The Day Of The Wave (4 page)

I have to think of Kalaya. 

I get the impression Chinda may have confused our humble little
Sweet Eats Magazine
with something with the swaying power of The New York Times but I've already decided she's going to get the very best write up I can give her. She pays everything five-star attention, I have to give her that. And her food is amazing. 

'You eat fast,' she says now, watching me fork another mouthful of potato into my mouth. I can't tell if that's a compliment or not. 'I bring you Gang Ped Yang in minute, yes? We wait one minute.'

'OK.'

Chinda looks behind her towards the restaurant door, like she's been doing not-so-subtly since I got here at six-fifty-five. It hasn't escaped my attention that while she set the table places for two, she hasn't eaten anything with me. 'Did you invite someone else?' I ask her. 

She smiles with perfectly painted red lips and nods, then shakes her head. I don't know what that means, but considering it's already seven-thirty-five and I've eaten my way through at least a fifth of her cookbook already, I'd say if anyone else was coming they're not only bloody rude but they're going to have to go hungry.

The same waiter as this morning walks over with a cocktail on a tray. 'Rum and pineapple with mint, miss Iss-laa,' he says, leaning over with the tray. I run my napkin over my mouth and take it. I won't drink it, obviously.

'This is so lovely of you, I can't thank you enough,' say anyway and Chinda's eyes grow wide in anxious anticipation again as she watches me put the cocktail down, aligned with my dessert spoon. 'Are these in the book?'

'Page one-nine-seven,' she answers with an ebullient nod of the head. She pushes the cookbook towards me on the correct page and I study it courteously, pretending to take a sip while she's only half looking. I don't want to be rude.

Another waiter steps up; this one with a small plate of what I think must be the Gang Ped Yang. 'Grilled duck leg with Thai aubergine and lychee in Thai red curry sauce, miss Iss-laa,' he says, as Chinda leafs quickly through the book again for the recipe. I'm surprised the pages aren't falling out by now. I thank him gratefully. Truth is I'm stuffed but the duck dish smells so good. I scoop a forkful of the tender meat into my mouth as it's placed before me and Chinda claps her hands together. 

'You like?' she grins.

'I love,' I reply as the zingy, sweet and sour flavors zip across my tongue. Thai food is incredible, even better from the source. 

'Iss-laa funny name,' Chinda says thoughtfully, studying me. 

'It's pronounced Eye-la,' I tell her. 'That's not as funny as some of the names people have for me,' I continue quickly as I note her eyes moving to my un-drunk cocktail. 'Someone named me Bizzy once.' 

The second I say it, the flip of my heart makes me swallow my food too quickly and I cough, reaching for my water. 'Bizzy?' Chinda frowns.

'It was short for British Izzy,' I explain, banging a fist to my chest. 

She's still frowning. 'Why you have so many name?'

'I don't know,' I say. I want to laugh at the look on her face, at the moment of cultures clashing between us, but all I can see now is Ben again. I haven't thought about him in a while; not properly anyway, I don't think, but that dream on the plane brought it all back and being here, so close... I can't stop thinking about it all now.

'Why you have scar?' Chinda says out of the blue. 

'What?' My stomach convulses, harder this time. I put my fork down. She's looking inquisitively at the raised white marks splaying like the remnants of removed tattoos, shaped like braches across my flesh. I fold my arms, say nothing, fix my eyes on the food on my plate. It's not Chinda's fault. She doesn't know people don't ask questions like this where I'm from. Sometimes I wish they would. Sometimes I wish they'd just fucking ask me instead of staring at me; assuming things, judging, gossiping, thinking I must've been some hopeless emo teen who slit her wrists, or something. I almost say it now; that one word.
Tsunami.
She'd understand. But something stops me.

Chinda looks towards the door again. There's no one there. She stands up shaking her head. Whether it's at my silence or the no-show I'm pretty sure just occurred I have no idea, and I don't care. She bustles into the kitchen. I reach for the drink. 

Ben. I can see him again now, the night before it all went wrong; his hand in mine as we stood watching the Thai guy twirling those flames on the sand. I can see him eight days before that, too. The day we met.

*

'Shark!
Shark!
Get out of the water!'

My head sprang up in utter terror at the voice. I span three-sixty in fear, yanked off my mask and snorkel, looking for a fin. Then I came to my senses and swam as fast as I could back to the shore with my heart pounding and my arms flailing. 

