The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) Read online

  Sam eventually got the case to the front door, after only a few astonished glances and one grimace like he’d strained something he might need when we got upstairs.

  Despite its exterior looking like it had survived an assault by the Khmer Rouge, I shouldn’t have doubted Sam about the hotel. Inside it was an oasis of forties glamour. The walls were paneled in red and the floors checkered in black and white. Funky red chairs and round tan leather footstools dotted the tall-ceilinged lobby. Nina Simone gently crooned from speakers in the rafters, giving the mood-lit, cool interior the feel of a sexy jazz club. Art deco signs dotted the walls and tables, wire fans stood in corners, and there was a groovy round sofa in the middle of the lobby. It was the perfect setting in which to lounge wearing an evening dress, with a cigarette holder in one hand and a martini in the other. Not that I’d brought an evening dress. Or smoked. Through an archway next to reception I spied a veritable jungle, and a pool. It was magical.

  ‘Sawasdee kahhh,’ sang the woman at the front desk, bowing with her hands in prayer formation at her breast. ‘You pay first. Eight hundred bahhht.’

  She reminded me of a cat, meowing in the tentative hope that I might feed her, but not in the mood to be demanding.

  ‘Wow, that’s cheap.’

  ‘Get what you pay for room,’ she said, smiling.

  We kissed all the way up in the elevator, risking public indecency fines by the time we manhandled my suitcase into the room. Sam steered me to the bed where we fell together, still kissing. This was movie passion, only I wasn’t acting. With Sam all sense of decorum disappeared, along with the embarrassment that usually made me back out of the room, geisha-style, when naked. That translated into some amazing sex. In fact, I’d had the best sex of my life with him. Being totally in love with him meant that every minute we spent on, in and under each other was perfect, because he was Sam.

  … Even when there weren’t that many minutes. ‘Sorry, Han. I was excited to see you,’ he whispered into my hair. I was snuggled into his chest, not even minding the sweat against my cheek. And I hated sweat. ‘Oops,’ he said, shifting away to grab his phone. ‘It’s just my boss, texting to see if I got here okay.’

  ‘And you’re texting her back now?’

  ‘What? Oh, right. No, of course not. Sorry! I’ll text later. It’s not important.’ He settled back down, opening his arms again for me.

  ‘Good. Because that would be weird after, well, you know.’ I sighed deeply, marveling that I was there with him in Bangkok. ‘Thank you, Sam.’

  He smiled, raising his eyebrows. Cheeky sod, misinterpreting my appreciation. Honestly, men sometimes. ‘I mean for this holiday, not… that. Though that wasn’t bad either. It’s such a great way to start out together–’ He smirked harder. ‘Again, I mean the holiday, Sam, not that. Get your mind out of the gutter.’

  ‘But I like being in the gutter. With you. Han, I’m so happy you’re finally here. These last few months haven’t been easy, have they? I didn’t realize when I left how hard this would be. I’m glad you’re here now. And we can do this again!’ He made a playful grab for my thigh.

  ‘Mmm, me too. I’m so happy, you can’t even imagine. A huge thank you to your boss for letting you take time off so soon after starting.’ Sam had just finished his PhD in political-economic something or other, and gone to work in Hong Kong advising the government about very important matters. That’s why he had to leave London to take the new job. He was destined to be a top political-economic something or other one day.

  ‘She knew it was important to me.’

  Hmm, yes, I thought, so important that she texted you while you were with your girlfriend.

  ‘Besides,’ he went on. ‘You can’t see Bangkok and Laos in just a week.’

  ‘Of course we could. We’re American; we could see all of Europe in a week. We often do.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he agreed, stroking my shoulder. ‘Though not my friends. They can spend years travelling and call it research.’

  ‘How nice to be perpetual students. Mmm, this is so nice. Sam, why don’t we just stay here? Then we wouldn’t have to take the extra flights.’ I wasn’t a great flyer under the best of conditions (and those conditions involved a GP’s prescription). I couldn’t point to any single traumatic flight, and it wasn’t only small planes that made me chew away perfectly good manicures. Bigger planes meant bigger body counts. Over the years I’d developed a sharp sense of dread upon hearing the question, Would you like a window or an aisle seat? I descended into full-scale paranoia when the ‘fasten seat belt’ sign was lit.

