Inside the Tiger

by Hayley Lawrence

  ‘Of course he is,’ I say. ‘Yep, everything else is good.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. All right, I’d better run, sweetheart. It’s almost midnight here and we have another early start.’

  I say goodbye to Dad and lean over the balcony for a while in silence. The gecko watches me with beady black eyes from his spot near the balcony light. The air is thick with moisture and carries the earthy smell of rain.

  Eli laughs suddenly from inside.

  I head back into the room and he looks up at me from his iPad.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘But Tash wins the prize for our number-one fan. She comments on every single thing I post.’

  ‘She does?’ I swallow hard. ‘What exactly are you posting?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I refrained from posting pictures of you throwing up into a squat toilet. And, believe me, the temptation was great.’

  I almost smirk at him. The human in me must be starting to return.

  ‘You haven’t put up anything about prison, have you?’

  He pushes his glasses higher on his nose. ‘I’m not a dumb-arse, Bel. Consider your secret safe.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s just not something I want to broadcast.’

  ‘Yeah. I kind of got that vibe when you took me to Bangkok first, and told me why second. Tell me this, though. Meeting him; was it what you expected?’

  I flop down on my bed and scowl.

  ‘What?’ Eli says.

  ‘It hardly went to plan.’

  ‘There was a plan?’

  I roll my eyes, grab Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus off my bedside table and slide back under my sheets. I need to finish it before school starts back, but I’m struggling. Why assign us a revenge tragedy? The killings are meant to be so grotesque they’re comical, but I will never find murder funny. In fact, I detest this play. Until I come across a line that dusts my arms with goose bumps. Dost thou not perceive that Rome is but a wilderness of Tigers? says Titus. A wilderness of Tigers.

  I look across at Eli, lying on his bed beneath the glow of lamplight.

  ‘Eli, if I ask you a question, you’ll answer, right?’

  ‘Shoot.’

  I fiddle with the edge of my book. It’s a question I’m not sure I want to know the answer to. ‘What did Micah say to you when you took the phone?’

  He shifts uncomfortably.

  ‘Oh. Well, he, uh … he told me to take good care of you.’ He doesn’t look me in the eye.

  ‘He said that?’ We’re both silent for a moment.

  I close my eyes.

  ‘Look, I know you feel sorry for him,’ he says. ‘That place is a shithole. But you traffic drugs in Thailand, you get the death penalty. Everyone knows that.’ My body stiffens, and Eli must notice because he frowns. ‘He knew that.’

  ‘But you’re assuming everyone’s like us. You don’t understand the full story. Micah did it to pay off a debt. He was desperate –’

  ‘Yeah, he was cornered. I get it, but please don’t turn him into a hero.’

  I look at Eli, lying safely on a hotel bed with clean sheets.

  I fold the book closed on my finger, swing my legs off the bed and tread over.

  ‘Move over,’ I say.

  He wriggles across, enough for me to squeeze in alongside him. I open Titus Andronicus and read him the last sentence on the page.

  ‘Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.’ I trace the words with my finger.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe what Micah needs right now is mercy. Being merciful is noble, right? Micah might not be a hero, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be.’

  ‘Sweet mercy, huh?’

  I rest my book on my chest. ‘A merciful world. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but mercy can be defined in lots of ways. Like … forget it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Tell me,’ I say.

  ‘Okay, don’t get pissed at me for bringing her up, though, okay?’

  ‘By her, you mean my mother.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s just … some people would say the sentence given to the guy who killed your mum was merciful.’

  I scoff. ‘Three years for murder. That’s not merciful, that’s an insult.’

  ‘Look, I’m just saying, he destroyed one life –’

  ‘Two. You’re forgetting my dad.’

  ‘We’ll call it three then. He destroyed three lives. Drugs destroy so many more. Addicted parents who can’t look after their kids, guys like Micah’s dad who OD’d, who get violent or steal – maybe people think being merciful to drug traffickers only fuels the drug trade.’

  ‘So imprison people,’ I say. ‘For twenty or thirty years if you have to. There are other ways. But legalised murder. It’s wrong.’

