. . . a travel buddy
I feel like death. Worse than death. Like someone killed death and then, somehow, worse than that.
I let out a muffled groan into my pillow as I roll over towards the wall, attempting to shield myself from the morning sun. I’m sure the net curtains look gorgeous and dainty, but they are doing jack shit when it comes to blocking out light.
I reach for my phone – dead. Of course it is.
I didn’t unpack a thing last night, including my charger.
In fact, I’m still in the clothes I travelled from London in, bar my leggings that I seem to have shed in the night.
I shuffle down under the covers, fishing them from their new hiding place, tucked in the corner of the tightly packed sheet.
I shimmy them on the best I can without getting out of bed, before admitting defeat and crawling out from under the covers.
The sun’s even brighter from here, illuminating the entire room with a soft morning glow so sickeningly sweet. This place truly is gorgeous. Far too gorgeous for me to appreciate with the banging going on in my head.
The most redeeming factor, though, just happens to be the en suite, saving me from the embarrassment of encountering Noah in this state.
And what a state it is . . . I jump at the sight of myself in the mirror – a nest of unruly hair, dried drool and the remnants of last night’s make-up slowly seeping its way down my face.
This just won’t do.
I storm back out and unzip my suitcase, the sound setting off cannons inside my head.
I’m in no state to unpack, so I reach for the bare essentials: my toothbrush, toiletries and the first outfit my hand touches.
Twenty minutes later and I resemble someone a little more human, with a clean face, slicked-back bun and a white frilly sundress.
Passable. Barely alive, but not quite yet a corpse.
Good enough to venture out of my room for a glass of water.
The kitchen is empty. As is, it seems, the rest of the flat.
Either that, or Noah sleeps like a pin-drop silent psycho.
I rummage around for a glass, run the tap and sit down on a bar stool, downing the drink in one fairly quick glug.
I go again. And then again. By the fourth glass, I slow down just enough to savour the feel of the liquid rolling across my tongue.
I catch my breath and make my way towards the sofa, settling into the cushions and staring up at the ceiling.
What a first day. What a first night. And now here I am, on some random guy’s sofa in a beautiful Belgian apartment.
This is what the New Traveller want.
I scamper back to my room, grab last night’s cardigan and my laptop before snuggling back into the sofa with a fresh new document.
Around the World in 80 Dates
A chronically single girl’s six months to find ‘the one’
Date 1 – Mr Mysterious
I can’t help but giggle the second I type it out. Absolutely not. I try again.
Around the World in 80 Dates
A chronically single girl’s six months to find ‘the one’
Date 1 – Barrier Boy
A far better fit. And now, for an introduction.
When I left for this trip, I knew I was set for six months of pretty extreme dating. What I had not imagined, was that that journey would begin within minutes of me stepping off the train in Brussels . . .
I jolt in shock as a key turns in the door and in walks Noah, clutching a brown paper bag.
‘You’re awake!’ he says.
His voice and smile are bright, but a worrisome look seeps through the cracks of his exterior.
‘Barely,’ I say jokingly, watching him closely.
He chuckles timidly, before making his way towards the counter.
‘So, last night . . .’ He unloads a six-pack of large water bottles.
‘What about it?’ I ask, leaning forward to take him in.
I can see the tension in his shoulders from here and it makes my stomach turn for an entirely new reason. He risks a glance my way and I hold my breath as our eyes meet for the first time since yesterday.
‘We’re good, right?’ he asks, the words slightly strained.
His eyes are still sparkly and just as entrancing. This is fine.
‘Of course we are,’ I say to reassure him, confirming it with a cheery smile.
He lets out an exhale of relief, his lips stretching into a grin.
‘Good! Because I bought you a bottle,’ he says, brandishing a litre of water in the air.
‘Well, thank you,’ I reply, relaxing instantly.
‘And a pastry.’
He scurries over with a greasy paper bag. I peek inside it and spot the brown, flaky curves of an all-butter croissant.
‘Aren’t these French?’ I ask, eyeing it.
‘Believe it or not, they actually have them here too,’ he says mockingly.
I roll my eyes but take a hearty bite of it anyway, the pastry flaking off into my mouth.
He goes to grab one for himself before dashing back over and brushing my feet off the sofa so he can settle down too.