  ‘But then we’d miss Laos’ he said. ‘It’s supposed to be such a magical, unspoiled place. You’re gonna love Luang Prabang. There are hundreds of monks in the monasteries there. It’s beautiful and peaceful, on two big rivers. The people are wonderfully friendly and kind…’ He wore a beatific look. I was in love with a dreamer. I knew this when we first got together, when each date was like an adventure with the Pied Piper. This was the man whose recipe for English trifle ended in a chocolate custard fight that wiped out his security deposit. He positively glowed at the prospect of visiting Ikea’s charming warehouse, or finding new season asparagus at Waitrose. He made it entertaining to wait in for the boiler man. Everything in Sam’s life turned out positive and fun. Laos would be wonderful. I kissed him on the nose. ‘’Scuse me a minute.’ As I got up I took my first real look at the room. ‘Sam, what kind of hotel is this?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘This. This– room.’ The floors were puke-green linoleum. The walls were concrete blocks; the beds (singles) were metal. A desk squatted in the corner. We were in a dorm room. I expected a knock on the door any minute inviting me to a keg party. ‘Who recommended this hotel?’

  ‘My professor. He stays here whenever he’s in Bangkok.’

  Now I understood what the front desk clerk was telling me. ‘You get what you pay for?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s what these rooms are called. Isn’t that great? Where would you find a place like this anywhere else in the world?’

  I loved his enthusiasm. His capacity for joy at life’s small wonders was astonishing. He’d texted me once in London, a few minutes before we were due to meet:

  Sorry darlin’, pretty sunset, 15 mins late.

  Nature’s light show had caught his attention and he couldn’t pass up the chance to watch it play out. For him it was pure bliss, and perfectly natural to stop his life briefly to marvel at it. I’d never encountered so much positivity, and it was infectious. Yes, this was great. I loved it. And I loved him for finding it.

  Though we thought about staying in the room to perform all the prohibited activities we’d seen on the ‘No sex tourists’ sign in the lobby, Bangkok’s treasures called to us. So after a quick shower we found ourselves back on the swanky hotel corner looking for a taxi. Every thirty seconds a young guy driving a three-wheeled motorcycle-cum-ice cream cart stopped and said ‘tuk-tuk?’. The streets were full of these belching accidents waiting to happen, and they didn’t seem to be just for tourists. Like the motorbikes, entire extended families thought them a nifty mode of transport.

  ‘They want to know if we want a ride,’ Sam explained as he shook his head at another hopeful driver.

  ‘Don’t we?’ My shoes weren’t what you’d call walk-friendly.

  ‘In a tuk-tuk?’ He looked like I’d just told him I knew how to tune an engine. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to ride in one. Don’t take this wrong, Han, but you’re more of a taxi girl.’

  ‘I am not!’ I really was, of course.

  ‘Well, great! Okay then.’ He whistled at the next cart to pass. ‘Grand Palace please. How much?’

  ‘Two hundred bahhht.’ The teenager flashed a grin to melt the heart.

  ‘No way, it’s not that far. Fifty.’

  ‘One-fiftyyy.’

  ‘Sixty.’

  ‘Three hundred and ping-pong show, okay?’ He cocked his thumb in the universal sign
for now-that-that’s-settled-jump-aboard.

  ‘No, just to the Grand Palace please.’

  ‘No ping-pong show?’

  ‘No ping-pong show. Just the palace. Sixty. Deal?’

  His smile faded to a mere 300 watts. ‘Okay.’

  ‘What’s a ping-pong show?’ I bellowed as we zoomed along, the wind blowing exhaust into our faces. The whole noisy contraption was open except for a metal roof on four posts. Taxi, indeed. I wouldn’t want to travel any other way. I could have used an industrial face mask though.

  ‘Believe me, you don’t want to know,’ Sam shouted over the din of the mid-morning traffic. ‘It’s a kind of sex show,’ he answered my expectant look.

  ‘They have sex playing ping pong?’ I realized that table tennis was an Olympic sport, but surely not.

  ‘Nooo, but the woman uses ping pong balls.’

  ‘For what? How?’ The penny dropped. ‘Oh. Really?’ And they said girls had bad aim. ‘Have you ever seen it?’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, yeah, when I was here with Pete. You’re going to love him when you meet him.’

