Unexpected Changes

James sat at the kitchen counter, looking over his bank statement and credit card debt. £8,137.94 in the red. How had it gotten so out of hand? He knew she took his card shopping, “you don’t mind do you?” she’d smile sweetly. Mind? She’d just given him the best morning of his life, who was he to mind?

It was only on Monday mornings, when she was long gone, that he minded. She had a spell over him. The lust, the sex, the way she stroked his head, it made all his troubles wash away. He wanted her, no matter the cost. But it did cost. Hard cash.

Her parents were rich, so she didn’t need his money. She was just used to people who loved her lending her their credit card, or so he told himself. She wasn’t taking advantage of him. She wouldn’t.

Why had he told her he was a hot-shot lawyer when they first met? She thought he was loaded. Instead he was a struggling writer, placing an article here or there for a measly hundred pounds. She had no idea it would take him a year, maybe two, to pay off her debt.

Every Monday he decided to put an end to it. But every Friday night, he escaped into her arms, and into the blissful safety and love he felt with her.

It was all an illusion. He knew that. But she was his drug. And he didn’t want to give her up.

On Tuesday morning James donned his raincoat and headed out into the biting London air. He hadn’t been out of the house since Saturday, and the cold somehow surprised him. “Every time,” he muttered to himself. He knew he needed help. And he was going to get it.

James caught the bus to Liverpool Street Station, and then took the Tube to Stratford. He arrived at 9.06am. Perfect. His brother would walk out any minute for his morning coffee.

“James, fancy seeing you here!” Reggie called out, his smile flashing his perfect teeth. “Here to grab a coffee?”

“That’d be great.”

“So, why’d you come out for a visit?” Reggie asked, getting straight to business. He was always like this. Unlike James, Reggie was a hot-shot lawyer. A commercial lawyer who made partner at the young age of thirty-four. Growing up James was always jealous of Reggie’s drive, and Reggie was always astounded at James’ lacklustre approach to life. They both suffered the same strict parents and uptight all-boys boarding school, but Reggie soared through life and James stuttered.

“I have a problem. A girl problem. And a bit of a money problem too. They’re linked. The same problem.”

“Right. Elaborate.”

“She’s hot. Wonderful. A real… keeper. Only she keeps taking my credit card. And spending big. I’m down £8,000.”

Reggie motioned to a café on their left and they walked in, both sighing in relief as the warmth enveloped them. James shook off his raincoat and breathed in the smell of roasting coffee beans.

“This place has the best coffee in all of Stratford. The barista is Australian, from Melbourne. Boy does he know coffee. What do you want?”

“Flat white, thanks. I’ll pay for mine, of course,” James added awkwardly.

“No need, I have an account here. Ah Sandra, happy Tuesday to you. One flat white, and one double espresso, to have here. Thanks,” she was awarded the Reggie smile.

James chose the table at the window and sat down. He hated coming to his brother. So why did he?

Reggie draped his coat over the back of the chair and sat down opposite James.

“You don’t have a woman problem. And you don’t have a money problem. You have a life problem. You hate yourself, you hate your life, and you hate pretty much everyone else. Actually that’s not true, you don’t hate people. You just don’t care. You never have.”

“Right,” James sighed, bracing himself for the lecture. Reggie never gave money away for free – a lecture had to come with it.

“You have to get out of here. You have to shake yourself up. All you’ve ever done is live in London, struggle for money, and be miserable. It’s not working. So here’s what I’m going to do. If you call this woman right now, tell her it’s over and she owes you eight grand, and book a flight to anywhere, I’ll give you £20,000. And you have to spend that £20,000 in the next three months. I want a receipt of everything – email them to me. I don’t care where you go, but you better go there, you better go out every day and explore and meet people, and you better find your fire. You have three months, and I won’t give you any more money after that. Ever. And here, take this with you,” Reggie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small black notebook. “I carry this around with me to take notes, jot down thoughts and ideas, etcetera. I’ve written on the first few pages but ignore that, I want you to have it. I want you to write. Not for money, you’re useless at that. For yourself.”

James was stunned. He stared at his brother, opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again.

Reggie smiled. “You’re lost. You always have been. You’re in a rut, and I’m darn sick and tired of it. I’m not cleaning up after you anymore. This is it. After this £20,000, I’m never giving you another cent. And you know I mean that. You’re never staying on my couch another night. I’m never shouting you another coffee. This is the last of everything. It’s time for you to wake up and live your life.”

