Passport to Happiness

‘So, I will point you the direction of where to browse and have a coffee and then I need to be off to meet my sister, is that OK?’ He looks at me slightly concerned, as if he feels I might have been expecting him to chaperone me for much longer.

‘Of course, that’s perfect. I’ll happily look around by myself and make a day of it.’ I realise he might be wondering about whether I need his assistance for the return journey. ‘And I’ll make my own way home. Now I know the way, it’s very simple.’

‘You’re sure?’ he asks, as the funicular pulls to an abrupt stop, eyeing me like I’m a child.

‘I’m certain. I’m a big girl – I think I can handle it.’ I wink, and he laughs, as we join the flurry to leave the small carriage, greeted by a wave of pleasant heat and bright sunshine. We walk towards a square and Fred begins pointing out places I must explore as he tells me we’re headed for the lake. We pass palm trees gently blowing in the breeze and a waft of sweet-smelling fig trees, inviting small shops selling random wares and many high-end luxury designer stores. It’s clear from the many banks on corners, men in business suits and well-heeled women tottering the cobblestones in stilettos that this is not just a laidback, lakeside vacation stop. It’s a financial hub. Yet, everyone looks slightly more relaxed here, with carefree expressions and a slower pace of walking.

I take a delighted breath as the road opens out onto a long promenade and an expanse of beautiful freshwater lake sits magnificently before me.

‘Goodness – this is beautiful.’

Fred nods, a small smile on his face. ‘It is. There are many beautiful places in this canton. And if you happen to decide to stay longer, you could do a trip across to Lake Como. It’s an hour’s train journey from here.’ He points across the horizon.

My mind is suddenly awash with visions of myself coasting along Lake Como on a sailboat, dressed in oversized sunglasses and a headscarf as I wave to George Clooney who is perched on the balcony of his hillside villa. I reluctantly remember that I’m not a film star and my bank balance is already hazarding in the danger zone. Plus, I don’t even own a headscarf or a sailboat. The Lake Como fantasy will have to be shelved.

We arrive at what appears to be a public park entrance and Fred stops. ‘OK, so I need to leave you here – you should try the park though, you’ll like it.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I have to go now, Sandra is expecting me.’

‘No worries.’ As I thank him, and we say our goodbyes, I get a fresh wave of pleasure at the absurdity of my situation. Who knew just a fortnight ago that I’d soon be walking along a beautiful lake in a part of Switzerland I never knew existed?

The hours fly by as I explore the magical city, taking particular delight in the giant chess game, its pieces half the height of my body. I stand and watch as two elderly locals, with flat-caps and walking sticks, banter in brisk Italian as a third man obediently moves their pawns upon their order. No matter which direction I stroll, the views from the lake are bewitching from every angle – the majestic deep green mountains in the distance, a sharp contrast against the clear blueness of the water. I contemplate a boat ride but decide against it, instead spending my time exploring my picturesque surroundings, revelling in the darker tan lines I see appearing on my arms.

By late afternoon I’ve ventured into the higher part of the city, taking a larger funicular to Monte San Salvatore and following the footpath to the Chapel. As I reach the rooftop that I’ve heard so much about from Frederick, I’m mesmerised by what lies before me; breath-taking views over the city and out beyond onto the lake. In that moment, I realise that there is a vast expanse of beauty that I’ve not even touched upon in my limited travels and Frederick’s comment re-enters my mind.

‘I should look for work abroad.’ I find myself rolling the idea around in both my mind and my mouth. It’s not actually that absurd come to think of it. What’s to stop me from finding a teaching position in Europe? I’d still be close enough to travel home often and maybe, just maybe, it’s the new life I’m looking for? Heavy doubt creeps into my reflections. And what about the language barrier? I don’t have a natural ear for other languages, hell, I barely scraped through French classes during my own schooling years. But then, others do it, don’t they? I rebuke myself for once again letting myself drift into fantasy land and instead focus on the view.

After a considerable time drinking in my surroundings, my stomach grumbles and my feet begin to throb again. A sharp chill in the late afternoon air brings me to my senses and I know it’s time to make my way back down the mountain to the lake and finally head back to Zurich. I begrudgingly begin to wander with the throng of people headed towards the funicular, the cool breeze reminding me that I’ll soon be back to my normal life in England, my small apartment, swamped with school drudgery and bills to pay. My heart drops and I sigh in reluctance.

