Notes:
This is the sequel to "Give Up The Fight" - you need to read that first to understand this one.
This is the prologue chapter, and I hope you stick with me and trust me enough to explain these glimpses into the Planeteers' lives in future chapters...
The title is taken from a Patty Griffin song "When It Don't Come Easy" - I spent a long time trying to figure out the title for this, and then this song came on my iPod the other night and I know it had to come from these lyrics :)
This fic contains adult themes and coarse language.
This chapter details the years after the Planeteers leave Hope Island - the next chapter will move into the "present" and we'll follow two of the Planeteers very closely for quite a while...
[Edit 2018] I've gone through and fixed a few tiny errors, but this is mostly as it stood when I first wrote it: one of my earliest/first fics, completely tropey and iddy and pretty OOC. Sometimes you're in the mood for that, I guess. ;)
TWO YEARS
Wheeler trembled and leaned against the pay phone, listening to his breath, ragged and uneven as the call tried to connect.
"Shit," he sobbed, hearing the all-too-familiar error tone coming through the receiver. He hung up and dropped another coin into the slot, trying to juggle the receiver and his notebook in one hand, and dial with the other. He couldn't see straight and he had to run his fingers over the keypad to make sure he was hitting the right buttons. He had lost count of the misdialled numbers and the error tones he had listened to over the past hour.
His legs wanted to collapse beneath him, and he was sweating profusely. He could see people glancing worriedly at him as they hurried past.
It took him a moment to realise he'd connected through to someone and a groggy voice was speaking to him.
"Is Gi there?" he asked desperately. His mouth was dry and he wanted to retch.
"Wheeler? Is that you?"
"Gi," he breathed, closing his eyes in relief. "Gi, I need help."
"What's wrong? What's happened? Where are you?" She sounded frantic.
"I need help," he croaked again. Gaia told me to call if I needed help, and I need help now. Help me, please help me.
"Okay," she said gently. "I'll help you; I promise. Tell me what's wrong."
"I've done stupid things," he said, tears running down his face. "Gi, I've been so stupid. I need help, please."
"I'm coming on the next flight, okay?" she said.
He could hear her moving about, opening drawers and slamming closet doors.
"I need you to do me a favour," she said.
His legs trembled beneath him. "I don't think I can," he admitted. His breath caught in his throat and he was nearly sick. He clutched the receiver tightly. He was sweating and it was hard to keep a grip.
"I need you to get into bed and wait for me," she said gently. "It's going to take me a while to arrive, okay? Even if I get on a flight immediately, I won't be there until tomorrow."
"I know," he croaked.
"So can you stay put and wait for me?"
He leaned his head against the glass of the phone booth, feeling faint. "I guess so," he whispered.
"Just get to bed and wait for me and I'll be there as fast as I can," she promised. "Don't move, okay? I'm coming. Don't worry."
"Okay." He stood rock-still, his eyes closed, listening to her hurry around the room and pack her things. He was too tired and sick to feel guilty about waking her or asking her to come to him. He was desperate and afraid, and too ashamed of what he'd done previously to feel anything of such a request.
"Are you still there?" she asked after a moment.
"Uh-huh..."
"Okay. Promise me you're going to hang up and go straight to bed, okay, Wheeler?"
"Okay," he answered. "I'm sorry, Gi."
"No, it's okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Just – wait for me, okay? Whatever you've done, Wheeler, it'll be okay. Just stay at home and wait for me."
"Okay," he whispered. "I'll wait for you."
"Good. I love you and I'll be there soon."
He hung up and sank to the ground. He felt too tired to get up again. He huddled there with his arms hugging his knees, and he sobbed and hated himself and what he'd become.
He wiped his eyes and looked up. He was confused to see it had grown dark. He didn't think he'd been sitting there that long – but then, what the hell did he know? Time meant absolutely nothing. It had run past him, the past two years, trampling him and beating him down. Time was too difficult to deal with.
He struggled to his feet and staggered into the street, bowing his head and trying to walk straight and fast towards his apartment. He wondered if Trish had been by again. Her visits were few and far between now. He couldn't blame her for giving up on him eventually.
His apartment door loomed up at him and he was grateful that his feet had somehow known where they were taking him, because his mind sure as hell didn't. He pushed the door open and sank into the couch, huddling there in a cold sweat, groaning softly. He didn't think he was going to make it. Gi was going to arrive too late, or she'd come but he'd be gone, handing his last crumpled banknotes over to Anthony and begging him to take pity on him and let it be enough for one last dose. It was always one last dose.
