The Travel Mate

by Mark Green

  ‘I was trying to make things right! Haven’t you ever had family obligations, made an emotional commitment – regardless of personal cost?’

  ‘In my line of work, it doesn’t pay to develop ties.’

  ‘What about when you were younger … wasn’t there someone special, the one that got away? There must be a reason for your detachment.’

  ‘Sharing time travelling does not make us buddies,’ Fender snapped.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Rupert gazed out at the darkness beyond the streaks of rain juddering horizontally across the window. The parallel droplet trails occasionally spiked into sporadic, random pothole-induced pips, like lines on a stack of heart rate monitors, struggling to jolt from flat lining into a blip of something meaningful and alive.

  • • •

  Bozzer plonked down in a seat next to Maddie and placed his empty brandy glass on the bar.

  ‘Same again?’ she asked in a measured tone.

  ‘Sure. You’re thirsty.’ His eyes twinkled as he studied her.

  ‘Yeah. Today was, you know—’

  ‘Difficult.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He straightened up, his carefree expression glazing over. The barman topped up their glasses and withdrew to attend to a newly arrived couple, waiting patiently at the hotel’s reception desk.

  ‘That’s gotta be tough on you, losing your boyfriend like that. And having to give up your kid,’ he said softly, glancing at her.

  She nodded, reaching into her pocket to dab her eyes.

  ‘Motorbike, you said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry … makes sense now – at the Angkor temples.’

  Maddie picked up her fresh glass. She swilled the dark liquid in a circular motion.

  ‘To lost friends?’ he suggested.

  She turned to face him, raised her glass to his, nodding. ‘To friends, lost and found.’ They touched their glasses together. Each took a sip, remaining silent for a while.

  I don’t even know your name … I wonder what they called you?

  She rocked the base of the brandy glass back and forth on the bar, scrutinising the residue liquid clinging to the curved sides. ‘What’s next, for you?’ she asked eventually.

  Bozzer took another sip, taking his time to savour the taste. ‘My work here is done. I’ve made my pilgrimage, seen what Gramps endured. Made my peace at the place he died.’ He took another taste of brandy. ‘So now I have tomorrow here, in Phnom Penh. The day after, I’m booked on a flight to Lima. A month exploring Peru, then a few days acclimatising to the altitude in Cusco, where I join a group trekking to Machu Picchu. From the lost city, I’m heading overland into Bolivia. Then I’m meeting up with my brother in Argentina, for his wedding. I’m his best man and the official photographer.’

  Maddie nodded. She sat there for a moment, then glanced down at her fingers, mentally counting them off. She visibly shuddered, then pressed the brandy glass to her lips, finishing half the measure in a single glug. She wheezed as the heat hit the back of her throat, then slouched back on the seat, her shoulders sagging. ‘Mmm. I needed that.’

  ‘I can see. Wanna tell me why?’

  ‘Stefan died exactly seven years ago, on Sunday. I’ve just worked it out.’

  Barry lowered his glass, mid-taste. ‘Sorry again.’

  She flicked her eyes briefly over at him, then stared into the depths of the spirit bottles, stacked on three shelves at the back of the bar.

  Seven years on Sunday, you were born …

  ‘Can you imagine me with a child, that age …?’ Her red eyes searched his.

  ‘You’d be a different person, for sure.’

  ‘Better, probably.’

  ‘I disagree. You wouldn’t be here, now. Wouldn’t have seen what you saw today … wouldn’t have felt what you did. Difficult days like these are what really make you stronger inside, a better person outside.’ Bozzer reached down, hoisted his camera bag up onto his lap. ‘Do me a favour …?’

  She looked across at the sound of him unzipping the bag, shook her head. ‘I can’t have my picture taken, not now—’

  ‘I know. I need you to take a photo of me.’

  She frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because where we’ve just been, this afternoon … it wasn’t appropriate for me to take any. I want to raise a glass to him, to Scott, my grandfather. Get it documented. You can record your twenty seconds of observation if you like, or not – it’s up to you. But I’d appreciate your help.’

