Life Gets in the Way by Mark Plummer

Condensation formed along the bottom of the window where the vain efforts of the air-conditioning came up against the hot evening. Martin wiped the sweat from his forehead.

‘I’m afraid this is about as cool as it gets this time of year,’ Julian said and sat on Martin’s case. Martin wanted to unpack; the trousers would be getting creased. ‘The air conditioning isn’t brilliant, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

‘The bathroom’s through that door there and that one goes onto the balcony. They call it a balcony, but most of it is taken up with the air-conditioning unit. There’s room to stand and smoke at least. You can smoke in here though if you like.’

‘I don’t smoke anymore.’

‘Right. Well, good for you. For very long?’

‘Forty years now. Cath didn’t like it.’

‘I see.’ Julian fiddled with the luggage tag on the case. Martin wished he’d packed the case the other way around. With it stood on its end like this, all the clothes would crumple to one end.

‘The flight was alright then?’ Julian asked.

‘Yes, fine. Long.’

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose you’re used to that sort of thing though with all your jet setting,’ Martin said.

‘You never get used to boredom really, do you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Martin said just to keep the conversation going. ‘I would have thought that eventually you stop thinking of it as boredom and see it as routine, comfort after a while.’

Julian raised an eyebrow but then smiled and tried to nod politely. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine at the minute, thanks. I ate on the flight.’

‘Better than they used to be, aren’t they? Airline meals, I mean.’

‘I suppose so. I wouldn’t really know.’

Julian nodded. His hair had greyed and his skin was tanned and leathery but those eyes were still the same startling blue they always had been. The old energy was still there in them.

‘You don’t have a kitchen here?’ Martin asked.

‘The street food is so cheap that you don’t need one. Everyone in Bangkok just eats out. Do you like Thai food?’

‘I’ve never had it, but Cath used to pick up a Chinese takeaway for us every couple of weeks.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not quite the same as Chinese, but I’m sure you’ll like it. Best cuisine in the world. Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve never known anywhere quite like this place.’

‘Are you here permanently now then?’

‘Put it this way, it’s the longest I’ve stayed anywhere since I left England, but I’m sure that the feet will start to itch soon enough.’

‘Well, thank you for inviting me out.’

‘Of course. I knew you wanted to travel when you retired and after I heard about Cath…’

Martin nodded and scratched the back of his hand. Julian had shouted incredulously when Cath had first said that. ‘When you’re retired? You’re only twenty-five. You’ve got to live a little. Mart could come across to Sweden with me for a year, six months even, and teach English, learn about a new culture.’

‘I could never live outside of England,’ Cath had said.

‘That wasn’t really what was on offer.’

‘He could never live anywhere without me.’ She leant her head on Martin’s shoulder. Martin looked across at Alvida who picked at a fleck of paint on the table. He looked at the mark her lip gloss had left on his glass and followed the curves of her body under her thin blouse.

‘Anyway,’ Cath said. ‘We can’t afford it; we have to save for the wedding. We’re going to build our life together first, then we can go traveling.’

‘Has it really been forty years?’ Julian asked. Martin blinked his eyes open.

‘Yes, forty-two. More than that, actually, because it was the September. Do you remember? It was in The Union, the night before you left for Sweden.’

‘Yes, I do remember,’ Julian said and laughed. ‘And as I seem to remember, I’d nearly convinced you to come with me.’

Martin smiled but fixed his gaze on the floor tiles. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘But then Cath turned up and that was the end of that.’ Julian stopped himself. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’

Martin shrugged. ‘It’s fine. Don’t worry.’

The noise of the incessant traffic outside amplified their silence.

‘Where did you go after Sweden?’ Martin asked.

‘Well, there were a few months in Paris and then I moved down through Italy, Greece, Turkey, Cyrpus, Egypt. Then I spent most of the nineties in South America. Australia was God-awful so I left after a week and went across to New Zealand. Then up to Asia: Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia and kind of got stuck here in Thailand. What about you? Did you manage to travel at all?’

‘We tried to get away once a year for a holiday.’

‘Good. I was always worried that you’d be stuck in England all your life. The place I really regret not seeing is Eastern Europe. Have you been to Prague?’

