California Girl

Kathie was a California Girl. When we met, she was fulfilling an
ambition of travelling around Europe, broadening her horizons and
absorbing local cultures. I was on a boozy weekend with a bunch of
workmates, interested only in absorbing some beers.

We first noticed her on her own in a hotel bar, quietly reading a book.
We politely interrupted her, introduced ourselves and asked if we might
join her. All very proper and (sadly) not at all like our normal
behaviour. She accepted, and so it was that we all had some drinks and
spoke about anything and everything.

Kathie spoke energetically and enthusiastically about her home and
about her time in the UK. She admired our history, our language, our
accents, and the quaintness of some of our ways - whereas I would have
gladly traded our entire heritage for some of her California
sunshine.

She was quick and intelligent and we got on well, but after speaking
for a while, it became apparent that we might as well have come from
different planets. The only thing that Kathie and I had in common was
that we were staying in the same hotel in mid-Wales. I found her
moderately attractive, but there was something about her - something
else - that made me want to talk to her, to find out more about
her.

One by one, my friends dropped out of the group conversation, either to
have conversations on their own or to hit the sack. Kathie and I kept
on yakking; at 3 a.m. we went for a walk and watched the night sky turn
a lighter shade of blue as another midsummer sunrise approached. We
gathered up some heather and as I carried her back across the heavy
ground, she kissed me gently on the cheek. Her kiss - light as it was -
stopped me in my tracks. I wasn't expecting it.

"I'm sorry", she said. "I shouldn't have done that".
"It's OK". The rest of the walk back was unusually quiet, but I had a
grin on my face.

Back at the hotel, she invited me to her room for a coffee. There, we
spoke a little more and I noticed that she became more quiet with every
sentence. It wasn't just the fact that we had been up all night. There
was a distinct sadness descending and then her sunny face darkened
altogether. She looked directly at me and asked :
"Do you know what it's like to be alone ?"
Strange question. And then she told me why she was travelling
alone.

When she had finished, I sat quietly, not knowing what to say or do.
And then she cried uncontrollably. Of course she cried. Anyone would
have.

"Stay with me "

Tearful myself, I felt awkward and didn't know what to do. What could
possibly make anything better after what she had just told me ?

I rocked her to sleep, gently brushing her cheek as I put her to bed. I
didn't know if I should stay with her. If I stayed and slept with her,
it would seem like I was taking advantage of her. But what sort of
bastard leaves someone so fragile in such an obvious hour of need ? A
devil on each shoulder and there wasn't an angel to be seen anywhere. I
left her there, asleep, dreaming God knows what and went to bed on my
own.

***

The police had to kick in the bedroom door. There, in the middle of the
bedroom, they found a young woman hugging a pillow. Serene, but
lifeless. In her left hand was an envelope adorned with drawings of
hearts and flowers and kisses.

The note read simply &;#8230;.
"I cannot live with this heartache. I will watch over you until we meet
again. I LOVE YOU and may God bless you always."

I imagined vividly the last moments of this sad young woman. She sat at
her dressing table, took up a pen, and began to write, completing the
note with a neat row of kisses. When she had finished, she carefully
studied her words. It didn't take long. It was short, but it spoke
volumes. She sealed the envelope with a real kiss and began to swallow
pill after pill after pill, washing each down with a mouthful of neat
vodka. She lay down on some cushions in the middle of the room, waited,
and that was that.

This, just five months after Kathie's mother had died from a long
illness and just two months after her father had died of a broken
heart. And now her sister had taken her own life. Kathie was travelling
alone in every sense.

***

I slept through breakfast. Or, more truthfully, I stayed in my bedroom
until breakfast was finished. I didn't want to see Kathie; I didn't
know what to say to her. I knew she would be upset that I left her
alone in her room and in my mind's eye, I imagined my friends quizzing
her and teasing her about the night before, not knowing the truth and
the hurt that she hid.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Kathie.

I let her in and stood there quietly, feeling guilty, feeling like a
complete bastard. Why hadn't I stayed with her ? Why had I avoided her
? Why hadn't I talked with her more ? Why hadn't I cared more ? I was
ready to face the music - but it wasn't like that. She was
smiling.

She told me that she had had a couple of hours' sleep and breakfasted
before anyone else was around. Then she had taken a walk in the
sunshine, re-tracing the route that we had taken a few hours
earlier.

"Thanks for looking after me last night. I mean it."

With a smile, she handed me a small spray of heather and wild flowers
that she had picked on her walk. They looked more colourful, more
vibrant than any I'd seen over the whole weekend. They smelt like
Heaven.

It was only then that I realised. I had probably shown her more
attention, more care and more love in a few hours than she'd seen in
years. No family to help, so-called friends distancing themselves,
workmates shying from the strange, sad predicament in which this young
woman undeservedly found herself.

A strangled "Thank you" made it past my lips. "I hope that &;#8230;
umm &;#8230;.. "
"Don't worry. I'll be fine", she said with a smile, kissing me on the
cheek.

Later that morning, as I pulled away from the hotel, she stood alone in
the courtyard, clutching a spray of heather close to her heart, smiling
and waving in the sunshine. She was the California Girl again.