by Mark Green
The Travel Mate
Mark David Green
Copyright © 2018 Mark David Green
This book is a work of fiction. Characters are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the author. He is reputed to be a reasonable guy, however, and therefore might respond favourably to polite email requests!
www.markdavidgreen.co.uk
[email protected]
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Cover artwork by Anders Design
Edited by Storywork Editing Services
Ebook formatting by ebooklaunch.com
Contents
About the Book
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Other Books in the Series
Other Books by the Author
Acknowledgements
About the Book
Twenty-six year old Maddie has it all. A fiancé with a well-paid job, a comfortable home and several exotic holidays a year. But when Rupert drops a bombshell six weeks before the big day, Maddie realises that her lifestyle security comes with a heavy price tag. Taunted by Rupert on a Thailand holiday that she wouldn’t last a week living on a minuscule budget, Maddie rises to the challenge. On a hungover whim, she leaves him at Bangkok Airport, swapping her suitcase full of designer clothes for a pair of boots, a backpack and a four-week travel itinerary.
But Maddie hasn’t anticipated the rigours of life on the road, or the romantic alternatives on offer. She soon finds herself contending with the attentions of a charming and attractive humanitarian, and a crass, annoying Australian. As if these distractions aren’t enough of a complication, there’s the small matter of Rupert and a ruthless debt collector pursuing her around Cambodia, each intent on reclaiming something of enormous value …
This book is the second in a series of four:
Book 1 – The Travel Auction
Book 2 – The Travel Mate
Book 3 – The Travel Truth
Book 4 – The Travel Angel
Author’s Note
The idea for The Travel Mate originated back in October 2015 when I began rewriting my first self-published novel, The Travel Auction. Thanks to receiving positive reviews and feedback from helpful readers, I began to wonder if there might be a sequel to the original book. At the time I wasn’t sure I had enough material for a follow up, but a suggestion from one particular reader encouraged me to consider writing about how two supporting characters from The Travel Auction had got together. Unfortunately, despite several searches through my email folders, I’ve been unable to find that message. So to that wonderful, anonymous person, please accept my heartfelt thanks.
For those who have already read The Travel Auction, in particular the dedication at the end, you’ll be aware that this isn’t the first time I’ve had a stranger to thank for inspiring me to sit down and write …
Once I’d completed the rough draft of The Travel Mate, I realised that a third book was bubbling away in my creative subconscious. This would have neatly completed the journeys of the four main characters in a trilogy of books. Somewhere during the writing process, however, I realised that the third book was evolving into a fourth. One character in particular had such a strong-willed personality that I found myself with no choice but to allow them the extra space they needed.
Book three in the series, The Travel Truth, and the fourth, The Travel Angel, continue and conclude the journeys of all four main characters. There may be some surprises ahead for them …
Mark
May 2018
One
Shafts of daylight peeked between gaps in the blind, creeping across the pristine vinyl floor. Bozzer twitched in the chair, scrunched his eyes and edged away, lifting a hand to shield the glare. He yawned, stretching as he pushed himself up. Shuffling over to the window, he eased aside a corner of the blind.
‘Another day, another …’
He turned to face the bed. Crisp, white linen sheets lay neatly tucked up under Madge’s chin, only a few shades lighter than her pale complexion. Bozzer gazed at her sleeping form, examined the regular rise and fall of her chest beneath the covers. Then he lifted his red-tinged eyes, following the thin plastic tube that trailed over the covers, supplying oxygen through her nose. Other tubes and wires dangled between the bed and an array of monitoring equipment lining the wall. He sank down beside her onto the chair’s slippery leatherette covering. Plucking a tobacco tin from his pocket, he carefully pinched then sprinkled wiry strands into the thin paper.
Bozzer glanced up at the waft of air from the door, shoved open by a glowering Simon Black: YouTube presenter, dealmaker and, today, ball-breaker.
‘Your friends have dumped you in the shit!’ Simon lifted a foot, placed a leather deck shoe on the side of his suitcase and hoofed its black plastic bulk across the shiny floor, the wheels skidding towards Madge’s bed. It thumped into the side, jolting the metal frame.
‘Whoa, easy mate!’ yelled Bozzer, leaping up and scattering tobacco off his lap. He scowled at the suitcase, shoving it aside. Then he leant over Madge, studying her flickering eyelids.
Simon turned towards the door, which hissed sedately against the pneumatic retainer. He wrapped his fingers around the thick wood, attempting to wrench it shut. Instead, the door merely expelled air slightly louder and faster as it gradually closed. He glared at it, then clasped his curled fists onto his hips. ‘You really think I’d peel off a cool quarter-mil, and lie back to be shafted?’
Simon snatched the remote control off the bedside cabinet and pointed it at the flatscreen television on the opposite wall, channel-hopping until the image settled on CNN. ‘You see that?’ Subtitles ticker-taped in yellow font across the bottom of the screen. Bozzer frowned, scanned the text, flicking his eyes between it and the sea of faces outside the Iguazu Falls Airport.