The journey back to my hotel feels long, and although the relaxing and warm train allows me the time to contemplate the experience of Switzerland so far, leaving Lugano has already given me a wistful sense of nostalgia. Frederick’s comment floats back to the forefront of my mind and as much as I try to reason with myself that it’s a silly notion that’ll never happen, I can’t help but fantasise about making the possibility a reality.

A few hours later, when I’m finally back in my hotel room, soaking in a hot bath filled with an entire bottle of designer complimentary bubbles, I start once again thinking that although my life isn’t bad, it could be way more fun and exciting than it is and it’s at that moment that I finally decide it’s time to take some sort of serious action and liven things up. Jay might have ruined my idea of a future, but I haven’t exactly been trying my best to carve a new path for myself. I’ve lost my way and floated along without really considering what it is I truly want. It’s not enough anymore to sit back and hope that things will change for me. I’ve got to be the one to initiate things. And surely that first change has to be finding more fulfilment – through work perhaps? After all, happiness is an inside job, right?

It’s time to become a woman on a mission. Everly Carter’s life is getting an overhaul…

Chapter 4

‘Are you actually serious?’ Amy’s tone is bewildered and although I can’t see her expression because the Skype video won’t load, I know she’s frowning.

‘Dead serious. I’ve been looking online all morning – there’s loads of jobs on this site. You should see some of the places listed.’ I can hardly believe it myself.

‘You’re supposed to be on holiday, enjoying yourself, not sat in the hotel on the internet thinking up some crazy escapade purely because you have shit luck with men.’

As much as I love Amy, and I do love her because she’s my little sister, it’s not quite the happy enthusiasm I was expecting. She could be a little more supportive. But then, this is Amy who met her childhood sweetheart Jack at sixteen. Eleven years later they’re happily married, with two children, a lovely house and a dog. She’s never really been in a position to understand life being crap. Not that she’s had it easy, but she most certainly hasn’t had it like me; she’s never been heartbroken or had the rug pulled out from under her feet, nor has she had to work every hour under the sun to put a poky roof over her head. She’s content with her life, never aspiring for more, just happy and peaceful with her lot.

‘This isn’t about men though, Amy. This is about me.’ I walk across to the window of my room, pushing aside the curtain to peek at the view and simultaneously re-adjust my earphones. ‘I just feel like I need to try something different.’

‘Well, whatever. Just don’t go handing in your notice whilst you’re there – this Switzerland trip was random enough. I reckon you’re having a mid-life crisis.’

My Wi-Fi signal isn’t the best and the line crackles, but I can hear the disdain in her voice.

‘I’m not bloody having a mid-life crisis. If anything I’m closer to a quarter-life crisis thank you very much and anyway, it’s just an idea. It doesn’t mean I’m sacking off my job and floating off to India to ride elephants next week.’

‘Good, because Jack has a work colleague he wants to introduce you to. He’s apparently a really lovely bloke, so you never know…’ She breaks off and I immediately feel irritated but before I can butt in, she’s off on one again. ‘Oh, and Lily made a clay rabbit for you at school. Although it looks more like a rat.’

I soften at the thought of my niece Lily and feel my annoyance vanish. ‘How sweet. OK, I’ll pop round next week. I’ve got to go, I’m off out soon.’

‘Thank god for that, go get your head cleared of this moving abroad crap and enjoy your vacay. Send me some pics.’

I bite down on my tongue and cheerily agree, before saying a hurried goodbye and hanging up.

‘Well, that’s put a dampener on that,’ I mutter to myself, closing my laptop and wondering if Amy is right. What the hell am I thinking? I mean, yes, the teaching site I found has tons of jobs abroad, but do I really want to spend a year in Azerbaijan even if the salary and package is ridiculously generous? I sigh, letting the truth sink in. Probably not.

I decide to head out for lunch and after a quick pit stop via the concierge desk to catch up with Frederick, I find myself heading towards the shops. I’ve got my dinner date later and as much as I know it’s highly unlikely anything will come of it, or that Emir will even show up, I can’t help but get excited at the prospect of dinner with such a handsome, intriguing man. I decide to throw caution to the wind and really enjoy myself. This holiday is the perfect opportunity to do whatever the hell I like, and no one will ever be any the wiser.

