‘If I had my name on the door it would be easy to find me when visitors leave the patients and want answers that I cannot give them,’ he explained. ‘At least this way I’m not often discovered.’
Kai imagined him sitting behind a desk, praying that there’d be no knock on his door, no requests for the impossible, no demand for miracles. It was easier now to understand his reaction to her ‘escape’. He was held accountable for lives over which he had minimal control, subject to the whims of illness and disease. He was expected to cure and console. He had to be God in his own small world and, by leaving without his consent, she had been one more reminder that, in such a random world he was more powerless than he wanted to admit.
Still puzzling over this sudden insight, Kai allowed Ekachai to hold the door open and usher her inside. The office interior was another surprise. It was very orderly – even compulsively tidy – the office of someone methodical and obsessive. Kai found herself wondering what Ellen would make of Ekachai’s office, what judgements she would pronounce on his character. The cream walls contained certificates framed in blond wood and arranged in simple geometric patterns, all bearing Ekachai’s name. The desk proudly displayed two items, a telephone and a laptop computer, both aligned with the angles and edges of the wooden surface. There were no family photographs, no books, nothing personal except the certificates. The place clearly had one purpose – it was an office, not a den, not a home-from-home, a utilitarian room. Perhaps it was arranged so carefully in order to deny the doctor the temptation to sit and relax. It wasn’t a place that invited anybody to linger.
Ekachai walked round the desk and opened a drawer that was hidden from Kai’s view. She could imagine paperclips and pens in allocated positions, nothing allowed to move out of place. He removed a spiral-bound pad and flicked quickly through the pages until he found what he was searching for.
‘The number of Mark’s hotel,’ he said, placing the pad on the desk. ‘Take as much time as you need, I’m going to have a cup of coffee. I shall knock when I return.’
He closed the door gently behind him, leaving Kai studying the notepad. It contained what she assumed was a hotel name, Krit Thai, a room number and a telephone number. Another step in her rehabilitation – pick up the phone and speak to a stranger. Her hands shook as she dialled, uncomfortable with the slightly claustrophobic feeling of pressing the receiver to her ear and the hum of the dial tone. A click and then a single ring tone repeated three times.
‘Hello, Krit Thai Hotel.’
‘Er… could I speak to… could you connect me with room 157 please?’ she blundered, flustered by the efficient voice on the other end of the phone.
‘Who is calling?’
‘Could you just tell him it’s Kai, please.’
‘One moment.’
Silence. More clicks and a different ring tone.
‘Hello?’
‘Mark?’
‘Oh, hi Kai, I was hoping you’d ring.’
She could picture his smile and the way he tilted his head to one side when he was listening carefully.
‘Ekachai gave me the number. You called earlier?’
‘Yeah, I wanted to know if you were up for another day out. I’ve got a couple of suggestions, places you might like to see.’
‘What did you tell him about last night?’
‘What? Nothing, just that I’d seen you in a bar with another patient. I was worried. You were drinking and I wondered if it was okay.’
‘So, now you know.’
‘She’s a therapist, yes the doctor told me. If you’d said that last night I wouldn’t have even mentioned it to him.’
Kai sighed. ‘Look, Mark, I was out for a quiet drink with someone who I’m starting to regard as a friend. I didn’t want to tell you that Ellen’s my shrink because she wasn’t there in any sort of professional capacity.’
‘A friend, huh? Looks like I’ve been made redundant then.’ She couldn’t sense his feelings from his voice. Was he hurt or was he playing the martyr? She had no way of reading him. She didn’t know how to work out his emotions from his tone of voice.
‘I suppose so,’ she tried humour. ‘Nice knowing you then.’ She was smiling and she knew he would be able to hear it.
‘Oh why are women so fickle?’ he teased. ‘One drink with someone else and your knight’s armour looks all rusty.’ So it was a joke.
‘Hey, can I help it if I’m so popular? It’s the air of mystery you know. Keep ‘em guessing.’
‘Okay, okay. I’m willing to share you. Look, how about we go out again sometime soon?’
