Paper Chains (3 page)

Now as Hannah put on her pyjamas and climbed into bed she found herself wishing for the first time that she did have another day off tomorrow. India had asked her if she wanted to come and watch ‘the boat race’ – a rowing competition on the Thames between Cambridge and Oxford universities – with her the next day. But still, she supposed it was for the best that she was working and unable to make it – it wouldn’t be right to go along to something that was that much fun. She set the alarm on her phone and then rolled over and closed her eyes. She was thinking of India as she drifted off to sleep and wondering whether or not they really could become friends.

A couple of hours later she woke to the sound of her phone ringing. There was only one person who could be phoning her at this time – it must have been about three in the morning. Her heart quickened as she picked it up and looked at the screen. She recognised the number immediately. Her eyes clouded over and her head swirled. She squeezed the phone tight in her slippery hand – her palms had instantly become sweaty – as she fought hard against the desire to answer. It didn’t ring for long.

After it had stopped she lay sobbing in her bed for an hour. It had been about three days since the last time he had rung. At first he used to ring every day, sometimes five or six times a day.

He’s already starting to give up
, she thought.

And she cried even harder.

CHAPTER THREE

India was making friends again. She was sitting at the long wooden table in the common room of the hostel, playing a card game called Up The River, Down The River with a group of American backpackers. It was late, and her opponents were all incredibly drunk, so India was winning with ease, which was especially good because they were playing for money. Not that India particularly
wanted
to relieve them of all their cash, but they were the ones who had suggested getting money involved, and a bit of extra travelling coinage could always come in handy. She tried not to feel guilty about the large amount of money she had tucked away in her savings account – she preferred to keep those funds untouched for a rainy day if possible.

The other good thing about the game was that it was taking her mind off Hannah. At dinner that night India had been acutely aware of the fact that pretty much everything that had come out of that girl’s mouth had been complete and utter bullshit. India had actually quite enjoyed hammering the poor girl with questions and watching her attempt to come up with realistic responses. She was quite certain that Hannah was hiding something fairly significant and while she knew she should have been wary of her (because she supposed it was possible that the girl was a serial killer on the run) she got the feeling that she was harmless, and more importantly, that she needed help. Besides, India understood what it was like to be hiding something and have it scrabbling at your insides, desperate to be let out.

The only thing that India was confident Hannah
had
told the truth about was her name. It wasn’t easy to leave something as significant as your name behind. Even when you’re running away from something, you have to really mean it to let go of your name.

‘Farrrrrrkkkkk!!!’ said one of the guys to her right suddenly. ‘She’s done it again, hasn’t she?’ He shook his head somewhat admiringly as he pushed the pile of coins and notes across the table to India. ‘That’s it, I’m out – going to bed,’ he announced. He turned around to a pretty dark haired girl who was lounging on the couch, watching the game. ‘Care to join me?’ he asked, winking suggestively at her.

The girl looked up in surprise and India half-expected her to flirtatiously respond, ‘Who, me?’ But instead she said quietly, ‘Umm, maybe’ and then dropped her eyes to her lap. The guy shrugged. ‘Down the hall, first door on the right,’ he said casually before sauntering off towards his shared room.

‘Think I’m done too,’ said India, smiling at the remaining players around the table. ‘Taken enough of your cash for one night,’ she added. India pushed back her chair so that it scraped noisily on the floorboards and wandered over to the couch, sitting down next to the young girl.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked her gently.

Once again the girl looked startled at having been addressed. ‘Oh, I’m okay,’ she replied. She had a sweet southern accent and her fingers picked at a hole in the knee of her jeans as she spoke.

India glanced at her watch; it was after 3 am. She couldn’t be bothered making small talk this far past midnight. ‘You going to have sex with that guy?’ she asked. The girl stared back at India in shock. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied quickly.

‘Okay, talk me through it. What’s your thought process here? I’ll help you make up your mind.’

‘Really? Umm, isn’t this sort of . . . weird? I don’t actually know who you are.’

‘So? My name’s India. Feel better? I can tell you’re stuck. Talk to me.’