  Pete is Sam’s apartment mate. They’re best friends but he’d already moved to Hong Kong by the time Sam and I got together. ‘Is it gross?’ I ask, referring to the show, not Pete.

  ‘Yes, but oddly fascinating.’

  ‘Then maybe we should go.’

  ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘Sure, why not? Would they let me in?’

  ‘Of course, but–’ he shook his head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You never cease to amaze me. I love an adventurous girl!’

  Did you hear that? Sam loved an adventurous girl. In my mind I was the most adventuresome girl on the planet. In reality my cowardice was legendary, but Sam needn’t know that. Not when he practically just said he loved me.

  By the time we got to the Grand Palace I’d ingested enough fumes to shorten my lifespan by a couple of years. Like a carnival ride that spun at vomit-inducing speeds, tuk-tuks were only fun till the thrill wore off. The ride was worth it though. A fairytale village lay before us. Multi-layered, ornate, steep-roofed green and gold buildings with soaring spires housed the Thai people’s national treasures. The whole enormous complex literally glittered with so much gold that I was nearly at a loss for words. My fingers intertwined with Sam’s. I felt like we were kids standing on the threshold of a wondrous new world. I guess we were, in a way.

  We spent the day sharing out our wonder, gawping at the grandeur, and each other, in turns. By dinnertime we’d settled back into our rhythm together. Time and distance were brushed away, leaving us a couple again. It was perfect, our reunion made all the more sweet against such a spectacular backdrop. We even had foot massages, which gave me hope that we were starting as we meant to go on. But that wasn’t meant to be.

  Forty-eight hours later we were riding in a truck through the Laotian jungle towards the start of our hike. Naturally I was there under duress. And to make matters worse, we were sharing the ride with Lara Croft. She wasn’t Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft – that would imply that she was actually human, with possible flaws. She was the computer-generated model of perfection that was the Tomb Raider. Sam couldn’t have been happier with the whole adventure.

  I tried not to be jealous, but I hated her. I’d have been happy to share the excursion with a nice older couple who thought we were adorable kids, or a sexy man who liked to flirt. Lara’s presence was unacceptable. Aside from the fact that I thought she was gorgeous, it was obvious that Sam thought so too. They didn’t stop talking and he’d barely looked at me for at least an hour. Granted, I probably wasn’t at my best, given that we were riding in the back of an open jeep, and it was raining: my hair isn’t great in the rain. It isn’t exactly magnificent in the sun.

  I was cold, which raised goose bumps all over my body. Lara appeared immune to the weather, except for her nipples, which pointed straight at my boyfriend.

  It hadn’t seemed like a terrible idea when Sam suggested a little walk in the mountains. But as we left the truck and headed for the hilly, steamy, wet jungle that was no doubt full of bugs, I reconsidered.

  ‘Hannah? What brings you to this part of the world?’ Asked Lara in what I had to admit was a very sexy Eastern European accent. She was skipping along the path as if strolling downhill instead of climbing Mount Kilimanjaro.

  ‘I’m moving to Hong Kong,’ I wheezed. ‘Next week.’ Exercise and I weren’t close companions. I went through a blessedly brief phase after college in which I joined a gym and had a personal trainer. A blinding crush on the trainer had been my sole motivation. It took three months of daily workouts to get him to kiss me. To my horror, he was a face licker. Since then, exertion beyond walking to the bus stop was, to me, wasted effort.

  ‘Oh, Hong Kong is wonderful. Will you live with Sam?’

  ‘Uh, well…’

  ‘We’re not living together,’ Sam volunteered cheerfully.

  ‘Oh,’ she said.

  It’s funny how a single word could convey a sentiment.

  It didn’t matter that we were only at the beginning of our relationship, or that we were in complete agreement about not rushing things, or that I wanted to be independent. I didn’t want a gorgeous woman misunderstanding Sam’s status. If I were a dog marking my territory, at that point I’d probably have peed on him.

  We walked in silence through the jungle. It was still uphill. It was still raining. Sam was no doubt mulling over Miss Perfect’s CV. She worked for an NGO that built schools in war-torn countries. She was taking a little break from her post in Cambodia where she also volunteered for a landmine charity. She made Mother Theresa look like a selfish bitch. I couldn’t bear to think what she made me look like. What had I ever done for charity except donate clothes after I was positive they’d never come back in style?

