Thai Girl Read online

  ‘I’m going to join Maca and Chuck,’ he said. ‘I’m desperate for a beer.’

  ‘You sodding dare, Ben … I’ll kill you. You wait while I shower too.’

  When Emma had showered, they both went down to where Maca and Chuck were sitting under a beach umbrella, well into their third Singha beer.

  ‘Aren’t you worried about getting a room?’ Emma asked Maca.

  ‘Too easy, Emm, we’ve got one. The girl brought us the check-in forms and we did it all from here. Beer’s priority.’

  ‘You smooth bugger,’ said Ben. ‘We had a shower but there were no towels or soap. Can’t think why they didn’t tell us at reception.’

  ‘Why should they? Everyone knows you don’t get towels and soap.’

  Ben then announced that he was starving hungry and asked for a menu.

  ‘Best standby’s a good old cowpat,’ said Maca in mock pommie accent.

  ‘Whatever’s cowpat?’ asked Ben.

  ‘It’s Thai for fried rice. Yeah really! Call the girl over and say “kor cowpat moo” and she’ll get you a pork fried rice.’

  The girl came to the table and Ben said, ‘kor cowpat moo’. The others ordered too, and within minutes, there on the beach in the middle of the afternoon, a sumptuous meal was spread before them.

  ‘A tropical beach, a cold beer and cowpat moo for a couple of quid. Can you beat that?’ said Ben, looking pleased with himself.

  Hunger, thirst and tiredness relieved, Emma now had a chance to sit back and look around. The beach was breathtaking, the view out to sea what dreams are made of. The holiday huts were a little ramshackle with more concrete and corrugation than she would have liked, but the natural beauty of the island at last justified all the travelling.

  Nearby at one of the bamboo tables a little further along the sand, Stig, the truck driver and Clarissa, the corporate lawyer were sitting together, lost in conversation.

  ‘Bet they’re talking about his old car!’ quipped Maca. ‘Like, “I’ll buy you a Chevrolet, if you’ll just give me some of your love, Clarissa babe.”’

  ‘Or maybe they’re talking about dressage,’ said Ben.

  The afternoon slipped by as lazy tropical afternoons do, Maca and Chuck exerting the minimum possible physical effort. That was why, Emma decided, they were such accomplished travellers; for not rushing on to the next beach but instead staying peacefully put.

  ‘So when shall we eat tonight?’ asked Ben to nobody in particular.

  ‘Meet here at seven?’ said Maca. ‘I’ll tell Stig and Clarissa in case they want to join us … should be good for a piss-take. But now’s my siesta time, so see ya later.’

  Emma was not sure whether she was included in the party, nor if she wanted to be. After his night out with these two crazy travellers in Bangkok, Ben was cosying up to them and had bonded with them so strongly that she hardly felt a part of his life any more.

  7

  Well before seven that evening, Maca and Chuck were out on the beach, comfortably installed on bamboo chairs, beer bottles in hand. It was already inkily dark. Maca had bagged a brace of English girls who he hoped might be game and was liberally applying his easy Aussie charm, while Chuck was being mysterious and American, his soft brown eyes smiling from behind his spare pair of glasses.

  Two tables had been put together on the sand and were laden with beer bottles, each one in a red striped polystyrene jacket to keep it chilled. Around the table sat Ben and Emma, Chuck and Maca, Clarissa and Stig, and the two English girls, Samantha and Nadia. Nobody had bothered to dress up for the evening except the English girls who had made an obvious effort with long skirts and makeup, Nadia, her short hair scraped back and shiny with oil. To Ben they looked like tourists and not travellers at all.

  Behind the tables was a magnificent display of seafood. Tiger prawns, sea bass and red snapper, tuna, squid, mussels, crab and lobster were all waiting to go on the barbecue which was fired up and glowing. Further along the beach other eating places had set up their tables on the sand, each lit with an oil lamp. These and the electric lighting sparkled and reflected off wet patches on the sand, picking out the spume of the waves swirling in the darkness a few yards away.

  ‘Hi, I’m Ben and this is Emma,’ said Ben to the English girls as he sat down.

  ‘I’m Sam and this is Nadia … we’re travelling together.’

  Ben thought them a bit odd.

  ‘Sam? Why Sam?’ he asked.

