Janice Horton - The Backpacking Housewife

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Harper Impulse

an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018

Copyright © Janice Horton 2018

Cover images© Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018

Janice Horton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008302696

Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008302689

Version: 2020-01-23

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page A division of HarperCollins Publishers www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright Harper Impulse an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018 Copyright © Janice Horton 2018 Cover images© Shutterstock.com Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2018 Janice Horton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008302696 Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008302689 Version: 2020-01-23

Dedication To my own real-life hero: Trav

Chapter 1: Bangkok

Chapter 2: Chiang Mai

Chapter 3: Return to Bangkok

Chapter 4: Railay

Chapter 5: Koh Lanta

Chapter 6: Koh Lanta (II)

Chapter 7: Koh Ngai

Chapter 8: Koh Phi Tao

Chapter 9: Koh Phi Tao (II)

Chapter 10: Koh Phi Tao (III)

Chapter 11: Koh Phi Tao (IV)

Chapter 12: Koh Lipe

Chapter 13: Langkawi, Malaysia

Chapter 14: Kuala Lumpur

Chapter 15: Kuala Lumpur (II)

Chapter 16: Kota Kinabalu

Chapter 17: Sandakan Borneo

Chapter 18: Reef Island

Chapter 19: Reef Island (II)

Chapter 20: Destination Unknown

A Q&A with the Author

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

To my own real-life hero: Trav

I’ve arrived in Bangkok feeling jettisoned and adrift, exhausted, jetlagged, and asking myself – what the hell am I doing here all on my own? In the long line for customs, I stand with everyone else who was on my flight from London. My eyes are fixed on those around me who look so happy and purposeful, so clearly excited to be in the most popular city in the world, while I’m sweltering in my jeans and long-sleeved, far-too-heavy cotton shirt. I’ve never suffered from a fear of crowds before, but now I do, and I can hardly breathe.

When it’s my turn, my passport is scanned, my fingerprints are taken, and I’m given a passing glance together with a thirty-day entry stamp into Thailand. I follow the masses pouring through luggage collection and into the arrivals hall, where behind a barrier, taxi touts push and shove and yell and uniformed chauffeurs wave and shout and people are holding up cards with stranger’s names on them. I’m overwhelmed.

Once outside the terminal, it feels like I’ve walked into a wall of incredible heat and oppressive humidity and an onslaught of noise and voices at fever pitch. Tuk-tuk and taxi drivers beep their horns and jostle aggressively for position at the kerbside. The racket is deafening and the fumes are nauseating. Chatter fills my head – thousands of voices in so many different languages. Odours in the air assault my nose – the unwashed and the over-perfumed smells are so strong that I can taste them on my tongue. Everyone seems so preoccupied with pushing suitcases and gathering children and moving on quickly to wherever they are going that they knock into me without apology or care, as if I’m invisible.

I look around at beggars in rags on pavements with their arms outstretched to well-dressed tourists. I see beautiful and very young Thai girls with long black silky hair and tight dresses, laughing and hanging onto the arms of far older, overweight Western men.

Why couldn’t I have run away to somewhere quieter, less smelly, much less scary?

‘Lady! Lady! Taxi! Taxi!’

I allow myself to be led to a taxi by an enthusiastic and smiling Thai man and I give him the address of a hotel. I have no idea where it is, or how far, but I’m suddenly too tearful and weary to care. As it is, the smiling taxi driver is a gentleman. He whisks me through the hustle and bustle of the city with the speed and dexterity of a knight in shining armour and delivers me to the safety of my hotel. I drag myself across the sticky vinyl car seat into the hot and humid space that now exists between me and the revolving polished glass doors of the hotel’s lobby.

A uniformed doorman immediately rushes to my assistance. I see him hesitate, looking for luggage before realising there is none, then with a smile he ushers me inside. I look round at the opulence – the polished marble, the shiny surfaces, the huge crystal chandeliers, the sparkly water features – which under any other circumstances would have thrilled and impressed me but right now just add to the surreality of my situation.

I walk over to reception feeling completely out of sorts. A very tall, slim, pretty receptionist wearing a body-hugging, green silk dress smiles at me.

I try to smile back, but my lips have so long been set to stoic they don’t want to obey me.

‘ Sawatdee ka ,’ she says, bowing her head graciously.

I repeat the salutation, noting from her name badge that she is called Lola.

‘Welcome to Bangkok, madam. Are you checking in?’

I can’t help but admire Lola’s curiously strong angular features and her beautiful waist-length long black hair. She is tall and broad-shouldered.