Journey to the Centre of Myself (17 page)

I blush. ‘You know...’

‘Oh, look, there’s that little blush I love.’ He touches my cheek. ‘Are they off to the Red Light District by any chance?’

‘Yes, and I was so not going there.’

‘Who says we aren’t? The night is young yet, Karenza, and you need to escape that prison you appear to have put yourself in.’

He takes me to the house of Anne Frank, which is now a museum. Within minutes, I am fascinated by the story of this young girl and her diaries and purchase a book to read back home. This is not what I was expecting Arjan to show me and I relax in his company.

‘Okay, time for some food and drink now,’ he says, and we head for a bar. We take our place at a table outside.

‘Do you trust me?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know you.’

‘Well, I want you to trust me. After our food, I will take you to the Red Light District.’

I open my mouth to protest. ‘Karenza, you are too careful, you need to open up, live a little. You will be okay. I’m not going to make you take part in a live show or something you know.’

I nod, pout and turn away. He says nothing, and then I sense movement. He walks away and goes into the bar. This shocks me. Any other boyfriends I’ve had have tried to placate me if I’ve sulked. Arjan seems indifferent and I don’t like it.

I sit up, smooth out the skirt I’m wearing and lift it higher so it shows some leg. I need to get his attention back.

One thing I was not expecting as we enter Rossebuurt, as Arjan terms it, is the beautiful architecture. We walk down streets alongside groups of men, women and couples. The reflection of the neon lights on the buildings glistens on the water. Out of my comfort zone, I move closer to Arjan. He looks at me and takes my hand in his. ‘You’re fine,’ he whispers in my ear. I summon up the courage to stop and look in a window where a small brown haired woman is sat on a chair. She smiles at Arjan. Other men are looking through the window at her and I can hear them egging each other on to go inside.

I turn to Arjan. ‘This is so weird.’

‘No, England is weird,’ he says. ‘The fact you have to sneak around for sex and can be arrested. Here, it’s available for all to see and have. Here,’ he puts my hand on his chest, ‘We are completely open.’

My heart is beating fast. ‘Let’s carry on walking,’ I say.

We walk past signs declaring live sex shows and peep shows. There are sex shops selling items that make me squirm just thinking about what they could be for. I think about my friends and wonder what in the hell they’ll get up to tonight. I dread to think where they are and what they are doing.

It all makes me think of sex and my inexperience; not that Arjan knows that. I’m tingling in places undiscovered and have excitement in the pit of my stomach. I try my best to ignore it.

‘Ready to move on?’ he asks and I nod, relieved.

We move onto Nieuwmarkt Square where we head to a bar and he orders us a bottle of wine. I drink fast as I’m nervous. We chatter on about what I’ve just seen and my impressions of it. The wine makes me bolder.

‘You talk to me as if I’m a naïve young girl. I’m twenty. Not innocent. I’m aware of what happens between men and women.’

‘Oh I don’t see you as a naïve young girl at all Karenza,’ Arjan says and I note a sensation akin to a slight tickle between my legs.

‘Do you have anything else to show me?’ I ask, emboldened by booze.

‘I do,’ he says and pulls me to my feet.

He stands me in front of a cream and red building with Gold Turrets. Its arches and architecture stand out against the usual shop doorways nearby.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘It’s a Buddhist Temple. They built it last year. Quite something isn’t it?’

‘Do you like architexture?’ I ask.

‘Architexture. Oh dear, I think you’ve had a little too much wine.’

‘I’m fine, ar-chee-tec-ture. See? Perfectly so-berrr.’

‘Well, yes, I do like ar-chee-tec-ture. However I need to earn money, so it’s the cafe for me.’

‘Well perhaps later you can study it?’

‘Yeah, perhaps.’

He looks down at me. ‘Oh, Karenza, you are so beautiful.’

I stretch on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

Then I look him in the eyes.

He pulls me closer towards him. I can make out his excitement against my thigh. I put my hands around his neck and pull him towards me. Our lips meet. We accidentally smack teeth, so move our lips into alignment. Our tongues tangle in each other’s mouth.

‘Do you want to come to mine?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ he whispers, before he blows warm air on my ear, followed by a gentle nibble.

I thank goodness that Sarah vacated my room and we jump in a taxi, melding together in the back of the cab.

The ‘Do not disturb’ sign is on the outside of the door and chants of ‘Go Girl’ echo and carry outside the door when the others return. I don’t care. My first time is special and I’m glad I saved it, but it’s lost in repeats as we make love all night long. We sleep spooned, his arms enveloped around me, and I am content until the morning comes and I realise when I leave at lunchtime it will all be over.

He changes his shift to start at noon and we spend the morning walking, overlooking the water and chatting non-stop. He’ll write, phone, visit, if I’ll do the same. I am hopeful for the future as we make our plans.

‘Now I’ve found you, I will never leave you,’ he tells me.

But Arjan left a lot sooner than either of us realised he would and we were both to blame.

***

I sit on the bed, in my latest hotel room, near the London Eye and Big Ben. With my head against the headboard, I try to gather my thoughts about what I need to do next. My room has an Apple Mac and free Wi-Fi so I can do some internet searching for photography courses. I ring and order a room service lunch as I’m exhausted after my drunken late night, early start and all the travel.

As soon as lunch is delivered and eaten I change into my pyjamas and grab my notebook.

Things to do:

1. Visit launderette.

2. Text Steve.

3. Research photography courses.

4. Think about future and meeting with Adrian to discuss same.

I switch on my phone and text Steve. ‘Just got back from Paris. Now in London. Your sister is an international jet-setter.’ Within a minute, I have a reply.

‘How are you? I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t be. I’m fine. Doing a lot of thinking about the future. Home soon.’

