Thai Girl

Andrew Hicks

thai girl

Contents

D
EDICATION

M
AP OF
T
HAILAND

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

E
PILOGUE

M
Y
T
HAI
G
IRL
A
ND
I

A
BOUT
T
HE
A
UTHOR

C
OPYRIGHT

Dedication

Thai Girl
is dedicated to the migrant workers of Thailand who, through force of circumstance, leave their land and families in search of a livelihood elsewhere. In particular it is dedicated to those from Isaan, the arid North East region, who provide an endless supply of cheap labour for the modern economy and who in consequence are now losing a traditional way of life and values that are the essence of rural Thailand.

Map of Thailand

1

Hey, Emm, where did the knickers go? They were in knickers just now,' yelled Ben over the music, keeping his eyes on the girls.

‘Stuffed ‘em down the boots,' Emma bellowed back.

‘I must've blinked!' he hissed. ‘And now they're all in their birthday suits.'

In the Bangkok go-go bar, a dozen or so Thai girls were gyrating mindlessly around chromium poles. Sitting a few feet away on pink plastic seats, Emma and Ben stared in disbelief. They were typical backpackers in tee shirts and loose trousers with leg pockets, Ben tall, fair and blue-eyed, Emma carefully made up, her dark hair tied in a neat bunch at the back. As new arrivals in Thailand their pallor contrasted with the golden skin of the dancers who now wore nothing more than thigh boots and glazed expressions.

‘Must be weird for a nice lad like you, Ben … all this flesh on display,' said Emma.

‘Think I can get used to it, thanks,' he replied with a broad grin.

‘Maybe that says something about you then.
You
wanted to come in here, not me. And now you've seen it all … bums and tits to last a lifetime.'

‘Well, it's certainly livelier than the bars on campus!' he said, his eyes out on stalks.

Emma's head was still spinning from twenty four hours of travel, from jetlag, a day of culture shock in a hot, steamy city, and now the deafening noise of the go-go bar.

After they were hustled inside by the touts at the door, a waitress dressed as a schoolgirl brought them cold beers and a bill that came as an unpleasant shock. To Emma's embarrassment, Ben refused to let it pass.

‘The touts said there's no cover charge … no wonder with beers at this price!' he shouted at the girl. ‘What a rip-off.'

Looking hurt, she took his money and stalked off without a word.

‘Rip-off or not, Ben, it's still cheaper than your snobby pubs back home. And you're getting loads to gawp at!' said Emma, glaring at him in disgust.

‘Easy Emm, this is what everyone comes to see. Don't take it so seriously.'

‘Not serious? Women for sale!' she retorted.

‘But they look happy enough to me … it's them chooses to be dancers.'

‘Get real! Nobody does this unless they have to. And I tell you Ben, I just can't believe I'm in here!' she said, shifting uncomfortably on her seat.

‘Well, I didn't force you, did I,' said Ben.

‘You damn well did! You made me come with you to Thailand and now you drag me into this dreadful place.' She gave him a long, withering look.

Later that night in their grubby guesthouse room, Emma lay sobbing silently into the pillow, trying hard not to let her convulsions shake the bed. Beside her, Ben was sleeping soundly, oblivious to her distress. She lay awake for hours contemplating the rest of the holiday in Thailand with dread.

It was now a mystery to her why she had let herself be talked into travelling with him, though it was probably the romantic dream of Thailand that tipped the balance. She recalled her preconceptions of old Siam, of Anna and the King in soft focus, jumbled up with images of temples and mountains, tropical beaches, buffalo carts and rice farmers in conical hats. But she had quickly discovered that the reality was very different. Bangkok was modern and materialistic, and nothing could warn of the oppressive heat that made walking the crowded streets arduous and debilitating.

She remembered the arguments about going to Thailand together that started a few months earlier when she and Ben graduated from Sussex University on the English south coast and student life came to a sudden end. Ben was staying at his family home in Haywards Heath and she was living with her parents in Swindon, both of them working all hours to clear their student debts and save enough to go travelling. After three years in each others' pockets at university, she had quickly adapted to a more distant relationship by email and telephone; at least on the phone she could have a smoke without getting told off.

