Blokes, Beers & Burritos

Note From The Author

I am really excited that you have picked up Blokes, Beers & Burritos, and are about to read it. I don’t want to spoil things for you so I won’t reveal too much, but I would like to say that I am an ordinary woman with no special talents, apart from a passion to help others. I wrote this book to help women to be happy in every area of their lives, but in a much shorter timespan than it took me. When I was younger, I wasn’t willing to admit to anyone - not even myself - that I needed help, so there was no way I would have turned to a traditional self-help book. To help women in a similar situation, I decided to put the Steps to Bliss within the pages of fiction so that they could have fun while learning about themselves too. With this in mind, you can either do the Steps to Bliss alongside Cath as she learns them, or you can finish the story and then go through the Steps with your own life in mind. There is a summary of the Steps to Bliss at the end of the book.

Dedication

To mum and dad, without whom I would never have had the dogged determination and drive to succeed in life. I thank you and love you with all my heart.

Acknowledgements

So many people influenced this book that it would be impossible to mention them all. Most of all, I would like to say a special thanks to my husband who has been my rock throughout the long and often frustrating process. As I am not a professional writer, it was a steep learning curve for me and I had to fit writing in-between being a mum and being a bread-winner, which was a huge challenge! With this in mind, I would also like to thank my son for putting up with me when I was sometimes lost in my thoughts in a far-away world. In addition I would like to thank all my wonderful friends and family – you know who you are –who have supported me and stuck by me in my darkest days. Also, a big thank you to all my teachers along the way who have taught me everything I know. On a practical note, I would like to thank my editors, Jane Goodfellow and Keidi Keating aka Your Book Angel for a wonderful job on helping get my book to this stage, and finally, a huge thank you to Indie Authors World for all their help (and patience!) in turning my goal into reality.

Prologue

West Hampstead, London - 28 March 2015

A slice of glistening light beamed through the crack in the mocha curtains, creating a mystical grey-blue haze in the room. Cath blinked her eyes open while stifling a yawn with one hand and stretching out the other. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she observed Brian’s upper arm muscles tensing as he ripped the duvet from his naked body. ‘What are you doing?’

Brian sat up and placed his elbows on his taut thighs, clasping his head in his hands. ‘Sorry.’

Cath shunted across the bed like a caterpillar to move closer to him. ‘Don’t worry about not getting me a present – it’s not a big birthday.’ She flicked her long chestnut-brown hair so it fell provocatively over her left shoulder, revealing the delicate flesh of her neck, before reaching across to caress Brian’s tanned back. But, as her fingers made contact with his skin, he recoiled. Leaning forward, she peered up at him with her piercing grey eyes, hoping they would mesmerise him, and at the same time she kissed the cusp of his lower left hip, a place she knew turned him on, but he shifted away.

‘No, that’s not what I meant. Sorry. I can’t do this anymore.’

Cath felt the temperature in the room plummet.

‘What did you say?’ Cath grabbed for his elbow but he snapped his arm away. She burrowed her finger in her ear and rattled it in the hollow. ‘I can’t have heard you correctly after what happened, three times, last night?’

Brian stood up, eyes scanning the floor. ‘You heard me.’

‘But… you can’t… break up with me today.’ Cath bit her bottom lip in an attempt not to cry. The room was so cold, she feared her tears would emerge as icicles. ‘It’s my birthday.’

Brian leant over and picked up his boxers, hauling them on quickly. After hesitating for a few seconds, he delved into his overnight bag, producing a crumpled HMV bag. He tossed it onto the bed, where it landed as far away from Cath as possible. Anger engulfed the sadness she felt as it rose from the depths.

He continued to scoop his shorts and t-shirt off the floor. ‘It’s a present.’

‘I can see that. Is it a consolation prize?’

‘No.’ Brian was about to say something further but nearly toppled over in an attempt to put his shorts on too hastily. Cath suppressed a snigger. When Brian regained his balance, he continued getting dressed, still avoiding eye contact. ‘Things haven’t been right for a while. I didn’t think it fair to string you along. I bought you the present because I felt bad.’

Cath registered the use of the past tense then snatched the HMV bag, tipping out Insurgent. She threw the DVD at him. ‘So you bloody well should!’ Realising that this action had left her flesh fully bared, she grabbed the duvet to cover up her exposed body. ‘Take your poor excuse of a present and get out. Now.’

