate,’ she says. It was exactly what she needed to hear: why hadn’t she talked to Vicky when she began to feel bad? Next time she’d tell her straight up. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, do you know that?’
‘You too, Kat. Now let’s get some sleep, breakfast is from 8 a.m. to 10 a.m. We can plan our stay then over tea and toast, they do that here! Although I might try the Bolivian breakfast, they do a kind of doughnut thing and you know I can’t resist a doughnut.’
Kat giggles because that’s typical of Vicky. Not just the thinking of her stomach bit but that she’s embracing everything. Vicky sees herself as a struggler, as a nobody, no matter how many times Kat has told her she isn’t. Instead she is blessed with magnetism and positivity and flexibility and there is no one she’d rather have by her side.
‘Best friends forever, Vicky,’ she murmurs.
‘Word, Kat,’ Vicky says, sighing sweetly into the night.
Chapter Five
V
Cowbridge, March
Vee pulled up in Mum’s car outside Fromage, a deli Kate had suggested for their 9.30 a.m. rendezvous.
Set in the smart – or what Vee read as smug – town of Cowbridge nestled between Waitrose and what could only be described as a designer charity shop, it looked the part with its swirly French font, dark wooden cellar door and battered cafe-style shutters. A chalkboard outside declared: ‘When one is tired of cheese, one is tired of life’, which reflected there was zero sign of life here.
She inhaled a shaky breath, bracing herself for this meeting of past and present. What was she going to find? Vee had learned nothing from the brief exchange of messages with Kate – Wow, what a surprise! Yes, I’d love to catch up.
Ever since, she’d been doubting herself. Only this morning, she’d consulted the dog-eared poster of Jarvis Cocker Blu-tacked inside the left hand door of her white MFI chipboard wardrobe, just as she’d done as a teenager. He’d been a good agony uncle through the years, although his advice could be a bit negative.
‘Should I cancel?’ she’d asked him as she got dressed into skinny jeans and her A Woman’s Place Is In The Revolution T-shirt. He’d pointed out that she was going to be here for a while because she was skint, therefore she had to get a job and if she was going to sort herself out, she needed a friend.
Mikey hadn’t replied, but then wherever he was, it’d be so flash and futuristic, they probably communicated through robot beeps. That was obviously that – he was off living his life.
Jarvis was right: the fact was, meeting Kate was important. While Kate had never replied to Vee’s emails, Vee wasn’t after an apology, that wasn’t what this was about. Instead, at the very least, she wanted to make peace, show that the past was in the past.
Still, in her heart of hearts she hoped it would lead to more: to have someone in her life now who ‘got’ her. To laugh at how obsessed they were with Titanic, how they used to squabble over who got to sing Robbie Williams’ part when they’d listen to Take That in her bedroom. To have a bit of support too: as much as Vee loved Mum and Dad, they didn’t know what it was to be thirty in the twenty-first century.
Understanding she had to be mild rather than mustard, Vee had taken off her statement T-shirt and opted for a navy one instead. No Brighton green eyeshadow either: round here it’d make her look like a mad old lady who still thought it was 1940. A bit of talc on her hair had diluted the pink bits – getting rid of them would be the first thing she’d do when she had some cash.
Vee checked her watch: it was time. She stepped out into the sunshine, which was doing a decent trailer for spring, and felt waves of apprehension. Bats circled her head, kangaroos thumped in her tummy and gorillas fisted her chest. But she could leave if she had nothing in common anymore with Kate, which was a possibility. Kate was a country girl now, living in a hamlet with a very Welsh name of just consonants. Such isolation was an appalling thought for Vee, who’d die if she didn’t have a Spar up the road. And it fitted in with her theory that Kate had made millions in London, moved into a posh pile and got herself a little job to keep her busy.
Standing outside the deli, she ran through her opening line. Their old Joey from Friends ‘how you doin’?’ – which used to set them off laughing – wasn’t right for two thirty-year-old women. Neither was ‘so… what the blinking hell made you come back to live in the back of beyond?’. A frightened ‘it’s been a while’ plus an observation on how fantastic Kate looked was more like it.
With false gusto, Vee went in expecting to come face to face with her – Kate had been brought up on punctuality. Instead, through the murky air, she saw a harassed-looking man with a battered brown leather apron round his waist shouting into the phone.
The tinkle of the door had announced her arrival and she waited for him to do the usual embarrassed awkward grin of the proprietor who’d been caught being anything but the convivial host. But he stared at her as if she had just walked into his own lounge rather than a public place.
‘Yes?’ he said, irritated, his green eyes flaring in a ray of sun which had broken into the dingy deli.