He slept fitfully, waking often. He vomited and sobbed, clutching his stomach as cramps wracked his body. He fixed his eyes upon the ceiling and willed himself to lie still and just wait. If he got up and left he knew he had no chance of making it back to the person he wanted to be.
When Gi walked in her looked at her, dazed, unsure if it could really be her.
"I just called you a few hours ago," he croaked.
"Oh, look at you," she said, bursting into tears. She knelt by him and put her hand across his forehead. "It was a day and a half ago, Wheeler."
He closed his eyes, shivering. "Okay."
"What is it?" she asked, taking her jacket off and draping it across him.
"Heroin," he admitted.
"When did you last take any?" she asked, casting her eye around his apartment.
"I don't know. A long time ago." It felt like a long time. But then, his concept of time appeared to be utterly destroyed.
"Before or after you called me?" she asked.
"Before."
She kissed his forehead and her touch burned on his skin. "You'll be okay now," she whispered. "I'm here to help you, okay?"
"Okay," he breathed. He reached for her hand and she took it. "It's been too hard, Gi."
"I know," she answered gently. "But it'll get better. I'm here now, okay?"
"Don't go away," he requested.
"I'm not going anywhere." She sat next to him and stroked his hair and he shivered and shook against her, knowing that he was going to need more than Gi to get through everything, but knowing that she'd be the one to give him the courage he needed.
FIVE YEARS
Ma-Ti leaned back in his chair, listening to it creak against the new strain of his weight. His eyes were sore and his back hurt from sitting down all day. Sitting in an office under the glare of florescent lighting and computer screens obviously did not agree with him.
He sighed and toyed with his pen. The cold, hard truth was, nobody would listen to someone trying to save a rainforest unless they worked in an office with a giant carbon footprint. It was a ridiculous irony, and he hated it and he hated what he'd had to become in order to stand up for what he loved.
Still – he had been making progress. His new promotion offered him even more hope. People were starting to listen to him. He had every appearance of a good education and a solid understanding of environmental and economical issues. He was good with people and there was something quiet and calm and reassuring about him. People instantly trusted Ma-Ti.
He rubbed his eyes and stood up, stretching tiredly. It had been a long day, but a good one. He went to the window of his office, gazing out at the traffic below him. It was late, but the streets were still grid-locked. He sighed and pulled his jacket on slowly. He was tired, but the effort had been worth it. They had achieved an important win, today – securing another section of the rainforest as under protection. Yet another place on the map to point at and know that it would still be there, green and lush, years later. He smiled to himself.
He took up his keys and glanced around the office, making sure he'd forgotten nothing. He shut everything down and took the stairs down to the street, liking the feel of the warm night on his face as he strolled home.
He lived in a quiet part of town, hidden away from the traffic but still within an easy walk of his office building. His rented house was clean and small, with a tiny yard he used to grow herbs and vegetables. He breathed deeply as he moved past the front gate, enjoying the sweet smell of ripe tomatoes and mint.
He scooped up his mail and sorted it thoughtfully as he moved through the house, opening windows to let the breeze in. He hit the button on his answering machine and opened his water bill as the machine whirred and started playing the first message.
"Hey Ma-Ti!" Gi's voice burst from the machine, loud and excited. "Thanks for the card, we got it today. You're coming to the wedding, right? We haven't set a date yet but Jin and I really want you there." There was a pause. "I don't suppose there's anything new with Linka? I've tried all her old numbers again but none of them are working. Wheeler doesn't know either, but it's not for lack of trying. I passed on your message but he still seems kinda reluctant to get in touch again. It's nothing to do with you, I'm sure, it's just that he went through so much when he got back –"
Ma-Ti smiled when the machine cut her off. She was forever interrupted by the short message time, and usually had to leave two or three messages on his machine in order to get her point across.
The second message started with a grumpy sigh. "Can't you get a machine that has a longer record time? Anyway, thank you for the card. And Jin and I want to invite you to the wedding." There was another pause. "And the other Planeteers, too. Or do you think it'll be too much? I don't know how Wheeler will feel about it, and I'm not sure if Kwame will be able to come. I haven't spoken to Linka since we left Hope Island." She sighed again. "Miss you. Call me back when you can? Love you. Jin says hi."