‘I’ll have to check my diary – I’ve got a pretty full schedule you know.’ She paused. ‘No, wait, I’m free from this afternoon for the next forty years or so.’
‘It’ll have to wait for a couple of days – is that okay? Friday? I’ll come to the hospital around eleven in the morning and maybe we can get lunch somewhere. How does that sound?’
‘Fine,’ she lied, trying to hide the disappointment. Another two days stuck in her room. ‘That leaves me just enough time to get ready.’
‘Good. See you then.’ And he hung up.
Kai stared at the receiver as though it had been responsible for letting her down. She hated herself for being so dependent on others, unable to do anything or go anywhere on her own. She felt pathetic and with the feeling came the familiar simmering rage. She needed to get out of the hospital. For good.
Ekachai played right into my hands, answered all my questions without me having to even ask them. I played the concerned friend, laid it on with a trowel. Poor Kai, in a seedy bar, drinking in the afternoon. And what about the other patient she was with – was she a suitable companion? Was she to be trusted with our precious Kai? Oh the good doctor had practically tied himself in knots trying to reassure me that the situation was under control, the woman’s a doctor at the hospital and of course she can be trusted.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Kai is seeing a shrink, but it makes me uncomfortable. People tell stuff to their shrink – personal stuff, stuff that they can’t share with other people. I don’t like that at all. If she has anything to share then it should be with me, not some silly bint who thinks she’s got a grown up job. Fucking psychiatrist – what sort of job is that?
Doctor Thomas – funny that she has a man’s name – Kai’s new playmate. But there’s no room for other friends, she might start to favour this shrink over me and that isn’t part of the plan. That’s dangerous and has to be contained. I can’t afford to have her talking about me to other people. She could say anything and I can’t have Ekachai turning his spotlight on me. He trusts me now but my cover won’t stand up to close scrutiny. I’ve got to get her away from there, away from doctors and fucking shrinks. I need to get her to depend on me for support and friendship. I’m not going to let this cow get in my way – she’s easily dealt with.
The phone call was fun. Who else could have been ringing me? Who else did I know in this shitty excuse for a town? Only Phet and she’d been next to me in bed when I’d taken the call.
All that pathetic banter. ‘I’ll have to check my diary.’ Stupid cow. I wanted to shout at her, ‘you pathetic bitch!’ Instead I played the game and even added an extra dimension. Suspense. I couldn’t see her until Friday. And I’d offered her no explanation. What will a little loneliness do to her? And, of course, there’s the shock. A bit of time on her own and a scare and she’ll be mine, willing to trust me, to do anything. In a few days I’ll have her exactly where I want her and I’ll be able to do anything I want with her.
In a way I want to string her along for a while yet. The game’s been fun. I haven’t felt this alive in years. But I’m not taking any chances. I need to get moving.
November 19th – Vientiane
After another nine-hour bus journey I’ve given up on the idea of heading into northern Laos – I just can’t face the dust and the bumps and the uncertainty a
bout toilets. There was no way I could be bothered to write anything last night especially as, after I’d checked into the hotel, I spent much of the evening eating pasta and drinking Italian wine, with a man!
I left Savannakhet at 6.30am yesterday thinking I might be able to get some sleep on the bus, especially as the road is one of the major routes through the country. No such luck. The ‘road’ wasn’t very much better than the dirt track from the border and even when it had something resembling a hard surface we were run into the sandy verges by passing lorries. I was very glad to pull into the overcrowded bus station.
Vientiane is like no other capital city that I’ve ever seen. It’s like an oversize village. I took a tuk-tuk to the hotel and the journey took all of five minutes. It was a couple of miles but there was hardly any traffic so we just whizzed along. The hotel is fantastic – welcome drink, nice rooms and a pool! And so cheap. I think the price is due to the ‘faded’ rather than the ‘charm’. I’m already planning to outstay my visa and pay a fine at the border.
