| General Fiction posted December 15, 2018 | Chapters: |
...29 30 -31- 32... 
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Chapter 31: An overnight stop at Phun Phin
A chapter in the book The French Letter
The Journey to Phuket
by tfawcus
| Background Kayla has accidentally killed a predatory drug dealer, and is fleeing from Bangkok to take refuge in Phuket, where she hopes to find safety and a job. |
continued from Chapter 30
"The 2nd-class sleepers have pairs of seats facing each other, which convert into two fold-down berths, one over the other. Curtains provide some privacy, but not much. The other people in my carriage were a group of young Australians. Three blokes from Sydney with backpacks, a couple of girls, and a case of Singha beer.
"Since our carriage wasn't air-conditioned, they were getting through the case at a fair rate, and becoming louder and coarser as the journey continued. After a while, one of the boys leaned over and offered me a beer. I shook my head, but he insisted, pressing the cold bottle against my arm.
"I tensed like a wildcat about to spring, then took the beer from him and prised the bottle cap off with my teeth, and flashed him a provocative smile. I realised that travelling with them would be the perfect cover. Just another tourist, out for a good time."
Chapter 31
"He responded with an inane, lascivious grin, suggesting that he was well on the way to getting completely sloshed. Then he introduced himself, briefly raising his gaze from my cleavage as he did so."
Kayla took off the Australian accent with relish.
"'By the way, I'm Dave - and these two galahs are Johnnie and Brucie Babe.' Then, more or less as an afterthought, 'The sheilas are Kate and Josie.'
"'...and I'm Kayla,' I said.
"'Good on yer, Kylie. Cheers!' I didn't bother to correct him. Taking another swig from the bottle, he continued, 'Jeez, girl, you oughta look after the enamel on those pretty white teeth of yours.'
"I smiled sweetly at him, and thanked him for his concern. Meanwhile, Johnnie and Josie waved in my direction and carried on snogging, but Kate unwound herself from Brucie Babe for long enough to say a few words of welcome. 'Good to have you on board, Kayla, dahling. Don't mind Dave. He's three sheets to the wind.' She leaned forward and whispered, 'Got ditched by his girlfriend in Bangkok. The poor sod's drowning his sorrows.'
"About ten minutes before nightfall, two attendants came round and converted our seats to beds. I climbed onto the top bunk and drew the flimsy curtain across, relieved to have some privacy at last. However, it wasn't long before the drunken galoot tried to clamber in beside me. I lay doggo with my back to him as he wrestled the curtain aside and lifted one leg over the edge of the bed, attempting to hoist himself up.
"I must say that my timing was pretty near perfect. I rolled over, flinging my arm out carelessly, and caught him right between the teeth. He clutched wildly at the curtain as he fell.
"He landed with a resounding crash. 'Bugger! Oh, Jeez, that hurts! I think I've broken my bloody leg.'
"Bruce and Johnnie made a great scene of helping him back into bed, offering belchloads of sympathy. I managed to control my suppressed laughter just enough to lean over and say, 'Jeez, I'm sorry, Davey Boy. Were you sleepwalking or something? I hope you're not hurt.' Despite his melodramatic moans, it seemed that the leg was only bruised, not broken. The more serious injury was apparently to his ego.
"His two mates did the best they could to put the curtain back up, but it was ripped at one end, leaving me with a triangular view out of the carriage window as the train rattled and clacked its way south, hugging the headlands that overlooked the Gulf of Thailand. It was a calm night, and I could see lights of fishing boats reflected, like mermaids dancing among the stars. For a while my mind was drawn back to the Hindu Kush, with its snow fairies guarding their precious flocks of mountain goats. Suddenly, I felt desperately homesick and lonely."
Helen put her arm around her, and Kayla buried her head in her sister's shoulder. The two of them remained still for what seemed like an eternity. Who knows what was running through their minds as they clung, each to the other, sharing the mutual sustenance and support that only a close family member can give?
At length, Kayla raised her head, swept a few strands of hair from her face, and regained her composure. Her eyes were smudged, with a rivulet of mascara drying on her cheek. Helen took a tissue from her bag and gently wiped it away, replacing it with a kiss.
"How many times have I felt the same?" she mused. "One day, God willing, we will return."
"Who knows? Much has happened since we left. For Christ's sake, I am now a thief and a murderess."
"No. A brave and resourceful lady," I said. "You are a survivor, an inspiration to the downtrodden and ill-used of this world, and your sister's saviour. I admire you very much."
"Good grief!" exclaimed Helen. "There's no need to lay it on that thick."
The tension was broken and they both laughed, but I sensed a look of gratitude in Kayla's eye.
"Why don't you carry on with your story," I suggested.
"The train arrived at Phun Phin on schedule, at about half past midnight. As we were getting out, Dave asked me where I was staying. I told him I'd find a bench somewhere and make the best of it.
Kayla then mimicked his reply with a perfect Sydney accent.
"'I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's not a safe place for a woman alone. Us guys are booked in to the Queens Hotel, just across the street.' He hesitated fractionally before adding, 'You're welcome to share my room if you like.' Full marks for trying, I thought. Then it occurred to me that perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea. There were some shady looking characters lurking in dark corners, and the station was grey and dismal. 'Okay,' I said, 'but no funny business'.