A couple of hours later, armed with my purchases, I head back to the hotel to prepare for Emir. I’ve managed to spend a vast amount of money on my credit card, but I’ve got a gorgeous navy dress and new make-up to show for it. I set about the lengthy process of making myself look as attractive as possible, even adding some hastily bought tinted moisturiser to heighten my tan. The final outcome is better than I could have hoped for and as I study my reflection, I grin happily. The Swiss water has been amazing to my hair and it sits in bouncy long curls, framing my oval face. The dress accentuates my cleavage in a delicate way and stops just above the knee, making me appear slimmer and taller than I really am. My eyes are complimented by lashings of mascara and my mouth is tinted with nude lipstick. Jay had always said I reminded him of a curly-haired Rachel Weisz and it strikes me tonight, that perhaps he was right after all.

‘That’s as good as I’ll get,’ I mutter aloud, padding across to my makeshift wardrobe to collect my coat. I glance at the clock and am happy to see that I’ve just ten minutes until our agreed meeting time downstairs. My stomach does a somersault as I consider, for the hundredth time, that he might not show up and this has all been in vain. Then I rebuke myself – it’s his loss if he doesn’t and if that’s the case I’ll just go to the hotel restaurant and treat myself to some lobster and champagne.

And try not to have a meltdown and cry into my bubbles.

I bravely collect my purse and walk to the door, giving one final plea to whoever is out there in the sky to make sure I don’t get stood up.

Emir is leaning against the un-manned concierge desk as I head out of the lift and even from this distance I can see that I wasn’t wrong in remembering him as drop dead gorgeous. I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s actually there and as I fidget one last time with my dress, he spots me and breaks into a smile.

‘Hi.’ He leans in to kiss my cheek and I’m overcome with a waft of his strong woody aftershave. ‘It’s good to see you again. You look very nice.’

‘Thank you.’ I survey his outfit choice and reluctantly notice it’s a bit more casual than I was expecting. Gone is the business suit I’d first seen him wearing and in its place are jeans and a wine-coloured jumper. I suddenly feel a little overdressed but the thought is swept away as he grabs my hand and ushers me confidently out of the hotel.

‘I’m parked a little out of the way, near to my office – it’s a thirty-minute drive to my hometown of Zug, but the restaurant is booked for seven so we’ve plenty of time.’

We make chit chat as we walk to his car and I discover he’s a director at a multinational insurance company and has lived in Zug for over eight years. He’s also been single for all eight of them and I can’t help but wonder why. As we approach a gunmetal-grey Porsche, he gets out a key fob and unlocks the vehicle.

‘This is me.’ He gestures to the passenger side. ‘Excuse the mess as you get in. Just put the files on the floor.’

I try not to look shocked as I open the car door and see the interior littered with what appears to be paperwork and food wrappers, and instead scoop his files onto the footwell as instructed.

‘I’m good at what I do workwise but I do have a tendency to be untidy outside of the office.’ He grins, and I notice that both the leather dashboard and gearbox have what appears to be some kind of sticky drink covering them.

‘I can’t say I’m the same – I’m a bit of a clean freak.’ I don’t add that it’s already annoying me to have to sit amongst such a dirty interior in my new dress.

‘Clean freak or control freak?’ he asks with a chuckle as his mobile ringtone interrupts us. He answers with Bluetooth and I’m immediately surrounded by a loud female tone, speaking in what I recognise as Spanish. I try not to feel disdain as he launches into conversation, occasionally glancing sideways at me as he clearly tells the woman at the other end of the line about me. I hear my name mentioned twice and notice by the car display that almost twenty minutes has passed by the time he ends the call.

There is no explanation of who was calling or an apology when he finally turns to look at me and begins to point out the passing sights. I can’t deny they’re beautiful views, but it bothers me that he doesn’t find it rude to answer a long call in another language without a simple ‘excuse me for that’. I wonder if I’m being pedantic or overly ‘English’ and try to get back into the excitement I was feeling at the beginning of the date. But it’s already rapidly seeping away, replaced by a dread that perhaps he’s just going to be like all of the other disastrous dates I’ve been on lately.