He smiled and glanced at the clock. He'd give it another hour before he called her. He sank onto the couch with a sigh. Gi had been the only one to really keep in regular contact. He had tried with the others – Kwame was always warm and ready to talk to him, but he was busy, throwing himself into work and his new marriage. Wheeler had never returned his calls, and Linka's calls had never even connected through – always ending in an error tone.
Gi had desperately tried to reunite everyone through phone calls and letters, but the net was patchy and there were too many holes. Contact fell through and the gap between them all seemed to grow wider and wider.
Even without his Planeteer ring, he had been able to feel them during the first year apart – hovering on the periphery of his mind. He had felt the moment Kwame had met Makena. He had felt the moment Gi had received her first job offer. He had felt the moment Wheeler had hit rock bottom and injected himself with drugs. He had felt the moment Linka had chosen to follow Viktor.
But as the years kept sliding by, his connection to them lessened. He tried to reach Gaia now and then, just to see if he could, but he thought the only responses he was getting were ones he made up himself. That part of his life was over, now.
He glanced around his tiny home. He liked it well enough, but he missed Hope Island. He would always miss Hope Island. He missed the freedom he'd had then, and the work he'd done. He hated sitting in an office for five or six days a week, arguing on the telephone and trying to convince people he knew better than they did when he came to rainforest protection. Without his friends, the Planeteers, behind him, it seemed so much more difficult.
He stretched out on the sofa and gazed up at the ceiling, waiting out the hour until he tried to phone Gi. His conversations with her were becoming wonderfully regular, breaking the horrific monotony he had found himself wallowing in lately. He decided to make more of an effort with Kwame too.
He didn't think Wheeler was going to become more responsive anytime soon. The former Fire Planeteer was still too caught up in his previous errors and shame, though none of it mattered to Ma-Ti. He missed and loved them all, and he longed for a day where they could all talk again.
He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, feeling tired. That day seemed like a long way away, and he had started doubting its occurrence altogether.
SEVEN YEARS
Kwame gazed down at the dusty earth in front of him. It was hard, and baked dry. The small heap in front of him was crumbly and broken. If he bent and scooped it up in his palm, the dirt would mist away to dust and sift back down to the ground.
There was not a breath of wind. The sun beat down on him. His shadow was small and thick around his feet. The crowd had drifted away and he was there alone. Almost.
Makena stood beside him, silent and tall. Out of the corner of his eye he could see clean tracks on her face, made by her tears rolling down her dark, dusty skin. He reached for her hand but she kept her arms tucked tightly against her chest. She turned away from him slightly and his hand dropped.
He moved his eyes to the small mound of earth in front of him again. He had never experienced a feeling of loss so great. Another event, seven years prior, skittered into his mind for a moment, but he shoved it aside.
This loss was greater. This loss left him aching and empty. He felt as though he were swaying slightly. He wanted to fall and let his body slam against the hot, hard earth and shatter him.
"We should get out of the sun," he whispered. "There is no use in standing here, Makena."
"You go," she answered. Her voice was dry and hard like the earth around him. "Go."
He reached for her hand again but she was even more resistant, shrugging away and taking a step to the side to separate herself from him.
"Please?" he requested softly.
"Go," she repeated. "I want to be alone."
He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and looked back to the tiny grave in front of him. Such a small mound of dirt, but the loss was so huge. He turned and walked away, his head bowed against the sun and a heavy weight settling across his shoulders with a feeling of awful permanency.
He sat alone at his kitchen table, gazing out the windows at the wide, open sky and the struggling plant life. The drought had taken everything from him, now. Makena was all he had left, and even she was slipping away from him, burying herself in guilt and despair.
Several times in his life, Kwame had sat alone and thought to himself how little he had left. His father had died young, trampled during a hunting expedition. Kwame had been too young to miss him, but his absence had certainly hurt, even as Kwame had grown older. His mother's death had come ten years later. He had watched her die slowly from an illness nobody could explain or cure away. 20 years later, he had watched his tiny son suffer the same fate.
Again, I am reduced to nothing, Kwame thought wearily. He was too tired to think. His crops and his livestock had perished in the heat. The rains had not come and the sun had baked everything to dust. Walking across his land, he came across bleached bones and drifts of topsoil. He had done everything he could to avoid the situation he was in now. He had been clever, and decent, and fair, and he had reaped the benefits of his land far beyond any of the other farmers surrounding him. But even he had fallen victim to the weather. The water had dried up quickly, leaving only stagnant pools and empty river beds.
His son was not the first victim of the new poverty Kwame and his wife had found themselves in. His tiny grave was one of many. It didn't make the pain any less difficult.
