Cath Staincliffe: Half the World Away

‘You got her text?’ The first thing Nick says when he gets back.

‘Yes.’

He studies me for a moment.

‘I’m OK. Just getting used to it. Hate goodbyes. And after my mum…’ The sadness is still there, close to the surface.

He nods, gives a small smile. ‘They asleep?’

‘Yes. And Isaac wants to know what feathers are made of. I’ll leave that one to you, something an environmental engineer should know.’

‘We know everything.’

I fetch the salad from the fridge, dole out lasagne. Nick pours wine.

‘She might not live here again,’ I say.

‘Jo, you said that when she went to Glasgow. If she moves out, new phase,’ he says, ‘that’s life.’ He raises his glass. ‘To life.’

I share the toast, comforted by his reassurance.

‘And how is Tom?’ Nick says.

It’s a few days later. We’ve not heard from Lori since she landed and I’ve just sent an email. A couple of lines. Hoping she’ll not feel I’m pestering her. Remembering my own experience when I was away at uni and duty-bound to phone home every week, knowing my parents worried if I didn’t.

‘Same as ever,’ I tell Nick, scrolling through the TV guide. ‘He always lands on his feet. The apartments are going great guns. So he’ll probably chuck it in soon,’ I add.

‘Getting bored,’ Nick says.

‘Lori told him off for being late,’ I say.

Nick laughs. ‘Seriously?’

‘I kid you not. I didn’t say anything.’

‘Pot, kettle, apple from tree?’

‘Not a peep. Game of Thrones or True Detective ?’ I waggle the remote.

Nick shakes his head. ‘I’m going up. Site visit tomorrow. I’ll reset the alarm.’

Left on my own, I wonder why Nick asked about Tom or, more specifically, why he waited four days to ask about him. Nick and I have been together for eleven years and we’ve gone through a lot of manoeuvring to make sure Lori spends time with her dad. It’s been a rocky road but easier as Lori grew old enough to make her own arrangements with him. Nick still resents Tom, hasn’t forgiven him for the hurt he’s caused with his lack of organization, and the times his chaotic approach to life left us in the lurch or Lori disappointed. Nick is protective of me too. He’s been witness to me raging about Tom’s latest fuck-ups too many times.

Perhaps there’s some jealousy as well. Much as Nick is a great stepdad to Lori, she and Tom are even closer.

Tom and I were never a good match. It was his difference that caught my attention. He was flamboyant and opinionated and impulsive.

Our first encounter ended in a blazing row. I was staffing a stall signing people up to a petition and vigil in support of the Chinese students on hunger strike in Tiananmen Square.

‘What’s the point?’ he said. ‘Nothing we do here will affect what happens.’

‘With enough support and attention-’

‘It’s all over the telly – the whole world’s watching anyway. A few names on a petition is a waste of time.’

‘So we do nothing?’ I said. ‘This is a mass movement, a real chance at democracy.’

‘When the Chinese government have had enough, they’ll clear the lot of them out. Water cannon or whatever. None of this,’ he waved his hand at the stall, ‘will make a bit of difference.’

‘You’re talking crap,’ I said.

‘Put money on it – the protest is quashed, the Commies carry on and you have a drink with me.’ His eyes were dancing. He was enjoying it, winding me up.

‘You want me to bet on people’s lives? Talk about shallow.’

His mouth twitched. I could tell he was fighting a smile. My face felt hot.

‘You wait and see,’ he said.

He wore a long duster-type coat, which emphasized his height, black denims, and I could see his jumper was shrunken and had holes in it. He’d sharp cheekbones, long hair the colour of honey, eyes of the palest blue.

I ignored him after that, feeling a smart of irritation each time I saw him in the union or a lecture hall. He’d always smile. Sometimes I felt I was the mouse to his cat.

Then came the massacre. We all watched in horror as the Chinese tanks fired on the protesters, mostly young students. Hundreds died. The world condemned the brutality but China’s leaders remained unrepentant.

About a week afterwards Tom came up to me in the corridor.

‘Come to gloat?’ I said.

‘I won the bet.’

‘I never accepted your stupid bet.’

He sighed, stuck his hands into his pockets, as if I was boring him.

I moved to walk around him and he stood in my way. My face grew warm.

‘What are you scared of?’ he said.

‘I’m not scared.’

‘You seeing someone?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘So?’

‘Why would I want to go out with you? We don’t agree on anything, I don’t even-’

‘What?’ I wished he’d wipe the smirk off his face.

Like you , I was going to say but that felt unkind.

‘It’s just a drink,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘Might be fun,’ he said. ‘Tonight, the Lass o’ Gowrie at eight.’ He walked off without waiting for an answer.

I turned up feeling intensely awkward. We argued all evening.

I had a ball.

Lori in the Ori-ent

What’s in a Name?

Posted on 15 October 2013 by Lori

Hello, and welcome to my new blog.

A bit of background – I’m a Brit, from Manchester, photography graduate (yay, Glasgow!), taking a few months out with my trusty camera to see something of this amazing planet and report back. In my former life I never made it beyond Tenerife so for me writing this from a guesthouse in Thailand is beyond cool.

(Hi Mum *waves* still alive. Sorry I’ve not replied to your texts – bit of hassle sorting phones out.)

Lori in the Or-ient will be my working title. I was going to be Lori on the Lam but someone got there first, heads up to www.manonthelam.com. Then I came up with Lori’s Big Adventure but that’s been well and truly snaffled by many bloggers. So we are where we are. In my case Thailand. Whoop-de-doo!

My given name is Lorelei. It’s not very common, though Marvel comic aficionados and the fans of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes will know it. The name means either ‘alluring rock’ or ‘murmuring rock’ or ‘alluring temptress’. There is an actual rock called the Lorelei on the Rhine river in Germany. The story goes that it’s inhabited by a siren whose singing lures mariners to their death. In my defence I’d like to point out that

a) No one asked me

b) I’m really not the alluring type

c) If I am called after a rock then so are the Jades and Rubys and Ambers out there, and maybe my rock has a little bit more character than theirs. Maybe. Granite, anyone? Millstone grit?

d) My singing may drive people to distraction but I have never drowned a soul, mariner or otherwise.

Most people call me Lori, not to be confused with lorry (a.k.a. truck, for any US visitors).

And here are my favourite photos so far, most from Ko Samet, where we stayed in a cabin above the bay and lounged like lizards. The island gets its name from the Cajeput tree – related to the Tea Tree – and also called a paper-bark tree. You can see why in the pictures.

Next week we head for Vietnam. Come and see me there. Lxxx

Four weeks after her departure we have an email from Lori with a link to a blog she’s started, where she’s posted some photos. Pictures of her, Jake, Amy and a couple of others, at the beach, having a meal in a beachside restaurant. She looks happy, laughing at the table, grinning on the sand, her skin already darker from the sun. The new friends are Australians, Suze and Dawn. Several more photos show off the landscape.