‘Home when?’

‘I don’t know yet, need to think some more. Maybe Thursday/Friday?’

‘I’ve been talking to Adrian. He seems to have a genuine explanation for what he’s doing.’

‘Really? Or is it just more of the lies and deceptions he’s so good at?’

‘Well, I thought I’d let you know, but it’s for you to sort out.’

‘I know.’

‘Glad you’re okay.’

‘What about you? How’s things? Work, work, work?’

‘I met someone.’

‘Have you?’

‘Yep, early days but it’s different somehow, seems right.’

‘Oh Steve, it’s about time. Glad to hear it. Here we are again yin/yang. My marriage is on its bottom just as you start dating again.’

‘Feel for you sis, heavy decisions to make. You know where I am.’

‘I know. Thanks, bro, love ya, bye.’

‘Bye.’

When to go home? There’s a text on my phone from Jo, asking me to a dinner party. Before I would make an excuse but now I think I’ll go. I need to get out more. Please let it not all be couples. I send her a text to accept and ask her. I’m pleased when her reply comes telling me that there’s an assortment of people and I’ll be fine whether I’m on my own or bringing Adrian. Hmmm, Adrian. I decide to go home Thursday evening, ahead of Friday’s dinner party. Do I let him know or just turn up? Gosh, we have so much to talk about.

I spend some time looking at photography courses. They are really expensive. My redundancy money could stretch out to two years’ salary if I’m careful, or one if I intend to study and travel. I look at the Open University. There I can study photography without being stuck in Manchester as a student.

Decisions made, it’s now time for clean clothes. I find the nearest launderette and spend a few hours washing my clothes. The hotel does laundry, but it is far too expensive. I enjoy the smell of the room, the noise and watching all the drums going round.

Later I go back to my hotel and rent a movie through the T.V. Around nine o'clock I go for a long walk and head to Convent Garden. I love the ambience of the place, the buzz of people and the containment of the markets. I treat myself to some l’occitane hand cream and get a burger and fries to eat from an American Dining Restaurant. The thought of going home tomorrow makes my stomach churn.

Back in the room, I wonder where I’ll be tomorrow night—safely ensconced in my home or looking for another hotel room to stay in. The sense of satisfaction and luxury I got when I first stayed in one has lapsed and I ache for my own bed and belongings. At the same time, I can’t imagine staying in my old home in my old life forever more either. There has to be a compromise. I feel like a split personality. Perhaps I’m going mad again. Anyway, my case is prepared. If I don’t stay at home, at least I have fresh clothes. I know Steve would let me stay with him, but that’s another step backwards. Maybe, it’s time to be on my own for a while. But then, I counter, I wouldn’t have my own bed. My mind spins in circles all night long. With the accompanying din from other hotel occupants, who bang and crash in their own rooms, I get little sleep.

The hotel has a spa. In all the times I’ve stopped in hotels I’ve never used the facilities. I purchase a swimsuit and head down there before breakfast. The reception said I don’t have to vacate the room until midday and there are regular trains to Manchester, so I don’t feel any rush.

I shower and go into the steam room. The heat hits me as I sit inside, and it’s a minute or so before I find I can breathe properly. Then I love it. As the sweat and moisture runs down my face and body, it’s like a cleansing. I stay in there for about fifteen minutes, simply relaxing. After another shower, I brace myself for the pool, where I’m relieved to find that it’s actually quite warm. I’m not a strong swimmer and can only do breast stroke, but I push myself to do four lengths straight off. I quickly realise how unfit I am as I’m completely out of breath. The stretch of my legs and arms against the water is exhilarating. I’ve found something else I want to do more of—strengthen my body. I carry on for another four lengths, the muscles in my legs aching and my arm muscles screaming. I rest against the side of the swimming pool laughing to myself. There are only a couple of people in here besides me and they’re too focused on their own swim to worry about what I’m up to.

Then it’s into the sauna where I struggle with the dry heat. I really do feel like I can’t breathe and need to escape, but I make myself stay and push through it. I keep throwing water on the stones though I don’t know if this is supposed to make it better or worse. A magazine article I remember reading said something about sitting on a lower level for less intense heat, but I only manage just over five minutes in there. It’s too intense and makes my heart palpitate.

There are lovely products in the shower and changing rooms so I take my time washing my hair and conditioning it, scared the heat will have frazzled it. I walk back to the changing area, grab a fresh towel to dry off further and then smooth in body lotion. I pull up a chair and style my hair and apply cosmetics. Then I head for the dining room where I have a full English breakfast and plenty of coffee. I spend my last hour catching up with my writing, which has become my to-do lists, my confessional, and my journal. I reflect on the cover. Now I’m like a bird hovering around a cage, but no longer confined by it.

It's time to go home.

Chapter 18

Amber

Adrian has taken me back to the bar where we first met as he has ‘fond memories’ of it. I’m drinking vodka and shaking my booty to the beat while secretly fantasising that he takes me home and shags me senseless. He seems to take this lust only business a tad too seriously. I want him to be a proper bad boy and break all the rules. The place is full of different groups, all here for the Christmas parties and they get loud, wild, and far too energetic and enthusiastic when Slade comes on.

As we stand near the bar, we keep getting pushed into each other. We strain to listen to what the other one is saying. The night’s a bust as far as I’m concerned. I’m hot, sweaty and to be quite frank, bored.

A drink is dropped on the floor. I hear the smash and then liquid drips down the back of my leg. I feel like an old lady who’s lost her ability to hold urine.

‘Great,’ I mutter, looking around to see who dropped it.

‘What are you fucking looking at?’ says a middle-aged woman with corkscrew curled blonde hair. Sweat has made wisps stick to her forehead. It’s the last I see before Adrian drags me away.