'Shark! Shark!' I screeched at full volume, trying to warn the other people in the shallows. My mom and dad were there somewhere. I couldn't see them. I couldn't see anything much, I was so blinded by fear. Before I could raise any real alarm though, a hand clasped around my ankle and pulled me back. I screamed and lashed out, but two hands clamped on my shoulders and a grinning face forced me to stop in my tracks. 'Hey, I'm kidding, I'm kidding, I'm sorry! There's no shark!'

'What the hell are you doing!?' I yelled at the boy, bringing up my hands and showering him with water. 'Are you insane?!' I scrambled to my feet, splashed him again. Fury and humiliation were making me shake and stumble and he took my wrists then, stopped laughing. 

'Hey, I'm sorry. I really am. I thought it was funny...'

'
Since when are sharks funny
?' My heart continued to thud, thud, thud as I glared at him. He shoved his mask up onto his head, fixed his eyes on mine. They were the color of the water and his lashes were black wet brushes sweeping droplets away in the sun. For a second I was mesmerized. I reached up for my own mask. It wasn't there. 

'Great. My dad'll have to pay three quid for a new one now, because of you,' I managed to snap, though the boy's eyes and beautiful face were throwing me so much in that moment I didn't sound as angry as I should have.

'You're English?' he said, looking awed. 

'And you're an idiot,' I managed. I turned and swam away as fast as I could but he followed me. When we reached the beach he caught me up, ran ahead and blocked my path. I changed direction. He blocked me again and though I told him to piss off I couldn't help my eyes running over his features in appreciation, or noticing how his eyes ran over my breasts and lips as he held his hands up for mercy. I remember how self-conscious I was. Being sixteen and British it was the first time I'd ever worn a bikini on a beach.

'I'll get you a new mask, it's not a problem,' he said in his American twang. 'My uncle runs the scuba shop. Let's go, it's right over here...'

'I'm not going anywhere with you, I don't even know you,' I replied, folding my arms across my blue striped top.

'You do now, I'm Ben,' he grinned. 'I saw you talking to my kid brother earlier, Toby, remember? You gave him a shell.'

'Yes, I remember. You should try and be a bit nicer, like him.'

'I can be nice,' he said. He grinned even wider, teeth like a row of icebergs; shook the water out of his sandy blonde hair and held his arm out in a curve like a gentleman from a movie. I scowled but something, maybe everything changed on the spot. Ben was without doubt the most infuriating and the most spectacular boy I'd ever laid eyes on. 

*

I down the rest of my water, making sure it's in three huge swallows. I can't be here. I stand up, make my way to the door just as Chinda swings out of the kitchen.

'Where you go? You no have dessert?' 

'I've got an emergency call, I'm so sorry,' I lie, holding up my phone. Everything here reminds me of that day, even from the middle of the city. It's the people, the smells, everything I thought was so amazing and magical before the tsunami. Plus, there's that damn email and Colin creeping up in my thoughts against my will every five seconds, as if I could've possibly switched one head-fuck for another and felt better. 

'But I have friend coming for you,' Chinda says, looking disappointed. 

I pretend not to hear her and head for the stairwell as the tears start to cloud my eyes. I'll stay up tonight and write this story, do her incredible hospitality justice like she deserves. Then I'll make my excuses and check out early. The sooner I get to Bali, the better.

'We'll take one of these, too,' I say, putting the weirdly named
Thai Chill Cook Book
onto the reception desk. Chinda narrows her eyes at me, then says something in super-fast Thai to Sonthi, who shrugs his shoulders and smirks.

'I'm guessing that's about me not showing up to dinner last night,' I say. 'I'm so sorry, I really hope you didn't cook just for me?'

Chinda shakes her head, puts our receipt on the counter. I hand her some baht in cash for the book and stuff it with the receipt into my backpack. 'You cook yourself with my recipe,' she says, eyeing the book going into my pack nervously, like I'm a nanny taking her newborn baby away on a trip for the first time. 

'Oh, I'll be sure to cook all of them,' I assure her. I know I won't. No one cooks in Thailand. No one foreign anyway. It's cheaper to eat out. I'll give it to my mom, probably, with the stash of other stuff I've been storing up but haven't managed to give her yet. I register the guilty pang at not calling her back when she called a few days ago. She always gives up eventually, though. 

