Despite the pounding headache and the bone-weary tiredness, I barely slept a wink back in the guesthouse. Geriel tried to coax us into the sitting area to chat about our trip, but neither of us had the energy, and I had the feeling that Carrie didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened. I wasn’t sure yet if she remembered more than I did, but I heard her tossing and turning in the night, crying out a couple of times – mumbling things that were incoherent and nonsensical.
Luckily I remembered to charge my phone as soon as we got back, so I spent most of the sleepless night scrolling through Facebook, reading about Sam’s exploits. There is definitely a girl on the scene now. A vacuous blonde is with him in several of the photos, her comments beneath full of heart emojis and kisses. I fought the urge to hurl the phone across the room, but then I heard Carrie snuffling in her sleep and I remembered that Sam was in the past now. I have more important things to think about.
More memories of the night at the festival have tried to force themselves to the front of my mind, wanting me to deal with them – but I’m not ready for that yet. We’re about to embark on a ninety-hour train journey. There will be plenty of time for us both to dissect the night, and our feelings for one another.
Because I know now that Carrie has feelings for me. The first memory that came to me was of the kiss we shared on the way to our readings with the shaman. I’m savouring it for now, not yet sure where it will lead.
The train is already waiting for us when we reach the platform. Geriel has given us each a little bag filled with jam sandwiches, fruit and bottles of water. She tried to be kind, despite us ignoring her goodwill, and I feel a little bad about that, but if it had been up to me I wouldn’t have booked such intimate accommodation. I prefer hotels, where things are a bit more impersonal. The last thing I want is someone pushing me to be friendly and communal, wanting to share everything about my day with them. Even in the hostels I’ve been in, I’ve managed to avoid this for the most part, so I really hope that our accommodation at the next stop is something more to my liking. I suppose this is what happens when you tag yourself onto someone else’s trip. It’s the first time I’ve done something like this, usually preferring to choose my own accommodation, although I have to admit that Sam chose well, and I had no problems staying with him. He has money, though, and he’s not afraid to spend it. Which I suppose is why people generally flock to him. Yes, he is good-looking and charming and generous and funny. Sexy and current and the perfect person to be around. But he’s also a little stupid, and quite vain, and he was an idiot to let me go.
‘Come on, let’s get on.’ Carrie hoists her backpack on and starts walking along the platform, glancing at her tickets and the stickers on the doors, looking for the right carriage.
I stub out my half-smoked cigarette and follow behind her. A female guard is gesturing, and Carrie stops to talk to her. Eventually I catch up.
‘We’re in first-class,’ Carrie says. ‘Whoop!’
I frown. ‘Weren’t we in that before? From Beijing?’
‘Yes … but we didn’t really make the most of it. It was only one night. I spent most of that in the standard-class buffet car while you slept through it all. We’re on here three nights now. We can live it up.’ She throws her bag onto the train and clambers up the steep metal steps after it. Then turns to me. ‘Although … I am actually pretty wrecked after that mad festival. Could probably do with laying off the drink for a while. Maybe I’ll make this a detox trip. I’m sure they’ll have loads of herbal teas.’
My laugh comes out as a snort. ‘We’re travelling to Russia. You really want to spend your time drinking chamomile and peppermint? Do you realise that Russians drink alcohol literally all the time? All of them?’
‘Aye, you’re right. Not the best time for a detox, right enough.’ She laughs, and picks up her bag. I grip onto the handrails and pull myself up the steep steps, my bag still on my shoulders. I’d debated the safety of this, seeing the size of the gap between the train and the platform, and considering my still-fragile state. But thankfully I make it onto the train unscathed, and without losing anything into the abyss.
I poke my head around the open doors of each cabin that I pass until I find her, three down. Good – not too far from the toilets, but far enough that we’ll avoid the constant annoyance of the sliding doors. She’s sitting on one of the beds, her rucksack already open, contents spilled across the covers.
‘What you looking for?’ I throw my rucksack onto the other bed and sit down opposite. The cabin is pretty much the same as the last one. I’m assuming it’s the same class of train. The colours and the fittings all look familiar.
‘Speaker,’ she says. ‘Haven’t had a chance to use it yet. I had it in my bag when we went to the nomad camp, but there was no point seeing as my phone battery died after the first night.’