Brian grabbed his overnight bag, wrenched open the bedroom door, then slammed it hard enough behind him to make the framed black and white photograph on the wall tremble. She cursed Brian for disturbing her favourite picture in the world: a photo of her dad kissing her when she was four years old.

Vibrating with anger, Cath fell back into bed and bashed the pillow with her bare fists. Why is this happening again? And on my birthday? What’s wrong with me? She curled up into the fetal position and hugged the pillow tightly. The faint smell of Brian’s aftershave provoked spasms of emotion but she swallowed back the tears. Although she could feel the familiar hurt clambering up from the depths, she would not allow herself to cry. Instead, she plunged her unwelcome feelings further into the abyss, leaving them to fester.

The previous night’s rampant activities together with the morning’s emotional drain were taking their toll on Cath and she couldn’t keep her eyes open, so she fell into a deep sleep.

As she woke up, she felt a streak of saliva dribbling down her chin and it had soaked the pillow. She wiped her chin with the duvet and then registered the time on the bedside clock, which told her she had been asleep for a couple of hours. She downed a pint of water then fumbled for the Insurgent DVD, inserted the disc into the DVD player, and pressed play. She saw the pictures but the storyline wasn’t registering. All she could think about was what could be wrong with her. Why doesn’t Brian want to be with me? Am I boring? Ugly? Fat? She came to the conclusion that if she dieted and made more of an effort with her appearance, perhaps he would want to be with her. But that wasn’t the only thing bothering her. Not only did she have another failed relationship to add to her growing collection, she also had a pending bullying charge hanging over her at work.

She had always wanted to go travelling, so maybe it was time to take the plunge. Resolving to go to Trailfinders on Kensington High Street the next day, Cath returned to watching the second film in the Divergent series.

Chapter One

Mexico City, Mexico 25 August 2015

Uh oh, something’s wrong. Adrenalin raced through Cath’s veins as she watched the taxi driver disappear into the darkness of the tunnel a few metres ahead. Don’t follow him anymore. Get away from him! She couldn’t ignore her internal screams for a moment longer so she turned around and headed back towards the airport. I only landed an hour ago. How have I managed to get myself into trouble already? Idiot!

She heard footsteps behind her, so she figured the driver must have noticed she was no longer following him. He was now pursuing her instead and yelled something in Spanish but, as she didn’t understand what he was saying, she sped up as fast as her legs would carry her. Well, as fast as possible with a 20-kilogram backpack bobbing up and down on her sweaty back. Ahead, she spotted a queue of tourists underneath an over-sized, glowing neon sign that said, ‘Taxi’. Idiot! How she had managed to miss this enormous sign on her way out of Departures, and had instead decided to follow a complete stranger claiming to be a taxi driver, she would never know.

She reached the queue and stopped suddenly next to two short, dark-haired guys with backpacks resting against their legs. She side-stepped to be even closer to the boys in an effort to feel safe, aware she was invading their personal space.

She peeled the backpack off her melting back, trying not to whack anyone in the process. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ The two boys took a couple of steps back but, as they did so, they collided with a six-foot natural blonde standing in front of them.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean...’ Cath wasn’t sure if she was apologising for causing the boys to embarrass themselves or because they had to speak to her instead of the Nordic beauty.

The shorter of the two spoke first. ‘No problemo, eet okay.’

In normal circumstances, Cath would have savoured the sound of English spoken with an Italian accent, but she was still getting over having been almost kidnapped by a Mexican taxi driver. She scanned the vicinity and sighed deeply when she couldn’t see him anywhere. Turning her attention back to the two Italians, she felt the need to explain why her skin was coated in a fine glaze of moisture. ‘I’ve just narrowly escaped being raped, killed, or sold into a life of slavery.’

Ignoring her comment, either through incomprehension or embarrassment, the boys offered her a full-strength Marlboro cigarette. A cigarette was the perfect antidote for calming her nerves, but if she succumbed, it would mean throwing away a year of kicking the habit. She shook her head slowly as she watched the boys enjoy every inhalation of nicotine, tar, and carbon monoxide. Coughing on their second-hand smoke, Cath answered their barrage of questions: ‘What’s your name? Where are you from? Where are you going? How long are you away for?’

Asking the same questions back, Cath learnt that their names were Alessandro and Matteo, they were from Milan, they were on holiday for two weeks, and they were heading to Chiquita’s in the centre of Mexico City.

