It’s good to be home – or as close to home as a straw hut in a remote part of India can get.
I left the retreat right away, but it’s pitch black by the time I arrive back at Kindred.
Markus isn’t expecting me back tonight, but hopefully he’s still awake so we can drink a couple of mango lassis and talk through the shock I’ve just had. No more trying to handle things on my own.
The huts are arranged in a long row and mine is somewhere in the middle, I’m just not sure where. My plan is to get as close as possible and then hope that I eventually stumble on the right one.
I navigate the dark dirt path, giving a wide berth to the chorusing frogs in wayside puddles, and stop outside a hut that looks familiar. Who am I kidding? They all look like my hut.
‘Hello,’ I call out, straw rustling as I brush through the doorway.
For a few moments the world stands completely still. I close my eyes in case maybe, just maybe, this is a bad dream, and when I open them again the scene in front of me will have disappeared. After a few seconds, I manage to pry my eyes open and nausea hits in full force. The butter chicken curry – or maybe it’s the chai – is churning in my guts. I think I’m going to be sick.
There, in all of his naked glory, bathed in the warm glow of the lone kerosene lamp, is Markus. With Eryka on top of him. Both appear to be chiselled from the same perfect rock, with their stellar physiques and not a spot of cellulite between them.
They freeze, horrified expressions plastered on both their faces, as I take a step into the room. Eryka instantly covers her hands over her perky breasts, while Markus tries to sit up, the exertion further deepening his six-pack.
The room is silent as they untangle themselves. Eryka wraps herself in the thin bedsheet then hands Markus a pillow. My throat itches, like there’s an army building forces in there, readying itself to burst out on the attack.
‘What the fuck is this?’ I screech.
Markus climbs down from the bed, careful not to move his carefully positioned pillow, and puffs up his chest.
‘It’s not what you think. Actually, I’m not who you think,’ he says evenly.
‘What is she doing here?’ I demand.
Have Eryka and Markus been hooking up this entire time? Could I really have been this stupid? I know we’ve only just started out but I really thought we were building something, and that despite his erratic behaviour, Markus was one of the good ones . . .
Eryka moves forward, sympathy etched on her face, and tries to embrace me. I dart sideways before she can touch me, ramming my hip into the bamboo bed frame.
Fuuuccckkk.
I breathe deeply, holding my stomach tightly as nausea gives it another violent whack. I try to temper the sickening waves with a steely expression.
‘I’m sorry, Rosie. We never meant to hurt you.’
She seems genuinely distressed, which is evident from the one line that has formed on her normally crinkle-free forehead, above her flawlessly arched brows.
Who wouldn’t want that sort of perfection? I mean, it’s completely irresistible. But then why would Markus pretend with me? That’s exactly why I was so suspicious in the first place. It didn’t feel right that he’d pursue little old me over his model fiancée. I should have listened to my instincts. Why oh why had I changed my tune and allowed myself to start falling for him, when I could see plain as day that it didn’t make any sense?
‘Just give it to me straight, please.’ I’m done with the game-playing.
Markus exchanges a glance with Eryka. Why isn’t he in a rush to explain it all? It’s Eryka who speaks again. ‘It’s really not what you think.’
Markus puts a reassuring arm around her waist. His hand cinches in the sheet, emphasising her enviable hourglass shape. She wears a bedsheet better than I wear a designer gown.
‘We’re together,’ Eryka says simply.
And there it is. I stare at the dirt floor. If I had a shovel, I’d start digging. I’m horrified and slightly heartbroken all at once.
Eryka continues. ‘What I’m trying to say is that Chad and I are together. This is Chad, Markus’s twin brother.’
Whaaaat?
‘Twin brother?’ I squeak.
I’m having difficulty processing what she’s saying.
Markus steps towards me and sticks out a hand, while the other one holds his pillow in place. ‘Chad Abrahams, nice to formally meet you, gorgeous. I’m Markus’s identical twin. Well, almost identical. Unlike Markus, I work out.’
I don’t hurry to accept his outstretched hand, so he retracts it and flexes his bicep. His skin is baby smooth, not an arm or chest hair in sight.
‘Chad!’ Eryka chastises him in the same way she did at the fashion event. Except this time, with a ‘new’ name.
‘You’ll have to excuse him. We just flew in last night and the jet lag is obviously making him misbehave more than normal.’
My mind is racing.
‘I don’t know why my brother thought his stage fright would be suddenly cured. I should have come and done this gig from the start. Saving the day – and the network’s money – yet again.’
For the first time since I entered the hut ‘Markus’ looks directly at me, and winks, transporting me straight back to the same narcissistic arsehole from my date at Lesters and the Scuttlebutt event.
‘So, you’re the real Dr Markus Abrahams? And your name is Chad?’ I say slowly.