Their coffees arrived. Reggie smiled his thanks at the waitress, and glanced out the window. Snow was falling now. He looked across the table at his brother. James’ hair was dishevelled, his pullover had a small hole on the right shoulder, and his eyes were dull. They always had been. Growing up, Reggie had felt guilty. James was the older one, and every time their parents screamed, James copped it more. Their parents always blamed James for the dent in the wall, the stain on the couch, the bad report card. Reggie had gotten off lightly. But James was thirty-eight now. How much more time did he need to wallow? Reggie couldn’t watch it anymore. This was it.

“Okay,” James said slowly. “Okay. You have a deal.”

Reggie nodded. “Call her. Now.”

Three days later James looked at his bank account, astounded. £8,137.94 had just landed from Casey. When he’d called her from the café she’d screamed at him, calling him a monster and refusing to pay. Reggie had grabbed the phone (she’d screamed loud enough for him to hear everything), and threatened legal action. So she screamed some more. They finished their coffee’s and went up to Reggie’s office, where Reggie emailed Casey an official warning. It worked – three days later and she’d paid. She’d had to grovel to her parents, she winged. But the money was in his account.

James’ instantly paid off his credit card, and sighed in relief. Then he cut up the card and threw it in the bin. He grabbed his coat and waited for the next bus. An hour later he walked out of the bank the proud owner of a new debit card, soon to arrive in the mail, that couldn’t go into the red.

The following day Reggie came good on his promise; James’ account suddenly had a grand total £20,354.87. He’d gone from a few hundred pounds to his name, plus £8,137.94 in the red, to this staggering figure in the green. Now all he had to do was pack his things into a bag, put the rest in storage, find someone to sublet his tiny apartment, and head to the airport.

Two weeks later everything was sorted. A young uni student gladly moved in who was happy to use his furniture, which saved the storage costs. He’d wanted to book a flight online, but the abundance of options had paralysed him. If he was already at the airport he figured he’d be forced into a decision, so he called a taxi.

Heathrow airport was crowded. James found the departure terminal and went up the escalator, standing two stairs below the person in front of him as the sign requested. He found the booking desk and approached. His bag was heavy, and a jammed wheel only made getting around more painful.

“Hi, eh, I’d like to book a flight. A holiday, three months. To, well, somewhere. Anywhere, really. Where can I go?”

The woman looked at him and sighed. “Are you seriously asking me to choose your holiday for you?”

“Well, I’m just unsure of, um. So, what flights are leaving today, to somewhere... nice?”

“Sir, can you please step aside and let me help the couple behind you. Go on your phone, do some research, and come back when you know where you want to go. Next,” she called out, looking passed him to the couple.

James shuffled to the side, lost. He dragged his bag to a lounge area and sat down. He knew he should pull out his phone and start researching, but it was all too much. Too hard. He got up and walked out.

James stood at the taxi rank debating whether to get a taxi, or… or… he wasn’t quite sure. Until the decision was made for him.

“Excuse me, I know this seems a bit forward, but I’m really broke and I have to get to London. Would you share a taxi with me, so we can split the bill?"

She was beautiful. Well, she couldn’t be a model, but she still took his breath away. “Yes, sure, of course,” and into a taxi they went. Her name was Brittany. Her French boyfriend had just dumped her. She’d flown in from Paris that morning, London was home, but moving back in with her parents was the last thing she wanted to do. She chatted and chatted while he nodded and smiled.

“Anyway, that’s me. What are you up to?”

“I’m trying to go on holiday actually, I just can’t decide where…”

“Oh tell me about it. Why don’t you get the ferry to Europe, and hitchhike across? I’ve always wanted to do that, but I’m a chick and there’s weirdos out there. Still, it’d be fun.”

“Do you want to do it together?” He blurted out. Then he stopped breathing. Had he really just said that?

“What?!” She exclaimed. Then she fell silent, and looked out the window. “How long for?”

“Three months,” James forced out.

“How do we pay for it?”

“I have some… savings.”

“You’re not a serial killer?”

James laughed. “Nope.”

“Europe… the open road, the mountains, the ocean. We hitchhike together.”

“Yep,” James at up straighter, realising she was actually considering it. “You decide where we go, what we do, everything, and I’ll make sure no creeps bother us.”

“How old are you?” she asked.

James’ sighed. “Late thirties.”

“Well I’m twenty. So as long as you never try getting into my pants, we have a deal. Taxi, please take us to St Pancras International station – we’re going to Europe!”

And their adventure began.