Cath grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt to mop up the globules of sweat on her forehead until she realised the boys were staring at her exposed flesh, so she quickly replaced the material. ‘What a coincidence, that’s the same hostel I’m going to.’ With her backpack between her legs, Cath waddled towards the front of the queue like a penguin. As the boys bundled into the next available taxi, Cath stood with her mouth open. Surely you’re not going to abandon me?

Alessandro, the taller Italian, held the taxi door open and gestured for her to get inside.

‘Come.’

Is he asking or telling me? Cath didn’t care and climbed into the taxi before it could drive off without her.

Forty-five minutes later, the clock on the wall behind the reception desk at the hostel told Cath it was midnight. A quick calculation in her head meant she had been awake for over twenty hours. A yawn slipped out of her mouth involuntarily.

Matteo gave her a sympathetic nod, ‘You, bed?’

If you were four inches taller, I might be tempted. Cath was about to giggle at her own joke when Alessandro reached for Cath’s hand like it was a delicate flower and kissed it. ‘Buona notte.’

Before she had time to blush, Matteo elbowed him out of the way playfully, positioned himself in front of her and kissed her on both cheeks softly. ‘Buona notte, bellissima ragazza.’

Then, as if they were in a hurry, the boys smiled and marched up the stairs arguing. Even when they had vanished round a corner and were out of sight, Cath could still hear them quarrelling in the distance.

After following basic directions in pidgin English from the receptionist, she found herself in a labyrinth of corridors. After double-backing on herself three times, Cath eventually found her dorm room on the second floor. As she pulled open the door, she was hit with a stench of blue cheese and an oppressive heat as stifling as a sauna. Beads of sweat clung to hair follicles she didn’t even know she had. Yuck! How can anyone sleep in this? A beam of light shone in from the corridor, and illuminated two bunk beds lined up along either side of the wall. It was as inviting as a prison cell. There was a narrow strip of floor, a little wider than the walkway on a Boeing 747, covered in random trainers, flip flops, t-shirts and shorts, as well as various toiletries labelled in different languages. Every one of the bunk beds contained a comatose body except for the top one to her right. That’ll be my bed then.

As soon as she closed the door, a nightlight launched into action, leaving the room in a dull shimmer. She peeled off her t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms while keeping an eye on the sleeping bodies, to ensure no-one was taking a sneaky look, and pulled out a sheet sleeping bag and an over-sized bright pink t-shirt. She put on the t-shirt and undid her bra’s catch, pulling it out expertly through the armholes.

Having found a small area behind the door for her backpack, she climbed up the wonky ladder timidly. When she’d made it to the top, she had to manoeuvre herself horizontally onto the lumpy mattress or risk colliding with the over-sized fan positioned inches from where she was supposed to sleep.

Cath counted the straining rotations of the aged fan, which was barely creating a disturbance in the surrounding air. She reached one hundred and seventy-nine when a pressure forced down on her bladder. No. Not now! She got halfway down the ladder before her foot slipped off the bottom rung and she fell onto the floor with a thud. Idiot! No-one moved. She was more irritated that no-one had noticed her stunt worthy of a scene in an action movie than at having hurt herself. Steadying herself to her feet, she warily placed one foot in front of the other, avoiding the obstacles on the floor until she reached the bathroom door. Sighing with relief that she had made it without further injury, Cath closed the door and switched on the light. As soon as the brightness finished assaulting her eyes, bile advanced into her throat. The room looked and smelled like a public toilet following a Delhi belly outbreak.

To avoid the billions of germs, wet urine splashes, and ‘pebble dashes’ on the seat, Cath used every ounce of muscle strength in her thighs to hover over the toilet while trying not to throw up. She cradled her head in her hands. What was I thinking? Why did I think travelling would solve my problems?

With an absence of toilet roll, Cath had to drip-dry. She washed her hands three times and hoped she wouldn’t develop Obsessive Compulsive Disorder over the following year. She switched off the light and precariously climbed through the semi-darkness and back into bed. At two-hundred and ninety-three counts of the fan, she eventually drifted to sleep.

Riley, Cath’s latest love interest back home, whom she’d become involved with after being dumped by Brian on her birthday six months earlier, was spooning her in a four poster bed with sheets that felt soft and silky against her skin. There was a gentle rocking motion while Riley’s fingertips shadowed the contours of Cath’s naked waist and then moved towards her breasts suggestively, almost touching her already aroused nipples, before retreating leisurely to the top of her thighs. He repeated his preferred form of torture until Cath was writhing so much she couldn’t take it anymore. She seized his hand and positioned it on her wet mound. She moaned as her erogenous zone rushed signals throughout her body. ‘Oh Riley, you turn me on so much!’