  Maddie reluctantly accepted the camera from him, gathering it into her hands. She stared down at it, thoughtful for a moment, then straightened up and pressed the viewfinder to her eye. Bozzer wiggled around to face her, holding the brandy glass at chest height, his eyes glistening.

  Shh-clitch.

  Memory Card 3. Pic 412

  ‘A painful day, dark and grey. Barry pays his respects after visiting the Genocide Centre, raising a glass in tribute to you, grandpa, his mentor. Rest in peace, Scott Barry Johnson – your grandson is doing you proud – he’s one of the good guys, despite sometimes being crass enough to stand out in a crowd. But that may be no bad thing, because one day, perhaps, he’ll be as iconic as you – a photographic king.’

  She released the shutter button and lowered the camera into her lap.

  ‘That’ll do it. Cheers,’ Bozzer said quietly, carefully collecting the camera from her.

  • • •

  ‘There’s something I need to do, first thing in the morning,’ said Maddie, resting her elbow on the restaurant table, her cheek leaning against her palm.

  Bozzer set his cutlery down on his empty plate. He used a paper napkin to wipe his mouth and sat back, studying her. ‘Okay …’

  She stared down at the table, fiddled with her fork. ‘I need to sell something, get the best price I can.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  She flicked her eyes up at his, rolled them at his mischievous grin. ‘Jewellery.’

  ‘You gonna auction off your trophy-travel-buddy, so soon?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, I couldn’t pay anyone enough to take you away. I’m talking about my earrings.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Yup. I think they need to be … recycled. Into something more useful.’

  ‘Something like hard currency?’

  She nodded.

  He slid his mobile phone across the table. ‘Search away. There’s bound to be a few decent pawnbrokers in the city.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, picking up his phone.

  ‘This recycling you want to do, is it for a travel fund?’

  Maddie shrugged, toying with a coy smile. ‘Something like that.’

  • • •

  They walked on for a while in silence. Crossing a side road, the tarmac shiny from a recent shower, they passed a grassy area cordoned with a knee-high hedge, where Cambodian families sat in groups with picnic food spread out on tablecloths.

  I wonder what you look like now?

  Some groups had brought snacks from vendors, others laid out pastries and home-cooked delicacies from well-used hampers. The buzz of their happy chatter drifted across the grass, the relaxed, happy atmosphere like a summer festival.

  I hope you have a nice family … I hope they—

  ‘You had any thoughts, about the next stage?’ Bozzer asked.

  She glanced across at him and smiled. ‘I should probably head home, but … thought I’d keep moving, follow your suggestion and check out Vietnam and Laos. I can get a bus from here, then a boat across the border to Chau Doc. Next stop Ho Chi Min City—’

  ‘Saigon? You’ll have a great time there. It’s very different, and yet still, same-same.’

  She chuckled. ‘Everywhere, same-same. Peru really is going to be quite different for you – culturally, I mean.’

  ‘Yep, that’s the idea …’ Bozzer lit his roll-up, puffed on it. ‘Wanna come with me?’

  Maddie halted. She turned to look at him, took half a step away. ‘What
?’

  ‘It’s a wild idea, I know. But think about it. Where you’re at, in your life right now – would it really be such a big deal?’

  ‘I’m not sure why you’re asking me,’ she said, studying his face.

  ‘Ah, hah. What happened to enquiring when, what, how …? Asking me why is tantamount to mistrust, paranoia and generally being risk-averse. Okay, tell me more and I’ll think about it, would have been an adequate response. Forget I asked. It’s not for you, I get it.’

  Bozzer walked on, leaving Maddie standing alone on the pavement, staring after him. She scrunched her hands against her shorts, then tore her eyes away from his retreating outline to raise her palms, staring down at the glistening moisture.

  How can I, now … after today?

  She jogged up to his side, panting in the evening’s humidity.

  ‘Why is a perfectly reasonable question.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Keep asking that and you’ll never have any adventures.’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

  ‘And how did you get here?’