I make him some more room, shutting my laptop and placing it on the coffee table. He follows it with his eyes.
‘Were you writing about me?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I say, lying.
‘You so were.’ He smiles. ‘Good things, I hope?’
‘Awful, terrible things,’ I reply.
He brings his hand to his heart, miming getting shot in the chest. I almost spit out my mouthful of pastry.
‘What nickname did you go for?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ I say.
He smiles. ‘I’m going to read the article when it comes out anyway.’
‘No, you won’t,’ I tut, shaking my head.
Honestly, one of the main reasons I wanted to be a writer growing up was that it seemed like the least exposing way to get myself out there.
Haters will flock to a video or a picture of you that goes viral, but very few have the energy to read through large blocks of text.
While not necessarily ‘haters’, I assumed that the same logic would apply to the people I write my date pieces about.
Noah, however, seems determined to be different.
He digs around in his pocket, unlocking his phone and flashing his screen at me.
‘Already got the New Traveller bookmarked in prep. And I signed up for email alerts. I’m very serious about following your journey.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say, suddenly overtaken by shyness.
He’s not meant to see this. No one I know is meant to see this.
‘Yes, I do – you’re like the most famous person I know,’ he replies.
I laugh it off, but his face is dead serious. I feel that wave of warmth from yesterday flushing through me again.
‘You’re Barrier Boy,’ I say.
‘Barrier Boy.’ He sits with it. ‘Sounds superhero-esque, which is fitting considering how we met.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Please expand.’
‘If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be trapped in that station. Who knows what could have happened.’ He states this faux-gravely. ‘Plus, I saved you from that crime scene of an apartment—’
‘It wasn’t that bad!’
‘The same way hell’s probably not that bad . . .’
I scowl at him as he smirks, proud of his little comeback.
‘Well, it was all I could afford. Travelling alone isn’t exactly easy,’ I huff.
He tries to stifle a laugh, but it comes out loud and clear as I scowl at him again. He shrugs.
‘Sorry . . . but you only just started. Isn’t this like, your first day?’ he asks.
‘Second. I got here yesterday. But am I wrong?’
He shakes his head. ‘I personally love the freedom and operating on my own schedule with no one telling me what to do and . . .’
‘Of course!’ I say. ‘Those bits are fun, but the general gist of travelling? Clearly not designed for single people.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far—’
‘I would.’ I cut him off.
He nods at me to continue, so I take a deep breath and let loose.
‘Firstly, you end up eating like crap because takeaways are less embarrassing than sitting for dinner by yourself.’
He tilts his head. ‘True, I suppose. And single seats rarely exist on trains, so you’re always sitting next to a stranger. More often than not, one with no concept of personal space.’
‘Yes!’ I point my croissant at him emphatically. ‘And everything is so . . . quiet. You can go days without using your voice if you’re not careful. That much silence can’t be good for a person.’
‘Not to mention the cost.’ He’s louder now. ‘You’re stuck with double-room prices everywhere you go and if there is a single room it’s never half the cost, as it should be.’
‘You can’t split taxis,’ I add.
‘Or meals when you want to try two dishes.’
‘And there’s nobody to check that you get home safe!’ I continue. ‘I could die on my way home and nobody would know!’
I freeze mid-laugh, properly taking in my words as the dark realisation hits me.
I could die on my way home and nobody would know.
My body goes completely cold. I stare straight ahead – not at Noah or anything at all – I can’t describe what I see. I’m not seeing. Just thinking. Noah grows silent too. He shuffles closer, taking in my new, clammy expression.
‘Well, that won’t happen while you’re here, because you’ll stay with me.’
I glance up, confused, as he shrugs back at me nonchalantly.
‘I’ve got this place for another three days. I don’t see why we can’t share it until then. Buys you some time.’
My chest seizes in shock.
‘I can’t; it’s too much.’
‘You’re right,’ he says dryly. ‘It would be so unfair of you to crash in a room I’m not using in a place I’m not even paying for.’
I bite my lip in thought. I met him yesterday – this is a real-world example of ‘stranger danger’ playing out right in front of me.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask.
No. That was meant to be a ‘no’. I had every intention for the word ‘no’ to leave my mouth. And then out came a question. A really imposing question.
‘Of course I’m sure.’ He waves his hand. ‘It was boring being here all by myself anyway.’