She’s not looking at me when she speaks, and yet I know she’s lying. A memory swims into my vision. Carrie tapping furiously on her phone. Me trying to grab it off her. Her laughing. Dancing. Pulling me close to her.
Carrie plugs her phone into the charger under the small table that separates our beds, and then plugs the speaker into her phone. She jabs at it for a moment longer, and then the music starts playing. I recognise it from the first three bars. It’s ‘Move any Mountain’ by The Shamen. She climbs up onto her bed and starts doing some rave moves that I haven’t seen anyone do since the nineties.
‘Aww, I miss this music,’ she says, still moving her arms in jagged little movements. ‘Remember when all the clubs played this stuff? Those were the best times. All the club music is shite now, and all the clubbers are rubber-lipped posers. Not proper ravers. Not like us.’ She jumps down, then picks up the phone and switches the music off. She’s breathing heavily, her face shining from her exertions. She sits down hard on the bed and looks away. ‘Maybe not that song though, eh? I’ll find us another classic instead.’
She glances up at me, and I know she remembers what happened at the festival. I’m about to say something, when the engines start up, and the doors are slammed. A whistle blows, and there’s a lurch. Then we’re off. I lean over and place a hand on her bare knee, and she lets me, just for a moment, before shrugging me off and standing up, turning away so I can’t see her face.
‘Carrie…’
‘We’re not talking about this right now. I’m getting a pack of cards out and I’m heading down to the first-class lounge car, see what’s what. It’s a shame that Steve and Marion aren’t on this train. They’ll be in Moscow now. Be good to catch up when we get there.’
‘I didn’t really speak to them.’
‘No. I know. But we’ll contact them when we get to Moscow, arrange a night out. They’ll have a head start so they can tell us the best places to go. I think they were doing a river cruise, but then they were coming back. We looked at the dates. They’ll be there when we arrive. I made a mad plan, just in case we don’t manage to email or whatever. Outside Lenin’s tomb in Red Square – Tuesday at midday.’ She pulls more things out of her bag, tossing them on the bed. ‘I can’t find those damned cards!’ She picks up the bag of sandwiches and water from Geriel and dumps it on the table. ‘We should’ve brought some supplies. Proper supplies. Vodka. Crisps…’
I stand up, and I watch as she freezes, sensing me behind her. She doesn’t turn around. I take a step closer. Lay a hand on her arm. Then I turn her around to face me, and put both of my arms around her, resting my head on her shoulder. She stiffens. Then her shoulders drop, and she puts her arms around me, and I take the opportunity to pull her closer. ‘About what happened…’ she starts, but I shhh her, and keep her in my arms. She’s warm, her body toned, yet soft. I long to be close to her again. I didn’t expect any of this, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want it.
‘Just relax, Carrie,’ I say. ‘We don’t need to talk about it now, but when we do, well … just know that whatever you want is fine with me. If you want to forget it—’
She cuts me off, her voice is a whisper. ‘I can’t forget it. I want to … it’s not. It’s not something I’ve done. Not something I ever thought I wanted to do.’
‘Me, neither,’ I say, into her neck. She flinches, and I blow gently on her ear, then give her a series of tiny, soft, butterfly kisses. ‘You don’t need to worry about it, Carrie. You don’t need to make it anything more than it is.’
She unlocks her arms and pulls back. We’re exactly the same height, I realise now, and she stares right into my eyes. ‘And what is it?’ she says. She sounds scared. Vulnerable. And for the first time in my life, I want to protect someone. I want to protect her. Maybe I’ve been wrong all these years. About what’s right for me. I keep looking for men to look after me, but all they do is use me. Maybe I’m supposed to be the protector. Maybe it’s not a man I should be looking for.
But I can’t push too far right now. I don’t think she’s ready.
I lift my hand and move a lock of her hair away from her face, pushing it behind her ear. She has small, dainty ears, pierced three times on each side and decorated with different coloured gemstones. Everything about her is beautiful and exotic. I want to lick her, taste her sweet, salty skin. I want to drink her up, just like that cocktail I craved on the night we met.
‘Let’s go down to the lounge,’ I say. ‘I think we could both use a drink.’