"'Look, I'm sorry about the way I behaved. I was pissed as a newt. I'll be a perfect gentleman this time - Scouts' honour.'
"Too bloody right you will, I thought.
"Because of his exaggerated limp, we trailed behind the others. He was evidently still playing for sympathy, a commodity in short supply, as far as I was concerned. The street lamps reflected off the wet pavement, throwing an eerie half-light on the façade of the Queens Hotel. It might have come straight off a Hollywood film set - the archetypal haunted house, complete with a creaking sign swaying in the wind.
"Inside was no better. As we approached the reception desk, two cockroaches scurried across our path, and I don't mean Brucie Babe and Johnnie. The 1950's décor was neutral and muted. A typical two-star hotel. Castrati and bollocks, I thought. What on earth had I let myself in for?
"The ceiling fan in Dave's room laboured against the humid air, wafting a faint aroma of urine and stale cigarettes about the place. I was busting, and headed straight for the bathroom. The sink had rust stains in the enamel, and the water was cold. A half-drowned hawk moth was doing doggy paddle across the plastic bucket used for flushing the loo. The poor thing was clearly in its death throes, so I put it out of its misery, submerging it with the toilet brush.
"I came out to find Dave sprawled across one of the beds in nothing but his underpants. 'Not bad for ten dollars a night,' he said cheerfully. He swept away my offer to pay half, saying that he reckoned he owed me. I reckoned he owed me a lot more, but I didn't argue. I had a bed for the night and a roof over my head.
"Within minutes he was asleep, his rhythmic, adenoidal snores rising and falling in perfect counterpoint to the creaking of the fan. I smiled. The perfect gentleman, as promised.
"When I was quite sure that he was dead to the world, I stripped off and rinsed all my clothes in the basin, hanging them over the towel rail to dry overnight. After that, I hosed myself down with the hand-held shower, before crawling into the other bed dripping wet, and pulling the sheet up over my head to protect myself from the mozzies. I lay there, wondering for a while what Phuket would have in store for me, before I eventually drifted into a restless sleep."
"The 2nd-class sleepers have pairs of seats facing each other, which convert into two fold-down berths, one over the other. Curtains provide some privacy, but not much. The other people in my carriage were a group of young Australians. Three blokes from Sydney with backpacks, a couple of girls, and a case of Singha beer.
"Since our carriage wasn't air-conditioned, they were getting through the case at a fair rate, and becoming louder and coarser as the journey continued. After a while, one of the boys leaned over and offered me a beer. I shook my head, but he insisted, pressing the cold bottle against my arm.
"I tensed like a wildcat about to spring, then took the beer from him and prised the bottle cap off with my teeth, and flashed him a provocative smile. I realised that travelling with them would be the perfect cover. Just another tourist, out for a good time."
Chapter 31
"He responded with an inane, lascivious grin, suggesting that he was well on the way to getting completely sloshed. Then he introduced himself, briefly raising his gaze from my cleavage as he did so."
Kayla took off the Australian accent with relish.
"'By the way, I'm Dave - and these two galahs are Johnnie and Brucie Babe.' Then, more or less as an afterthought, 'The sheilas are Kate and Josie.'
"'...and I'm Kayla,' I said.
"'Good on yer, Kylie. Cheers!' I didn't bother to correct him. Taking another swig from the bottle, he continued, 'Jeez, girl, you oughta look after the enamel on those pretty white teeth of yours.'
"I smiled sweetly at him, and thanked him for his concern. Meanwhile, Johnnie and Josie waved in my direction and carried on snogging, but Kate unwound herself from Brucie Babe for long enough to say a few words of welcome. 'Good to have you on board, Kayla, dahling. Don't mind Dave. He's three sheets to the wind.' She leaned forward and whispered, 'Got ditched by his girlfriend in Bangkok. The poor sod's drowning his sorrows.'
"About ten minutes before nightfall, two attendants came round and converted our seats to beds. I climbed onto the top bunk and drew the flimsy curtain across, relieved to have some privacy at last. However, it wasn't long before the drunken galoot tried to clamber in beside me. I lay doggo with my back to him as he wrestled the curtain aside and lifted one leg over the edge of the bed, attempting to hoist himself up.
"I must say that my timing was pretty near perfect. I rolled over, flinging my arm out carelessly, and caught him right between the teeth. He clutched wildly at the curtain as he fell.
"He landed with a resounding crash. 'Bugger! Oh, Jeez, that hurts! I think I've broken my bloody leg.'
"Bruce and Johnnie made a great scene of helping him back into bed, offering belchloads of sympathy. I managed to control my suppressed laughter just enough to lean over and say, 'Jeez, I'm sorry, Davey Boy. Were you sleepwalking or something? I hope you're not hurt.' Despite his melodramatic moans, it seemed that the leg was only bruised, not broken. The more serious injury was apparently to his ego.
