I smiled, I knew exactly what quiz she was talking about. One warm Summer day back when we were teens, weeks before the nightmare bunker incident, Marie and I were lying on the cool stubbly grass in her back garden, scribbling our answers to a trashy ‘What kind of life will you have?’ quiz I’d found in an old copy of my mum’s Woman’s Weekly magazine.
‘But this is stupid,’ Marie had moaned as I’d asked her about her dreams and aspirations, ‘I’m going to marry Ricky Martin; he just doesn’t know it yet.’
‘OK,’ I sighed, ‘so you run off to Puerto Rico to find him – then what?’
Marie rolled over to her back and shaded her eyes from the sun. ‘Well, I want to be married by the time I’m 22 and have had my first child by at least 24.’ We both shuddered at how ancient that sounded. ‘After that, I’ll become a world-famous actress and we’ll live in Hollywood with our three model-looking children.’
‘You’d better start paying attention in your Spanish classes then,’ I teased, picking dirt out of my fingernails.
‘Nah, we’ll speak the language of lurve,’ she smiled before pulling the quiz away roughly. ‘Right then, Miss Green, what’s your life plan going to be?’
My eyes lit up as I spoke: ‘I want to travel, to see more of life than what’s on our doorstep. Oh, and also to write. Being a travel journalist would be pretty cool. Imagine waking up in a different country every day and getting paid to tell the world what you’re seeing, eating and doing?’
‘Then you can write better quizzes than what’s in here,’ Marie smirked whacking me with the rolled up mag.
‘Look what happened to my plan!’ Marie exclaimed. ‘I never did get round to marrying Ricky Martin and definitely never thought I’d be a single mum, but even though Cole wasn’t part of my original plan, I couldn’t imagine how my life could be any better without him.’
‘To be fair, I don’t think you’re Ricky’s type.’ She laughed. ‘Well, I never got to be the next Judith Chalmers,’ I sighed thinking of my unloved passport. ‘I guess I hadn’t realised how fast life passes you by. One minute you’re fresh-faced, taking the first job you’re offered, convinced it will be a springboard for better things to come, then the next, you’re older, settled and saggy,’ I said sadly, just as an unshaved old man waddled past holding a pint of bitter before hacking up a load of phlegm into a mucky handkerchief.
‘It’s easily done, babe.’ Marie paused. ‘OK, I’m going to be real with you for a second, and don’t get mad. I hadn’t wanted to say anything because, you know, the whole not getting married thing, but actually, hun, you’ve changed. Going away with you last week reminded me what the real Georgia was like. Not the one who fusses over Alex, who stresses about table runners and ruddy place mats. Not the one who checks the weather to see if they can put their washing out rather than if it’s hot enough to head to a beer garden, not the one who pretends to enjoy eating kale and drinking pomegranate juice. You never used to be like that, but over time you’ve changed. So maybe you did get lost along the way, but now it’s like you’ve been given a ticket to start again, to reinvent yourself and do exactly what you want. Not go along with what Alex likes, or follow Catrina’s direction, but actually think: what does Georgia Green want to do?’
‘I guess,’ I mumbled tearing the moist edges of the beer mats in front of me. She was right, about all of it. Kale is bloody nasty.
‘I’m serious hun, if I was in your situation, but obviously minus a child, then I’d be out of here faster than when Big Claire orders her kebab at closing time. The world is your oyster. Go and grab it by the pearly balls!’
*
‘Oh hello, I’ll be with you in just one tic. Oh you silly bugger just work!’ A woman was wrestling with an ancient printer almost half her petite size. Papers were strewn everywhere and a strange gurgling noise was blaring from the knackered machine. ‘This is why I write everything down. Don’t trust these impetuous things. You know where you are with a paper and pen.’ She ran a wrinkled hand through her grey hair, flattening down loose strands that had formed a halo in the dust-particled light streaming through the window.
I’d taken Marie’s advice and left the pub having googled nearby travel agents, one I hopefully wouldn’t be humiliated in. ‘Have you changed the ink recently?’ I suggested stepping over documents flung on the floor to get a closer look. ‘We used to have the same model at work and all it needed was a good whack. Like this.’ Without thinking I thumped down hard on the lid. It wheezed to life then began churning out copies like brand new.
‘Oh my days. Thank you so much. Do you know how long I’ve been faffing with this? Turning it on and off again, trying different paper and I never once thought to do that.’ She beamed a genuine heartfelt smile at me.
‘No problem. Glad to be of service.’
‘So now that’s working, I can properly introduce myself and make you a cup of tea, the least I can do for saving my sanity!’ She wiped her hands on her trousers and came round from behind the desk, cautiously placing her pale pink court shoes amongst the carpet of paper between us. ‘Welcome to Making Memories. Owner, explorer and technology-phobe Trisha at your service! How can I help you?’ She stuck her ink-splatted hand out to me.
This small slightly sweating woman was a world away from the intimidating chimps at the other travel agency. Trisha was more like someone’s grandma. In fact, how had she not yet retired? Her cotton wool-coloured hair was loosely pulled into a low chignon and gold necklaces jangled against her crinkly tanned neck. She was wearing a smart trouser suit with a name badge and smelled like incense and sun lotion.
I shook Trisha’s hand and smiled down at her. ‘Hi. Georgia. Wannabe backpacker, gherkin hater and printer fixer who would love a brew,’ I said gratefully.
‘Coming right up! Eurgh I hate gherkins too, why ruin a perfectly good burger by plonking slimy bogey-coloured strips on the top?’
‘Exactly!’
Trisha smiled. ‘Oh, and please excuse the mess, usually there are two of us here but Deidre’s had to take some time off. To be honest I’m not sure if she’s coming back. Her son’s just had a baby you see, a little girl, so now it’s babies rather than brochures,’ she chuckled. ‘I’m so pleased for her but I could probably do with another pair of hands around the place, especially where modern technology is involved.’ She laughed lightly, awkwardly hiding some dirty mugs behind a framed picture of a handsome young man grinning by the Empire State Building. ‘I guess it’s good to keep busy though. Right, now for tea.’
Even though this shop had a prime position just off the packed high street, I’d walked past it every day not giving it a glance. It was a beautiful old room. I remember my dad telling me that there used to be an old bank on this street, I guess a few of these smaller shops must have been born from spare bank rooms when it moved location. Looking past the messy stacks of paper, a striking ornate marble fireplace drew my eyes, my feet sank into the faded, thick plum-coloured rug that partially covered decorative floor tiles, and large lanterns hung from the high ceiling that was iced with gilt trim carvings. So grand, for such a small travel agent’s.
Apart from the stacks of bright, glossy brochures the rest of the room was dark, muted colours with a weathered world map above the fireplace and an ancient-looking globe standing proudly in the corner. A melodic tune emanated from some hidden speakers; it sounded aboriginal and enchanting.
Trisha noticed me tilting my head to listen. ‘It’s from a remote Botswanian tribe I stumbled across when I visited the country many years ago. The bushmen from the Kalahari Desert performed at this tiny camp I was sleeping in for the night and their