Chapter Eleven
“All we can do is keep walking,” I say once I’ve caught him up, panting.
It’s an obvious statement, of course, but it feels required.
“And quickly.” The ache in the balls of my feet are burning, the blister on the back of my heels are raw and my ankles have weakened to the point it feels like my legs and feet are connected by some of kind of spongy material.
But we have no other options.
Neither of us have signal yet to call for a taxi or any kind of help.
In hindsight, I’m smarter than this.
This was a rash decision. I’m blaming it on Popstar.
And so, we walk, walk, walk until the city skyline starts to come into view, boats and ships appear on the horizon out on the peacefully, choppy sea. The sky is spotless, the sun so bright it turns my vision golden and speckled whenever I look up.
“You know, I’m sort of gutted I won’t get to see Dubrovnik. It was one of my highlights for this trip,” I tell Gus, head down, trying not to trip on one of the loose, fallen rocks at the side of the road.
He hums in agreement. “Yeah. Me too,” he says. “If I tell you I’m a Star Wars fanatic, will you be mean to me?”
“No,” I say. “I reserve judgement for people with a lack of interests.”
Something about this statement makes him laugh. “Star Wars was pretty much the only thing my dad and I had in common growing up. And more recently too. Trying to get back into his life was easier with the lure of Star Wars Premiere tickets. Perks of being famous, I guess.”
“What, like, the actual red-carpet events?”
“Yeah. Dad always went right in, and I’d do a circuit in exchange for tickets. But nobody really cared that I was there because I wasn’t in it.”
“So, you mostly did it to see your dad?”
“Yeah. He can be tricky. He’s a countryman. Likes his garden and walks through fields but I rarely get home these days, so I wasn’t seeing much of him. He doesn’t really understand the whole music thing. He’s never even been to one of my concerts.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s not his scene. Too busy. Too loud. He prefers the sound of birds.” Gus laughs like it’s not an issue. I expect him to expand on it but instead he pivots back to Dubrovnik, saying, “Some of The Last Jedi was filmed in Old Town apparently. I’d like to see the comparison.”
But now he has me intrigued. “You don’t see your family much then?” I ask. “You know, with you being a jet-setting popstar and all.”
“No, honestly, I see them maybe twice a year if I’m lucky.
Christmas is the big one. I’ve done well at getting home for Christmas Day most years since my career blew up.
My sister pops up a lot more, but that’s because she dabbles in the celebrity lifestyle and enjoys using my fame to get herself into parties and events. ”
“You make her sound like a diva.”
Gus snorts. “Well, she’s not not a diva.”
I ponder what it would be like to be the younger sister of a famous popstar and can barely fathom it. “How old was she when Just4Summer really took off?”
He cringes. “Twelve. Maybe thirteen. I was sixteen when we were picked up by the label. It wasn’t until a year later when we guest starred on a McBusted tour that our lives really took off.”
“So, she would’ve been young. That’s a lot for a girl to deal with. You know, alongside puberty, periods, boys and all the drama that surrounds you at that time.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
I laugh. “Well, despite the rumours, I was once a teenager. Plus, I practically raised my three younger sisters.”
“I see. I bet they were lucky having had you to watch out for them.”
My lips tip downwards before I can stop them, so I’m glad Gus can’t see my face. “Oh, I’m not sure they think so. I’m told I was rather mean.”
“You? Mean? I refuse to believe it.”
“Ha. Ha. I’ll have you know, raising them brats is the reason I’ll likely die thirty years before they do, purely from the stress of it all. I swear some of their meltdowns altered my chemical makeup. The least they deserved was a little mean.” This has Gus cracking up.
“Tell me about them,” he says.
“What do you want to know?”
“What are they like?”
I sniff, unsure where to start. “Bitchy. Clever. Awful. Funny. Irritating. Beautiful. Intense. Ambitious.” I laugh.
“They’re a lot. Millie is the youngest – she’s the most intense and would probably scream for a solid five minutes if she ever found out I actually hung out with you.
I will tell her one day. I’ll save it for her hen do or something.
“Abby is the second youngest. She’s very sweet but sometimes to her own detriment. If I want to talk to one that will use an ounce of empathy towards me, I tend to call her.
“And Gemma is only a year and a bit younger than me. She’s suffering from some kind of daddy issues; I can’t work out where they’ve stemmed from since it was our mum we lost when we were teens.”
It falls out of my mouth before I realise, I’ve said it. It’s a weird one; I don’t love bringing up Mum’s death because it makes people uncomfortable and they don’t usually know what to say and then I feel guilty that they feel weird.
“Sorry, too much info.”
Gus stops in his tracks and turns to face me.
“How is that too much info? I feel like we’ve barely scraped the surface of Sara.
” I stop a few steps in front of him, glancing up at his scrunched forehead and soft eyes.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mum. Must’ve been tricky to lose her at that age and have felt so responsible for your sisters. ”
“Dad was around. He worked long hours as a fireman, but he was around. It wasn’t just me.”
“But still,” he says. “That sounds hard.”
Ugh. Kill me. A rising panic grows in my lungs. I don’t like pity. Pity makes my skin crawl. I am fine. I am strong. I am not a victim. And I especially don’t want a man to see me as any type of weak, so I change the conversation.
“How we doing on time?”
I know he almost asks a follow up question. He looks like he isn’t done with his Sara scrutiny but then his eyes are drawn to his watch. “Slightly ahead of schedule. Just gone half three.”
“Come on then,” I say, nodding ahead. “No time to spare.”
Another fifteen minutes later and we’re strolling along proper paved paths towards a modern port with several huge cruise ships.
It was something I considered – going on a bigger cruise.
I would’ve certainly saved money, but they just didn’t feel like me.
I like my peace too much and besides it didn’t give the quaint honeymoon vibe I was after.
Hence, the smaller more expensive option.
It should be near by now. We keep strolling, searching for that sleek, modern design. I turn my phone on to see if there are any messages coming through about where they’re docked but it only gives me departure times.
“This is weird,” I say. “In the messages, it says the departure times from the port are every fifteen minutes. I don’t understand. That doesn’t make any sense. Surely there’s just one time?”
Gus frowns at me, bewildered. “Let me see?”
I twist the phone to show him as the battery percentage jumps lower again.
“Huh. Where is it then?”
“I have no idea. But it’s not here.”
After a few more minutes of hoping it might magically appear and losing hope, we find ourselves in another port office. This time a friendly middle-aged lady helps us gladly unlike the grumpy giant in Split.
“Which cruise are you on please?” she asks. I reel the details off to her as she types on her computer, her face getting increasingly confused. “Are you sure you are departing from Dubrovnik?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” I show her the messages.
As if she gets a lightbulb moment, she smiles broadly. “Ah yes. I can see here that they’ve made arrangements to taxi guests in from the ship to the port of Old Town on smaller boats. You’ll need to go there instead.”
“Oh. And how far is that?”
She takes a map out of her drawer and places it on the desk, marking where we are now and where we need to go. Of course, it’s the absolute opposite end of the city.
Gah!
I school my voice. “And how long will that take?”
“About a thirty-minute walk or ten minutes by taxi.”
I glance at Gus. Gus glances at me. With a hasty thank you, we use every last spark of energy in our bones, fighting the sunburn and blisters, to race towards the road in hopes of finding a taxi.