Gap Year - Chapter 1

'This would make a wicked setting for a novel!'
She had nobody to address - save for the silent Raffles doorman - but
then Emily Speed was prone to unguarded exclamations. It was part of
the permanently enthralled air she had about her.
She possessed a vivid imagination too - and nowhere had ever captured
it more evocatively than this. The Raffles Hotel. In Singapore. Emily
had to pinch herself to make sure this was no mirage.
As she strode bouncily down regal corridors to the billiard room -
where she was partaking of 'high tea' for the second day running - she
visualised characters behind every umbrella plant and under every
ceiling fan. She saw lecherous aristocrats, kiss-curled femme fatales
in fur stoles, and Hercule Poirot, smoothing down his waxy moustache
and cogitating over matters in those famous 'little grey cells' of
his.
And she saw that lad in the khaki, who she'd noticed earlier, gazing at
her.
'Yes, one day I shall set my bestseller here!' she declared, insanely
aloud again.
If the young Singaporean doorman, motionless in his gleaming white
livery, was bemused by the spectacle of a bubbly British girl talking
to herself, he was far too professional to show it. He befitted the
sultry colonialism of this place, which Emily loved so much.
It was November. The first November Emily had not spent left cold at
the sight of continual rain, slippy brown leaves and Christmas cards
cramming the shops weeks too early. The first November she had ever
spent in muggy, jungly heat, in a vivacious land with a spicy snap in
the air that excited the hell out of her.
She had been in Singapore for two weeks; in the Far East for nearly
eight. The most exhilarating eight weeks of her life. If forced to sum
up the subcontinent in a single word, that word would probably be
'bustling.' Malaysia, Thailand, but particularly Singapore, epitomised
the 'East meets West' ambience that characterised so much of modern
Asia.
She'd seen pagodas, hawker stalls and bazaars, nestled between sleek
skyscrapers, ritzy hotels, Starbucks Coffee and Burger King outlets and
even a Manchester United shop; wizened pensioners wheezing past on
rickshaws; streets, six lanes wide, persistently clogged with traffic;
pavements alive with swarms of people, all in an apparent tearing
hurry.
Singapore had an area roughly equal to the Isle of Wight's - her
family's more customary holiday haunt - but into it were wedged about
three million more inhabitants. Its reputation as a spotless nation in
which citizens took a clear pride was well deserved. Not a scrap of
litter or graffiti sullied the roads. Smoking and eating in public were
crimes punishable by hefty on-the-spot fines, and chewing gum was
famously outlawed from the shores of this land.
But the Raffles Hotel was by far Emily's favourite place. Named after
Singapore's founder, Sir Stamford Raffles, it was a monument to
opulence; more 'English' than anywhere she'd ever eaten near her home,
slap bang in the centre of England.
And now it was time for high tea: that genteel buffet of dainty
sandwiches (crusts cut off, naturally), vol-au-vents, unidentified
fried objects, noodles, cakes and scones. A Raffles tradition, and a
typical East-West melange.
'Yow ai' in Dudley now, kiddo!' Emily whistled as the billiard room's
plush beauty took her breath for the second time in a week.

To Dominic, watching her, it was she who beautified the scene. Walking
into the billiard room - his own lunchtime destination - looking
Kylie-ishly pretty, with her bubbly smile and general aura of
joy.
The pull of her was not purely physical - she looked like the sort of
girl who would be great company too; who would make him feel as though
life was fantastic. God knows he needed that.
Not that the physical played no role at all, of course. Dom was not
above laddishly enjoying the sleek swish of her dark hair; the way her
bum undulated beneath her strappy sundress. The silky lime fabric
rippled with her every step, and shone against her sunkissed
skin.
There was an innocence about her too, though; a vitality. Dom sensed
she'd have no cynicism; no guile. He liked girls like that. He so
seldom met any.
He couldn't believe she was here again - and alone this time to boot.
Fate must be at work. Dom was not a habitual chatter-upper of girls -
but the time had come to break with habit?
Typically, his overture was clumsily timed. He reached her at precisely
the same second as the waiter.
'You probably think I'm some mad stalker - '
'Good afternoon, ma'am, sir - '
' - but I couldn't help noticing you were here yesterday - '
' - table for two, yes?
' - and I wondered if you'd like to join me?'
It was a surreal moment for Emily. She giggled at the attention she was
all of a sudden receiving. Her eyes flicked between the two men - the
politely expressionless waiter, in slick white; and this earnest
Englishman, with his messy, fetchingly boyish hair - not quite sure who
to address first.