I went out in search of a good restaurant last night and found a flashy Italian place which was exactly what I was looking for. As I stood outside scrutinising the menu and calculating the size of the hole it would make in my budget a voice behind me said: ‘It’s all as good as it sounds.’
He was tall, dark and handsome. Well, taller than me with brown eyes and passable good looks. My instinct told me to ignore him and he might go away. I hadn’t planned on company while I treated myself – the whole point was to just enjoy being alone and safe. It was a private celebration of, well, of happiness. I smiled politely and pushed my way inside. I’d expected there to be plenty of room as it was quite early and the city didn’t seem to be too busy, but there was some sort of meeting going on and several tables had been pushed together to accommodate a sober-looking group of westerners. The few remaining tables were all occupied.
The man had followed me inside and his heavy sigh showed that he was obviously as disappointed as me. Before I could turn and leave a waiter approached and asked ‘Table for two?’ I shook my head and opened my mouth to explain but he was already heading towards a gloomy alcove where a vacant table was all but hidden from view. I followed, still trying to clarify the situation, but the waiter seemed determined to seat us both. Frustrated I looked round at my ‘companion’ for assistance but he seemed to be as bemused as I was.
‘Look, I’ll leave,’ he said. ‘I can always find somewhere else.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I told him. ‘You have the table, I’ll come back tomorrow.’
We did the polite thing for a few minutes while the waiter grew increasingly impatient and then decided to take the table together. It was actually my suggestion and I did it out of politeness rather than being in need of company, but it turned out to be a really good decision as I had a very pleasant evening and he turned out to be excellent company. His name’s Michael, he’s Canadian and he’s been working for one of the landmines charities in Laos.
We chatted quite a lot over a fantastic meal and I found myself telling him all sorts of things about myself – the truth for once – but not all the bad stuff. He’s about my age and seems to have spent most of his life travelling for one kind of work or another. He spends most of his time in the countryside training local people to teach others to be landmine aware. He’s only here for a couple of days which is kind of a shame but it does have its positive side – at least there’s no time for anything more than friendship. It’s weird to have met a man that I like and to be able to spend time with him without pressure. I don’t feel like I have to be wary around him because he seems genuinely friendly and kind. A couple of months ago I wouldn’t have been able to trust my instincts like this, I would have been so suspicious of anyone who showed any interest in me, assuming they were out for anything they could get. I might be making a huge mistake, but at least I’m able to connect with someone. I’m not so completely fucked up by my relationship with David. Anyway, we’ll both be in different places by the end of the week and I think we know that this is just a passing friendship. I enjoyed having someone to talk to who isn’t another traveller. Michael has a real life, a job and plans which makes such a change from the drifters I’ve been spending time with. I’ve just re-read that last sentence and it sounds so snobby. I just mean that it’s good to spend time with a different kind of person. Not that I mind spending time with other travellers, they’re just so young (mostly).
Time to get ready. Michael’s taking me on a magical mystery tour of the city in exactly one hour and I haven’t showered yet.
November 20th – Vientiane
Yesterday was a fun day. As promised, Michael collected me from my hotel and, as soon as he saw my trusty Lonely Planet guide, he sent me back to my room to dump the book. I got the impression that he wanted me to be dependent on his judgement, so I put myself in his hands. It felt a bit weird allowing someone to make decisions on my behalf, especially after I swore I would never do that again. One of the real joys of this trip has been in the little things; deciding to have a second beer with dinner, poring over a menu with the time and freedom to make my own choices, planning routes and visits.
But I didn’t feel like I was being bulldozed into anything, Michael made it clear that he could show me some interesting places, but if I got bored or wanted something different I just had to say. He knows the city quite well as he spends a lot of time here so it made sense to allow him to show me around. I had such a nice evening yesterday that it was impossible not to want to trust him for a few hours.
