It wasn’t until much later that I realised it wasn’t so much the monkey that made Nellie scream. It was the man who’d joined our group that day. It was a kind of bird call.
Everyone in the tour group gave a start. I swivelled my DSLR from the alpha monkey squatting on the edge of the dirt path to my best friend - she was leaping away from two macaques closing in, demanding food. She was filming with one hand and flapping the other, screeching at them to back off. I had a flash of second-hand embarrassment, even if I was secretly thrilled to be capturing more chaotic gold for my holiday video series.
This was our third day in Vietnam and we were on a tour guide trip, feeding macaques on a dusty stretch of road near Cần Giờ. I was with Nellie and two guys she knew from uni - Ronnie and Daniel.
“You’re scaring them. Give them some peanuts,” Daniel said, half amused, half annoyed. He slung his brown, hairy arm around Nellie’s waist to keep her from bolting. Dust curled around her bare legs as she staggered back, clinging to Daniel’s sweat-soaked oversized tee like it was a life vest.
I swung my lens to Ronnie, who was cackling behind them, round and red-faced as a tomato.
“You’re such a pussy, Nellie,” he called.
The monkeys looked more confused than frightened or angry. I whip-panned just in time to catch one of the younger monkeys scooping up a stray peanut and stuffing it into its mouth with the urgency of a toddler.
I spotted the lean, forty-something Nordic tourist drifting through our group. He was the one tossing peanuts to the monkeys. We’d seen him check into our hotel the day after we arrived.
Everything about him was pale - wispy fair hair, a crisp white T-shirt, beige shorts, spotless white Jordans, and a light olive safari hat - except his skin, which was quite brown.
One of the monkeys ran up to him and looked up at him like a greedy child. The tourist held out his hand offering more nuts.
To my surprise, the monkey scaled up his shirt like a tree and perched on his shoulder. Sandy paw prints smeared his clothes, but he didn’t seem to mind, just watched, vaguely amused, as the monkey fished out the remaining peanuts from his open hand.
“That was sick,” Daniel said, genuinely impressed.
I half-expected the tourist to make some kind of theatrical bow like a circus performer, but he stood there wearing a calm, pleased expression, like the monkey belonged there.
Nellie let out a dramatic “Oooooh,” followed by a round of applause. She asked him with a hint of sarcasm (her trademark) if he was a monkey trainer. She went up to him and I followed closely behind, filming them both with my camera. The tourist didn’t even seem to notice me. I preferred it that way. Once people clock the camera, they freeze and ruin the scene.
He looked slightly thrown by Nellie’s attention, like he wasn’t used to girls like her speaking to him. He answered quietly, in a soft accent. Something about his parents working at a zoo in Stockholm. Nellie’s eyes lit up - she loved animals. Except monkeys, maybe.
There was something weedy and isolated about him. Not unpleasant, just… pitiful. A man who lived in his head more than the world.
When she asked if he still worked with animals, he said no - he was now the CEO of some computer engineering company. Didn’t surprise me. Not Nellie’s type at all.
She crept cautiously around the tourist and the monkey. I wanted to catch more action on camera, so I asked her to hold out a handful of peanuts. She hesitated. She asked the tourist if the monkey would bite - “what if it had rabies?” The tourist smiled and said he didn’t think so; they were trained by the Vietnamese keepers, he said. He handed the monkey another peanut.
That seemed to reassure her. She held out the peanuts. The monkey leapt onto her shoulder and scrambled straight up to her head. Nellie started screaming again, waving her arms and shaking her head like a mental patient, trying to get it off.
The tourist stepped in quickly - grabbing her arm to steady her, waving his other hand at the monkey. It hopped down and disappeared into the mangroves like it hadn’t just committed social terrorism.
The tourist asked Nellie if she was OK. He stroked her arm to comfort her. Which was a bit weird.
Nellie looked a mess: the monkey had restyled her head into a bird’s nest. Her face was damp with sweat and child-like tears. She kept blubbering about the monkey having nearly ripped her eye out - hardly accurate.
Daniel charged over and wedged himself between her and the tourist, glaring at him like he'd just shoved her in front of a car. The tourist tried to explain. Daniel turned his back and led Nellie away. He wrapped her in his pudgy arms, murmuring soft words of comfort.
An alarmed Ronnie grinned at me. “It nicked her sunglasses.” He pointed at his forehead as if I were a non English-speaking Vietnamese girl.
I felt a twinge of guilt. I had pushed Nellie into engaging with the monkeys. She’ll be fine, I told myself. Give it a few hours. Once she’s seen the footage, she’ll be laughing too.
