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We sit there like that for a while, in the early morning sunlight, arms tight around each other. I first met Louise in a soup kitchen, the third time I ran away from home and lived on the streets. She’s two years older than me, and she took me under her wing, showing me the best places to sleep where we wouldn’t get moved on, and where we could find a free breakfast and a cheap dinner.
That time, the police found me and brought me home. I didn’t run away again, but we kept in touch, and when I was eighteen and finally working, the two of us got a room together in a house with several other girls, and that’s where I’ve been living for the past five years.
Louise doesn’t want me to go, but she got engaged to Josh a few months ago. She won’t move in with him until she knows I’m settled elsewhere, and I don’t want to hold her back. Besides which, I’m ready for a change. I want to get away to a place where I’m not afraid I’ll bump into Greta or her girls around any corner. I want to live in a city with no bad memories. And I want a fresh start.
My full name is Catriona, pronounced Ca-tree-na, but I’ve always been called Trinny. On impulse last night, I gave myself another nickname, and I’ve decided to go by Catie—with a C—from now on. New life, new name. I’m excited at the thought.
Plus, it’ll give me a link to the guy who loved me so passionately. I don’t use the term lightly. I know it wasn’t real love. He fucked me—pure and simple. But he did it with more feeling, more affection, more… warmth, than any guy I’ve dated properly.
I have a feeling my other shamrock earring is probably in his suite somewhere. I was so tempted to go back to the hotel and ask the guy behind reception if he’d call Saxon’s room. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I think if I saw him again, I’d wrap my arms around his leg, and he’d have to drag me along with him wherever he went. And there’s also the fear that in the cold light of day he’d brush me off, irritated to be harassed by a one-night stand. If he did that, I think it would destroy me.
No, this way I can keep him in my mind as the handsome prince of the fairy tale, and imagine that he’s devastated to have lost me. We’re star-crossed lovers, doomed never to meet again, and destined to dream about each other for the rest of time.
I might be poor, unloved, and have led a less-than-romantic life, but I can still fantasize.
Louise moves back, and we smile at each other. We’re unlikely friends, quite dissimilar in many ways—she’s loud, bold, open, and fearless. I’m quiet, timid, withdrawn, and terrified most of the time. She’s not been afraid to do anything to keep herself alive, even selling her body on many occasions rather than starve. I’ve drawn the line at being a sex worker, preferring to eschew sleep and food, and work all hours under the sun to pay the rent. But despite our differences, we’ve formed a firm friendship, and I’m going to miss her terribly.
The coach driver lifts the hatch to the baggage area, and I get to my feet and take my one case over to him that holds my meager worldly belongings. After he’s loaded it, I return to Louise, and we hold hands. I rarely cry, but I am trembling.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything you’ve done for me.” She’s the big sister I should have had—a world removed from Nancy and Petra.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” she begs. “We can hunt down Sexy Saxon and convince him you’d be the perfect girlfriend for a gorgeous billionaire.”
I smile. I told her all about what had happened when I got in early this morning. Even as I said it, it sounded like something out of a romcom movie. My part would have been played by Anne Hathaway or Emma Stone. Saxon could have played himself. He looks like a movie star anyway.
“Good luck with Josh,” I tell her. “Invite me to the wedding.”
She snorts and gives me a last, fierce hug. Then she breaks free and says, “Not one for long goodbyes.” She walks away without looking back, and disappears around the corner.
I watch her go, feeling forlorn, then shoulder my travel bag and climb the steps onto the coach.
It’s going to be a long journey—nearly twelve hours. I’d rather have traveled on the overnight bus, but that was twenty dollars more expensive, and every spare cent of the money I’ve scrimped and scraped together over the last five years needs to be hoarded for food, rent, and emergencies.
The seats are in twos and look relatively comfortable, and I find one halfway down the coach and slip across to the seat next to the window. I made myself a stack of jam sandwiches and filled two water bottles from the tap before I left. I’m all set to start my new life.
The coach is three-quarters full, but nobody sits next to me, so I don’t have to make conversation. Instead, I put on my headphones and bring up Spotify. I scroll through my Liked Songs playlist. Then, lips curving up, I choose Sheeran’sShape of You.
Curling up in the seat, I think about last night, and the way Saxon sang to follow his lead as he moved inside me.
I know we’d both had too much to drink. I’m nothing special. I was just a girl who caught his attention because I happened to like Doctor Who. But even so, he seemed to enjoy himself.
Our meeting was like a soap bubble, fleeting and insubstantial, but I’m happy to admire the shine and shimmer of the memory for as long as it lasts.
We leave the Sky Tower behind and head south, out of the city. Soon, we’re past the turnoff for my father’s house. I’ll never have to go there, never have to see or speak to Greta or her girls again.
My new life beckons, and the only way is up.
Chapter Five
Monday 20th November
Catie
Lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, I remember the hope and excitement I felt on the journey down to Wellington with bitter humor.
I’d paid the deposit on an apartment in the suburb of Newtown before I left Auckland, worried I’d arrive and not be able to find anywhere to live, as cheap places to rent are few and far between in the city, which is filled with students attending the University of Victoria. Even though it’s a little cheaper than the room I shared with Louise, I figured it would probably be around the same size and of a similar level of decoration.
Silly me. If I had a cat, I would definitely not be able to swing it around in here. It consists of a bed, a desk, the smallest bathroom that has ever existed in the history of all bathrooms ever, and a ‘kitchen’—which is basically a strip of linoleum with a microwave oven, a miniscule fridge, and a sink. It has mold around the windows, it was freezing when I moved in there in winter, and even though it’s not quite summer yet, it’s already uncomfortably warm.