‘Bingo.’ Chad winks again.
‘I’m so sorry, Rosie,’ Eryka sounds exasperated. ‘Don’t listen to him, he’s all bark. I know this is a lot to take in, but Chad is actually an actor. He’s big in Poland – where we met. And he’s not the real Dr Markus Abrahams. The one you’ve been doing your radio show with and – well – dating, is the real Dr Markus Abrahams. Chad put his career on hold to fly to Australia and take over when Markus started having his panic attacks, about a year or so ago.’
‘Yes, so I’m currently carrying Markus & Pup. Which makes me the star,’ Chad interjects, voice like honey. ‘It was a mistake to step aside, even briefly. We’ve gone straight back to square one. I thought that finally having love in his life would get him back on track, so we could return to Poland sooner – but it was completely premature. Markus is in such a bad way that we were on a plane back to India a mere forty-eight hours after touching down in Warsaw!’
My head is spinning. I don’t know what to think.
‘W–w–what do you mean?’ I stammer.
Eryka nudges him. ‘Chad! You’re scaring the poor girl! You may as well tell her everything now.’
Everything . . . what is everything?
Chad clears his throat. ‘It was a complete fluke that you were the one I picked out at Lesters. You are exactly his type – er, natural. Relatable, if you will. I just had no idea you were going to be Markus’s co-host on that little country radio show. That was supposed to be Markus’s test to see how he fared back in the spotlight – well, more like the lukewarm-light. Before that, he’d just been holed up at Horizons for months, seeing the occasional patient, but nothing more. Thank God I demanded we had somewhere decent to live while we were in Mudgee – somewhere big enough for all of us to live our lives. Who knew we were going to be there for this long! I pulled out all the stops that night you came for dinner – the flowers, the love-song dedication – but Markus sabotaged it all with his stupid takeaway Thai.’
Eryka jumps in. ‘Chad! You know how over the top you can be. It’s not everyone’s style . . . just because it happens to mine.’ I watch her transform from chastising him to drooling over him.
It’s completely unhinged.
I edge closer to the door.
Eryka turns back to me. ‘It’s been hard to lie to everyone. I knew it would be easier to stay in Poland, but I couldn’t bear to be away from Chaddy-boy for so long. And, of course, I couldn’t keep pretending to date Markus when you came along – especially when it became obvious that he liked you. What a scandal that would have caused – more so than our “breakup”! We just want to see Markus back to his regular, healthy self.’
‘Yeahhhh, except this whole thing has been a bit of a waste in the end, hasn’t it?’ Chad chimes in again. ‘After that viral lamb TikTok thing happened, his confidence skyrocketed, and he insisted that he was well enough to do this elephant show. I was so eager to get back to our life in Poland that I was stupid enough not to question it. I suggested he take you along with him and use it as an opportunity to win you over. I even lent him the funds to do it in style. And then the SOS call came so –’
I’ve heard enough.
I hear Eryka call after me as I rush through the open door.
‘Rosie, honey! Come back! Please. We’re on your side.’
But I’m already sprinting out into the darkness.
Somehow, I locate my hut and have my belongings packed in two minutes flat. I wheel my suitcase up the rocky path, with only my phone lighting the way.
I’ve almost made it to the bamboo entry when I see Markus striding towards me.
Fuckity fuck.
He’s looking down at a stack of papers and appears very much like the ‘real’ Markus. Not that I know who that even is anymore.
I quickly dim my phone’s brightness and try to glide past quietly, with thoughts of a kind-faced air hostess offering up hot cups of tea and fuzzy bed socks spurring me along.
Unfortunately, my suitcase has other ideas. One of the wheels catches on a large rock lining the path and my case becomes airborne. It flies through the air before crashing at Markus’s feet.
‘Rosie?’ Markus looks up, confused. ‘What are you doing back already?’
‘You should probably ask Chad,’ I say, ice-cold. I bend down to collect my suitcase.
I feel Markus’s horror thick in the air before an urgent hand grabs my arm.
‘Rosie, please. Stop. I can explain.’
I can’t see him properly in the dark, but I picture the colour draining from his face and his khaki shirt drenched in sweat and slicked to his body. Not because he gives a damn about me, but because he’s been caught out in his little web of lies.
I shrug his hand away. ‘There’s no need. I’ve heard everything that I need to.’
I already feel like the world’s biggest fool. Just let me go.
‘Please! Rosie! I wanted to tell you, but Chad didn’t think it was a good idea until we were sure that we could trust you.’
‘Trust,’ I spit. ‘Now that’s an interesting construct. I believe we have wildly different definitions of that word.’
I continue wheeling my suitcase, Markus trailing behind like a stray dog desperate for scraps. Aisha is at the small bamboo desk.
‘I need a ride to the taxi stand. Now, please.’