‘No. No, I haven’t. Cath used to say that there were so many beautiful places in Britain that we hadn’t seen that it was a waste to go abroad.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘I mean, we went to Scotland and Ireland quite a lot. And we did go to Majorca once.’

‘I’ve never been there.’

‘It’s nice. Hot. Not as hot as here, but hot all the same; compared to England at least. Too hot for Cath. She used to get heat stroke. Nice island though. Lots of English bars and swimming pools and things like that.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s what you want on a holiday, I suppose.’

‘We talked about going to Australia, but then with Cath’s illness… I always wanted to travel but life seemed to always get in the way.’

Martin could feel the warmth of Alvida’s breath on his ear. ‘Come to Sweden. Be with me.’ He could feel the curve of her hip in hand.

‘Are you alright?’ Julian asked.

‘Yes, fine. Sorry. Jet lag, I suppose. Do you ever hear from Petra?’

‘Who?’

Martin laughed but Julian seemed to be serious.

‘Petra. The girl you went to Sweden with.’

‘Oh, no. God, I haven’t thought about her for years. It all ended a bit badly, actually. After a couple of months we decided to go across to Denmark and Holland, but I met this girl in Amsterdam.’ A grin that Martin remembered well crossed Julian’s face. ‘Petra just wanted to have kids and move back to Sweden and everything and I just didn’t want to get tied down. That life and the bullshit that went with it was never for me. Do you know what I mean?’

Martin picked at a loose thread on his trousers.

‘I didn’t mean you and Cath. You two were different. You were much more stable, more sensible than I ever was. I always thought you two would have had a family. What happened?’ Julian nudged him and laughed. ‘Fire blanks?’

‘No.’ Martin swallowed. ‘Cath had a miscarriage a couple of years after we got married and after that…’

‘Shit, I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s fine. Best not to dwell on these things, I find. Can’t live in constant regret, can we?’

Alvida had pulled him out into an alley at the side of the pub. ‘All summer I’ve waited for you,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait anymore. I’m leaving tomorrow. Come to Stockholm. Be with me.’ She put her hand on his chest and leaned in close to him. He could feel her breath on his lips. The fire door of the pub swung open and closed again in the wind. In the wave of noise that came out, he thought he heard Cath’s voice. ‘Don’t go in there. Stay with me,’ Alvida said. Her lips brushed his.

‘I can’t,’ he said and pushed her away.

‘Can’t what?’ Julian asked and came over to him. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe it’s best for you to get some rest.’

‘I think you’re right.’

‘Have a lie down. Get some sleep. Look, I’ve been meaning to say, actually: I know this is a bit shitty on your first night here, but I’ve got to go and meet some people. We’re trying to sort out a trip into Burma and this is the only night they could do it. I hate leaving you on your first night, but it’s genuinely important and it’ll give you some peace to rest in. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No, of course not. I’ll unpack and settle myself in.’

‘Good. I’ll be back pretty late so go out and buy yourself some dinner. There’s a good place just down the road that does Pad Thai noodles. It’ll be a good way to ease your stomach in gently. Sorry to leave you.’

Julian went into the toilet and Martin sat on the bed.

‘I was thinking, do you ever hear from that other Swedish girl?’ Julian shouted out through the door. ‘What was she called? Anna?’

‘Alvida.’

‘That’s it. Did you keep in contact with her?’

‘No, I’ve never seen her again since that night.’

‘I seem to remember her having a thing for you.’

‘I don’t know,’ Martin said feeling the touch of her cool fingers under his shirt.

‘She definitely did. God, I wish you had come with me back then. It’s been too long.’ Julian came out of the bathroom and patted him on the back with a damp hand.

‘Just make yourself at home. Do whatever you like. I’ve cleared some room in the closet and there’s a spare key in the drawer there.’

When Julian left, Martin unpacked. He hung his shirts and happily uncrumpled trousers in the space among Julian’s lazily folded piles of clothes. Then he stood by the window and watched the traffic unpacking, shuffling and restacking itself. Despite the time, the city hadn’t seemed to slow down. Martin sat on the bed and rolled his toiletry bag between his hands like a ball. He put his tongue to his lips and tasted the cherry lip gloss Alvida had worn that night and felt the familiar dull ache in his head as his hands remembered pushing her away. He looked across at his sandals by the door and tossed the bag onto the bed.