The girl relented. ‘All right, fine – I
am
confused. That guy’s part of my tour group. We’ve been flirting over the past couple of weeks. But, I kind of thought we’d, you know, have some kind of romantic moment, maybe kiss by the Eiffel Tower when we get to Paris or something – not just hook up in the middle of the night like this.’

‘You’re disappointed.’

‘I guess.’

‘And do you want to sleep with him?’

‘Ye-e-s,’ she replied slowly. ‘But you know, eventually, after a couple of proper “dates”. But I’m worried if I turn him down he’ll move on to someone else.’

‘Ahh, well then, the answer is simple. You don’t do something just because you’re trying to keep someone else happy. You do things for yourself. You do what YOU want to do. Me? If I feel like sleeping with a guy, I sleep with him. If I don’t want to, then I don’t do it. Hang on, actually. Let me fix this for you. What’s your name, hon?’

‘Monique.’

‘Hold up one second.’ India stood up and walked briskly out of the common room, stopping at the first door on the right. She knocked quietly and then swung the door inwards. There were three sleeping figures on bunk beds and the American guy from the card game was sitting on the edge of a fourth bed, taking his shoes off.

‘Oh, hey,’ he said in surprise, looking up at India.

‘Dude, Monique’s into you, right. And I know you’re trying to be all cool and New Age with your take me or leave me shit. But don’t be that guy; take her out to dinner, maybe a picnic in front of the Sacré Coeur when you hit France. Got it?’

She turned and left the room without waiting for a response. Back in the common room, she smiled at Monique. ‘It’s up to you, babe, but I’d wait until I knew for a fact it’s what I wanted to do. And don’t forget, you can always ask
him
out on a date, okay?’

She headed to her own room wondering if interfering was the right thing to do – but then again, she didn’t really care if it was right or wrong, because it
felt
right. Besides, she liked to meddle, it was fun; it made her feel like a puppet-master – a benevolent puppet-master, though, not an evil one. It was something she had always enjoyed doing when she was younger, although perhaps not with as much confidence as she displayed now. In primary school she could recall writing a love letter to her friend Jen and signing it from Michael Green – a boy she could just tell had a crush on her friend, but who probably would have never told Jen, had India not given them that little prod they needed. Michael and Jen held hands in the playground at little lunch and big lunch every day from that day onwards until the last day of year six – when they went to separate high schools. India remembered how her chest had swelled with pride the first time she had seen Jen reach over and take Michael’s hand as they sat side-by-side eating their vegemite sandwiches.

As India reached her room and climbed quietly into her bed in the dark, without bothering to change, she realised that playing match maker yet again and seeing those two contemplating the beginning of a holiday romance had made her start thinking of Simon and, more specifically, about sex with Simon.

The first time with Simon had been, to say the least, quite mind-blowing actually. India was by no means inexperienced; she was very open about her sexuality, more than capable of separating sex and emotions when she needed. But with Simon . . . God, he’d made her see stars, he’d made her want to fall asleep curled up in his arms afterwards. He’d made her forget – for just a little while – everything that had happened to her over the past couple of years.

No! Naughty India, you’re not supposed to think about him
, she chided herself crossly. Perhaps it was time she had some one-night stands of her own.

Hannah made the mistake of mentioning the invite she’d received to watch the boat race to her boss, Helen.

‘Take the day off,’ she said immediately.

‘What? No, that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t asking to go; I was just making conversation!’

‘I know you weren’t asking, but for God’s sake, woman, give yourself a break. You deserve a weekend. There are enough staff here to cover all the counters. Go.’

When Hannah tried to protest, Helen stared her down and eventually there seemed no other choice but to give in. She headed back to her flat to change and found herself putting on shorts, T-shirt and sneakers.

You shouldn’t be going out and having fun. If you’ve got the day off then you’re going to run instead.

As soon as this thought entered Hannah’s mind, she knew that it was the right thing to do. Still, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed as she left her flat and jogged down the several flights of stairs. She’d love to stretch out in the sunshine, maybe drink a beer or a Pimm’s and lemonade while she watched the boats gliding swiftly past.