She was about to slip her hand underneath the waistband of his boxer shorts when she froze and opened her eyes. It was a matter of seconds before she realised where she was. Face burning, she peered over the edge of her bed, careful not to engage in a fight with the fan, and saw that the rocking motion had been created by a giant Nordic-looking bloke on the bed beneath her. The enormous man was sitting on the lower bunk bed while trying to dress himself, causing the entire bed frame to shudder in greater degrees as they expanded away from him like ripples from the epicenter of an earthquake. Cath breathed an exaggerated sigh. When she had finished expressing her annoyance at her rude roommate, and had woken up everyone else in the process, Cath slunk back under the fan. Closing her eyes in the hope she would float back into her dream, pangs of hunger screamed from her stomach to her brain, making sleep impossible. She got up, flung on some clothes, and followed her nose through the labyrinth of rooms to find the cafeteria. She gave up and stopped a Tom Cruise lookalike for directions. ‘Excuse me, where’s breakfast?’

‘Basement. I’m going there, follow me.’ He marched ahead without waiting for her.

When they arrived, Cath was nearly level with her guide and was about to engage him in conversation when he disappeared into the sea of bodies.

The cafeteria was a heaving array of mismatched tables and chairs reminding Cath of a school canteen. She spotted an area at the top of the room where a throng of people were buzzing around, so she joined them in the hope they were at the food station. After several minutes of being jostled from side to side, Cath reached a few slices of anaemic looking bread before deciding she wasn’t hungry after all. Next up was a large metal drum of boiling water, which made her think of a church hall coffee morning. She grabbed the last sachet of Lipton tea along with a chipped mug and filled it with boiling water. Then she broke free from the swarm and scanned the room for her two Italian saviours from the night before. Every table was crammed full of backpackers of varying shapes, sizes and degrees of cleanliness, but no sign of her lovely Italians. Damn! Cath didn’t know what to do so she took a deep breath, pushed her shoulders back, held her head high, and walked defiantly towards the door through which she’d entered.

Cath weaved through the maze of corridors to relocate the reception area. On the way, she passed a yellow-tinged computer that looked like something out of the 1980’s and a fridge full of soft drinks that lit up the otherwise drab surroundings. Cath reached the reception counter and rifled through a jumble of leaflets – all in Spanish – about local attractions, tours, and activities while she waited for the two receptionists to stop talking to each other. The pictures were all she could comprehend so she replaced the leaflets, tapped her fingers on the wooden surface, and looked at her watch. How rude! Customer service in this country isn’t up to much. As if one of the receptionists could read Cath’s mind, she turned and looked at her like she was a piece of dirt. Cath was about to ask if she could use the internet and buy a cola lite, when she stopped and asked, ‘You speak English?’

The olive-skinned receptionist used her finger and thumb to demonstrate how much. ‘A beet.’ Then shot a smile to her colleague.

‘How – use – internet?’ Cath asked, pointing at the lonely computer. ‘How – much – cola lite?’

Smirking, the receptionist answered with perfect English in a broad Yorkshire accent. Cow!

With cheeks burning, Cath paid for half an hour’s internet access and a drink and marched over to the computer, collecting an ice cold cola lite on the way. The can of drink opened with a hiss while the computer thought about working. Cath was hit with a cool sweetness which provided momentary joy while the aged modem dialled-up to the World Wide Web. It took five minutes before Cath could view the ten spam emails in her inbox. Cursing under her breath, she decided to use the remaining twenty minutes to send emails and write her first blog.

First, Cath wanted to let Riley know how much she was already missing him. Having randomly met him at a party via a friend, they’d had a whirlwind romance akin to something out of a Mills and Boon novel. Even though he was originally from Liverpool, he lived and worked in London so they saw each other every day of the six weeks before Cath flew to Mexico City. While Riley showed signs that he adored her, Cath wondered if his feelings were so intense because he’d always known their relationship had an expiry date. She decided to find out how committed he really was.

All I can think about is how much I miss you, and worrying that it will be a full year before I see you again – unless you come and visit me of course!!! I’d love it if you could

PS. I had a very rude dream about you last night...!!!

Cath was apprehensive about what his response might be, and then wrote her first Brown on Tour blog, which would be read – hopefully – by the friends and family to whom she had provided the link a few days ago.