  ‘’Cos Mum called me Samantha,’ she said tartly in strong estuary English.

  ‘Oh, right.’

  There was an awkward silence, quickly rescued by Maca.

  ‘How ya goin’ Sam? I’m Maca, and this is Clarissa from Blighty and Stig from the North Pole. And my friend, Charles … the only shy American.’

  ‘Call me Chuck,’ he said, looking shyly around the group.

  ‘Howlongyoubin in Thailand, Stig?’ said Maca, asking the universal opener.

  ‘Pattaya one month. Always good, Pattaya.’

  ‘Pattaya good for the ladies, yah?’

  ‘Yah, I like,’ said Stig. ‘It’s the best.’

  ‘But I just adore Koh Samet,’ enthused Clarissa. ‘These are the good old days!’

  ‘Golly yes, by Jove!’ said Maca mercilessly. ‘And Sam, howlongyoubin here?’

  ‘Three weeks and I detest it,’ said Samantha. It was quite a conversation stopper.

  ‘Why?’ asked Maca in surprise. ‘Whatever’s wrong with Thailand?’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing’d make me want to come back. Land of Smiles, my arse.’

  Ben eyed Samantha across the table. She was in her early twenties with a golden tan, dark, close-cropped hair, large vulnerable eyes and a full body, tightly packaged in a skimpy top. Not bad at all, he thought, though Nadia’s a bit butch.

  ‘Had some nasty experiences then?’ he asked Samantha.

  ‘Not really, but the Thais cart us around like animals without telling us what’s going on. They’re inefficient, can’t read a clock and never give a straight answer to a simple question. Smiley when they want to be, but at other times totally offhand.’

  ‘Well, I like them as they are,’ said Maca. ‘We’re their livelihood but they keep their dignity.’

  ‘They don’t have to be so rude!’ said Samantha.

  ‘Maybe we get the response we deserve,’ he said provocatively. ‘And we don’t want’em ending up like these Americans with their plastic McDonalds politeness.’

  Ben could see the fire in Samantha’s eyes as she responded.

  ‘Well, I’m talking about the basics. They just don’t react normally!’

  ‘But it depends what’s normal … your normal behaviour isn’t the same as theirs. Maybe it’s a language problem … they’re embarrassed because they can’t understand, so they just giggle. They’ll clam up if there’s any tension or if they sense you don’t like their country. Probing questions make them uncomfortable too … they’ll just tell you what they think you want to hear.’

  ‘But you’ve got to be able to ask for things!’ said Samantha angrily.

  ‘Yes, but you gotta keep’em smiling. Harmony’s number one.’

  ‘Even when I’m paying them!’ Samantha gripped the arms of her chair and glared at Maca.

  ‘Maybe that’s it … you standing on your rights. You mustn’t demand or complain … and don’t ever expect an apology from a Thai. They may seem humble, but make’em lose face and you’ll just get passive resistance. It can be frustrating but it’s better than confrontation, American-style.’

  ‘Sure man … shut up about Americans and pass on this spliff,’ said Chuck. A soggy hand-rolled cigarette went on around the table, only Clarissa passing it on unpuffed.

  ‘Anyway, I like lazing around and being harmonious,’ said Maca. ‘That’s why I’m here … for the Thais and their gentleness.’

  Intense and unsmiling and armed with a fresh bottle of beer, Samantha now tried another justification for not liking Thail
and.

  ‘And what about sex for sale,’ she said. ‘In Bangkok it’s totally open. Nadia and me went to the nightmarket in Patpong Road. The touts outside the bars were disgusting, trying to drag us into them sex shows. Showed us these cards … “pussy eat banana, boy fuck girl”. Stuff like that.’

  ‘Sam, it’s the same the whole world over,’ said Stig lolling back in his chair, his five o’clock shadow creased into a permanent smile.

  ‘Yeah, but Bangkok’s swarming with’em. And they’re all on the make … not like the working girls in London who really are on the skids.’

  ‘How do you tell the difference?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I pass through Kings Cross on my way back to Hackney and you see real despair … drug dependency and that. The girls here just want to make a fast buck. They even look like they’re enjoying it.’

  ‘Yeah, the English hookers are as miserable as hell, aren’t they,’ said Ben, shooting himself in the foot. ‘Who wouldn’t want the Thai girls!’ Emma glowered at him.