Simon jabbed his fingers at the television. ‘That’s my story!’
Bozzer studied the tentacle-like veins emanating from Simon’s throbbing jugular, spreading across his face like an ordnance survey road map. ‘You sound stressed, mate. Wanna smoke?’
‘I want my fucking exclusive!’ Simon spat the words out, swaying back slightly as
Bozzer sighed and took a step forwards.
‘You need to calm down, buddy. Anger is for outside.’ Bozzer’s features tightened, his knuckles clenching as he stared into Simon’s bloodshot, purple-shaded eyes.
‘They’ve screwed me over!’
‘You’re not making any sense … what’s happened?’
‘They played me, got booted out of Brazil! Haven’t you seen the news?’
Bozzer shook his head, then turned back to the television. The camera zoomed in on the crowd, framing a young couple who both wore white tee-shirts with a photographic image printed on it of Angel and Jonathan, lying on a gently sloping pebble riverbank and kissing passionately, their torsos partially in the water. The scene was reminiscent of the 1950s movie poster for From Here to Eternity. Below their picture were six Portuguese words, the penultimate of which had been pixel-blurred out.
Bozzer grinned. ‘Fair play.’
‘Fair play? Try sexual sabotage!’
Bozzer shrugged. ‘So what.’ He glanced down at Madge, her breathing light and regular, unaltered at the intrusion. ‘That’s not her fault, or mine. You tried to meddle with the rubrics of someone else’s journey. So they socked you right back in the chops. Life is loose, chief. Let it go, enjoy the ride.’
‘Let it go …? Listen, you happy-snappy hippy – two hundred and fifty thousand pounds!’
‘Yeah, but you’ve not actually paid that, have you?’ A smirk darted across Bozzer’s lips. ‘They didn’t gain from your deal. But you did – massively. All that advertising revenue, in exchange for what …? Pocket change Bolivianos for the minibus victims and a few days tax-deductible treatment for Maddie.’ Bozzer lowered his voice, a hint of menace in his tone. ‘You got off lightly, chief.’
Simon turned back to the television. He appeared momentarily mesmerised at the glimpses of Jonathan and Angel, exiting a police van. Their heads bobbed between adoring fans, all clamouring for their attention. Jonathan held up their passports, to a rapturous cheer from the crowd. He steered Angel through the mob of well-wishers, escorted by several police officers as they meandered towards the departures hall entrance.
‘How’s she doing?’ Simon muttered absently, folding his arms across his chest, still focused on the television.
‘Doc says they’ll reduce the medication soon, bring her round properly—’
‘But she’s gonna be okay, right? Because she’s in a private hospital. Funded by me.’ Simon half-turned, made eye contact with Bozzer.
‘I’m sure she’ll thank you herself, when she’s better,’ Bozzer replied, tight-lipped.
‘It’s thanks to me that she bypassed the morgue. My generosity and their stupidity.’ He pointed at the television. ‘They owe me. Meaning I own you.’ Simon reached for the door. ‘But I don’t think you get that concept, do you, sport? It’s time to find out who pays the bills around here …’
Bozzer watched Simon heave the door open, leaving it sighing slowly behind him, hissing air. He knelt down to sweep up tobacco with his palm. ‘Going outside for a smoke, Madge,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t go getting any ideas about escaping without me – the doc’ll have my balls for Christmas baubles.’
He stood up, tipped tobacco into the tin and wandered over to the door, pulling it open. He paused, turning to stare at her stationary form, sucking air sharply through his clenched teeth. He shuddered, shoulders slumping as he stepped back and allowed the door to glide shut behind him.
• • •
Wisps of smoke curled skywards, drifting sporadically with the downdraft of traffic trundling by. Cars and buses splashed sedately through puddles. Windscreen wipers squeakily smeared the remnant drizzle. Bozzer shut his eyes and leant his head back onto the cool polished granite, pressing his bare arms onto its surface, his skin leaching the cool sensation. He lifted a hand robotically, took another contemplative pull on the roll-up stub, holding the smoke in his lungs for several seconds. Tension began to ebb away, encouraging memories from a happier time. But as he sank deeper into his recollections he shivered with a vague inkling of foreboding, like creaking suspension on an uneven road …
He turned away from the hazy drizzle outside, dampening the arrival of dawn through the cracked windscreen. Nothing ahead but an empty muddy track twisting through the lush green jungle, hugging the side of another mountain pass. He nodded at the teenage driver as he shuffled round in his seat to make eye contact with the other occupants of the rickety old jeep. Directly behind him Jonathan, the bushy-bearded eBay guy, stretched out along the bench seat. In the next row, the same-name blind date girl, Angel, sat listening to her iPod. Beside her, his own travel mate held his inquisitive gaze, smiling enigmatically. Her high cheekbones were partially hidden behind strands of salon-bleached blonde hair, now showing dark roots, complementing her hazel eyes. She raised an eyebrow and poked her tongue out. His mouth widened into a chipped-tooth grin.