I pull myself from the rubble time and time again, and yet it is always a wasted effort, he thought, resting his head in his hands. I am doomed to lose anyone I ever choose to love.
He wished Makena would come home. He wished he hadn't left her out in the heat. He knew he should go out and find her and bring her home and put her to bed. Try to sooth her with useless words and gentle hands on her skin and through her hair.
He sat at the table, staring down at the grain of the wood and listening to the house creak and groan as it expanded and shifted beneath the sun. He knew he was doomed to suffer the loss of his wife, next. She had pulled away from him the moment their son had caught the illness. Looked at Kwame as though it had been his fault. As though he were cursed.
He got to his feet wearily. He felt as though Death had come for him that night as well, and had simply left the bare essence inside his body, trapping him and forcing him to face the rubble he had been left with.
He trudged back into the heat. Makena was where he had left her. She had fallen to her knees in front of the grave. He could hear her keening and wailing, her hands sliding through the dirt around her, shifting it and causing it to float up and turn her skin pale yellow.
"Makena," he said softly. "Come inside. It is too hot out here."
She ignored him, rocking back and forth slowly. She clutched her hands to her chest, wailing.
"Come on," he said gently, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You need to come in." He pulled her up gently, and he had to half-carry her back to the house. She was reluctant to cooperate, but she lacked the strength or spirit to fight him.
He put her to bed and sat on the sunken mattress beside her. He wanted her to talk to him. He didn't want to be the strong one, anymore. He wanted to crumble and have someone take care of him and tell him that everything would be all right, even if he knew it was a lie.
"I am going to my mother's," Makena whispered.
Kwame stroked her hair gently. "If that will make you feel better," he answered softly.
"I need to leave," she said, closing her eyes.
"For how long?" he asked. He ran his hand over her back, trying to sooth her as best he could.
"A long time," she answered. "I cannot do this, Kwame. I cannot look at you."
He looked down at her. He felt fear, and anger and sadness. "It is not my fault," he said desperately.
"I know." A tear rolled from beneath her tightly-closed lashes. "I cannot look at you without seeing our son. It is too difficult."
"It will get better," he promised gently. "It always does."
"And then it gets worse again." She turned over and buried her face in her pillow. He didn't know how to answer her. He ran his hand over her back again, feeling the rough material of her dress against his palm.
"I know," he said eventually. "It does get worse." He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck gently, breathing in the scent of her and letting the memories of a thousand nights beside her wash over him.
He had known enough loss to recognise when something was truly gone, and he felt no hope in keeping her there with him.
NINE YEARS
Gi ran her fingers through her hair and glanced around the house. The sink gleamed beneath the windows. The floors were shiny with polish and every inch of visible glass sparkled back at her.
She tossed the dishcloth back into the sink. It was only mid-afternoon. She poured herself a tall glass of lemonade and drank it standing in the middle of the kitchen, her feet bare on the cool, clean tiles. She rinsed her glass immediately and put it back in the cupboard.
She was searching for something else to keep her busy when the front door opened.
"Jin," she said in surprised. "What are you doing home?"
"Surprise," he said, offering her a small smile. "I finished early today."
"Oh." She smiled at him kissed his cheek. "Hi."
He watched her as she padded barefoot into the living room.
"Gi," he called, following her.
"Mm?" She was looking about distractedly.
"We need to talk."
"About?" she asked. She picked up a sofa cushion and plumped it before she threw it back down and went to inspect the liquor cabinet for dust.
"Us," he said. "Stop it, will you? Stand still for five minutes."
She looked over at him in surprise. "What's wrong?"
"We have problems we need to talk about," he said.
She could sense another argument coming and she wasn't in the mood to be a good girl and prevent it. At the risk of causing another screaming match, she glared at him. "Like what?" she asked icily. "Me, again? What I can and can't do?"
"Stop it," he said in disgust. "You know I don't blame you for any of this."
"Not out loud!" she snapped. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, immediately feeling defensive.
"You don't wear your ring anymore," he said, nodding to her left hand.
She glanced down. "I took it off to clean."
"You clean the entire house every day," he said, raising his voice in anger. "From top to bottom!"
"I'm bored out of my mind!" she screamed back at him, her own rage and frustration spilling out of her violently. "I can't be a meek little housewife, Jin!"
"I'm not asking you to be a meek little housewife!" he argued. "I'm asking you to be a mother."
