She’s done an excellent job with my hair. The tub of magical conditioner followed by her careful, methodical brushing with a Tangle Teezer has worked wonders. I need to dye it now, of course, to complete the effect. The henna is faded and it’s about time I went back to my dark-blonde roots. Maybe a bit of bleach through the ends, to give it a sun-kissed look.
I used the time while she was in the shower to check Sam’s Facebook again. Latest update: photo of him gurning disrespectfully outside a temple. What did I ever see in him? Then I had a quick root through Carrie’s bag, being careful to put everything back where I found it. I tried to check her phone but she’s got a password on there, so I had a squizz at her laptop instead.
‘How are the shorts?’ she says, glancing down at me as we walk. ‘The T-shirt really suits you, you know.’
‘Mmm,’ I mutter, catching my reflection in the dull glass of what looks like an electrics store. ‘Quite a transformation.’ She’s done a great job with my impromptu makeover, but I don’t want her thinking she’s changed my life or anything. I’ve had many different looks. I’ve been fatter than this, I’ve been much slimmer. I’ve had black hair and piercings and leather-look leggings. I’ve had summer dresses and lightly curled blonde locks – with extensions, of course – there’s no need to waste time growing your hair these days. But I feel like I am showing Carrie my vulnerable side by letting her take control of how I look, so I will give her the praise she craves. ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ I say. I stop walking, and lay a hand on her arm, exerting just the right amount of pressure so that she stops too.
She looks surprised, and then her face breaks into a huge grin. ‘You’re so welcome, love. Now, let’s get ourselves into this shop … see what magical wares are on display.’ She nudges me and I link arms with her. The building looms in front of us, and I’m glad to be going inside, away from the small army of feral children who have taken to following us along the streets. No doubt Carrie will want to buy things for them in the department store, but I’m sure that they’re part of one of those begging gangs, and I’d rather not have any contact with them at all.
Inside, the shop is a little disappointing. I’d hoped that the harsh stone shell was protecting a precious gem, but actually it’s all very functional, and is filled with the hollow echoes of an indoor market. I can’t read the signs on the boards, but there are helpful graphics depicting food, women’s clothes, men’s clothes, shoes, and something a bit confusing that turns out to be local crafts.
‘Right. We need some supplies,’ Carrie says. ‘I’ll go and get snacks and drinks, and you can do a recce on the rest of the place – what do you think?’
I’m a bit confused as to why we need snacks and drinks when we’re meant to be going out for dinner. ‘Sure … although I’m not really hungry…’
‘Not for now, daftie.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘For the room. Here…’ She rummages in her small bag and pulls out a roll of notes. ‘Take some cash. Buy us a surprise.’ She holds the money out towards me. The notes are unfamiliar, and I have no idea how much they’re worth – she could be giving me fifty pence and waiting for me to make a fool of myself at the counter when I try to buy something for a fiver. You never know what these currencies are like.
‘Where did you get that?’ We’ve been together the whole time since we got on the train in Beijing. She definitely hasn’t been to a cashpoint – because if she had, surely she’d have suggested I take some money out too? Somehow, up to now, I’ve managed to get away without spending any money. She seems oblivious to what she’s paying out.
‘Got it in Beijing. Didn’t know what the bank situation would be like. See you back here in twenty?’
She marches off before I can say anything else. I glance around, taking in the high ceilings, the staircase. The openings to each of the various halls. People scurry around, chattering, busy with their day, not interested in me, and I stare up at the ceiling. At the peeling paintwork. I close my eyes, trying to block it all out. Then I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and paste on a smile. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go somewhere else, where I can ask Carrie more questions about herself, and tell her as little as possible about me.
The local crafts floor is just as you’d expect it to be. Lots of knitted or woven items – I touch a jumper and the wool is scratchy. The woman behind the table smiles at me but she can obviously tell I am not going to buy it. I wander through the aisles separating the various tables of trinkets, and come to a stand with hundreds of small woollen bags hanging off it. They are made of the same rough wool as the jumper, but it seems to work better for bags. I pick up a yellow one with a maroon rose, and a blue one with white stitching around the edges. ‘How much are these?’ I ask a woman standing nearby, who I assume is the seller.
The woman frowns, then takes a small notebook and pen from the pocket of her tabard. She scribbles something on it and holds it up for me to see.
‘20,000 MNT’, it says. I pull the notes from my pocket. I have two 20,000s and a 10,000. Pink and green, orange and brown, respectively. Both denominations have the same face, which I recognise as Genghis Khan. Is he the only famous Mongolian? He certainly seems to dominate the guidebook.
I hope I’m not blowing all Carrie’s cash, and I do, for a moment, think it’s quite stupid of me to not have bothered to check the exchange rate – but things have been different since I met Carrie. I’ve somehow found myself swept along – doing what she’s planned – acting as a substitute for her friend with the broken leg. Perhaps I should get one of these bags for her, too. It would be a nice touch. Another reason for Carrie to trust me. I’m quite enjoying being a kept woman. It’s such a nice break from having to do everything myself – like with Sam; if it wasn’t for me pushing things along, I’d never have got with him in the first place.
There’s an orange bag with a white flower on the front. I unhook it and hand it over for the woman to wrap. ‘Twenty-five thousand for the three,’ I say.
She laughs in my face. Not in a nasty way, in that same childish way that I had noticed in Beijing. She shakes her head. She understands me well enough now, it seems.
‘Thirty thousand,’ she says.
‘Twenty-five,’ I try, again. I’m confident now that I am dealing in pennies, not pounds, but what’s the fun in buying this crap if you don’t even try to knock them down? I think about all the stuff I haggled for in Bangkok. Better stuff than this. ‘Twenty-five,’ I say, dropping the money back into my pocket and making it look like I’m going to walk off.
Her smile dips to low beam. ‘OK, OK. Twenty-five.’ She thrusts the carrier bag containing the bags at me and gestures with her fingers.
I hand her the money, and she hands me another note in change. Pink. Still Genghis. She’s already talking to someone else. I think about trying to say thank you in Mongolian, but realise I have absolutely no idea what the word might be.
Back in the lobby, Carrie is waiting. She has one large carrier bag, and I can see what looks like a huge bag of crisps sticking out of the top. She’s leaning on the wall, and when she stands, there’s the sound of bottles clinking together. I hold my bag up in front of me. ‘Got you a present … Hope the exchange rate isn’t mental.’
She laughs. ‘How much?’
‘Twenty-five … for three.’
She wrinkles her face in concentration. ‘Ten k is about three quid, so … seven-fifty. Three you said? Who’s the third?’ She takes the carrier from me, rummages inside and pulls out the orange bag. ‘Oh, these are perfect,’ she says. ‘Sort of rank, but actually nice.’
‘I got one for your friend … Laura? I thought, well, as I’m taking her place…’
‘Oh! Nice work, love. This is exactly the kind of shitey tat that Laura loves. In fact, she asked for something just like this … You must be a mind reader!’ She links her arm through mine and starts walking. ‘I was thinking we’d take this stuff back to the B&B first, but, actually, why don’t we just head out? I’m quite up for a few bevs. You can tell me all about this ex of yours.’
I just smile at that. I won’t be telling her anything of the sort. I let her march us out of the shop, pleased with myself.
I’m doing well.