I filmed the monkey keepers ploughing through the tangle of mangrove roots to look for Nellie’s sunglasses. Fifteen minutes later, they emerged victorious, except the glasses were tiny and bright pink, clearly made for a child.
Nellie swore she’d never go on a Vietnam tour ever again. Daniel and I groaned with sympathy, although we were pretty much inured to her bouts of melodrama.
“I can feel the sweat in my eyeballs,” Nellie moaned, squinting in the midday sun. “Slow down guys, I can’t see where I’m going!”
“You can have mine,” the tourist said, holding out his sunglasses.
Nellie declined with typical English politeness, but the tourist insisted. She eventually gave in. She promised to return them at the end of the tour. They actually looked good on her.
I asked the tourist what brand they were. Cartier, he said.
Nellie’s mouth formed a perfect little ‘o’ expressing wild surprise. She pulled me aside and hissed, “That costs more than my tuition!”
Finally Nellie had a smile on her face and we could all relax. For now.
The hissing chitter chatter of cicadas filled the mangroves. The further we walked from the monkeys, the narrower the road became. Trees flanked us on either side, their branches almost forming a canopy overhead; good for shade at least.
The ground grew muddier as we approached a massive bog sprawled across the path. Our guide told us to go around it in a single file.
Ronnie led the way, followed by Daniel and Nellie. I got caught up filming the scenery on my DSLR and nearly got left behind. The tourist slipped in ahead of me, just behind Nellie, leaving me to trail behind him. I was getting the scent of rosewater and sour sweat wafting off his back.
“Can you move your fat arse faster?” Nellie snapped at Daniel in front of her. “Your stink’s making me nauseous.”
“There’s someone in front of me, if you haven’t noticed,” Daniel shot back.
“Ronnie’s miles ahead of you!” Nellie complained. Seconds later she was complaining about a stone in her shoe.
“Let me carry you then,” Daniel said.
“No, I’m fine. You’re too sweaty.”
But then she slipped. The Swedish tourist grabbed her shoulders to steady her. But now he was sliding all over the place. I couldn’t help giggling when he slid into the bog, up to his knees.
People behind us let out a cry of pity. One of the Sri Lankan tourists stretched out a hand to help him back onto solid ground. His clothes and pristine trainers were ruined. Ronnie and Daniel were laughing like it was the best slapstick sketch they’d ever seen.
“It’s not funny!” Nellie scolded. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you OK?!” she asked the tourist.
The tourist gritted his teeth, shaking off his legs with as much dignity as he could muster. “I’ll be fine. The sun’ll dry it out.” He didn’t sound angry, just mildly uncomfortable. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah I’m OK. I’ve got some tissues. Here…”
She got out a small travel pack and bent down to wipe the tourist’s legs herself, like a mother fussing over her child. The tourist tensed slightly, unsure of himself. Then I caught a glimpse of a shy smile, as he looked down at Nellie’s blonde head just below his waist.
“You’re right, it does look like he’s getting a blowjob from you!”
Now back at the hotel in Ho Chi Minh City’s main district, Ronnie and I were doubled over with laughter as we scrolled through the footage on my camera, waiting for the lift to arrive.
Nellie chuckled along, though I could tell from her wrinkled nose that she was a little mortified as well.
“If you put this on our vlog, we’re never going on holiday again,” she warned, giving me a semi-serious glare.
Daniel, meanwhile, hadn’t cracked a smile. He’d been sulking the entire journey back. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he muttered to Nellie. “He can take care of himself.”
“It was my fault he lost his sunglasses and wrecked his trainers. It was the least I could do.”
“Yeah, sure, but you didn’t have to separate from us and sit in a different boat with him.”
“That guy’s alone. He has no friends, no family. You’ve got each other. Don’t whine just because I stopped wiping your arses for two hours.”
The lift arrived, boiling hot and cramped as ever. We stepped in, turned around - and there he was, with two stunning Vietnamese women on each arm, both in breezy summer dresses. They looked like influencers on a brand trip. He looked like a bloke who played tennis on the weekend.
“Oh wait, I need to give him back his glasses,” Nellie said, darting out of the lift just as the doors were closing.
Daniel let out a sigh of exasperation and thumped one of the buttons and we stepped out. We held back while Nellie chatted with the tourist. He looked delighted she’d come over to say hello. He even stepped away from the two Vietnamese women, as if they didn’t exist anymore.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Nellie was definitely flirting with him, giggling and smiling at him like a shy schoolgirl.
I was about to tell Daniel to let go of the button when Nellie rejoined us, looking smug.
“You still got them,” Ronnie pointed out the tourist’s glasses still in her hands.