"Well that doesn't seem to be working out, does it?" she snapped, turning her back on him and raking her fingers through her hair. She could feel his eyes on her but she refused to turn around and face him again. She gazed steadily out the window without seeing anything.
"Maybe we should go back to the hospital," he said wearily. "Maybe we should –"
"Go back?" she asked, glaring at him over her shoulder. "No thank you. I've had enough of doctors poking and prodding me and putting me through all sorts of humiliating tests."
"Well there has to be something wrong!" he cried. "We're two healthy people, Gi. We should be able to have a baby."
She leaned her forehead against the glass of the window, not caring about the smudge she was going to leave. "I don't think I want a baby anymore."
She listened to her husband's breath falter as she exposed this new secret of hers to the air. She could feel it between them, relishing the air and the light now that she'd let it out. It grew and pressed against them.
"How long have you felt this way?" he asked stiffly.
"Not long." She turned her body back to him but kept her eyes lowered. "I just don't think you and I are stable enough to have a baby."
"You agreed," he said desperately. "You agreed to stop work and settle down."
"I've changed my mind," she said softly. "I want to go back to work. I need to be busy, Jin. I'm going crazy here, shut up in the house with nothing to keep me entertained."
"Once you get pregnant, that will change," he said.
"Sitting around being pregnant won't improve my mood," she said, feeling dangerously angry at him all of a sudden. "And a baby isn't going to improve the issues you and I have."
"We can work through it," he argued.
She tucked her hair behind her ears nervously. "I'm too selfish to be a mother, Jin. I guess I thought I could settle down and I'd be okay with it, but I'm not."
"Have you been avoiding getting pregnant?" he asked sharply.
"Of course not!" she snapped, glaring at him. "Do you honestly think I'd deceive you like that?"
"I don't know!" he cried. He sank onto the sofa. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"You can't do anything," she muttered. "Just don't lie to me and tell me you think our marriage is working like it should be."
"Why aren't you happy?" he asked desperately. "I thought a baby would make you happy."
She shrugged wearily. "I was happy before, Jin. It was a big sacrifice, okay? Giving up work. I don't care how selfish it might seem, but I loved my job and I didn't want to give it up."
"I know," he sighed. "We fought about it a lot. I thought we were past all that now."
Gi wanted to cry with frustration. She wasn't sure how to talk to him anymore. He didn't listen to her. He wanted life to work like a mathematical formula – planned out and resulting in the perfectly-predicted answer. She felt sorry that things had ended up this way. She felt as though she had wasted years of his life, but the simple truth was, she couldn't fit into the life he wanted. They'd both tried hard – tried to mould her into the right shape and form so she could slot into the equation like she was supposed to. But she hadn't been what he had expected her to be, and she had realised that his support and his love could only stretch so far before it broke under the strain.
"I'm a wife," she said finally. "And you want me to be a mother. What's going to happen to Gi?"
He looked up at her. He looked irritated, and upset. "I came home early," he said. "Why do we have to argue?"
"Why should today be any different?" she asked tiredly. She turned towards the window again, watching the clouds float over the city. People wandered by, barely visible behind the thick hedge Jin had planted just days after he and Gi had moved in.
"I'm not sure who you want me to be," he said eventually.
She shrugged, gazing out the window. "I'm not sure, either," she whispered. "I guess I wanted you to be four different people."
He didn't respond to this odd statement. He just sat there silently.
She sighed and leaned her forehead against the cool glass in front of her again. "I'm sorry, Jin. I want a divorce."
He was silent for a long time, and when he eventually spoke again, there was relief in his voice, and that seemed to hurt more than anything. "Me too," he said.
TEN YEARS
"Ready?" Viktor asked.
"Yes, I think so." She got up from her dressing table, glancing quickly into the mirror at her face.
"Hurry up, then," he snapped. "We have an appointment to keep."
Not wishing to start another one-sided argument, Linka pulled her jacket on and glanced around the bedroom to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything.
She followed Viktor through the house, picking up her briefcase and the stack of books and notes she'd organised that afternoon. She stepped into the cold night, watching her breath mist out in front of her. The temperature was below freezing and ice and frozen mud crunched under her shoes as she followed Viktor to the car.
"Did you go over the notes?" he asked, throwing his briefcase into the trunk and sliding into the driver's seat. She dropped the books and her briefcase into the trunk gratefully, wincing at the effort, and closed the trunk cleanly before she sank into the passenger seat.
"Yes, I went over the notes," she said, breathing heavily. The slightest physical effort cost her so much energy, it seemed. She fought quietly to gain her breath back as Viktor steered the car out onto the street and pressed the accelerator heavily.