'Why you no come?' Chinda says when I stand back up. Damn. She genuinely looks upset. 

'I fell asleep,' I tell her, truthfully. 'Then when I woke up it was eleven. It was too late. I grabbed some noodles from the street and went back to bed. I really am so sorry.'

'Noodles from the street,' she repeats under her breath and I don't miss the disdain in her voice. I try not to smile. The food on Khao San Road isn't exactly high-class Thai cuisine but it was the best I could do. I watched TV for a while, knocked for Sonthi; then when he ignored me I rode a cab to the movie theatre, where I watched another movie. It was the only air-conditioned thing I could think of that would get me out of the hotel. When I got back, Sonthi was still ignoring me, or passed out, whatever, so I watched yet another movie and fell asleep. 

I now don't need to watch another movie for a long time, but Bangkok is exhausting in this heat. All you can do is eat, sit down and pass the hell out. I do feel bad for missing her dinner, though.

'Shit,' Sonthi blurts, patting his board shorts, then his T-shirt pocket and rolling his eyes. 'Sunglasses. In room.' He sprints back to the elevator. 

'Hurry up, man!' I glance at my watch. It's almost seven a.m. We're already running late for the airport. 

'Where you go now?' Chinda asks me.

I turn back to her. 'To Phuket, then back to Khao Lak. We both work at Dream Dive, on Bang Niang, you know it?'

'I went one time,' she says, adjusting her digital photo frame on the counter. 'Before tsunami.'

I nod, letting the air out of my nostrils slowly, drumming my fingers on the marble top, watching the images of the hotel rooms and restaurant dishes flashing at me one by one on the screen. I remember it that way, too. 

A flutter of blue in the corner of my eye makes me turn my head. 

The blue sundress. 

I catch the upturned nose again as she sweeps past me, before I'm left with the back of her head, the long brown hair to the bottom of her shoulder blades, the white legs and feet in the flip flops. She must have come down the stairs; the elevator hasn't come for Sonthi yet. But now she's gone, out the door, onto the street. A crack of adrenaline freezes my heart.

'Who's that?' I say to Chinda now. My palms are clammy. 'She's staying here?' My throat is dry. I feel like I did before, when I followed her down the street; like I've just seen a ghost. 

'That could be your wife if you come for my dinner,' Chinda admonishes, but her face breaks into a grin. She laughs and totters out from behind the counter to rearrange a fan of magazines on a small table. I don't know what she's talking about. I'm bolted to the floor. I register the elevator arriving for Sonthi, another couple of backpackers walking out of it and towards me but I can't move. 

'What's her name?' I say. It doesn't sound like my voice.

'She has many name. She called Iss-laa,' Chinda replies, not looking at me. She moves the tiny red couch by an inch, scrutinizes it.

'Iss-la?' I repeat. 'What kind of name is Iss-la?'

'She said something else.' Chinda moves another chair now, pointlessly, looks at it thoughtfully. 'I be with you one second,' she tells the backpackers.

'Something else? Like what?' 

'Like... I not remember. Something funny.'

'Chinda, like what? Iss-la isn't a name.' 

I'm pissed at her. I know I sound it too, but I can't help it. That girl is so familiar, but then, I'm fucking crazy. I'm a crazy person. My fist is clenching. I shove it in my pocket, will myself not to bolt out the door after the girl. 

Chinda bustles back towards me, goes about bringing up the backpacker's receipt. I watch her, gritting my teeth as she prints out the paper and hands it to them to sign. I'm about to go sit on her perfectly moved chair, force this insanity out of my thoughts when she looks up at me suddenly, like a light bulb's come on in her brain. 'Bizzy!' she exclaims.

Bizzy.

I almost throw up. I make it to the door in less than a second, push through it into the furnace. She's nowhere. She's gone. I spin around. I can't see the blue dress. I can't see anything 'cause there are tears in my eyes. I swipe them away, start moving down the street. The other morning she was here at the same time. She went to the coffee guy.

I start running. I'm running so hard the sweat is pouring from my temples under my hair and soaking my shirt in less than a minute. 'Bizzy!' I still can't see her.

Wait. Yes I can.

I stop on the other side of the street outside Burger King, my heart drumming against my ribs. The traffic is already a moving wall between us. I watch her give her order as a million thoughts collide and make me want to vomit again. I suck in deep, hot breaths of pollution and smog and when the traffic clears I bolt. 'Bizzy!'