As she headed out the front door of her building and started off with a light jog, she found herself absentmindedly heading towards the Thames. She tried to convince herself that she wasn’t heading this way to try and watch the race, just that a run along the river might make for a good track. When she reached the Thames, she hesitated. The race started later that afternoon at Putney. India would be at a pub that overlooked the river in Hammersmith, halfway along the course, watching the boats pass with a few friends. It couldn’t hurt to head in that direction, could it? After all, running all the way to Hammersmith along the river would be hard work; it had to be ten to fifteen kilometres at least, didn’t it? And then double it for the run back. That was practically a marathon in itself, wasn’t it?

She turned left and started running along the pathway, following the wide, winding river. As she ran, she wondered if she would actually go and find India and her friends when she reached Hammersmith. She still wasn’t sure that she deserved to join them. But then, maybe she would have earned the break after this run?

About two hours later, Hannah began to suspect that something was wrong. She thought by now she should have reached the starting point of the race. In fact, she had expected to begin to see crowds of people a good half an hour ago. But the surrounding streets seemed quieter than ever.
You just haven’t run far enough
, she scolded herself crossly.
It’s further than you first thought. Stop complaining and just keep going.

She picked up her pace and continued on for another forty minutes. She checked her watch; the race would be starting soon – how could she not be there yet?! Spotting a café up ahead, she slowed down to a brisk walk, reaching the doors of the café just as a woman stepped outside, flipping over a closed sign as she went and pulling the door shut behind her.

‘Excuse me,’ Hannah began.

‘Sorry, love, we’re closed until dinner time.’ The woman gave her a brief smile and turned away.

‘Actually, I was just hoping you could help me with some directions?’

‘Sure, where’re you headed to?’

‘I’ve been jogging along the river and I was just hoping I might catch the boat race . . . but I thought I would have reached Putney by now – I feel as if I’ve been running for ages.’

‘Putney?’ the woman exclaimed. ‘Goodness, love, that’s miles from here. Which direction are you coming from?’

Hannah pointed. ‘That way, from the very centre of London. So it’s further than I thought then?’

The woman widened her eyes. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to tell you this, love, but you’ve come the wrong way. Should have been following the river in the other direction. I’ve got some more bad news for you too – even if you hop on a train you’ll never make it in time. Race will be over within half an hour.’

‘Ah.’

Hannah thanked the woman for her help and turned away, back towards the river. She could feel the woman’s sympathetic gaze on her back as she started to jog again.

Karma
, she thought bitterly as she watched the water flash by and felt her heels start to burn against the back of her shoes.
This is karma for what you’ve done. You should never have tried to go and watch that race. It’s bad enough that you went out last night, that you had fun.

She was going to have to give up on the friendship with India. It wasn’t right – this was proof of that fact.

A vibration against her leg told her that her phone was ringing. She slowed down to a walk and pulled it out. It was him again. Simultaneous emotions welled up inside her. First, elation –
he hasn’t given up.
Then, fear –
why is he calling me now? It’s the middle of the night right now for him.

What if something was wrong? After all, that was the reason she had let him know her phone number – for emergencies – although deep down she’d known he probably wouldn’t stick to that.

Her hands trembled; maybe she should answer . . . just this once. She took a gusty breath and pressed the green button to take the call.

‘Hello,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Hannah!’ His voice sounded tinny, far away. But hearing the warm familiar tones was making her knees weak. She should never have answered; this was a mistake.

‘Oh my God, I thought I’d never get to speak to you again. Are you okay?’

Hannah hesitated. It didn’t sound as though anything was wrong; he sounded excited that she had actually picked up. She clenched her teeth and then said quickly, ‘Is everything all right, Liam? Why are you calling so late? Nothing’s happened, has it?’

‘Are you joking, Hannah? Where the hell do I even begin? No nothing’s happened, not since you bloody left. Hannah, please,
where are you
?’

‘I can’t, Liam. I just can’t, okay. But if there’s not some emergency, then I’m going to have to hang up. I’m sorry.’ The last two words were left hanging in the air for a moment, and Hannah immediately wished she hadn’t said them.
I’m sorry
didn’t even begin to make up for what she had done. Nothing could.