Chapter Eleven

"How much money have we got left?"
"What you mean apart from the loose change?" Gary looked over at me squinting in the low afternoon sun.
"Well yes." I said.
Gary opened the money belt round his waist. It was unnecessary really, because we both already knew the answer. "In total. Fuck all!" He said after making a theatrical show of searching through the pocket.
"Hmmm thought so." He zipped up the money belt. We sat silent a while. Watching the pigeons and the tourists wandering about the square below. "We didn’t really think this through too well did we?"
"But that was the idea. We travel on a wing and a prayer."
"More of a prayer, I reckon." We sat silent some more. Thinking.
Suddenly Gary slapped his legs, stood up and said "Well there’s no point just sitting here. We’re in Italy with no money left. We’ve got to get back to England before we starve to death. So as I see it, the sooner we get going the better. Before we are reduced to begging in the streets or stealing. We’ve been in enough trouble already. What do you say dude?"
"Sounds good to me. A mad dash across Europe non-stop. I can see the headlines ‘Two students in mercy dash across Europe" it’ll be front page news, we’ll be famous. How far is it do you think?"
"Fucked if I know. But it’s a long walk home."
The idea of having no money was no longer a problem. It was now a challenge.
We caught a train to Venice. Stopped off, whilst waiting for a connection to Milan, to see the canals and gondoliers, bought more milk. It was all we could afford. We drank it leaning over the side of a small stone bridge that spanned a narrow canal. Later I spotted that same bridge being crossed by Harrison Ford in ‘Indiana Jones and the last Crusade’. It’s not a claim to fame, but.....
"I’ve been there. I’ve stood in that exact spot."
Back to the station we caught the train to Milan, the next train to Zurich was departing in the next few minutes so we boarded without even leaving the station.
"I’ve decided Milan is a great place." I said.
"We never saw Milan."
"That’s not Milans fault, I think we should give Milan the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure we would have loved it if we had had time to stay and visit."
"OK You’re right, it’s better to leave with a good impression than stay and get arrested again. Then hate it for the rest of our lives."
The train, the first since England we’d been on that didn’t have corridors and compartments, took us through Northern Italy and up north into the Alps and on to Zurich. From Zurich we caught the overnight train to Frankfurt.
Totally exhausted we settled down in our compartment. We hadn’t slept since Naples when we had woken early. Sleep crept upon us like a thick blanket muffling all sounds.
We woke the next morning. The train was pulling into Dusseldorf.
"Gary?"
"Yes?"
"We’re in Dusseldorf."
"You’re kidding."
"No really. Look." and I pointed to the signs on the platform.
"Shit we must have past Frankfurt hours ago, we’ve overshot."
"Overslept. Time to get off." We grabbed our bags and climbed down onto the platform. Gary was already consulting our international timetable, our travelling bible.
"There’s a train for Frankfurt leaving from platform three."
"When?"
He looked at his watch. "Now!"
We looked through the window of the train we had just got off and out the other side to see our return train on the opposite platform. Looking down the platform we saw we were miles from the gate. The whistle blew and the flag waved.
"We’ll miss it. We’ll never run down the platform in time."
"I know, so..............." Gary picked up his rucksack and boarded the train we’d just got off. "......Come on." he shouted.
"What? we’ve just got off and it’s going in the wrong ..............."
But Gary was already opening the opposite door to jump onto the tracks. I followed. Our train started to move, Gary reached up and opened the door. Trackside. A guard spotted us running alongside the train and shouted, but was too far away to stop us. We threw our rucksacks onto the train and climbed on board.
"Well that was easy." said Gary flopping down in a seat. "Back to Frankfurt."
It was early afternoon when our train finally arrived in Frankfurt. Then there was the long walk through the streets to Alans flat.
We presented ourselves at the door. Alan took one look at us.
"Christ! You two are filthy."
"Yes. We’re a bit sticky from travelling."
"A bit sticky? When did you last wash?"
"Athens. We were really clean then." It seemed stupid to say we last washed in a particular city or we last ate somewhere in Italy, but that’s how it was.
Gary went for a bath first. I sat, suddenly uncomfortable that I was filthy. I hadn;t noticed before how bad we smelt. I could feel the dirt on my face and in my hair. My filth was obvious. My embarrassment grew. Gary called from the Bathroom.
"Hey Alan, have you plenty of hot water?"
"Yes why?"
"The bath water is filthy and I haven’t even used the soap yet. There’s a scum line already."
We had two baths each. One to get the worst off and the second to actually get clean.
With our clothes washed and a few good meals inside us. We set off for England. Via Paris.
"Well this is it." said Gary when we got to Paris. We were sitting on a bench by the side of the Seine. "Decision time." he continued, "This is where we split up and go our separate ways, or we go back to England together."
"It’s difficult. I hate leaving Helene like that. I want to see her again but........."
"No money and her Father."
"More like her Father. I can get by with no money. But I don’t think I can face him again so soon."
