The Bright Side

Chapter 12 - Part 1

SKY

The bus ride to London takes forever. As if the two-hour delay because of a pile-up on the motorway isn't enough, the city is so cramped with cars that it takes until early afternoon until we finally arrive at Victoria Coach Station. We spend the ride listening to either my or Tristan's music over headphones – ok, Tristan's music mainly, because he insists that mine is making him depressed – or playing Tetris on my mobile. There are only so many things you can do on what turns out to be a six-hour coach ride and at one point we retire to staring out of the window, watching trees and cars fly past and later the suburbs of London. Green and brown merge into grey and dirty so smoothly that it's impossible to say when exactly we've entered the capitol.

Once we've arrived, we take the tube and I follow Tristan who navigates us unerringly through colourfully tiled and incredibly cramped passageways. I let him push me into an equally cramped tube and when we arrive at Lambeth North I stay close to his side so I won't get lost in the maze of tunnels. The weather is fine today, only a few stray clouds cling to the sky. It's like London wants to show itself in the best possible light without exaggerating. The ride to the spa takes us only a few minutes. The building, stuck between two old Victorian facades, is modern; there are rectangular windows arranged in gridlines and each seems to either be tinted in a different colour or maybe it's just the curtains that give that impression. The interior is equally modern, the main colour white, which makes me feel like I'm in a hospital. The manager gives us a friendly greeting, and while I'm trying not to be too disconcerted about the people sitting around in bathrobes, Tristan approaches him.

"Hi", Tristan says as he sets his board down on the linoleum floor. "I have a reservation. Ashmore?"

The manager types something into a computer that is hidden behind the desk.

"One night?"

"Yeah."

"I'll need your ID and that of your... companion," the manager's eyes flicker back and forth between the two of us, clearly trying to determine our status of relationship. It takes only one second of eye contact with him to know that he's gay and when recognition lights up in his eyes, too, his expression instantly becomes more friendly.

I fumble my wallet out and hand my ID over and try not to wonder what he sees in Tristan's eyes when he's looking at him.

"Alright, Mr. Ashmore," he smiles as he hands the cards back to Tristan. "These are your key cards," another two cards change hands. "You are in room 305, third floor. The facilities are on first floor, as well as in the cellar, you'll find a detailed schedule of treatments in your room. Elevators are that way." He points towards our left.

"What time is check-out tomorrow?" Tristan asks.

"Ten o'clock."

"Alright."

"Have a nice stay," the manager calls out as Tristan and I are already heading towards the elevator.

"Thanks," we both shout back unanimously and I don't know about Tristan's, but my heart is doing overtime in my chest.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I mutter as I'm confronted with my reflection in the mirror-panelled elevator. I look like I haven't slept in months. "I look terrible."

"You don't." Tristan's reflection, equally downgraded, smiles at me. "I bet they do this on purpose," he gestures towards the strip lights on the ceiling, "to make the people believe that they desperately need to waste their money on all kinds of treatments."

"It's kind of working," I give back. "I think I'll try that anti-age facial treatment like right now." I point towards the advert in the frame above the buttons. "Oh, look, it's only fifty quid. What the...!"