We approach a sign for ‘Zug’ and I feel relieved that we’ll soon be out of the car. As we drive further into the area, I notice a glistening lake on my right side and a mountain in the distance ahead.

‘Welcome to the town named “Train”.’

Puzzled, I look at Emir for explanation.

‘Zug means train in English.’ He shrugs his shoulders and grins as I raise my eyebrows. ‘Yes, rather strange name, huh?’ He points in the distance and I follow his gaze. ‘This road is Chammerstrasse and if you look to the left in a moment, you’ll be able to see my apartment building just up ahead.’

We pass a small church, lit up prettily against the evening dusk. The town seems quaint, peaceful and very well-kept, and the bustling busyness of Zurich is nowhere in sight. It’s barely five minutes later when Emir parks the car and we get out, heading across cobbled stones through narrow streets with imposing buildings reminiscent of gothic times; pastel coloured facades and windows adorned with shutters.

‘This is a pretty town,’ I say, trying to watch my step as my heels threaten to get stuck between the cobbles.

‘This is one of the historical squares, the Italian restaurant we’re going to overlooks the lake. I’m certain you’ll like it – it’s just here.’

We arrive at a small wooden door and are greeted by a waiter dressed fully in black. We follow him and climb a winding staircase which opens into a large spacious dining area. There’s not a wall in sight as the front half is surrounded by windows looking out onto the moonlit lake water.

We’re shown to what appears to be the prime-situated table in the busy restaurant and I can’t help but be impressed at the elegance of the surroundings and the gentle ambience, not to mention the clientele. I had thought this would be a casual Italian but ‘fine dining’ springs to mind instead. As we are seated the waiter turns to Emir.

‘Your usual, Sir?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Emir nods and I wonder what the usual is, hoping it isn’t something I won’t like.

I don’t have to wait long as a bottle of red wine appears almost instantaneously beside us. I watch as Emir samples a taster and approves with a smile, before turning to me. ‘It’s a reserve, very good red, you’ll like it.’

Not wanting to be rude or share that I’m not particularly fond of red wine, I try my best to look pacified as the waiter fills my glass. I was rather hoping for a glass of white but as I taste, I’m pleasantly surprised by the subtle fruity flavour.

‘I’d recommend the lobster linguine with truffle oil or the wild boar.’

‘Hmm, OK.’ I stare down at the menu I’m handed and immediately see the pumpkin ravioli option and decide there and then, that’s what I’ll be having.

After a few more minutes’ small talk, the waiter returns to take our order and I’m more than surprised when Emir pipes up my selection for me.

‘Two lobster linguine please.’

‘Er, actually I’m going to go with the ravioli,’ I say with a polite smile that I know doesn’t actually reach my eyes.

A flicker of irritation flits across his face as he shrugs. ‘Fine, do as you please.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I will.’ Although I’m grinning as I say this, I can’t help but feel put out by his change in demeanour. That’s when I realise that this is going to be yet another totally wasted evening. By the time the food arrives, we’ve had a further twenty-five minutes of chit-chat and I’m no longer enthralled by his movie star looks or his suave clothing. Emir is proving himself to be rather self-indulgent and, quite frankly, a little boring. I’ve managed to glean that he travels endlessly for his work and his salary allows him to do as he pleases, materially speaking. Yet, I can’t fathom for the life of me why he even wanted this date. We’re like chalk and cheese in everything we’ve been discussing. The thing about him that reminded me of Jay is long gone. This one is all about himself.

I pick at my pumpkin ravioli which, as it turns out, is nowhere near as good as the lobster linguine he practically forced me into sampling to prove his point. Still, I won’t be letting him know that. He’s been rabbiting on about some conference he’s just been a guest note speaker at and it’s just as I finally pay decide to pay him some attention, that my ears prick up.

‘Bermuda? Oh, my friend lives there. She’s a lawyer, works in a firm over there. She’s originally from the same town as me though.’ I picture Tilly and suddenly feel wistful for our many Saturday lunches. We used to be so close and yet since her relocation to Bermuda four years ago, I haven’t made much of an effort to keep in touch. There’s always something that comes up and makes me forget to reply. I make a guilty mental note to message her later.

‘It’s a beautiful place. You should visit sometime.’