I was a bit shocked to see that he’d taken the liberty of hiring bicycles for the two of us. I was dubious about the safety of cycling on the type of roads I’ve seen over the last few days but Michael did his best to reassure me. The nice thing was that the bicycle thing wasn’t a big deal to him. He really didn’t seem to mind when I was on the verge of bottling out. It was such a change to be treated as an equal whose opinions and fears are valid. David would just have pressured me into getting on the bike, or sulked for days. In the end Michael’s gentle persuasion won me over, especially as he’d promised not to race off ahead and to look out for me at tricky junctions.
The bicycle was the worst I’d ever ridden. There was no spring in the saddle, which kept slipping, the handlebars were worn out and the frame seemed to be held together with bits of wire and something that looked alarmingly like a paperclip. Michael offered to swap bikes but his was no better and it was too big for me.
We headed out of town to the ‘Great Sacred Stupa’ which Michael told me was ‘the most important national monument in Laos’. The most impressive part was a huge golden stupa which really was too bright to look at in the mid-morning sun. After fifteen minutes wandering round trying to find some shade I gave up all pretensions of spirituality and admitted that I just didn’t get it. I had no idea what we were looking at or why it was so important. Michael shook his head as though he felt sorry for someone so spiritually bereft and then collapsed in a fit of giggles admitting that he was totally clueless as well. He has a wonderful laugh, so unselfconscious and free as though he wants to share the joke with anyone and everyone. It’s hard not to laugh with him even in the presence of ‘the most important national monument in Laos’. I’m sure we were being very disrespectful but it was one of those situations where, once you’ve got the giggles, anything is funny. I haven’t laughed like that in years. When David laughed I always got that tight feeling in my chest because it was usually the precursor to one of his ‘lessons’. I never laughed with him let alone at him.
The most interesting parts of the site, for me, were the temples to the sides of the stupa, clearly labelled ‘men only’. I find it hard to be deferential when I’m excluded because of my gender, but Michael explained that it was a religious thing and I shouldn’t take it personally. All I know is that Buddhism has gone down a good few notches in my estimation. I thought Buddhists were all love and peace and harmony. Wh
at’s so threatening about women? Exactly what is this power we have that makes men want to exclude us, hide from us and even beat us? Fucked if I know!
The road back towards the centre of town was mostly downhill which was a relief as it must have been about 30 degrees by that point. We stopped off at the ‘Victory Monument’, a huge concrete monstrosity in the shape of an arch. I couldn’t see the attraction until Michael led the way inside and upstairs. From the top we could see dusty red roads radiating out in all directions. This place was the hub of the city’s road system. I had to take a few pictures because nobody at home will believe my stories of empty roads in a capital city and it was a great view, trees in all directions and not a high-rise building in sight – the highest roofs were the orange tiles of temples.
We had lunch in a quiet café down by the river. Michael asked me a few things about myself – but not in that awful prying way that some men have. He didn’t ask about relationships, didn’t do the usual ‘So is there someone back home?’ He really made me feel like he wanted my company just for the companionship. I tried to respond in kind, asking him about his work and how he got into it. He was disappointed but not really surprised at how little I knew about the problems with landmines in Laos and I think that decided the next stop on our tour.
The National Museum is about as far removed from our national museum in London as it’s possible to get. Sometimes sections of the British Museum have to close while a new exhibition is being organised, sometimes it’s possible to find a quiet gallery or two but the National Museum in Vientiane is like somebody’s small collection of ‘stuff’. One whole section was closed because the ceiling had collapsed leaving us to shuffle through a layer of dust on the floors of the downstairs rooms. The prehistoric display was interesting but few of the signs were in English which was frustrating.
Much easier to understand was the information about UXO (unexploded ordnance). I knew a little bit from what Michael had already told me so I knew it was causing problems for farmers trying to cultivate the land but I had no idea of the scale of the problem. There were photographs of ‘bombi’ – a type of ‘anti-personnel bomblet’ – which is easily mistaken for a variety of local fruit and examples of other kinds of grenades and mines. It’s now twenty five years since the war that brought all this crap (a war Laos wasn’t even involved in) and it still kills people on a weekly basis.
Forgotten: a truly gripping psychological thriller Page 16