To the former, she responded: 'Yes, I guess it is, please.'
To the latter: 'Hey, that accent sounds familiar.' For his shy brogue
was astonishingly, but unmistakably, West Midlands-honed. Like
hers.
Dom was utterly lost for words. It was the very last thing he'd
expected her to say.
He and Emily spoke no further while the young Oriental chap glided them
to a table and poured tea into their china cups, like a kind of swan
butler.
They discreetly appraised each other, smaning like nervous
blind-daters as they caught each other looking. Emily decided there was
definitely something cute about him: this stranger who had suddenly
become her lunch date in this exotic palace. Another chap could have
looked like an outsized boy scout in a khaki vest and long shorts, but
he had the quirky charm to carry it off.
'Let's go eat then,' said Dominic awkwardly.
Only upon returning from the first of their limitless visits to the
buffet, with plates loaded, did any verbal discourse resume between the
tongue-tied pair.
'So you're a Midlands girl?'
Emily giggled again - as Dominic was to discover she did before most of
her sentences. 'Ar, a Black Country wench.' She broadened her accent in
parody.
Something clanged inside Dominic's head. Something ominous.
'Whereabouts do you live?'
'Oh, just a little village, over Wolverhampton way. You've probably
never heard of it.' She flapped her hand self-deprecatingly, showering
her plate with quiche crumbs in the process.
She had no idea what her innocent words had done to Dominic. He hid it
well, though. 'What's it called?' he asked, nibbling casually at a
doll-sized piece of pizza.
'Lower Bratchley.'
'You're joking! I mean - I think I have heard of that, actually.'
'Really?'
She had such an open face. Such an open character. Not immature, but
young enough to still be girlishly astonished by everything. Despite
himself, Dom couldn't help finding her so extremely appealing.
'Mmm. It's in south Staffordshire, isn't it? Near to - what's that
little town called? - Sedgley!'
'That's right! What a small world this is.'
'It sure is.'
'Oh, I can't believe I've travelled halfway round the world and met
somebody who not only lives near me but actually knows where my rustic
little home is! This is just too amazing for words!'
Dominic took a ruffled gulp from his little teacup. No sooner was it
drained than the waiter attentively refilled it.
'I'm being careful with the old caffeine today,' Emily grimaced,
herself refusing the proffered beverage. 'I made the mistake of
polishing off six cups here yesterday - six cups! It just seems so
wasteful and rude not to drink the tea when they keep pouring it like
it's running water. But of course then I was up all night! I didn't
sleep a wink, I was that wired and hyper. Hence I look a little jangled
today.'
'Oh, I don't know,' Dominic flirted bashfully, 'you look very bright
and pretty to me.'
Emily smiled, touched by his clumsy chivalry, which was so alien and
gallant after years of being lewdly pursued by sixth form lads on heat.
Yes, she definitely preferred the older man, Emily decided. She just
hadn't realised it until now.
'So, anyway, where are you from?'
'Birmingham.'
'Really?' she repeated. 'I'm going to Birmingham Uni next year. Do you
live anywhere near there?'
'No, I'm over the other side of the city. The, er, north side. I'm
going back for seconds.'
As Dom wove his way through the buffet queue, Emily proved herself just
as much of a bum-watcher as he was. She couldn't really help it - those
shorts left little to the imagination! He was hardly hunky - but then
Emily had never gone for bodybuilders. She was unconventional in
favouring the weedier breed of male. She admired his lovely little
concave stomach and lean limbs, which were dappled with little golden
hairs and freckles.
'So you're going to university, you say?' he asked as he returned, his
plate reloaded with baby snacks. 'So that would make you, what,
seventeen? Eighteen? You look older, mind.'
'Well it's very kind of you to say so,' Emily coloured up, still at
that age in womanhood where to be taken for someone older was actually
a compliment, 'but yes, I am eighteen. I'm on my gap year at the
moment, just finished A-levels and trying to make the most of every
minute before I have to get back into study mode. I've been travelling
for a couple of months now - Thailand, Malaysia, and now Singapore. I'm
going home for Crimbo, then I'm planning to jet off again in the new
year. I fancy doing Hong Kong, and maybe venturing across to
Australia.'
'I bet you'll find little Lower Bratchley a bit of a culture shock
after all this jetsetting, eh?' he interrupted, taking advantage of one
of Emily's rare pauses for breath.