As he left the building, the heat fell on him like a suffocating towel. His shirt stuck under his arms and across his shoulder blades. Street vendors now lined the streets. Smoke from their motorbike-mounted burners rose in the cones of street lights. The whole street smelt of garlic and charcoal. Women running stalls spoke in obscure songs and spat sparks into the street as they stirred giant woks and tossed noodles. The fire of chillies hung in the air and tingled over his lips. The pavement was full of people and the traffic barely moved, crawling like some lumbering, breathless beast through the city. Tumorous buses bulged in and out of the main body while mopeds darted like metallic mosquitos in and out of headlamps. Waves of people broke around him and pulled him along the street past Europeans his age, some even older, walking with young Thai girls on their arms. Local men smoked cigarettes and played cards in open doorways. Policemen straddled motorcycles in the central reservation, guns strapped to their hips. Groups of local youngsters came past laughing at videos and songs they played on mobile phones. A group of girls came past. They all wore low cut blouses or bikini tops and tight shorts that barely covered their underwear. Their perfume left pink vapour trails behind them in the thick air. For a moment he thought he caught Alvida’s perfume.

Martin saw her posing for him to take her photograph under the Eiffel Tower and by the Seine with Notre Dame behind her. Alvida’s golden hair would have billowed out behind her as the two of them sped through South America on motorcycles. He imagined the sweat glistening on her neck as they walked through the jungles of Asia. He pictured making love to her in rented apartments in Venice, Florence, Athens, Istanbul, Cairo, Tokyo, Bangkok.

Martin hadn’t noticed the girl coming over to him.

‘Hello, darling,’ she said and ran her finger down his chest. ‘You look good time?’

‘No, thank you. I’m waiting for a friend.’

‘I be your friend, darling.’ 

The girl gripped his shirt with both hands and slowly moved close to him so that her breasts pressed at his chest. There was the perfume again. Come to Stockholm. Be with me.

‘You stay near here?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said and silently led her back to the apartment.

She kicked off her heels and went straight over to the bed. Martin stood just inside the door fumbling with the key. The girl came over and took it from his hand. Her skin was dark, far darker than Alvida’s. He closed his eyes and felt the girl move her face towards his. Martin could feel the breeze in the alleyway outside the pub. Her lips brushed his again. This time he kissed her back. He felt her tongue against his, smaller and quicker than he’d imagined. Her hand was pulling at his belt and then he felt the clammy warmth of it wrap around him.

‘You big boy,’ she said. The accent was wrong.

‘Please don’t speak,’ he said.

Eyes still closed, he moved the girl towards the bed. Her body was thin and fragile, the curves he’d always imagined weren’t there. As he kissed her neck, the perfume tasted bitter. He pulled at the catch of her bra. It didn’t undo the way Cath’s did. He tried to work it open, but his wedding ring stuck in one of the hooks. The air stuck in Martin’s throat. He saw Cath lying in the hospital bed in the web of tubes and then that little plaque with her name staring up at him out of the ground. He freed the ring and got off the girl. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

‘Alvida, I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I love Cath. This isn’t the life for me. Maybe it suits Julian, but not me. I can’t do it.’

He felt the girl’s weight lift off the mattress and heard her put her top back on.

‘I miss her so much.’

‘You still pay me.’

‘What?’ he said and wiped his cheek. The girl stood with her hand out. ‘Oh, yes.’ He passed the girl his wallet. She took a few notes and tossed it onto the bed. Martin waited for her to leave then went to the wardrobe and pulled his suitcase down.

# # #

Mark Plummer is twenty-nine and currently lives in Cornwall, England. He has previously had short stories published in the UK, USA, Canada, Australia and UAE in literary magazines including Prole, Riptide Journal, Alliterati and The Delinquent. He has also written and performed in plays for UK arts festivals. Mark is currently writing his first novel. Follow him on Twitter: @MarkRossPlummer

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Your Comments
  • Wow. A really top notch story. One of the best I’ve seen in Dime Show so far – and that’s saying something. Brilliant characterization. Beautiful writing. All the agonies of love and regret are present here. Great job!

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