When he asked her to the cinema, Terri had never imagined a date so grand. Truth be told, she’d never really imagined a proper date.
At seventeen, she had left school with adequate results. Her future was guaranteed within the parameters she’d been set by her parents and her grandparents. It was safe, secure, born of love. It was everything they’d ever had themselves and everything they’d ever wanted for her.
Terri faced the crossroads of her life with an aching heart.
Paul Cutler had already shown her that things could be different. Not with actions, but with words. She’d always loved reading — at age thirteen she’d managed to sneak the entire five book series of The Belgariad into her bedroom and fallen in love with the romance, the imagination and the camaraderie. It had been a glimpse into another world; not just fantasy but the world of possibility.
Cutler offered no pressure, and that made it all harder. The man was so easy-going and yet so attentive. He owned her heart… but she knew leaving Japan would destroy her parents. Their lives had been built around providing for her. This would end them.
So, she let Cutler go; broke all contact with the American, broke his heart in the process. Terri settled into a normal, uneventful life and tried to push all other concerns aside.
But once in your life, you find someone.
Her emotions, her heart, was irrelevant. As time passed, her own parents were aging and needed more care. Terri would be the one to provide that extra care. It was the tradition, the discipline of life.
But life throws events at you. It hurls adversity in the way of choices, or choices in the way of adversity. It tests you, but it also gives you options.
Hard options.
Terri’s father suffered a stroke when she was twenty five. She stayed and she helped and loved it when he came home from hospital, a healed but slightly different man to the one she’d always known now. For so long, children saw their parents as invulnerable, eternal, a safe, immovable wall that would always be there to break their fall and tend their wounds. When those parents started to suffer, to look vulnerable, it marked the end of whatever childhood a person may have been holding on to. Bluntly, it killed the dreams of youth, and proved mortality.
Terri saw her father’s stroke not as a warning to him, she saw it as a warning to her. Life is fragile, life is short; get out there while you can.
After two months of softening the blow she took whatever savings she had and left home, determined to search out her long-lost friend — Paul Cutler — wherever he may be in the world.
It was a noble quest — akin to those she’d embarked on in her early teens through the power of imagination. The difference being that this world could hurt her. Terri started in Tokyo, quizzing the coffee shop owners — whom she knew — for information on Cutler’s whereabouts. She came away with meagre fare — a family address in the States and a dubious new employer in Thailand. The one thing that urged her on was the date he’d quit — just two weeks after they’d broken up.
In Thailand, she encountered an entirely new world: part intoxicating, part terrifying. Initially, and then again the second night, she made her mind up to go home — but both nights something happened. She saw a kind of wonder — a happiness in the majority of people that crossed her path, and realized that all they were doing… was living.
Cutler had worked for a small establishment in Phuket for about six months. The knowledge, when it came, electrified her, for somehow she enjoyed the idea of following his footsteps around the world, of zeroing in on his new life.
Maybe it was her earnest and honest attitude, or her enthusiastic outlook, but Cutler’s employers readily passed along what details they had. The American had given the same US address, but also a new one — this time he’d moved to Europe.
Terri followed him to Warsaw in Poland where he worked for a woman named Joanna. Terri met her personally and very quickly came out with the whole story — life so far having taught her to be open, trusting and giving. Joanna had been about the world herself, and imparted several nuggets of bad experience before sending Terri on her way.
To Paris.
It was a slightly different Terri that trod the Champs Elysees and wandered the Louvre; that watched a football match in a pub whilst drinking beer. It was a harder Terri that realized she would have to take on some part-time work to supplement her savings. Of course, she gravitated to the address Joanna had given her and worked hard for six weeks in the pub where, two years ago, Paul Cutler had spent eight months.
Touching the same surfaces that he had touched; seeing the same furnishings. Even talking to the same people. It comforted her until she found his leaving information and realized that he’d moved on to another bar, here in Paris.
By now, she’d developed a few skills. She’d learned to read people, to watch their movements and look for patterns. But it never once felt deceitful to her — she was merely chasing a dream.
The new bar took some cracking. The place had changed hands more times than she could fathom and was currently being run by an unsavory family from Russia. Terri didn’t want to work there. In the end she took a risk — one of the first true risks of her life. She paid a bartender for the information, then skipped town immediately, never knowing or wanting to know what happened next. Was she burying her head in the sand or growing wiser? It didn’t matter, because now she was a mere four months behind Paul Cutler and close to finding him.
London was her next stop. A little pub called the Wilton Arms in Knightsbridge. Terri entered the UK visa-free with her Japanese passport and spent a little time pretending to be a local worker that popped in after work for a quick drink.
Head down for most of the time, trembling even, she had carefully watched the staff. Paul Cutler was nowhere to be seen. A week passed, and then on a quiet Sunday afternoon she plucked up the courage to ask a female member of staff who’d just started smiling at the new regular.
“Hello, how long have you worked here please?”
The short, blond-haired bartender rose from the table she’d been wiping and looked surprised. “Oh, I guess, six months. Why?”
Perfect. Terri’s heart had never raced so much.
“I’m searching for a friend of mine and was told he worked here about four months ago. His name is Paul Cutler. He’s American and… you’d remember him, I’m sure.”
“Ah, Paul,” the blond lady nodded. “He was… a lovely lad.”
Something about the way she spoke, about the way her features fell, sent a wall of ice crashing down Terri’s spine.
“He’s… not here?” It was a forlorn whisper.
“Paul… fell in with the wrong crew. Small gang from the west end. Robbers, I think. They promised him a bit of adventure and a lot of money, so he joined their crew. Then, one night, he told me that he wanted out, and that he was going to tell them.” The woman sat down heavily across from Terri.
“And then?”
“Nothing. Paul never returned to his job. I checked the Internet…” She whispered the last. “But… well, his name never came up.”
It took Terri a minute to understand the blond woman was referring to obituaries — deaths. The cold water flooding down her spine quickly washed through her entire body. It was one thing to be tracking the love of your life, imagining him to be just two or three steps ahead of you, but it was quite another to be told that everything she’d imagined could be very, very wrong.
Paul might even have died whilst she’d been searching. How close had she come?