I notice the bottle of wine is fast emptying into Emir’s glass and as the conversation moves into work talk, the wall clock behind him is a constant taunt of all the things I could have been doing with my evening. It’s clear to both of us there’s little mutual ground and if it wasn’t for his love of over-sharing insurance chit-chat, we’d already be in dangerous awkward silence waters.

I think about Tilly and Bermuda again, not to mention his previous comment. Of course, I should visit. Why didn’t I think of that before?

I make it politely through another hour of small talk, when Emir graciously decides to relieve me of my hopefully-not-evident boredom by ordering the bill. It’s dark outside as we leave the restaurant and make our way towards the lake, Emir pointing out small points of interest along the way.

‘My apartment is just a short walk from here,’ he says, taking my hand and making every part of my body stiffen. With reluctance, I realise I’m going to have to say something fast. This is not good. Gone are the thoughts of a passionate, guilt-free, one-night stand. As hot as he is – and it’s been seven months since I’ve had any sort of action – I just want to go back to my hotel, take off my make-up, and dress, and jump into my oversized hotel bed alone with my book and a cup of tea made with the complimentary refreshment teabag I’ve been saving. I almost laugh aloud at myself. This is the Everly Carter that has spent the last three days convincing herself she needs excitement and change, and here it is, handed on a plate, yet…

‘I’m sorry, as much as I’ve had a wonderful time, I’m going to head back to my hotel.’ The words are out of my mouth before I’ve had time to talk myself back into making the most of wild, no-strings sex with a rich, willing man.

Emir looks surprised but recovers quickly. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll drive you back if you want to go. That’s no problem.’ He runs his hand through his hair and I can see from his miffed expression that it’s the last thing he wants to be doing. I realise in that moment that he never expected to have to take me home. He just assumed I’d be staying. He’s clearly not happy.

‘No, I don’t expect you to do that. I’ll take a taxi; you bought me a lovely dinner and that was more than enough.’ I point to the nearby waiting taxi before I lean forward and give him a swift thank you kiss on the cheek.

I watch as he takes a step backward, already planning his rapid exit. ‘OK then.’ He appears at a loss for words as he scratches his chin. ‘Well, it was nice meeting you Everly. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’

I barely have a chance to reply before he turns and walks away. Quietly sighing with relief, I walk in the opposite direction, wondering why I’ll never learn my lesson when it comes to men. Is it me, I wonder? Am I drawn to men with low self-esteem because I want to fix them, to subconsciously fill a void within myself? That void which seems to be caused by a longing to do something more fulfilling with my life, which until now, I’ve been ignoring…

Settling myself in the back seat of the taxi and wondering with a stomach full of dread how much Mastercard will have to fork out this time for the fare, I muse on the two more positive outcomes of the evening. First, my realisation that I no longer need to waste time on inappropriate men. There’s no point searching for love until I’ve filled my own emotional needs and found a new purpose; a new mission to provide the satisfaction that I’m lacking. After all, how am I going to attract a healthy, balanced partnership if something inside me isn’t addressed first? Secondly, and perhaps less profound, but still important; the reminder of my good friend Tilly. Isn’t it about time I got in contact with her?

*

I look down at my ski boots and up again at Elena. I can tell she’s losing her patience, it’s not the first time she’s told me I have to use the edge of the skis when slowing down. I sigh and try not to wince as I shuffle my bruised feet forward. It’s safe to say that skiing isn’t my forte. I honestly didn’t think it’d be this hard.

Sure, it was fun for the first day upon arrival at my log-cabin-style hotel with its roaring fire and hot wine. Then there was the excitement of my first time in full ski attire, the thrill of the cable car looking down on the white expanse below and the adrenalin of my first time on the slope. The après-ski however, was a slightly different affair. Instead of the jet-set fashionistas I was expecting, it’s mostly been Jägerbomb-loving men in baggy clothing. And let’s not forget the panda-eyed, middle-aged ski instructors acting like vultures around every single, female beginner that crosses their path. In all, it’s been a positive experience and I’m pleased I spent my final few days here. Now though, I’m over the skiing and most especially this final tutorial. Carrying poles in one hand and heavy skis on my shoulder whilst slipping and sliding in my robot boots is wearing thin. I’m cold, tired and looking forward to a hot chocolate and a pastry in the café. My mobile vibrates in my pocket just as Elena wraps up the lesson.