  ‘Okay,’ he says matter-of-factly.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Well, what do you want me to say? You think everyone’s opposed to the death penalty? What if I say the guy deserves whatever the Thai government dishes out to him?’

  I watch the pulse in Eli’s neck, his heart hard at work pumping and nobody trying to stop it.

  ‘I know you,’ I say quietly.

  ‘How would you know what I think about the death penalty?’

  I prop myself up on my elbows. ‘Eli, I was with you the day the vet put down your dog, remember? You lost it.’

  It’s a full minute before he responds.

  ‘That was a merciful act for a sick, old animal that I loved. That’s different. You said you wanted me to be honest, right?’ he says.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What if I say mercy needs to be earned? And some crimes deserve no mercy?’

  ‘You don’t believe that. I know you don’t.’

  Eli closes his eyes. ‘You do realise you drive me mental? Okay, let me bottom line it for you. I don’t really give a shit about Micah, but I do care about what it’ll do to you if they kill him.’

  Eli takes my hand and rests it on his chest. He looks right into my eyes, until I have to look away.

  ‘Hey, when Micah was talking to you,’ I say, ‘you said, “You and me both.”’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘What was that about?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ But his heart races suddenly beneath my hand. ‘I can’t remember every word he said,’ he snaps.

  ‘Okay, no need to get defensive.’

  We lie there on our backs a while in silence, long enough for his breathing to ease. I watch him, eyes closed, face peaceful. Then gently, I reach behind his head, careful not to disturb him, and flick off the light.

  For some reason, I need to be with Eli tonight. I need his warmth. I turn towards him, my hand still on his chest and nestle into him to sleep.

  The night train jostles its way north to Chiang Rai. I crept out of Eli’s bed before the sun rose this morning, and now I’m lying on a thin grey mattress in a first-class train carriage. I have no idea if he knows I stayed with him, but neither of us have spoken about it. We haven’t spoken about Micah either. My thoughts about him are a crush of confusion.

  I’m in Thailand for possibly the only time in my life. In this hot tropical land with Eli, heading for the mountains of Chiang Rai where we’ll be surrounded by lush rice terraces and children in rainbow-coloured cotton. Where people live off the land in the hills. Where the awful things I saw in Bang Kwang are far, far away.

  I wake to a towering mountain out our window. Blinking in the dawn light, I shove down our small window pane, letting the air rush in. It’s cooler up north, and a misty swirl rushes by as though we’re travelling inside a cloud.

  As the sun burns brighter and the mist evaporates, we get out at the station and we’re driven to our bungalow further north, in the city of Chiang Rai. Our driver Chayan is a petite man, tanned dark from years under the sun. When he smiles, his face breaks into a thousand tiny creases.

  ‘Married … yes?’ he asks. ‘Honeymooner?’


  ‘Ah … just friends,’ I say, smiling shyly and slicing my hand through the air. ‘Friends.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Married.’ Chayan nods knowingly. Apparently to be travelling together, we must be.

  For the rest of the trip, Eli converses with Chayan in Thai, while I drink in the scenery. Against an undulating backdrop, the terraced rice paddies are fluorescent green, hemmed in only by the blue sky. Worlds away from the grit of Bangkok.

  Our resort is a series of raised bungalows, spread across the land with a lagoon pool, a restaurant and a reception area. Simpler than the fancy high rise in Bangkok, but more charming. Chayan checks us in and takes us up the few steps to our bungalow.

  He swipes the key against the lock and pushes against the timber door till it opens. Eli steps inside first and laughs. When I follow, I see why.

  Written across the queen-sized bed in brightly coloured flowers are the words, Happy Honeymooner, enclosed in a heart of flowers. Beside the bed is a bottle of champagne in a cane basket filled with ice.

  Chayan presses his hands together and bows. ‘I hope you like,’ he says, backing out of the room.

  I don’t have the heart to tell him we don’t like, and we can’t keep. Specifically the bed, which breaks Dad’s ‘separate sleeping arrangements’ rule.

  I look pointedly at Eli, who smirks. ‘I’ll go sort it.’