"Fair enough, the next train for Calais leaves in thirty minutes, we’d better be on it."
We rushed to the station and boarded the train with minutes to spare.
At Calais we boarded the Ferry. An English Ferry full of English crew and people who spoke English. For a short while it seemed odd to hear our native tongue spoken around us. I didn’t know how to feel as we got on the ferry. Was our trip a success? Were we running away? Had we been defeated. No we had over come all the obstacles. We had both lost weight. But we’d survived. We’d starved and slept on trains in corridors, on seats and in luggage racks. We were tired. It seemed like we had lived on milk for a month. Now we were on the ferry we felt safe for the first time in ages. We were still in France, but being on the Ferry was as good as being home.
We arrived back at Dover. For the first time in weeks we didn’t expect to be arrested. we could relax, we were home was safe and sound. Nothing else could possibly go wrong. Everything was familiar, comforting, people spoke English. It didn’t matter what happened now. We were back in England. We caught first train to London then on to Marylebone Station for the final leg to Aylesbury. We didn’t speak much on that last journey. It was a time of reflection, personal thoughts on what we had gone through. My own regret of what had happened with Helene. We had our whole lives in front of us and it was taken from me. I didn’t even get to kiss her. Shit! That was the one thing that I regretted most. She was my best friend and I didn’t even kiss her. How I had longed to take her in my arms and hold her and tell her I loved her then kiss her. I had been waiting for the right moment, but I’d waited too long. A twelve bore shotgun saw to that. I went through the agonies of replaying moments with Helene, if only I had done this or done that. If only we had played by the rules of rural Brittany. If only they had told us the rules. If only ...... if only..... My mind was cast back to when I was only four and a family friend, a farmer, Mr Webster took me to one side and said "It’s that little if. You don’t want to be worrying about that little if, because it’s done with, you can’t do nowt about it.You just carry on. A lot of people say things about that little if but it don’t do them no good."
We arrived in Aylesbury. Gary’s house was a mere ten minutes walk.
"I’d better get home." I said after refusing his invite back to his place. "I need to sleep in my own bed."
"OK" he said, "Great trip though wasn’t it?" but he was too tired himself to be overly enthusiastic in the way he said it.
"Yeah Brilliant it’s been great." but the words fell awkwardly.They didn’t have the sincerity. I was too tired to care.
I caught the bus from Aylesbury to my home village of Wendover. It’s six miles. I was almost home. My mood was getting better with each mile. Stoke Mandeville came and went. Then Worlds End. Followed very quickly by Wendover village. The bus stopped at every stop I was geting impatient. I wanted my family. I wanted to be in my own bed. I wanted a bowl of weetabix. I was so close now I began to feel triumphant in my return, I had survived against all the odds. Everyone would be overjoyed to see me for the first time in over a month. What tales I would tell my family. I couldn’t wait. A good meal, tell my stories and then sleep in my own bed. I got off the bus outside the Rose and Crown and exhausted, I walked the last fifty yards to my house. But something was very wrong. There was no car outside. No curtains at the windows. I looked in. It was empty. Deserted. No furniture. Nothing. It was an empty shell.
"Shit! Where is everyone?"
There was a letter pinned to the front door.
"Mikel. We have sold up and moved to Peterborough. Our new address is below. Catch up with us when you are ready.........................."
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! That’s all I need." I could have wept. Gary was safely tucked up in the bosom of his family and I was still on the road. What to do now? By now my energy spent and totally demoralised I staggered to my friend Steve’s house.
He opened the door. "Shit! Mike you look terrible."
"I need to sleep." I said and tumbled into his doorway.
"Your folks moved last week. Did you see Helene?"
"Not now Steve." I wanted to cry. I was so tired. My spirit was crushed. I had nothing left to give.
"Come on buddy we’ll find you a bed."
I don’t remember much after that. He and his mother put me to bed and I slept fourteen hours.
The next day after a good breakfast I hitch hiked to Peterborough. All I had was an address. It took hours. Each lift getting me closer to a home I didn’t know. IN Peterborough I found my way to the bus station, which used to be the Cattle market, but which is now the site of the Crown Courts. It was all new to me.I wandered up and down the buses asking each driver in turn if they were going to Paston. Eventually one said he was going near. He’d tell me when to get off. I travelled unfamiliar streets and roads that are now very familiar to me but then weren’t. The bus stopped.The driver leant round from his cab and said "This is your stop mate. See that footpath across the road? Go through there and go straight on turn right at the end and you’ll be home."
But it wasn’t home. It wasn’t my home. It was my parents new home. It wasn’t MY home. I was a visitor. It was just another stepping stone on my journey through life.
"Oh hi Mike. So you made it here then? Give me a lift with this settee, will you, I want it put over there." said my mother. She’s always moving furniture. No one had even noticed I hadn’t been there. Or was that just a ploy? No fuss, no triumphant return. I was home.




END OF PART ONE