Page 18 of My Kind of Trouble
‘Well sure. That one’s fine if you don’t want to make a statement. But I’ve been a glutton for making an entrance since I brought Evie Cassidy to my cousins christening at fifteen, and I’ve not stopped since.’
Noa laughed as she recalled the memory. Tes unapologetically holding hands with her first girlfriend, as they sat in the crowded pews, her mum’s eyes bugging out of her head. ‘God, your mum’s face was priceless. That was one way to come out that’s for sure.’
‘How do people fit all their things in such a small bag anyway?’ Tes pondered, still eyeing the rucksack like she was trying to solve one of Poirot’s great mysteries.
Noa picked up the black bag, trying it on and fastening the excessive number of straps in the mirror. Despite Tes’s sarcasm, not making a statement was exactly what Noa was going for. Going on this trip meant that she was already massively stepping out of her comfort zone enough as it was.
‘I guess we’re about to find out,’ she responded, shoving it into her trolley. It was clear that her dad’s rucksack had seen better days when he had dragged it down from the loft, the wear and tear from his own adventures evident. Noa had decided she wanted her own, one she could pull out one day and look upon with a fondness from what it represented. Plus, the gigantic hole in the side of his, that her mum insisted she could repair, seemed like a recipe for disaster.
They continued through the shop, Noa’s well-researched list in hand, because apparently her temporary spontaneous streak was just that, temporary, and she could never break the a lifelong habit. Noa could make a career out of overthinking and planning. It always helped her keep a sense of control when her thoughts spiralled. She’d struggled with anxiety her entire adult life, but after lots of cognitive behavioural therapy, established coping mechanisms, and a support network she could never quite thank enough, she was functioning and doing better than she had in years, despite recent events.
Noa’s tendency to write lists for any occasion became one of those coping mechanisms after she started seeing a therapist at sixteen, when her panic attacks had first started getting out of hand. There was no big, traumatic event leading up to it like people often assumed. Just her own sense of impending doomthat got worse and worse until she finally accepted help to manage it.
She was diagnosed with generalised anxiety and panic disorder, which meant she was prone to overthinking and becoming generally overwhelmed by life, and her brain often turned that into physical symptoms.
She’d learnt over the years that list-making allowed her to empty her often chaotic brain enough to think clearly and compartmentalise tasks before they could overwhelm her. Somewhere along the way, they had just become a force of habit, and probably one of her main personality traits at this point.
Looking down at her list, Noa realised how little her anxiety had reared its head over the breakup, how she had managed it using skills she had been working on for years, and a sudden feeling of pride washed over her.
Compared to when she was twenty-one, and had broken up with her first real boyfriend, Toby Crawly, who she had met at university, she was doing just fine. After he’d broken up with her over text, she’d locked herself in her room for a week, unable to quell the nausea or get out of bed. Her mum had gotten the train all the way to London after her roommate had called her, concerned with how Noa was taking it. Thinking of it like that made her feel like a whole new woman.
So this is what people liked to call growth.Noa smiled at herself, wondering if a pat on her own back was a step too far. Credit where credit’s due and what not.
At that moment, her best friend looked over at her and, like she’d read Noa’s thoughts, Tes said, ‘I’m proud of you, you know that?’
‘Oh, don’t go getting soppy on my now. We are only two weeks in. There’s plenty of time for a mental breakdown yet.You never know, you might come around tomorrow, and I’ll have shaved all my hair off.’
Noa couldn’t deal with the emotional conversation she was sure was about to occur, so she tried to deflect using humour, and was glad when it worked. The last thing she needed in a town where the gossip mill worked at a frightening speed was to start crying down the camping aisle.
‘Always one for the dramatics,’ Tes laughed.
‘Takes one to know one,’ Noa wagged her brow at Tes, who just feigned a look of outrage.
‘I’ll have you know that I think you get it from your brother, and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.’
The two of them proceeded to work their way through Noa’s list of travel necessities, filling her trolley with everything from packing cubes and microfibre towels, to travel chargers and portable lamps.
A guy who had been in their year at school was working there and helped Noa pick out the most appropriate walking shoes for steep and rocky terrain in humid climates.
‘Why are you buying those?’ Tes asked, completely bewildered. ‘You are going to be hiking? You? Really?’ She dragged out the last part.
‘I should be offended.’
‘Oh, hun, you forget that I was the one you hid in the toilets with at school during PE and helped you fake your period on sports day.’
‘Point taken, but things change if you haven’t noticed. Maybe I’ll find that I love hiking and sports when I’m off finding myself.’
The words sounded like a lie even as she said them, and she could see that Tes was trying to hold in a laugh.
‘Okay, I’ll humour you. But if you as much as think about bringing that attitude home and trying to make me all healthy and shit, then I will revoke your best friend privileges. Hard pass on the twenties fitness trend, thank you very much’.
Noa wrapped her arms round Tes, then fixed her mouth into a straight line and gave her a serious nod, ‘Aye, aye, Captain.’
Once they’d paid, it took them longer than it should have to transport Noa’s purchases into her old, faithful car before they flopped into the front seats with a harrumph. Shopping was exhausting.
Noa knew she had all the gear and no idea but, if social media said she needed it, then it was probably in her back seat.
‘Come on, let’s go get you packed so that I can rub it in your brother’s face and watch him turn as red as a beetroot. You know it’s my favourite pastime,’ Tes grinned.