  ‘Trust you to lower the tone,’ she said, angrily pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighting up. Ben looked away and grinned at Chuck.

  There was a brief pause, but Maca had not yet finished sparring with Samantha.

  ‘Generalisations are dangerous, Sam. Most of the sex workers you see in the farang bars are from Isaan … that’s the rice farming region in the North East which is dry and very poor. Thousands of men and women from there leave home and come to the cities to make a bit of cash.’

  ‘But they don’t have to be prostitutes do they,’ broke in Samantha sharply.

  ‘No, though they may have little choice. Some are sold into prostitution when they’re very young. Or the job agency gives the parents a cash advance which the girl can only pay off by selling herself. And there’s kids to feed.’

  ‘But I bet it’s not always like that,’ said Samantha, cradling her bottle in her hands.

  ‘No, maybe some of them just want to get on in life. But don’t forget, they’re not all Thais. The illegal immigrants from Burma, Lao and Cambodia are the most at risk. If they’re run across the border and tricked into prostitution here, it seems hard to condemn them as sluts.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Emma. ‘Don’t stigmatise the women, blame the men who buy them. Why’s it a disgrace to be a prostitute but macho for a man to shag’em?’

  ‘Yes, Sam, don’t be so judgmental. It’s all because of poverty,’ said Nadia, nervously speaking up for the first time.

  The surprised silence that followed was broken by Clarissa.

  ‘Nadia’s right. Can you imagine poverty and what you’d do to escape it. I’ve just given up my job because I’ve done okay, but think what it’d be like for a Thai peasant to have steady money. Some of them are so poor. You should’ve seen the hotel porter’s smile when I gave him a twenty baht note.’

  ‘Dinkie die,’ said Maca. ‘When I think about sitting here on my Aussie arse drinking all day, I nearly die of guilt.’

  ‘Have another beer to deaden the pain then,’ said Ben.

  ‘Well I’m as dry as a dead dingo’s donger, so I don’t mind if I do. But seriously, Ben… Thailand’s rich compared to Laos or Cambodia. And in rural Thailand the family’s still everything, even if people do have to leave home to find work.’

  ‘So you’re saying rural poverty here’s not so bad then?’

  ‘Not really … in Thailand there’s still a poverty of opportunity. Back home you can get up and go, but here there’s so much under-employment and wasted talent. Even if you’ve got enough to eat, what sort of a life is it selling noodles from a roadside stall when in the West you could be a teacher or doctor.’

  ‘Like we’re all going to be when we go back home,’ interjected Ben flippantly.

  ‘And take America where our Chuck comes from. Anyone can start an internet company aged twenty five and bugger off and tan their ass in Thailand for a year or two before getting back on the merry-go-round.’ Chuck ignored him and said nothing.

  ‘All this breast-beating’s making me hungry,’ said Clarissa. ‘I could eat a horse.’

  She called for menus and they all ordered red and green curries, noodles and fried rice and more beer.

  ‘I suppose I’m a case in point,’ she said. ‘I can plan my life. I’ve had real choices. Of course it doesn’t always go to plan … worst of all when my horse died. But I’ve put my career on hold, let my house in Islington and returned my company car. I was working sixteen hours a day, half of it over the Atlantic going to meetings in New York. It was grim but now I’m flying for free with my Air Miles.’

  ‘Alright for some,’ said Samantha sourly.

  ‘Yes, but there’s always a price. Corporate law was exciting and I’m glad I did it, but I’m glad I’m not doing it any more. No more grovelling to my clients and worrying about professional negligence claims. Escaping my mobile’s amazing.’

  ‘So we’re all running away from something then. Is that what we’re doing?’ asked Emma, drawing on her cigarette. ‘Me and Ben couldn’t make any decisions after uni, so we went travelling to avoid growing up.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Ben indignantly. ‘I went travelling to learn about other parts of the world.’

  ‘Crap, you didn’t. You just weren’t mature enough to face up to work … so why not sponge off your parents and bugger off abroad. What parts did you learn about in the go-go bars then? Tell me that!’

  Ben was saved from having to answer Emma’s broadside by the food arriving at the table, but when everyone was dipping in, she pressed her point.