It was often Ben who picked up the phone and made the call.

‘Hi Emm, how's it going?' he began, his telephone voice upbeat as always.

‘Grim. Crappy work and hell with the wrinklies. What about you?'

‘Friend of Dad's just got me a great job doing questionnaires in the high street.'

‘Daddy would have a friend! I'm still stuck in Tescos all day, and night times pulling pints in a grotty pub round the corner,' she grumbled.

‘So what's wrong at home then?'

‘Well, everything. Soon as I get back from work Mum just starts. If plates are still dirty from breakfast, she goes ballistic … and when I spend too long on the phone or in the shower. It's that sort of stupid stuff.'

‘Is that all?'

‘No, they make me feel I've let them down because I can't find a proper job,' she said miserably.

‘What's the hurry to get a job anyway? Come to Thailand with me instead … you always said you would.'

‘I'm not sure I can, Ben. Jobs are so difficult to find and if I drift off, I won't get anything worth having.'

‘Stuff careers! Live life first.'

‘You mean run away?' Emma hugged the phone and chewed her lip.

‘Remember us in third year, Emm? Thinking about the beaches was the only thing that kept us going. But anyway, if you don't come with me, what are you going to do with yourself?'

Emma had no answer which made her even more irritated by Ben's casual failure to look for a career. With his solid middle class background, his self-confidence and family contacts, he gave her the impression that the world owed him a living. As she lay on the bed in Bangkok unable to sleep, her smouldering resentment came back to her, the phone conversation always predictable.

‘Emm, why did you want to work for M & S anyway? One step up from stacking shelves if you ask me. And that biscuit factory thing in Swindon was rubbish.'

‘Well, I was going for something secure.'

‘But why get a job you don't really like?'

‘Got to do something.'

‘And if you weren't that keen, why worry when you didn't get it?'

‘Because Dad sees me as a failure … even worse if I bugger off to Thailand with you,' she complained.

‘Travel first, and when you get back there's always law, accounting, investment banking.'

‘Maybe for you … with your family opening doors.'

‘That's crap, Emm and you know it!'

Feeling insecure and sorry for herself, Emma tried not to sound too feeble. ‘Life's been on rails so far,' she said, ‘but they don't help you any more … after graduating you're on your own. And they keep on saying, “Well, what sort of career d'you want, Emma?” But how do I know what I want to do with the rest of my life?'

‘Keep working at it and the right thing'll turn up,' said Ben.

‘Me with a Lower Second in Sociology? Awesome or what!'

‘You've got to believe in yourself, Emm, you're not that useless.'

‘Ben, I really hate you sometimes.'

‘And I hate your moods and sulks.'

As she lay sweltering in the damp heat of the tropical night, Emma thought of the time Ben rang to tell her about taking his little sister into the local pub for the first time. There was something about Ben's cosiness with Megan that always infuriated her.

‘Emm, she's still only sixteen,' said Ben, ‘but the barman didn't even ask her age.'

‘That's fine for you, isn't it … playing the big brother,' she said frowning into the phone. ‘But me being a younger sister isn't that great, I can tell you. Now Kate's married and gone, it all falls on me.'

‘What does?'

‘Like mealtimes. Mum says, “When'll you be back for supper tonight?” Or, “What would you like to have?” And it drives me mad.'

‘What's so wrong with that?'

‘She does it to provoke me … control freak, sort of.'

‘I don't get you,' he said, sounding surprised.

‘She makes a fuss over every little job and expects me to fit in with her routine. It does my head in. Then she says, “Emma, when did you last cook or shop? You never put the rubbish out, Emma.” And “What about the cat litter?”'

‘Parents say stuff like that,' said Ben.

Emma ignored him and kept talking.

‘It's what she doesn't say as well. My room's a mess, but she doesn't dare tell me to tidy up … just comes in and noses around, violating my personal space.'