Don't Forget Your Guidebook

Take Off

Take Off

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Argh, stop it already! It’s not what you think.”

“Your pants are covered in Vaseline,” then there was that jaw twitch, followed by a sneer. “Gross ... ”

I said nothing. Instead, I simply scooped up my remaining clothes and moved to a different washing machine. My cure for inner thigh friction burns from running had worked. No matter what, depraved thoughts ran through Anne’s head. More to the point, I had to remain calm.

My recent morning runs had shed visible layers off of my university mid-drift. She never complained about the late-night biscuit raids or tortilla fights we used to have. Not until near the end, when Anne had highlighted all this with a hefty pinch of my developing paunch. This had nothing to do with our break-up either. That was a separate issue. But all the same, I took her attempt at telling me I had put on some weight as a way that might mean I could win her back. She did like the good things in life, so I took that to mean me too.

Back then, such actions and comments were private. As they should be. These days, she revelled in every opportunity to take a dig at me in public. The two blokes in the laundromat looking up from their phones to see my reaction to her constant jibes could attest to that.

There was no doubting it. Anne really seemed to hate me at the moment. She spent our days together, forcing this point to fruition.

Almost as if she was trying to make me agree. Which I couldn’t. Aside from giving up on our, admittedly struggling, relationship, which I wasn’t, we had one last physical bond keeping us together. As a mature adult, she should put aside her petty thoughts and make the best of things.

“We’re meant to be saving money.” Anne ranted as she threw her jeans inside the machine. She left the door open as if to invite me back over to her side of the laundromat.

My thoughts meandered to anxiety and justification. If I didn’t go over, I’d be blamed for breaking our travel budget and using two machines. If I did go over, I’d be subjected to another onslaught of verbal retribution.

“You’re not putting those things in with my load either.”

We were no longer mixing our underwear then.

Twenty-four hours until our flight to Bangkok and she was throwing a fit over my undergarments. Again, the whole Vaseline thing was to stop friction burns. Granted, it was messy, but it did work. I had at least four abs showing these days. In the right light. At the right angle.

What if I snuck them into the machine? She’d never know. Then I noticed the dial was pointing to ‘Cool Wash’. My mum had always insisted on a sixty-degree wash. She said it killed anything living in clothes that shouldn’t be there, and it got the grease out of everything.

I gave it my best shot to convince Anne.

“Are you serious? We’re not going to have a chance to have a proper clothes wash for months. And, you’re running a cool wash?”

The inner-nerd in me shuddered that at twenty-two I was obsessing about laundry. It also meant a dent in masculine pride. However, this fact would redeem itself if it got on her nerves a little. A minor victory she wouldn’t even know about. The lads in the corner had lost interest.

Anne’s freckled jawline clenched up. Then pulsated a little. I’m not sure if it was her heartbeat that made it do that or a nervous twitch. But it meant I’d hit a nerve of some kind one way or another.

“Don’t be such a Muppet, Jonny. They have laundry services in Thailand, you know?”

“Yea? So why does everybody who comes back from there look like they’ve not had a good wash in months then?”

“It’s a f*****g holiday,” she spat back. “People aren’t worried about their washing!”

“We’re backpacking,” I retorted.

“What?”

“There’s a difference.” There was too. “We’re going for a four-month overland trip across South East Asia. Not a two-week family holiday. There’s a difference.”

Anne turned her palms up in exasperation. “Yeah right, that’s why you spent sixty quid on b****y super wrinkle-free, smell-free shirts. You’re a real backpacker, aren’t you!”

“They don’t need a dryer to dry,” I replied in defence.

“It’s 90 b****y degrees in Thailand. Everything dries!”

I stuffed one of my branded Teflon coated shirts into the machine. At least the colour wouldn’t run. Not like her designer scarf a few weeks back that destroyed my last white shirt. Cranking the machine up to 60 degrees, I slammed the lid shut in defiance.

“t**t,” snapped Anne. “You forgot the washing gel!” Her face went from frustration to utter disappointment.

My own jaw clenched as the machine gurgled and the door clicked tight. I fumbled with the dispenser drawer and squirted in some gel. I never knew if this was the same thing as putting it into the little cup that went inside the machine. Either way, I looked desperate. Anne stared a hole right through me with those green eyes that I once thought were so mystical.

Everyone who knew her considered me a full level under hers in terms of looks. Or, as was often pointed out, ‘she’s way above your league'. I didn’t know which way of putting it was better for my battered confidence levels. But these levels did perk up after our first night together.

Who wouldn’t want to be seen with Anne? Or more to the point actually be in a relationship with her. She was pretty much an ‘it’ girl in the making. The faint freckles around her eyes made her look more innocent than she actually was. Her shoulder length dark brown hair was conditioned for a maximum bounce when we went out. Back at my flat, she has always pulled it into a tight ponytail that either highlighted her determined attitude or gave her a slightly strict, but sexy, school teacher look. The latter was her career choice. Bottom line? She was gorgeous, stylish, and hot. On the negative side, she wanted to be a socialite, she did have a temper, and she didn’t want us to be an official couple. Well, we can’t have everything.

On the flip side, I was Mr Sensible who planned everything out, I had worked my way through Uni, and I had my own flat. Negatives? I really hadn’t been outside London, I’d only had one girlfriend before Anne, and I will admit that my mum has been the most influential woman in my life, until Anne. That’s why I wanted the world to know about us, but never told a soul. Maybe that's what was wrong with our relationship? We never told anyone about us. It had made things difficult.

I should have known better. I had volunteered at a student support group after seeing so many freshers struggling with ‘issues’ after entering the big world of tertiary education. Most of the problems were financial, exam, and relationship related. Some of the relationship stuff was rather hard going for young people to deal with. And in some cases pretty bizarre to hear how they managed to create such emotional entanglements in the first place. That said, after hearing so many stories about messed up events in people’s lives, you’d think I would have learned something. Instead, we were told to listen, be supportive, help, but don’t interfere and don't ask personal questions. There should have been a session for volunteers on ‘don’t make the same mistakes as the people your listening too'.

Speaking of which, apparently, I was also the one that messed up our relationship. Worse yet. I was still madly in love with her. Well, maybe not madly. But I was still hoping all this was just a phase we were going through.

“What are you staring at, Jonny?” Anne’s jaw was pulsating on both sides now. “Am I really going to have to put up with this for the next three months on our,” she held up her fingers to mime quotation marks, “trip of a lifetime.”

This will all blow over. I was sure of it.

It had to.

Tomorrow we were flying to Thailand.

Chapter 1