"This is an important deal," Viktor said. "This will be the first major international company to invest in our software."
My software, she thought automatically. She quashed the silent rebellion immediately.
"I know," she answered.
"If it does well, it will increase our profits tenfold," he said, racing the car through a yellow traffic light.
Linka nodded. She didn't care how her software did, or whether or not it sold overseas. It had the potential to, but it wasn't like she was going to see the rewards of it even if it did succeed. Viktor had made sure of that a long time ago.
They drove in silence. Linka had a headache – though driving with Viktor always left her feeling a little queasy. She watched the streetlights flash past. The sidewalks were deserted – the dark and the cold forcing the people inside for the evening. Store windows were still decorated with Christmas paraphernalia and brightly-painted sales advertising. She closed her eyes and listened to the wheels of the car slice through puddles and patches of snow, kept soft by the constant traffic.
"Remember what I have told you to say, if they ask you any questions," Viktor said, pulling the car to a sudden halt. "Otherwise, just sit quietly. We can't afford to let this deal slip through our fingers." He slammed the car door and she blinked, sitting quietly for a moment before she summoned the energy to get out of the car herself and gather the books into her arms again.
She followed him into the building, listening to her heels clack on the floor, echoing slightly. Most people had gone home for the day, and many of the offices she passed were dark and silent.
"Set up," Viktor said, waving towards the conference room. "I am going to introduce myself before the demonstration."
She entered the conference room, which was already lit up, and dropped her burden onto the table with a sigh of relief. She put her palms down on the polished surface of the table and took a few deep breaths. She felt lightheaded and tired. She straightened up, knowing that if she spent too long thinking about how she felt, she'd start to cry.
She booted up the computer at the back of the room and logged on. Her headache was growing worse. She wondered if she'd be able to slip out of the meeting early – or if she could somehow avoid it altogether.
Again, she forced her attention away from herself and fixed it upon the computer screen. She couldn't afford to blow this deal – she couldn't risk the effect it might have on Viktor. She glanced to the front of the room to make sure the projector was working the way it should be. Catching sight of the English words on the screen in front of her, she felt an odd sort of nostalgia. She was suddenly relieved that Viktor would be the one doing all the talking. She hadn't used her vocal English in ten years. She had shied away from it – and since meeting Viktor, she didn't need to do any of the talking. He did it all for her.
Terror welled up inside her. What if they did want to talk to her? What if she'd forgotten everything?
She licked her parched lips and whispered to herself. "Hello, my name is Linka."
It sounded odd, and wrong. Out of place. She bit her lip and forced her attention back to the slideshow. It didn't help her nervousness, knowing that the room would soon contain American accents. She couldn't help but drag up one long-lost voice, letting it echo around and settle against the edges of her mind. She thought of him every time she heard an American accent. Every time someone mentioned America, or New York, or pizza. Every time someone lit a fire or a match or a cigarette.
She shook her head, aware that her breathing had become ragged and that she hadn't been paying attention to the slides at all. She clicked back and forced her eyes upon them, silently berating herself for daydreaming like that.
Viktor joined her again, straightening his tie. "Are you done?" he asked.
"Almost."
"Get out of the way," he said in disgust, pushing her aside. "Just sit there and keep your mouth shut. If you cannot organise a simple slideshow..."
She sat down wearily, listening to him mutter to himself. She smoothed the material of her skirt and made sure her sleeves were neat and prim against her wrists.
She stood when the Americans filed in, shaking their hands and smiling at them. She checked each of their faces carefully, and wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when she couldn't recognise any of them.
Well, what did you expect, Linka? she thought to herself angrily. Do you honestly expect him to just walk into your life again ten years after you shut him out of it?
Bitterly, she thought again about how she had left the Planeteers, turning her back on them in order to find some sort of independence. But the simple truth was, Linka didn't work without the Planeteers. She had begun to think of herself as a giant cog, functional and important within the machine it belonged to, but of no use once the parts were scattered.
She wondered if their lives were like her own and if they too remembered the days on Hope Island as the happiest they'd ever had.
It doesn't matter, now, she thought wearily. Ten years on and I still think of them. I wish I could forget.
She forced herself to focus as Viktor began the presentation. He was right – this was an important meeting. This meeting could ensure her career for years to come.
A career I do not want, she thought, and she sank down in her seat a little, listening to the smooth, confident sounds of Viktor's speech.