'Just a bit!' More giggles, amid mouthfuls of cucumber sandwich. 'I'm
sure I'll be dying to get on the first plane out of Birmingham Airport
after Christmas. And I can't wait to leave home for uni and city life
either. Don't get me wrong, I love the dear old village - it's pretty,
and got some fabulous characters - it's just the kind of place where
you can't fart without everyone knowing. If you'd lived there all your
life, you'd want to escape too. I imagine you can hide more easily in a
city.'
'Mmm.'
'You're so lucky to live in Brum. Got your own place, have you?'
'Yeah, a flat. But look, I can't believe we've been chuntering away
like this, when we don't even know each other's names.'
'Oh yeah.' She laughed yet again, as though it were her oversight.
'Well mine's Emily. Emily Speed.'
'Emily Speed - that's a cute name! Mine isn't quite so pretty - it's,
er, Dominic. Dominic Osbourne.'
'No relation to Ozzy?'
'I hope not! Thank God bat isn't on the menu here!' He couldn't help
but smile as she laughed prettily at his rather limp joke. She truly
was adorable. Irresistible. 'Anyway, as I was saying earlier, I saw you
here yesterday - with a chap,' he added cautiously.
'Yes, that was my cousin Kristian.'
'Oh, cousin!' Relief was written all over his face. So that hunk with
the rock star hair was family after all!
'Yes, I'm staying with him and his fianc?e Chantal while I'm here. But
Chantal couldn't make it yesterday. She had to go to the dentist - poor
girl!'
'They live here then?'
'Yeah, they both sing in a band. The resident band at the Hard Rock
Caf?, in fact. Colonel K, they're called - named after a Dangermouse
character, would you believe! They go down a storm every night. Jammy
sods - getting to do what they love doing, all expenses paid, in a
place like this!'
'How handy, having relatives here. You don't sing yourself, I take
it?'
'God no, I've got a voice like an old parrot. Shame really - if this is
the kind of lifestyle it can earn you.'
'Have they been out here long?'
'Nearly a year.'
'And they've been showing you all the sights?'
'Oh yeah, they're great guides. Kris brought me here yesterday,
obviously, and I just fell in love with the place. I had to come back a
second time. I know I shouldn't, on my student budget, but I just
couldn't resist. I mean, high tea at the Raffles is not exactly an
experience I'll be able to repeat back home.'
'I couldn't agree more. You have to make the most of the landmarks when
you're in these countries.'
'You must like it too then, if it's your second time as well. D'you
come here often?' She pulled a face in parody of the hackneyed chat-up
line.
'Yes, I love it too,' Dominic replied economically. It was not actually
his second time at Raffles - but little Emily need not know that. He
drained yet another cup of tea. 'Right, I need cake now.'
'I'll join you. The profiteroles here are to die for!' So they both
availed themselves of the cloying scones, profiteroles, and token
segments of fruit to ease their diet consciences.
'Mmm, divine,' Emily sighed with joy as a flake of chocolate-coated
choux melted on her tongue.
'You eat well for a slender girl,' Dominic commented, impressed.
'Oh, I've always eaten like a horse. I've never been your picky type.
Anyway, you've heard all about me, but what brings you to the Far East,
Dom? Are you backpacking too?'
'Oh no, my gap year's well behind me now I'm an old crock of
twenty-five. No, I actually, er, won this trip.' He gulped from, and
hid his face behind, his replenished teacup.
'Won it?' Emily was typically agog. And oh, she was off again. 'How
thrilling! How did you do that - on a game show? I know someone who
goes on game shows - well, actually he's the vicar in Bratchley,
believe it or not. Been on about twenty, he has. He won The Weakest
Link, you know, and The Price is Right, and that one with Dale Winton!
I told you our village was full of characters, didn't I!'
'Extraordinary!' Dom feigned absolute amazement. 'No, mine was actually
a competition in the, er, Daily Mirror. One of those 'answers on a
postcard' jobbies.'
'Lucky you! Aren't these trips normally for two, though?'
'What?' Dominic spluttered as a glug of tea went down the wrong
way.
'For two people. WIN A HOLIDAY FOR 2! they always say. Don't tell me
you couldn't find a friend to accompany you to this beautiful country
for free! I'd have thought they'd be queuing up.'
'Oh, they were,' he chuckled awkwardly. She was a smart 'un, this girl,
beneath the dippy fa?ade. He'd have to watch her. 'My mate, er, Tim,
has come with me, but he's in bed back at the hotel. Touch of the old
Singapore belly.' Dom patted his own tummy and made exaggerated 'sick'
faces for dramatic effect.