‘No! You’re staying here,’ Markus cries. ‘We can figure this out, Rosie.’
His words ricochet off me as I help Aisha lift, then strap, my aluminium case onto the back of her motorbike. She straddles the bike, and I clamber on behind her.
‘Let’s get you out of here, ma’am,’ Aisha whispers as she kickstarts the engine and we roar off into the distance.
‘Where to, lady?’ the driver asks as I slide into the back of his taxi half an hour later.
‘Kochi airport.’
We whizz through the streets that are just as – if not more – alive at night under the moonlight and bright streetlamps. So much beauty and life, yet so much hypocrisy. Shanties alongside five-star hotels, and shoeless people peddling basic wares outside fine jewellery stores that require appointments to enter their gated doors. Things are never as they seem. Nothing in this world is as it seems.
We’re not long into the trip when my tears start. Not many at first, but enough for the driver to check on me in his rear-view mirror. Through my tears, I focus on the string of wooden beads hanging from the mirror, swinging side to side, hypnotically. There’s a glistening gold charm dangling from the end of the beads. An elephant. Another damn elephant.
‘He Ganesha. He protector,’ the cab driver says, his compassionate brown eyes locking with mine in the mirror.
Protector? Really? Well, Ganesha’s doing a pretty shit job with me. Was he protecting me when Mum walked out? How about back when Wes annihilated my heart? Or when my best friends decided to follow suit? And now, shouldn’t Ganesha be at his most powerful while I’m in his homeland? So, why the blindside with Mum, and now this Markus shit? Can’t he let me be happy for even half a second? Seriously. What. The. Fuck.
I’m crying like a baby now.
‘New beginnings,’ the driver continues in a meditative hum.
I sniff and wipe my face with my arm. I may be having a meltdown, but that’s no excuse to be rude. I’m sure the driver has his own problems. He’s probably working overtime just to keep a roof over his family’s heads. The last thing he needs is a whiny Westerner to deal with. I give him an appreciative look and reach into my handbag for a tissue.
But when we finally pull up to the airport, I’m still a sobbing mess.
‘That’s two-thousand rupees. I give you special deal.’
I accept the kind driver’s price and his offer to carry my bag into the terminal. I wonder if I can ask him to stay with me until I’ve sorted my flights, but he’s got other fares to take and money to make.
Instead, I hand over the tin of Chai Me.
‘A gift for you.’
‘Nandi.’ The driver thanks me as he sets the tin on the dashboard underneath swinging Ganesha then moves to help me with my luggage.
The departure hall is jam-packed. I search the crowd for some friendly faces to carry me through the next few hours – perhaps a woman my age who is also travelling alone. But I’m greeted by a sea of nondescript people. I join the back of the long line at the check-in counter and wait. No one speaks to me.
An hour passes before I reach the front, enough time for me to count the number of smiling families and couples: fifty-seven. My eyes are still watering as I approach the stern woman at the counter. A delicate red bindi is pressed between her eyebrows, a diamond stud glints in her nose and she’s wearing a gold sari with the airline’s peacock logo monogrammed on the pleated fabric draped over her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am. There are no seats until tomorrow.’
‘Please. I’ll pay double. Is there any way I can get on the flight tonight?’ Desperation drips from my voice. I don’t enjoy begging, but I’m out of options. How do I convince her that this is a true emergency?
The negotiation continues for another few minutes until the woman has repeated five times in no uncertain terms that she cannot help me.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
She’s done with pleasantries. I open my mouth to finally spill every last messed-up detail of the last few hours/my entire life, but nothing comes out. Not even a squeak of a voice. I clear my throat and try again. Still nothing. I must look like one of those silly carnival clown games, wide-mouthed and waiting to be fed balls – except there’s nothing fun about this situation. If I say it all out loud and give it oxygen, it will become big, scary and real. Too real.
I can only nod my head and accept my fate silently as the counter lady’s long nails tap away at her computer. There’s one final dramatic click of the mouse. ‘Aaand that booking is done.’ Her wide phoney smile is more jarring than joyful. ‘You don’t have to be back here until 9 am tomorrow.’
And just like that, I’m dismissed.
I back away slowly from the counter and am nearly knocked over by a pair of hormone-fuelled, grabby teenagers dressed in colourful beachwear and obviously still immune to the cruelty of this world. It won’t be long before life starts to bump and grind away at them, and they become as disillusioned as the rest of us.
What now? The blackout curtains and soundproof windows of an airport hotel will do too good a job of blocking out the world, and I don’t need to be alone with my thoughts right now – especially with a fourteen-hour flight ahead of me.
I search the terminal until I find the perfect darkened bar. I down a neat whiskey and order two more before leaning back in my chair and losing myself in the background chatter of excited travellers.
If I try hard enough, I can pretend I’m one of them.