Nellie smiled tartly in return. “He said they’re mine now. He has another pair in his room.”
The three of us raised our eyebrows. We watched the tourist stroll off to the bar with his glamorous companions in tow.
I must’ve misread him. He wasn’t so shy and unassuming after all.
“You know what, he actually looks a lot like your last ex,” Ronnie said, dipping his calamari in some chilli sauce. “The one you dumped because he wanted to be a tranny. Is that why you’re into him?”
Nellie blew a raspberry, which sprayed bits of her sirloin steak out of her mouth (nice). She had the tourist’s Cartier shades perched on her head like a tiara.
“No! He looks nothing like my ex. Nowhere near as ugly,” Nellie said.
It was 8pm. We were sitting under fairy lights at a Korean BBQ spot in central Ho Chi Minh, surrounded by sizzling meat, banana trees, amid a cacophony of voices. The grill at our table was puffing out eye-watering smoke while Daniel tended to his third - and final - plate of marinated fish.
“What would you rate the tourist out of ten?” I asked Nellie.
She couldn’t resist. Nellie lived for rating things. She gave it a moment. “Hard to say… but first impression? I’d give him a 6.5.”
Ronnie and I shared a cheeky grin as our curiousity piqued. What was it about this guy?
“Can we please talk about something else?” Daniel cut in. “I’m done with this conversation.” He was clearly annoyed. Again. Such a prude.
Nellie reached across the table, grabbed his face with her greasy fingers, and planted a kiss on his cheek. That shut him up. He even cracked a smile as he wiped the greasy smear off his cheek with a napkin.
By the time the bill arrived, we were all a bit woozy - tropical cocktails and ice-cold beers were hitting just right. The boys and I chipped in with cash. Nellie, having run out, tapped her phone to pay by card.
Declined.
She frowned, checked her bank app, and sobered up instantly.
“Daniel -”
“I’ve already paid for your food twice, Nellie. Are you that broke?”
“My second account’s empty.”
“Then use your credit.”
“No, that’s for my tuition.”
“It’s only four quid,” Daniel scoffed. ”That’s hardly bankruptcy.”
“I’ll get it,” I cut in before it escalated. I waved down the waiter and handed over the last of my dong notes.
“You can’t keep relying on people to pay for your stuff,” Daniel muttered, pushing back his chair.
“I have literally nothing!” Nellie snapped. “What do you want me to do - start dancing on tables?”
Daniel didn’t respond. He just walked out, jaw tight.
“Thanks, Fia. I’ll pay you back,” Nellie said softly.
“What’s it gonna be?” Ronnie grinned. “Naked massage or toe-sucking?”
Nellie smacked his arm. “Shut the fuck up, Ronnie.”
“Just get me a bubble tea when we’re back home,” I told her.
Nellie gave me a small, grateful smile - half embarrassed, half relieved I didn’t make things worse.
We found Daniel waiting near a taxi stop, hands in his pockets, eyes on a nearby building lit up like a slot machine. Flashing neon signs screamed ‘Las Vegas’, ‘Good Luck!’, and clinking martini glasses in rainbow lights.
I lifted my DSLR from where it had been thumping against my chest and tried to capture the garish display. The colours bled together as I cranked up the ISO.
“What d’you reckon?” Daniel asked, his earlier moodiness replaced with a boyish grin. “I know a bit of poker. Think we can win Nellie some cash?”
I was tempted to see what was inside, but waited to hear what the others thought.
“A poker app doesn’t make you a pro,” Nellie said, unimpressed. “Can we just go back to the hotel? I need to charge my phone and call my mum.”
“Ronnie?”
“Nah, I’m good, mate,” Ronnie yawned. “I’m knackered. You lot crack on if you want,” he added, glancing at me and Daniel.
I would’ve preferred if we all went together, so I shook my head. “Maybe another night.”
Daniel shrugged and raised a hand for a taxi, the moment already slipping away in the city heat.
Back at the hotel, our room felt warmer than usual - that thick tropical stillness that clung to your skin even after the sun went down. After a quick shower, now in fresh clothes, Nellie collapsed onto her single bed and fished out her phone.
“She should be awake by now,” she mumbled, already dialling.
I kept to my business, dumping the day’s footage from camera to laptop.
Her mum Rabia answered on the third ring. Her voice was raspy but chipper. I couldn’t see her from where I was sitting.
“Hi darling,” she sighed. “You look tanned. Not too tanned, I hope? You know what I’ve said about sun damage.”
“I’ve been wearing your SPF 50.”
“Good. My new formula’s got hyaluronic acid and ginseng root. The lab reckons it might even beat Estée bloody Lauder.”