"His two mates did the best they could to put the curtain back up, but it was ripped at one end, leaving me with a triangular view out of the carriage window as the train rattled and clacked its way south, hugging the headlands that overlooked the Gulf of Thailand. It was a calm night, and I could see lights of fishing boats reflected, like mermaids dancing among the stars. For a while my mind was drawn back to the Hindu Kush, with its snow fairies guarding their precious flocks of mountain goats. Suddenly, I felt desperately homesick and lonely."
Helen put her arm around her, and Kayla buried her head in her sister's shoulder. The two of them remained still for what seemed like an eternity. Who knows what was running through their minds as they clung, each to the other, sharing the mutual sustenance and support that only a close family member can give?
At length, Kayla raised her head, swept a few strands of hair from her face, and regained her composure. Her eyes were smudged, with a rivulet of mascara drying on her cheek. Helen took a tissue from her bag and gently wiped it away, replacing it with a kiss.
"How many times have I felt the same?" she mused. "One day, God willing, we will return."
"Who knows? Much has happened since we left. For Christ's sake, I am now a thief and a murderess."
"No. A brave and resourceful lady," I said. "You are a survivor, an inspiration to the downtrodden and ill-used of this world, and your sister's saviour. I admire you very much."
"Good grief!" exclaimed Helen. "There's no need to lay it on that thick."
The tension was broken and they both laughed, but I sensed a look of gratitude in Kayla's eye.
"Why don't you carry on with your story," I suggested.
"The train arrived at Phun Phin on schedule, at about half past midnight. As we were getting out, Dave asked me where I was staying. I told him I'd find a bench somewhere and make the best of it.
Kayla then mimicked his reply with a perfect Sydney accent.
"'I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's not a safe place for a woman alone. Us guys are booked in to the Queens Hotel, just across the street.' He hesitated fractionally before adding, 'You're welcome to share my room if you like.' Full marks for trying, I thought. Then it occurred to me that perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea. There were some shady looking characters lurking in dark corners, and the station was grey and dismal. 'Okay,' I said, 'but no funny business'.
"'Look, I'm sorry about the way I behaved. I was pissed as a newt. I'll be a perfect gentleman this time - Scouts' honour.'
"Too bloody right you will, I thought.
"Because of his exaggerated limp, we trailed behind the others. He was evidently still playing for sympathy, a commodity in short supply, as far as I was concerned. The street lamps reflected off the wet pavement, throwing an eerie half-light on the façade of the Queens Hotel. It might have come straight off a Hollywood film set - the archetypal haunted house, complete with a creaking sign swaying in the wind.
"Inside was no better. As we approached the reception desk, two cockroaches scurried across our path, and I don't mean Brucie Babe and Johnnie. The 1950's décor was neutral and muted. A typical two-star hotel. Castrati and bollocks, I thought. What on earth had I let myself in for?
"The ceiling fan in Dave's room laboured against the humid air, wafting a faint aroma of urine and stale cigarettes about the place. I was busting, and headed straight for the bathroom. The sink had rust stains in the enamel, and the water was cold. A half-drowned hawk moth was doing doggy paddle across the plastic bucket used for flushing the loo. The poor thing was clearly in its death throes, so I put it out of its misery, submerging it with the toilet brush.
"I came out to find Dave sprawled across one of the beds in nothing but his underpants. 'Not bad for ten dollars a night,' he said cheerfully. He swept away my offer to pay half, saying that he reckoned he owed me. I reckoned he owed me a lot more, but I didn't argue. I had a bed for the night and a roof over my head.
"Within minutes he was asleep, his rhythmic, adenoidal snores rising and falling in perfect counterpoint to the creaking of the fan. I smiled. The perfect gentleman, as promised.
"When I was quite sure that he was dead to the world, I stripped off and rinsed all my clothes in the basin, hanging them over the towel rail to dry overnight. After that, I hosed myself down with the hand-held shower, before crawling into the other bed dripping wet, and pulling the sheet up over my head to protect myself from the mozzies. I lay there, wondering for a while what Phuket would have in store for me, before I eventually drifted into a restless sleep."
 Recognized |
|
Glossary:
mozzies - mosquitoes
List of characters:
Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Helen Culverson: A woman of some mystery, also a travel writer, who seems to have become Charles's girlfriend.
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok.
Dave: An Australian on holiday in Thailand with some friends.
Madame Jeanne Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident, and seems also to be involved with the Mafia in some way.
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Henri Carron - a rag-and-bone man, owner of an heroic dog called Bonaparte.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles.
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Estelle Gaudin [deceased]: mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased]: Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. mozzies - mosquitoes
List of characters:
Charles Brandon: The narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Helen Culverson: A woman of some mystery, also a travel writer, who seems to have become Charles's girlfriend.
Kayla Culverson: Her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok.
Dave: An Australian on holiday in Thailand with some friends.
Madame Jeanne Durand: A French magazine editor, who was involved in a serious accident, and seems also to be involved with the Mafia in some way.
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Henri Carron - a rag-and-bone man, owner of an heroic dog called Bonaparte.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Dr. Laurent: A veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix, vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre: An old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Francoise Gaudin: An intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles.
Alain Gaudin: brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Estelle Gaudin [deceased]: mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased]: Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
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