  He follows Chayan.

  When he returns, he shuts the door, inhales and turns around. ‘The resort’s full,’ he says.

  ‘So we’re sharing a bed?’

  ‘You didn’t seem to mind last night,’ he says.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind.’ Heat creeps up my face, and I curse him for pretending he hadn’t noticed. ‘My father on the other hand, he might freak if he finds out.’

  We both turn to the cause of our trouble. The large mattress, covered in bright, handwoven fabrics, and adorned with a ridiculously large floral display. I sink down onto the bed and laugh.

  ‘Well, at least we have the champers,’ I say, lifting it from its wet basket. ‘Happy honeymoon.’

  ‘I think you mean happy honeymooner.’

  ‘And just so we’re clear,’ I say, raising my eyebrows at him, ‘no funny business when the lights go out.’

  Eli kicks his backpack to one side of the room and unfastens it. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Let’s not forget who initiated that first kiss, cause I can tell you, it wasn’t me.’

  He laughs to himself as he flops open the top of his bag, and I look away so he can’t see me blushing.

  It’s early evening when we finish the last of the champagne. It tastes sour, but I drink a couple of glasses anyway. Now my legs are tingling and I feel smiley. I’ve managed to push Micah to the very depths of my thoughts.

  ‘Hey, I’m going to go check out the pool,’ Eli says. ‘You coming?’

  He turns his back to me and pulls his shirt over his head. I can’t help watching him.

  ‘Sure,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’

  He slings a towel over his shoulder and wedges the bungalow door shut as I dig through my backpack for swimmers. I am giddy with enchantment. Finally it feels like I’m travelling. I tie up my canary-yellow bikini top, wrap a towel around my waist and meet Eli out the front.

  A hazy mist is rolling down the mountains, lending the air a dreamy vapour. We tread a dirt track to the pool. The jade water glimmers like a lagoon and steam rises from the water. In every direction, green velvety mountains bear down on us, stark against a pastel sky.

  When we hit the rockery by the pool’s edge, Eli dips a toe into the water. ‘Man that’s warm.’

  We find a couple of empty banana beds. He drops his towel, takes a run off and dives in. He bursts out in the middle, grinning. The lights in the pool make his skin look phosphorescent.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he says. ‘Come in.’

  I drop my towel on top of his, but being near-naked with him suddenly feels a little intimate.

  He’s seen you in a bikini before, Bel.

  Get over it.

  I make my way to the edge of the pool where the stairs are, and ease in up to my waist. He’s right. There’s no chill factor at all.

  ‘Dive in, you sook,’ he says, shooting a spray of water at me.

  I gasp. ‘You’re going to pay for that!’

  All inhibitions leave as I dive beneath the warm water, swimming straight for his legs, to knock them out from under him. But he scoops me out of the water first.

  ‘Bomb time,’ he says, gripping me around the waist.

  He throws me into the deep end, where I push off the gritty bottom of the pool. When I break through the surface, he’s standing in the shallow end, arms folded triumphantly across his chest.

  I wade back towards him, but he backs away, dodging me. And just when I’ve cornered him, he takes a deep breath, plunges beneath the water and kicks off the side of the pool. I lunge at him, but all I manage to grab is the waistband of his board shorts as he shoots by. They’re stripped halfway down his legs, and in the dappled glow of the lights, I catch a glimpse of his pale backside.

  He struggles underwater with his shorts before breaking through the surface.

  I bite my bottom lip to stop from laughing. ‘Sorry!’ I say. ‘That was an accident.’

  He wipes the hair from his eyes and lunges towards me.

  ‘No way!’ I shriek, clutching at my bikini bottoms. ‘I’ll scream! I swear, I will!’

  He picks me up in his arms, cradling me.

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Wouldn’t I?’

  Then he launches me into the air in another bomb. When I come up again, he’s shaking water from his ears.

  ‘I’m calling a truce,’ he says.

  We swim until the moon rises over the silhouette of the mountain tops like a golden dome, and the night revellers meander down to the poolside. We swim until we’re hungry and tired.