  ‘On a plane.’

  ‘British sarcasm – great. Here, in Cambodia, with this happy-snappy dude. How did you get here?’

  ‘I walked out on Rupert.’

  ‘Exactly! And at what point in that beautiful moment of rebellious, fuck everyone else madness, did you ask yourself why?’

  ‘Um … I didn’t. I thought of all the reasons not to fly home with him and … just sort of did it.’

  ‘Just for the twitchy-balls hell of it?’

  Maddie stared at him, her head spinning behind a fixated expression. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘There you go. So if you have to ask why to an offer of a new adventure, then clearly, that change of direction, ain’t for you, is it?’

  Thirty-Seven

  ‘There was someone once, a long time ago …’

  Rupert prised his eyes open and peered through the darkness across the taxi’s back seat, barely able to make out Fender’s vague profile. ‘What did you do, bury her in the desert?’ he mumbled. He glanced at his illuminated watch face and winced, mid-yawn.

  Only the slightest change to Fender’s regular light breathing hinted at his mood – a few short sharp puffs of what … recollection? Emotional awareness?

  ‘No. I did the next best thing. I immersed myself in my work.’

  ‘Kidnapping and debt management are that absorbing and fulfilling?’

  ‘You do get pithy after hours, don’t you. Work, back then was at the behest of Her Majesty’s armed forces.’

  ‘So you were a government spook.’

  ‘That came a little later. I was in the regular army first. Intelligence gathering, mainly.’

  ‘That where you got your nickname … Fender?’

  ‘Somewhere around that time.’

  ‘So if I ask you what’s your real name, that’s when you say you could tell me, but you’d have to kill me?’

  The faintest chuckle echoed across the narrow gap between them. ‘Fender might have been derived from several sources. Defender, for example, relating to the protection of corporate assets. Or from the French, défenseur, meaning town guard, or champion at arms – a paid post in the 13th century. Alternatively, it could be linked to my surname, or a Fender Stratocaster guitar … pick whichever explanation you prefer.’

  ‘As in, work it out for yourself?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Great. I’m liking our newfound openness.’

  ‘It works for me.’

  ‘So where’s home?’

  ‘Home …?’

  ‘Yeah, you know, where you keep the family photo album and childhood sports day medals, in a shoebox in a dusty loft. A man like you must have a crash pad somewhere.’

  ‘I’ve had several.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘They’ve been in many different places, over the years … Europe, Asia, the Americas—’

  ‘England?’

  ‘Occasionally.’

  ‘Don’t you miss not having a permanent base? I mean, what sort of life is it, constantly on the move.’

  ‘It’s been necessary, for employment.’

  ‘What about a family?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘No regrets?’

  ‘Only one.’

  Rupert shifted in his seat to face Fender. He tried to make out more of his features, gauge the expression in his eyes, but the lack of other vehicles on the road at three in the morning robbed Rupert of the helpful illumination from their headlights.

  ‘But that’s most definitely classified. I would have to kill you.’

  Rupert perked up in his seat, sharpening his focus as a lone pair of headlights appeared around a curve in the road ahead. But in the short time the twin beams briefly flooded the inside of the taxi with light, Fender had turned towards the approaching car, denying Rupert a more detailed visual assessment. The headlights faded behind them, plunging the taxi into a more intense darkness.

  ‘What about Rupert Sullivan? He’s a young, virile man. Does he have plans to start a family?’

  Rupert sank back into the taxi’s worn upholstery. ‘Given what I told you about Maddie’s issues, what do you think?’

  ‘My apologies, that was insensitive of me. Nevertheless, it does require me to ask the obvious question.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘What on earth are you still doing together?’

  • • •

  Maddie slumped back against the mirror and watched the lift doors close. She stole a glimpse at Bozzer, scanning through photographs on his camera. ‘Onwards and upwards,’ he muttered, turning to look at her as the doors hissed shut. She looked away. The floor jolted, the lift began climbing.

