holiday of a lifetime

by Ben Connell

I went to Vietnam about a week after it kicked off in town. Always the same with them lot. As soon as the drinks start flowing and someone brings out the bag, you know it’s going one way. The lad did deserve it though. We only asked if he had a lighter. A few airport beers later and I was in the holiday spirit. As soon as I touched down I was slapped by the heat. I saw a bloke on a scooter with a dishwasher strapped to his back, no word of a lie. Cages full of chickens, horns blasting and funky smells. Pure rabid carnage.

I’d been here about three weeks before I met Luca. After a few blurry weeks in Ho Chi I’d decided it was time for some R&R. Three hours on a plastic chair later, we squashed onto a sleeper bus that swept us up from the roadside. When I say we, I mean me and this bird called Andrea from down south, and no, before you ask, I didn’t, she was a lesbian. I liked her, but God she could chat on when she’d had a bev. Always talking about feminism and all that shite. She’d always bang on about the male gaze. I said I’ve got no problem with the gays, in fact I love a night out in the village. ‘You’re not funny, Jack’ she said.

Anyway, the bus is lined with neon lights and bodies stacked three by three. The stench was enough to keep anyone awake. I’ve planned ahead though. We nicked Valium from an American lad in the hostel, so I pop two and I’m gone. Eight hours later, Dalat. Someone said something about the French colonising it? I was never one for history, but if it had anything to do with those butties they have everywhere, then I take my hat off to the French. Dalat’s this mountainous town full of winding roads and pine trees. It’s like being in a ski resort, except it's hot, there’s no snow and the beer costs 30p. Anyway, it’s a nice place to get away from the hustle and bustle of the cities.

We found a homestay with a Vietnamese family up in the hills. When we arrived two little corgis came out to greet us and I had to stop myself from getting on all fours and wrestling them. The family were dead sound even though they didn't have much. They asked if we wanted to join them for dinner. I said fuck it, you know what, I’m all in for the cultural experience. There were about twenty of them sitting around this massive table full of food. Fresh fish, noodles, pickles, oysters, cabbage, and these fuck-off vats of homemade rice wine. On one side of the table looking out of place was Luca. He was a pasty bastard to begin with but that night he looked like Casper the Ghost. I sat down next to him and Andrea, and we got chatting, like you do. Says he’s from Hamburg, just finished school, could tell he was smart. He’s a quiet lad, but I thought I could bring him out of his shell, if you know what I mean. She told me to leave him alone, said he’s too young. She can be so uptight sometimes. We got to eating and this little Vietnamese fella started handing out shot glasses for the rice wine. I could see where it was going. None of them could speak any English but it didn't matter. Luca’s loosened up too. Karaoke gets floated. Luca says he’s never done it before so that’s our night decided.

When I get the mic I’m ripping it up, honestly blasting out Robbie like I’m standing in front of Louis Walsh. Didn’t know a single tune these Vietnamese blokes were singing, like something out of a North Korea documentary. I got talking to this Vietnamese lad called Bing, the only one who could speak English. Tour guide he was, spent all day taking people out on boats, only earned about 300 quid a month. I said to him, you want to come and work for me, mate. I reckon he’d do alright if he just sharpened up his chat. I thought I’d best not tell him how much I made in commission last month. We were having a top time, but like my old fella would say, all good things must come to an end. We hopped on scooters, flying through the streets like Mario Kart, the lights flashing past us. Not a soul in sight, just the roads unfolding. It's me, Andy and Luca. The scooters were small but you can get some serious beans out of them. Luca’s proper belly laughing, like those mad laughs where your head falls open. I’m thinking this is the fucking life.

We fly round a bend and another scooter cuts us in half out of nowhere. I’ve managed to swerve out the way but it sobers me up. I turn around and can’t see Luca. About ten metres back I see splinters from the broken fence. There’s smoke coming from the side of the road and I can see him and he’s lying on the floor not moving and his bike’s upside down and the wheels are spinning and I’m shouting “Luca mate” but he’s not responding and neither of us know what to do and Andy gets her phone out to call the police and I’m saying we can’t we’re pissed and she’s saying but he’s not moving Jack and I’m just pacing up and down and she’s crying and saying we’re so fucked and I say he’ll be fine. We barely even know him anyway. I need to think so I get back on the scooter to clear my head.

After Dalat we ended up in Hoi An, I’d seen the pictures of all those paper lanterns on the river. It felt surreal to be sitting there floating up and down on the little boat. Met a few pals from back home and we had a proper catch up. Seemed like things had settled down after the night in town but we all agreed it was probably a good idea to keep our heads down. Vietnam, what a place.’

***

The detective placed the paper on the table and took off his reading glasses. Fluorescent tube lighting cast a shadow across his sunken eyes. Andrea sat opposite. It had been three weeks since she came home from Vietnam, the holiday of a lifetime turned into a nightmare. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“We found that story on Jack's cloud storage. He left his laptop at home before he disappeared to Vietnam.”

Andrea looked up for the first time.

‘Look I didn’t want to leave him, it was Jack’s idea, I’m so sorry’. Heavy blobs of tears fell down her cheeks. The detective raised a finger.

‘This little business in Vietnam could get very difficult for you. All it takes is one phone call. I’m sure they’ll be very happy to have you back’.

She vibrated in her chair, hands tucked between her thighs. ‘But that’s not the reason I’ve brought you here today’.

He handed a packet of tissues to Andrea.

Before she could respond, he spun his laptop round which showed grainy CCTV footage. In the video, a group of men approached a man standing alone outside a nightclub. They appeared to exchange words, and the man shook his head. In response, one of the men squared up to him.

Andrea leaned closer. It was Jack. Out of nowhere, a flurry of fists and kicks rained down on the man. He crumpled to the floor, and Jack swung his boot into the side of his head. He lay still on his back. The group looked around before running off. Andrea’s mouth hung open.

‘Jack and his friends are wanted for murder.’ The tears seemed to freeze in Andrea’s eyes.

‘This business with you two in Vietnam, we can forget about it if you let us know where he went after Hoi An.’

The detective rapped his knuckles on the desk. She put her head in her hands, straining to remember any conversations.

‘I think he was heading north, Ha Long Bay maybe? I don’t know where they were staying, but I think he said he was meeting some friends?’

He nodded and wrote in his pad. The scratch of the pen punctuated the low hum of the ceiling fan. The relief she felt was undermined by a question, one that had been on her mind since she sped off on her moped. The question was still there when she booked a flight home the next day. It lingered still when she stood crying in her mum’s kitchen. She felt it bubble and rise out of her chest, the pressure having built to such a pitch that it couldn’t be contained.

‘Is Luca alive?’

He shut his notepad, staring back at Andrea.

Photo of Ben Connell

BIO: Ben Connell is a writer from Manchester. He leans toward gritty realism with a hint of the surreal, stories that sit somewhere between the ordinary and the unnerving.