  We stop at the main building and grab something for dinner. Then we walk back into the still air of our bungalow. With sopping wet hair and heavy eyes, we sit at the wonky wooden table and eat bowls of noodles in the lamplight.

  After we clear away our bowls, Eli stretches his arms and yawns. ‘I’m buggered.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Simultaneously, we look at the bed.

  ‘Ladies first,’ he says, extending one arm.

  My heart rate picks up. I don’t know why this feels different to sleeping with him last night. Maybe it’s the queen-sized bed and the heat. Between my apricot nightie and his boxer shorts, there’s a lot more bare flesh than in the hotel with air-con.

  ‘I’ll get the lamp,’ he says.

  One pop, and it’s extinguished. The bed groans as I climb in and the sag in the middle makes me lean towards him, but it’s so dark that I can’t even make out his silhouette.

  ‘Night, Bel,’ he whispers.

  ‘Night.’

  I lie on my back in the dark, listening to the sounds. Crickets chirping an enthusiastic chorus outside, the call of a gecko. Eli’s breathing. I think back to that kiss three years ago and a thrill runs through my stomach.

  It was another life ago. We were in his old bedroom, when his parents thought we were playing monopoly. Which we were, until I asked if he’d ever kissed a girl. And then said, ‘Well, do you want to try?’ We never discussed it afterwards. I just thought of it as one of those awkward moments where I’d been too bold, and he was a boy who’d say yes to anything.

  Sometime during the night the saggy bed joins our bodies in one long seam down the middle, and when I wake up at night, it’s not because Micah is haunting my dreams. It’s because I’m with Eli, his arm wrapping me close while we sleep.

  When I wake, Eli’s still wrapped around me. It’s too hot to go back to sleep, but I can’t get up without waking him. My mouth is dry and tastes of stale champagne, and my head aches.

  When he finally sits up, he pulls a shirt on, mumbles something about breakfast and r
eturns a while later with omelettes and juice for us both. I’m already sitting at the table, which is the only place to sit in the bungalow besides the bed.

  Eli acts all weird when he comes in, putting my breakfast down in front of me, careful not to touch me. Not even one brush of our fingers on the tiny table as we eat.

  The bus collects us from reception a short time later. An open-air, deep-yellow mini-bus with pink and purple flowers painted all over it.

  ‘Mountain trek, here we come.’

  I nudge Eli to break his mood. He grins at me, and looks out the window to take in the jagged green peaks.

  Smiling like that, with the morning light spilling into his eyes, making them colourless, and his hair still spiked up with the water he flicked through it, I realise Marcella was right. Eli’s not a boy anymore. And he’s beautiful in an Eli kind of way.

  I rest my head on his shoulder.

  ‘Thanks for bringing me here,’ I say.

  He drops his arm around me and we breathe in the sweet air of the Thai mountains.

  After two days of trekking with a tour group through villages shrouded in mist, we bump over pockmarked roads in the mini-bus, winding our way back to the Happy Honeymooner resort.

  We’re seated across the backseat. Eli’s elbow is hanging out through the open window. Warm air tousles my loose hair as the bus leaves behind mountain ranges, thatched-roof houses and misty waterfalls. We’ve only been in Thailand a week, but it feels like a year. I think of the girl I was the morning we stepped off the plane into the heat, and all that has happened since. I feel much older.

  ‘So have you figured out what you’re going to do?’ Eli says.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘About your jail bird.’

  ‘Oh.’ Until now, we’ve both avoided the topic, but with our return to Bangkok looming, so are thoughts of Micah. Do I visit him again or chalk it up as a life lesson?

  ‘You’re done with him, right?’ Eli says. ‘Whatever it was, it’s over?’

  I chew my bottom lip. ‘I don’t know.’

  When we arrive back at the resort, Chayan has left us an invitation to the Chiang Rai full moon flower festival.

  We go back to our bungalow and hook our iPads into the wifi. I haven’t contacted Dad for two days, so he’ll be keen to know I’m back in range. I open my emails and there are three new messages waiting for me. Two from Dad, one from Tash.