She launched into a ramble about her latest surgery - something involving screws, a ligament, and a severed nerve that made her right toes go numb. As long as I’d known her, Rabia’s had more conditions than WebMD and been under the knife more times than a cow at the butcher’s.
From surgery, she swerved into more exciting news: an investor from Dubai was sniffing around her skin cream line. Her voice fluttered with pride and exhaustion.
Nellie nodded along, polite and patient, shooting me the occasional glance like she was waiting for her cue to speak.
Ten minutes in, Rabia finally asked, “So how’s Vietnam? Is Fia with you?”
“I’m here, Rabia,” I called. Nellie flipped the phone to show my face.
I could see Rabia lying in bed, propped up by a ridiculous mountain of fluffy cushions. Her olive skin looked grey under the bedroom lighting, but her smile was warm.
Our exchange was short but sweet. Rabia almost saw me as a second daughter. “You’re part of the family,” she always said to me.
Nellie turned the phone back to herself. “We’re having a nice time,” she said. “It’s hot. We fed some monkeys today. One of them nicked my sunglasses and nearly took my eye out.”
I rolled my eyes.
Rabia hummed - slower now, her voice fading like a radio running out of battery. “You girls are lucky… being able to travel like that. Just don’t do drugs.”
That was rich, considering Nellie travelled with a whole pouch of prescription pills potent enough to rewire her DNA - all cleared by Rabia herself.
“Mummy?” Nellie said carefully. “I’m… out of money. Both accounts. Could you maybe lend me a bit? Just to get me through the last few days?”
Rabia winced. “You’ll have to ask Terry.”
“I don’t want to ask Terry. Please, Mummy. It’s just until I get home.”
“Darling, I can’t think right now. Please. Just talk to him.” She raised her voice, as much as she could manage. “Terry!”
Nellie let out a quiet groan. I heard heavy footsteps, then the unmistakable grunt of a man dragged from his recliner.
“What is it?”
“She needs to speak to you,” Rabia mumbled.
There was some fumbling as the phone changed hands. I recognised the laboured breathing of Terry - Nellie’s stepdad, a beefy Australian with the face and charm of a troll. Thankfully, I couldn’t see him from my seat. He’d always scared me.
“What?” he grunted.
Despite living under the same roof for over six years, there was still barely any warmth between them.
Nellie straightened up. “I just need a small loan. Like, £150. Just to get through the end of -”
“No.”
“I can’t keep asking my friends to cover for me -”
“Your mother already lent you money. Twice. What happened to that?”
“I had to pay for… well, flights, my dentist appointment -”
“Brilliant. A third one this year. What’s going on with your mouth? Are your teeth fucking migrating?”
I coughed to stifle a laugh. I’d told Nellie those teeth were straight the first time. She shot me a murderous look.
“I’ve got two job interviews lined up when I’m back. I can pay you.”
“If you can hold a job longer than a week.”
“That’s not fair!”
“You’re not a fucking kid anymore, Nellie. Grow up. Your mum’s already got enough on her plate.”
The call cut out before she could argue.
Nellie stared at the screen, hands shaking with rage. Then she jumped to her feet, grabbed her handbag, and stormed out.
“Nellie -” I started.
But the door had already slammed shut, hard enough to rattle the tacky wall art.
The room suddenly felt hollow - just the low hum of the air con and the buzz of mopeds outside. I stayed on the bed, unsure if I should follow or let her cool off.
A soft knock pulled me out of it. Daniel and Ronnie stood in the doorway, brows raised.
“Everything alright?” Ronnie asked.
“Not really.”
They stepped inside, and the space felt a little less hollow.
We started going over the budget. Could we realistically cover Nellie’s part of the trip? We were three broke twenty-one-year-olds - the boys were uni students and I was working at a fast food Asian restaurant - so the answer wasn’t ideal.
Our flight back to London was not for another five days. We had enough for one more excursion and maybe four restaurants. If we covered Nellie, it would cut our budget in half.
“We can still enjoy ourselves,” Ronnie said. “We’ll just skip the excursions. Stay local.”
I nodded, but the worry lingered. I wanted to make the most of this trip, all of us. But the shadow of debt was already creeping in.
Still, I wanted Nellie to know we had her back.
So I left the room and went to the only place I knew she’d go.
Create a good character and the story writes itself. Shiona Penrake has done just that and provided her readers with a moving and inspiring story. I look forward to more.
An exceptionally good story of young twentysomethings abroad running into deep water when their money runs out. Refreshing that it wasn't yet another story arounddrugs possession. Really wel observed. Feels real and honest, with likeable characters.