  Our guide, wearing flip-flops, ambled along like a goat up the muddy hill. I’d had visions of me and Sam meandering hand in hand down a verdant jungle path, perhaps with monkeys swinging through vines overhead. Instead we were trudging single file to what felt like Everest base camp, and the monkeys were smart enough to stay out of the rain. As we rounded a corner I spied a river. It wasn’t along the path – it was across the path. Undaunted, our guide flip-flopped through it, still smiling. ‘Come this way,’ he chirped.

  I hadn’t scoured London’s streets in search of the perfect trainers to have them ruined in a Laotian river. Suddenly Sam’s preoccupation with Tevas made sense. They were the amphibious assault vehicle of the shoe world – ugly and indestructible. My pretty shoes, on the other hand, were not, which was why they were going to travel raj-style on my head across the raging torrent. Unfortunately balancing on one shoe while unlacing the other wasn’t easy. I wobbled, heaved sideways and stepped resolutely into the yellow squishy muck. ‘Damn it.’

  ‘Why don’t you just wade across in them?’ Sam called from the other side.

  ‘Because they’re suede!’ Were. They were suede.

  I swear I caught Lara roll her eyes. ‘Want a hand?’ She volunteered.

  ‘No thanks.’ Angrily I wrenched off my other shoe.

  ‘Nice toenails,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks!’ Gazing fondly at my Chanel Fire red toes through the rippling water, I couldn’t resist accepting the compliment.

  ‘I never seem to have the time to paint mine,’ she addressed her own perfectly formed, perfectly varnish-free feet. Of course not, you were too busy teaching children and saving people from landmines. How much did I hate thee? Let me count the reasons.

  Reason number one. In a fire Sam would rescue her first. How did I know this? Because within minutes we came upon another river, which looked suspiciously like the one we’d just crossed. Lara began hopping across the stones in her Tevas when she slipped. My boyfriend, who’d been holding me while I pried off my shoe again, dashed to Lara’s side and helped her across the river. By the time he came back I could have drowned. Well,
if I’d been in the water at that point, I could have drowned. When push came to shove we knew who’d get the fireman’s carry.

  Reason number two. Take reason number one and double it. I felt like I was watching my future crumble in the jungles of Laos. It made me sick to my stomach. I feared this might happen, and yet I let myself get carried away. Why didn’t I learn from my mistakes? Even rats, after being electrocuted, eventually learned to avoid the shock. Wasn’t I more intelligent than a rodent? Not judging by my dating history. As I stood in the rain, muddy and miserable, I flashed back to Jake, the truly dark smudge on my self-respect. What is it about the extra X chromosome that makes us resurrect disasters of boyfriends past when we’re already down? As if the present humiliation wasn’t filling enough without heaping on extra helpings from history. I’d stalked Jake into submission after meeting him briefly at a university party. He went home with another girl that night but I was smitten. Miraculously – or so he believed – we ran into each other at most parties/bars/coffee shops for the rest of that year. But despite my best efforts, to him I was nothing but the pack of biscuits at the back of the cabinet. Not a favorite but I’d do in a pinch. Eventually Jake ate the biscuits. Over time we settled into a pattern of sorts. I dragged Stacy around campus till we accidentally on purpose ran into him. If he didn’t go home with someone else we’d spend the night together (I warned you this wasn’t a flattering story). What was obvious to everyone but me was that I wasn’t his Miss Right, just his Miss Right For Now. Eventually Stacy gave me a dose of reality. That’s when I finally realized that no matter how fun, funny, sexy and smart I was around him, he was never going to see me as anything more than a runner-up.

  And here I was in second place once again. It was sickening. So much so in fact… I actually felt like vomiting. My mouth started to sweat. Then the hot flush came.

  I threw up on my clean shoe.

  ‘Hannah!’ Sam rushed over. ‘What’s wrong?’ He rubbed my back, concern furrowing divots between his eyebrows.

  I had no idea what was wrong. I didn’t usually throw up in the face of emotional trauma. I overate. I started to shiver. ‘I don’t feel good.’