Pieces of My Life - Rachel Dann

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a chair. All traces of the anger and tension I saw in him just now have gone. He even starts to whistle to himself as he pulls out his razor and heads into the bathroom, turning the tap on.

      ‘Harry? Are you… okay?’ I call after him.

      He turns to look at me through the open bathroom door, and his face breaks into a broad, gorgeous smile.

      ‘Of course, babe – why? I was going to ask you the same thing… you look a bit rough sitting there on the floor like that.’ He chuckles and turns back to the mirror.

      ‘Oh… just the jet lag, like you say,’ I mutter, feeling stupid, and haul myself to my feet. I potter about unpacking some clothes and the silence in the room grows.

      Just ask him what the hell all that was about.

      The question is on the tip of my tongue. But something about Harry’s overly cheerful demeanour feels like a kind of warning. He has to be faking it. There’s no way even someone as impulsive and spontaneous as Harry could go from shouty, hair-tuggingly anxious phone calls to bright and breezy unpacking in the space of two minutes. With a wrench, I’m reminded of Harry’s increasingly distant behaviour in the weeks before the trip. His irritability when I tried to ask him about it. It had seemed so unlike the laid-back bloke I was used to living with, and I’d put it down to the stress of planning such an ambitious voyage. But now we’re here, shouldn’t he be relaxing and embracing the adventure ahead? I stare at Harry’s back and admit to myself the uncomfortable truth that, at times, I feel like I have no idea what makes him tick.

      Wasn’t this trip supposed to bring us closer together?

      If his behaviour over the last few weeks is anything to go by, he’ll only get all defensive if I ask him what that phone call was about, I realise. I briefly imagine what it would be like if we fell out, now, today. He’s all I have in a strange country. Plus, I still feel like my body clock has been taken out, rewound and shoved back in upside down. It was probably nothing anyway, I almost manage to convince myself. It could have been the airline, or one of the hotels or tour companies we’ve looked at.

      ‘By the way, it’s because he’s been living here twelve years and Spanish and English have started to mix together in his head,’ Harry calls from the bathroom, patting his face off with a towel.

      ‘Eh?’

      ‘Ray. That’s why he speaks like that. He can’t really tell the difference between the two languages anymore, so he uses Spanish word order when speaking English, and vice versa. He came backpacking here after uni, met a girl and never left.’ He comes back into the room, produces a cold beer from somewhere and hands it to me. ‘I’ve been down in the bar all afternoon with him, waiting for you to wake up.’

      ‘Oh.’ Suddenly I’m hit by a wave of homesickness. But not for our house in Fenbridge… to my surprise, an image of my mum’s living room fills my mind. I’m in the armchair, drinking hot chocolate, with Steve in the corner behind his paper and Mum watching Strictly Come Dancing with the volume turned down. I wouldn’t need to worry, then, about who Harry has been shouting at, or whether he’s keeping some sort of secret from me. I could just slide back into my old routine and pretend none of this had ever happened. For the first time in weeks, I feel something other than excitement and eagerness about our forthcoming adventure. For if we’ve only just arrived and Harry is behaving like this… what do the next three months hold for me?

      I don’t know what takes me more by surprise, the feeling of actually wanting to be at my mum’s house or the sudden pounding music that starts to blast out from somewhere below us.

      ‘That’s Ray getting the bar going – come on, Kirst, our first night in Quito has begun!’ Harry looks so happy and mischievous, I resolve to push my concerns to the back of my mind for now. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about whatever it was, but I’m sure it will all become clear in time, and I will have been worrying for nothing.

      ‘Drink up that beer and let’s go!’ Harry stops to kiss me on the cheek and cracks open another beer for himself.

      After a brief effort to make myself look presentable, I follow him out of our hotel room for a night of wild partying.

      ‘Oh, wait.’ Harry stops dead in the corridor. ‘There are six missed calls, an email and about a hundred WhatsApp messages from your mother. You should call her first.’

      The hotel bar area is thronged with the same colourful assortment of tourists as it was this morning, except now they’re all knocking back pints of beer and gaudy cocktails instead of coffee and toast. Upbeat, tropical-sounding music is playing from a complicated stereo system in the corner. We spot Ray behind the bar performing several complicated manoeuvres with a cocktail shaker, then pouring a thick, bright-yellow liquid into two tall glasses, all the while chatting energetically to the other two barmen. As soon as he catches sight of us he gestures to one of his colleagues, and within seconds the two glasses of yellow liquid are placed on a table before us along with enormous plates of chicken, rice and what seem to be monster-sized fried bananas.

      ‘Mum sends her love,’ I tell Harry, sitting down beside him to tuck in hungrily. ‘I also had to assure her there are no volcanic eruptions, landslides or civil protests currently unfolding in Quito.’ Harry rolls his eyes in empathy at my mum’s typical fussing.

      Ray pulls up a chair, too, with his own glass of the vivid yellow drink.

      ‘Sugar cane syrup,’ he explains happily. ‘They call it canelazo. Mixed with fruit from the jungle and canela – what do you call that? Cinnamon.’ He raises his glass. ‘Now Kirsty is finally awake, I can officially say – welcome to Ecuador!’

      We stop stuffing our faces with the delicious fried banana long enough to chink glasses with Ray and take a gulp of the liquid. It’s spicy and sweet and throat-burningly strong.

      ‘So, any recommendations for a night out?’ Harry asks, already draining his glass. ‘I think it’s time for Kirsty and me to get smashed.’ Ray catches my eye with one eyebrow slightly raised.

      ‘Er, yes, definitely,’ I say, with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. ‘Getting smashed it is.’

      Ray’s gaze flicks between Harry and me, and for a brief second I self-consciously wonder what he is thinking.

      ‘Well, if you like, once the wife gets home shortly we can take you out to sample Quito’s nightlife? I’m sure these guys can hold the fort here.’ He waves vaguely in the direction of the bar staff. ‘Oh, and Barry always keeps an eye on things when we go out. He practically lives here.’ I notice the chubby man sitting in the far corner of the bar, in the shadows, silently watching us. Bizarrely, I’m reminded of Aragorn sitting in the tavern in Lord of the Rings, watching the hobbits cause chaos around him with a disapproving air. ‘She kicked you out again?’ Ray calls cheerfully to him. Barry responds by raising his glass, unsmiling, then taking a long drink from it.

      ‘Gabi’s eight months pregnant, so we won’t be joining you in getting smashed, but we can certainly show you some sights,’ Ray continues. ‘We were talking about meeting some friends in town tonight anyway, so how about we all go?’

      ‘Amazing!’ exclaims Harry, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. ‘How about it, Kirst?’

      I nod and smile and thank Ray, but once he turns back to the bar I touch Harry’s arm.

      ‘Since when have we ever gone out and got smashed?’ I ask him under my breath, trying to sound light-hearted. ‘I mean, since uni, which feels like a hundred years ago. I’m up for going to a bar, but…’

      ‘Oh, come on!’ Harry interrupts me. ‘Uni wasn’t that long ago. We’re still young – well, reasonably young!’ He laughs and grins and gives my waist a squeeze, and it strikes me that there is something a little bit manic about his

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