Brown on Tour

Day 1: Mexico City

After an uneventful but long flight, I arrived safely and am loving Mexico City – it’s so vibrant, hot, and the people are friendly. The hostel is plush and, even though I’m in a dorm, we’ve got our own en-suite bathroom. Not what I was expecting for the equivalent of £5 per night!

I haven’t tried any Mexican food yet but I’m looking forward to sampling my first nachos, tacos and fajitas and washing them down with a Tequila Sunrise. Can’t wait.

I can’t tell you what I’ve got planned for the day because I haven’t organised anything yet but I’ll keep you updated!

Finally, she emailed her best friend, Rosie.

Please ignore what my blog says. It’s true that I arrived safely – just; after nearly getting led down a dark alleyway by some bloke pretending to be a taxi driver - but the rest is rubbish. The hostel is hideous and I’m surrounded by stinky, loud backpackers. What have I done? If I wasn’t so stubborn, I’d turn round and come back tonight! But I left for a reason so I must force myself to stay for at least a week.

Cath still had ten minutes of online time left so she scanned her inbox to see if there was anything worth reading. She wasn’t in the market for a ‘hot, sexy, young’ Russian bride. Delete. Nor was she interested in pills to enlarge her penis. Delete. Nor did she want to give an imprisoned Prince her bank details in exchange for a share of his $2 million fortune. Delete. Next, there was an email from The Bliss Expert entitled, ‘Cath, do you want it all?’ Goosebumps raced through her body and she felt compelled to open it.

Do you want to be happy?

Do you want to be in a long-term relationship with a man who loves and respects you as much as you do him?

Do you want a close relationship with your family?

Do you want to be fit, slim and healthy?

Do you want a job you feel passionate about, and a career that fulfils you and earns you a lot of money?

Of course I want all those things. Who doesn’t? But she was intrigued how the email could be specifically addressed to her and how it knew to pinpoint all the things she wanted in her life. In fact, how did it know the very reasons why she’d come travelling in the first place? Despite being tempted to read on, she assumed it must be a scam so pressed the delete button. No sooner had she done so than another email popped up from the same address. She opened it.

I wouldn’t delete emails from me if I were you. I am offering you everything you could ever want.

Over the course of your trip, I will give you advice, useful tips of where to go, who to travel with and who would be best to avoid. Here’s a taster of what you can expect if you decide to trust me:

It was a good decision to not go with the taxi man last night; it wouldn’t have ended well

Go with the two Italians when they ask you. They’ll help you to settle into travelling

Don’t use Riley to make you feel better about yourself

Be open to people who you would normally judge harshly. They could be of immense help to you if you’ll let them

Then, when you are ready, I will give you The Ten Steps to Bliss that will help you create positive changes in your life.

The world stopped moving. Cath scanned the room for anyone suspicious-looking but she could only see the two receptionists chatting at a million miles an hour, so engrossed in their conversation that Cath could have stripped naked and performed a rain dance in front of them and they wouldn’t have noticed. There was not a single other person around, suspicious-looking or otherwise. How could The Bliss Expert know about the things I want most in my life? How could he know that I’d deleted his email? She had assumed The Bliss Expert was a man. How come his email contains my name? How does he know that I followed the taxi driver and met two Italian boys last night? And judgemental? How dare he! One plausible answer was that the Italian boys had somehow got hold of her email address and were playing a prank on her. Maybe, like the receptionist, their English was much better than they’d made out and they had guessed a girl travelling alone in Mexico might be searching for something. But then she reasoned it couldn’t be them because she hadn’t told them about Riley. Before she had time to reread the email, the screen flickered and went black. Her thirty minutes was up.

Now what? Swallowing her pride, Cath approached the receptionist from Yorkshire and asked where she recommended visiting.

‘There’s a minibus taking a few guests on a day trip to a cathedral and some pyramids. They’re worth seeing and only an hour away. It’s leaving in thirty minutes outside the front here.’ She pointed at the revolving door behind Cath.

‘Sounds great!’ Cath paid the receptionist for a ticket and returned to her room, which smelled like someone had died. She had enough time to shower, eat three packets of biscuits, two oat bars and a mini cheese sandwich that she’d pilfered from the plane before researching where she was about to visit. Her Lonely Planet guide book confirmed that the receptionist was indeed recommending a ‘must see’ sight on the outskirts of Mexico City.

Cath checked her watch. It was six minutes past ten and she couldn’t see a minivan anywhere. Maybe the receptionist sold me a