As she had predicted, her congestion had magically evaporated by the time the pilot announced over the intercom they would be landing soon in London. Marianne had always felt a keen connection between her physical and mental health. If something was bothering her, she inevitably would catch a cold or suffer from a nasty case of heart burn. With Justin and the rest of the campus gossips safely a hundred thousand miles away, she was just another nameless sex tape on the internet along with all the other wannabe starlets from California.
Popping one last Dayquil for good measure, Marianne slung the strap to her leather bag across her chest and dragged her suitcase over to the bathroom in the baggage claim area. The mirror showed her sleepless night in her pallid skin and sunken, hazel eyes. Marianne turned up her the music on her blue Ipod Mini. It was a new album from a band called The Killers she had downloaded before leaving.
Cleansing her heart shaped face with a baby wipe, she smeared on tinted moisturizer and dabbed a layer of powder. After painting her slim lips with a coat of pink lip gloss, she fluffed her long, brunette layers over her shoulders and smoothed out her bangs. She hoped she didn't look as dead on the outside as she did within or else she'd never hear the end of it from Shannon.
Avoiding eye contact with an old woman leaving one of the stalls, she ducked out of the bathroom and wandered towards the exit. The designated smoking area outside the rotating doors was choked with nicotine. Marianne coughed into her fist and pulled out her map.
"Taxi?" A cab driver called to her from the bustling curb, smacking his gum and tipping his hat.
She had rarely taken taxis in Boston having always preferred the T. If she could find her way to the train station she could save Shannon the cab fare because she certainly didn't have the euros for it.
"No thank you," she replied with a wary smile before dragging her things in the direction she hoped was towards the train station. Thankfully she was correct.
The wheels of her suitcase bumped up the stairs of the station. Her head spun in the damp cold. Heart beating fast, she paused in front of a train schedule and studied the map that Catie had printed for her.
"Where you headed?"
Marianne jumped at the voice by her shoulder and turned to find a young man about her age. He pushed tangled hair from his forehead, heavy lidded and deep set eyes taking her in appreciatively. Shadows of old bruises marked his face as though he'd been in an accident.
"No offense but you look lost," he tried again when she didn't reply.
Marianne broke eye contact and peered back down at her map. "Here is where I need to be," she replied concisely and pointed to the neighborhood where her sister said she'd meet her.
"A Yank, eh?" He grinned after briefly looking at the map.
Marianne nodded silently, wary of strangers in a strange city. Something about the markings on his face made Marianne wonder if they had been from a fist fight instead of an accident.
"Well, from the looks of it, you're in luck." He pointed up to the board of rotating numbers over their heads. "10:00 AM. You've got fifteen minutes to get a ticket."
Marianne nodded her thanks and tried to roll away towards the ticket booth. Before she could grab her bag, the young man took the handle. "Please let me. It will be faster."
He paused after she gave him a hard stare, her face taut with worry. "Really, I'm fine-"
"I'm not being dodgy, don't worry. Just thought you looked knackered and could use some help. I'll just see you to your train." He gave a breathy laugh and held out a hand, the knuckles bruised and swollen. Perhaps he was a boxer. "I'm John Bovver."
Gingerly she shook his extended hand. "Marianne."
"So what are you doing here in Jolly Old?" he ventured tentatively as they walked towards the ticket counter.
"Jolly Old?" Marianne asked.
"England."
Marianne winced at the obviousness of it. The rough young man named Bovver only hid a grin. "I'm visiting family. My sister moved here a few years ago."
"That so?"
Taking the ticket, he followed her towards the platform. "She married a local."
He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his clean, white sneakers as they came to a stop. "Lots of you Yank girls hopping the pond for a man. That what you plannin' on doin'?"
Marianne scoffed. After everything she had gone through, a relationship was the farthest thing from her mind. "Can't say it's in the plan."
He rubbed the back of his neck and met her eyes again. "Just at the moment?"
The train pulled up the tracks with a piercing squeal. Marianne looked away with a shrug, unsure of how to answer his polite but persistent interest. She was too jet lagged and too emotionally drained to fend off any more well meant flirting. "Thank you for your help, John."
He handed the bag up to her as she stepped onto the train. "I'll be seeing you sometime maybe. I live around that area."
With a faint smile, Marianne escaped into the train car. The sad thing was that six months earlier, she would have bantered playfully with the guy. She didn't get a creepy feeling from him and he was definitely interested.
Tucking herself into a window seat and putting on her headphones, she drowned out her fears with the music. She tried not to think about the sheet of paper still in her backpack, her resume that she had been planning on sending to Rolling Stone Magazine. It would have been a shot in the dark with her coming right out of college, but she had never wanted to do anything more than music journalism.
Peering out the window as the train pulled away, she noticed John Bovver walking with his distinct, swinging strut towards the exit. Giving a quick glance towards her train over his shoulder, he disappeared from view. Part of her hoped she wouldn't run into him again so she wouldn't be forced to repeat the entire awkward episode.