A jolt tilted his head away from her, the motion abrupt and mechanical. It shuddered through the jeep’s rigid structure, resonating in his subconscious, plunging him deeper into the darkness …
Kerr-KUTCH! Thum-thum-thum!
A jarring metallic screech spiked between his temples as the jeep careered across the narrow track, skidding violently, slewing gravel from near-bald tyres which scrabbled desperately for grip.
‘Hold on!’ yelled a voice that could have been Jonathan’s, or his own, a microsecond before the inertia threw everyone sideways then forwards as the jeep’s front quarter panel smashed into the steep verge. Spinning wheels rose up the sharp incline, crushing smaller vegetation, rapidly halting their momentum, simultaneously rolling the jeep onto its side and wrenching it around. The roof caved in as it impacted against a stout tree, flinging everyone down with a sickening, whiplash-inducing crunch.
‘Bloody hell – is everyone okay?!’ shouted Jonathan.
Then his own voice, hollow and eerie-sounding. ‘Madge! Talk to—’
‘Mister Johnson?’
Bozzer jerked awake, breathing heavily. He took a moment to comprehend, blinking rapidly. Then he wiped sweat from his forehead and turned, his glazed eyes blinking at Doctor Mario.
‘You need to come. Now, please …’
• • •
Bozzer stepped into Maddie’s room. Simon stood by the window, his mobile phone clamped to his ear. He turned, glanced dismissively at Bozzer, still engrossed in his conversation. ‘Relax, Beatrice. This is me. I got them originally, I can get them back …’
Doctor Mario held the door open to allow his nurses to enter. Bozzer glanced between Simon and the first nurse, fussing around Maddie’s bed, unplugging monitoring equipment.
Simon listened for a moment, a thin smile creasing his pursed lips. ‘Excellent. I’ll be in touch. Ciao.’ He flicked his wrist, snapping the protective cover over his smartphone. Then he buried both hands in his pockets and flexed his wrists, flaring the crumpled cotton as he leant back, popping his spine and wriggling tension out of his shoulders.
‘You’re looking far too smug to be safe.’
‘From what? You play by my rules now, hotshot.’
Bozzer followed Simon’s eyes as he flitted them at Maddie. ‘Meaning …?’ He watched the nurses complete detaching the monitoring equipment. The older one nodded at Doctor Mario, then released the brake on the bed’s wheels. Doctor Mario latched the door open and stepped aside to allow the bed to be wheeled out.
‘What’s happened, why are you moving her?’ Bozzer glared at Simon, who flexed up on his toes, whistling leisurely.
‘Oh, they’re not moving her far … only to reception.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s being released.’
Bozzer turned to Doctor Mario, who dropped his eyes, offering a tiny shrug. ‘I’m sorry, Barry. I tried to argue for Madeline to stay, but …’
Simon held up his thumb and first finger, rubbed them gleefully together. ‘No moolah, sunshine – no médico. Comprende?’
‘No. You can’
t. You wouldn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t, shouldn’t …’ Simon shrugged, ‘done.’ He raised his chin, twitched his downturned lips into a such is life pout, flicking his eyes at the ceiling. ‘Never trust someone your friends have shafted.’
‘That’s it? Your conscience gonna handle that?’
‘Chaos and cash, my friend, never have a conscience. I’ll be in the hospital canteen for the next twenty minutes, enjoying a double hit of caramel mocha. You need a hand figuring out what happens next to Princess Maddie, you come find me. Or, go it alone. It’s your choice. I’m sure there’s another empathetic and generous sponsor out there with deep pockets.’ Simon lifted his wrist, made a show of squinting at his watch. ‘But make sure you find your new guardian angel fast. Call me uninformed, but she doesn’t look the picture of health right now.’
Simon waltzed past Bozzer. He virtually skipped through the doorway, his tuneless whistle echoing down the corridor.
• • •
‘You’re a fucking snake.’
Simon glanced up from scrolling through commands on his smartphone and considered Bozzer through narrowed eyes. ‘Right now, dingo dick, I’m your snake. Sit down, have a coffee. We’ve got a lot to discuss.’
Bozzer held Simon’s stare for a long moment, then shook his head wearily and pulled out a chair. He sank down at the table, opposite Simon. ‘I can’t believe this crap. What about Maddie? Her treatment …’
‘They’ll keep an eye on her, for an hour.’ Simon glanced at his watch. ‘Make that forty-five minutes.’
‘Then what?’
‘There’s other private hospitals in Buenos Aries. Take your pick. Unless, we strike a new deal.’
Bozzer slumped his elbows onto the table and crumbled in the seat. ‘Haven’t you creamed in enough already to—’
‘Enough? What dippy-hippy planet are you on? This is show business. I have overheads, investors.’
‘The deal was—’
‘The deal was with those same-name waterfall fuck-buddies. So where’s my exclusive interview, reality travel-mate documentary? Maddie isn’t the only injured party here – I’m bleeding hard currency.’