'What a shame! He's missing out on all this.' Emily's eyes swelled with
genuine concern. They were huge, Dom noticed, and the colour of
Bournville chocolate. His favourite. A man could sink into those
eyes?'I hope he's better soon. Give him, my love, won't you!' It was
typically Emily-ish to extend her affection to total strangers.
'I will,' promised Dominic, then switched the subject, with somewhat
flippant speed, from poor Tim's plight. 'So what else have you been
getting up to while you've been over here?'
'I spent a day at Sentosa island - oh, it's gorgeous there - I wasn't
too keen on the cable car that got me there, though - not so good with
heights, you see - and the zoo - have you been there? - oh, and Orchard
Road. The shops up there are amazing - they certainly beat the Merry
Hill Centre back home! And while I was in Thailand, I did Phuket, and
Bangkok, and - what's up, Dom?'
She broke off as Dominic checked his watch, did a double take and
abruptly put down the mini ?clair he'd been raising to his mouth with
his other hand.
'I'm sorry, Em, but I'm going to have to love and leave you right
now.'
Emily felt crushingly disappointed, and faintly panicky. 'Aw, why so
soon? You're still halfway through your sweet course.'
'I know, but I'm running late. I've got to catch a, erm, boat. For a
tour up the Singapore River. It's a trip the competition people have
organised. So, much as I'd love to stay here and carry on chatting with
you all day?'
'I understand. And you'd best go and see if Tim's all right
first.'
'Tim? Oh, er, yeah, of course. I told him not to have them prawns last
night. Ha ha. In the meantime,' he fished self-consciously for his
wallet, 'you can have this meal on me, Emily. It's been a complete
pleasure to eat with you.' He counted out S$60 (the cost of high tea
for two), fanned the notes out on to Emily's side plate, lifted her
cake-free hand to his lips and gallantly kissed it.
Emily's entire body shivered in the luxuriant afternoon heat. Fellow
diners were looking - some were laughing - but she didn't care. She had
never felt so elegant in her life: like a lady in one of the historical
romances she imagined being played out in this glorious tearoom.
She had to see him again. She could not let him vanish into the humid
air, this older man who possessed the eyes and soul of a poet - and
lived conveniently locally to boot. Emily was just ripe for a nice
holiday romance. Or, even better, a nice romance without the 'holiday'
prefix; a love affair which could resume and flourish back home.
Keep him here, Em, say anything to keep him here!
'Are you free tomorrow night?' she asked, cringing at her desperate
tone.
'Er, yes.' Dom scratched his neck noncommittally, 'I think so.'
'Why don't you come and see Kris's band at the Hard Rock? With me?' she
added rather unnecessarily, and flashed him one of her winning, keen
little smiles.
Dom gulped. He knew he shouldn't - it was asking for trouble - but on
the other hand?
'What sort of music do they play?' he stammered, stalling for
time.
'Party songs. You know, the kinda stuff you hear at wedding receptions.
Your Madness, your T-Rex, your Mustang Sally?'
He could say no; make some excuse; tell her he hated Madness, or
something. Or he could say something outright cruel, such as 'Sorry,
love, you're just not my type. You're too young for me, and you talk
too much. I can't stand little wenches with verbal diarrhoea.' He could
just march out of there and never see her again.
Except such spite was not in him. and anyway, it wouldn't be true. The
irony - that he had made all the running, yet was now trying to affect
disinterest - was not lost on him. But then he'd approached her not
knowing what risk any association with her might pose. Oh, why couldn't
he have chosen a wench from Manchester, or Scotland, or Outer Mongolia,
to chat up? As she'd said herself, what were the chances of two
travellers meeting six thousand miles from their neighbouring
homes?
But then he looked at her again - really looked at her, his sweet,
garrulous Emily with the chocolate brown eyes - and knew all was lost.
Doomed. Hell, he wanted to see her again! He'd just have to take the
consequences.
He swallowed the rueful 'No' that was on the tip of his tongue. 'Yes,
I'd love to.'
'You would?' Her face lit up like Walsall Illuminations. 'Shall we meet
outside then? About eight, say?'
'Bostin', our kid!'
'Hope Tim's well enough to come too.'
Secretly, she actually hoped he was still poorly. He'd only be a
gooseberry; an obstacle in her way of time alone with her gorgeous
Dominic.
'See you tomorrow then, Emily Speed.' He grinned lingeringly at her,
pivoted on his heel and was gone. Emily watched him pace away on
sandaled feet until he was out of sight.
Dom, for his part, felt like kicking himself with said sandals. What
was he thinking of? He knew he was playing a foolish game; a dangerous
one, even. But it was too late. He was hooked now.