  ‘So maybe we’re all in transition or putting off difficult decisions … like me and Ben not getting jobs, Clarissa leaving hers, and Chuck and Maca forever drifting around the place. But what about you?’ she asked the two girls.

  ‘Well, I don’t see it as running away,’ said Samantha. Me and Nadia gave up our jobs to come out here … Thailand first, then Malaysia and Singapore. But it’s all a bit different for us … life I mean.’

  ‘Why is it? In what way?’

  ‘Well, there’s no horses in Hackney … silver spoon up me arse more like. None of this university stuff … just got a few GCSEs and I’m lucky to be a secretary. I’ve struggled up from the bottom and now I’m a supervisor … well, I was until I gave in my notice. It was partly because I broke up with my boyfriend. Then me and Nadia came out here together.’

  ‘And now you hate Thailand?’

  ‘Well, not hate it exactly, but it’s not what I expected. We’ve worked for our holiday and now we want to relax and not be fighting with the Thais.’

  ‘But why do you see everyone as hostile?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Maybe because where I come from, life’s always a struggle and you have to battle for every little thing. And there’s so many decisions to make, so many choices. I don’t just mean work, I mean life in general … what you want to be, who you settle down with and stuff. It’s like I’m always at a turning point and about to get it wrong.’ Samantha clung to her empty beer bottle.

  ‘How nice,’ said Clarissa. ‘Getting older means I don’t have so many options left.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ said Samantha. ‘Fewer nooses to stick your neck into. I envy the Thai workers here on the beach with no prospects, just blue sea and sky.’

  ‘You can’t really believe that,’ said Ben. ‘Everyone wants opportunities and not to be stuck in a hole.’

  Samantha was sitting stiffly upright, but the alcohol had loosened her tongue.

  ‘I’m sure getting older can be tough,’ she said, ‘but I always think of my Auntie Ada. She’s lived in Hackney all her life … it’s the whole world to her. She was a cleaner, married to my Uncle Ken. He snuffed it a few years back and now she’s got the ideal life, safe and settled. She’s got her pension, has tea with her friends and watches her favourite telly programmes. My cousins take the grandchildren round at weekends and she makes’em fat with piles of cakes. There’s no decision
s to make and she doesn’t want anything different. I really envy her.’

  ‘Sounds awful,’ said Emma. ‘Moving on’s not easy but it’s exciting too.’

  Some serious eating from the collection of dishes in the middle of the table was not going to stop Clarissa challenging Samantha.

  ‘No Sam, your auntie just made the best of a bad job. It’s you who’s got everything … your health, good looks and boyfriends if you want them, sexual freedom without being seen as a slapper. Career, money, travel, control of your life. Your auntie had none of these. She was messed up by the war I suppose, and by womens’ low status … no expectations and no chance of anything better. You were born at the best possible time … you can have whatever you want.’

  ‘No I can’t. Anyway I’d rather have fewer options and more security. I’d like an easy life, like the Thai workers here on the beach.’

  Maca guessed Sam’s bluntness was because she’d drunk too much and perhaps to tell these middle class plonkers how easy they’d had it in life.

  ‘Look Sam,’ he said. ‘Try telling that to the girl who served our food tonight. Imagine what she’d give for the money you earn, for regular hours and holidays … all dreams beyond belief. People get trapped, the Thais too, desperate to move on in life. That’s why some of them even sell their bodies.’

  ‘But I could never ever do that,’ said Samantha. ‘Never!’

  ‘It’s easy for you to say that, but you’ve never been so hopeless. Lots of the bar girls have children, and women’ll do almost anything for their kids.’

  ‘Well, maybe, but work on the island still looks an easy option to me.’

  ‘Okay then, imagine being a worker on this beach,’ said Maca. ‘The island was almost uninhabited before it was hit by tourism and now all the guesthouses need cooks, cleaners, waiters. So there are hundreds, maybe thousands of migrant workers here, most of them from Isaan, the North East. It’s hard to make a living farming rice, so families send their young away to find work. The waitress is from there … her broad face and dark skin are typical Isaan. I’ll bet she sends money back to her Mum and just scrapes by herself … you wouldn’t believe the long hours and low wages. She may go home in the rainy season to help on the farm, but that’s her world … never been anywhere else and never will.’ He stared out at the bright lights of the distant fishing boats and paused for breath.