  ‘The next chapter …’ she agreed, absently.

  I wonder where you are, baby girl … do you have brothers or sisters?

  Maddie swung the hotel room door open and stepped inside. She tossed her shoulder bag onto the bed and turned towards the bathroom, stopping at the sight of Bozzer, remaining stationary in the corridor.

  ‘You okay?’

  He nodded. ‘Guess I’m wondering … whether it would be cool for me to split the room rental and crash on the floor tonight? I’ll pack my stuff up in the morning, take off when you go to the pawnbroker.’

  ‘Oh. Um … sure.’

  He grinned. ‘Cheers. I’ll bivvie down there, if that’s okay?’ He pointed to a space between the wall and the foot of the bed.

  ‘No problem,’ she replied quickly.

  Maddie stepped into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. She scrunched her hands in her hair and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Silently, she mouthed ‘What’s going on?!’

  • • •

  ‘This sleazy enough for you, Rupert?’ Fender glanced around the gaudy, neon shopfronts lined with scooters and lush green pot plants on the wide pavement. People of various nationalities mingled, their clothing and smiles luminous in the artificial light, enticing like-minded night dwellers into the countless bars.

  ‘And I thought Siem Reap’s nightlife was overtly excessive.’

  ‘Anything and everything at your fingertips. Including – unusually – information.’ Fender threaded his way through a selection of plastic tables and chairs, mopeds and foliage, into the brightly lit entrance of the Pickled Parrot bar.

  ‘Miss Stevens, how pleasant to see you again.’

  Victoria blew cigarette smoke above her head and regarded Fender coolly, through narrowed eyes. ‘Charlie’s out back, watching, with the manager. The bar staff have been warned, they’re ready.’

  ‘Excellent. I assume this will appease your friends.’ Fender laid a pile of dollars on the table in front of Victoria. ‘I’d be offended if you didn’t count this.’ He sat down, motioning for Rupert to take the seat beside him.

  Victoria nodded. ‘So would I.’

  Fender flicked his gaze around the bar, unhurried. He absorbed ev
ery detail of the layout, assessing each person mingling, drinking, schmoozing.

  Victoria finished her count. She looked up and flashed Fender and Rupert a thin smile. ‘It’s all here.’

  ‘But you didn’t expect it to be.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So …?’

  ‘She’s at The Panda Hotel, 98 Street.’ Victoria transferred her gaze to Rupert. ‘She’s probably with Barry, the Australian. He seemed particularly interested in finding her too.’

  ‘If your information is incorrect, I will come and find you to extract a refund,’ said Fender in an even tone.

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ She smirked and stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. ‘I can’t understand what he sees in her, but you know Aussies – they have no taste.’ Victoria tucked the bundle of notes into her shoulder bag. She kept a watchful eye on Fender and Rupert as she withdrew into the depths of the bar.

  ‘The Australian – how did that happen? I thought he’d taken off a few days ago,’ said Rupert, addressing the question to Victoria’s silhouette, retreating into the gloom.

  ‘Apparently not.’ Fender tapped his phone’s screen, mapping out a route to Maddie’s hotel. He guided Rupert out of the bar. ‘Does it make your decision any easier?’

  Rupert shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to think anymore.’

  Fender stepped out into the street and flagged down a tuk-tuk. ‘Best make up your mind fast. You’ve got four minutes.’

  Thirty-Eight

  Maddie lay on the bed, eyes closed, hands crossed over her chest, fingers clutching the covers tucked up tightly under her chin.

  Forget: When? How? Why? Most importantly: WHAT happens next?

  Travelling on my own, from tomorrow … am I sure?

  Yes, I need to.

  No, I don’t want to.

  So instead—

  Him …?

  The bathroom latch clicked, creaking the door open. Maddie kept her eyes shut and listened to his footsteps pass beyond the end of the bed. She held her breath as a sleeping bag rustled and a body slumped down onto the floor. The body swished in the fabric, adjusting position, then fell silent, replaced instead with his faint breathing.