Destination India

‘We overslept,’ I said, wanting to fill this tense wait. She nodded and looked us up and down as if that explained everything.

A few moments later Shelley glanced up. The colour had completely faded from her face. ‘It’s … it’s … not here.’

My stomach lurched. ‘No!’ I gasped. I stared at her, desperate for her to break into a huge grin and pull it out of her bag, waving it around saying: ‘Ha gotcha!’ But instead Shelley looked like she was about to cry or pass out or both.

‘Shell? You’re a hundred per cent sure you haven’t got it?’ I started rooting around my own bag in case I had picked it up by mistake. ‘Empty everything out and let’s check again,’ I ordered, much to the disgust of the check-in lady. It had to be here. We simply didn’t have time to head home to search for it and make our flight.

‘Ladies. Please hurry. I should have closed check-in five minutes ago,’ Check-in lady hissed, trying to ignore the mess we were making on the cold, hard floor of the departures hall.

‘It must be here!’ I cried, shaking my bag out as pens and spare socks tumbled to the floor. It was becoming very obvious that Shelley’s passport wasn’t in either of our bags. ‘Check your pockets. Wait – maybe we left it in the taxi? Are you sure you even had it?’

Shelley turned her empty pockets inside out and roughly wiped her eyes. ‘Positive. I put it in the inside pocket of my bag before we went to the pub. I even took this bag with me last night as I was paranoid I’d lose it …’ She trailed off as if thinking about something before jerking her head up. ‘Marie.’

‘What?’ I stopped scrambling on my knees and stared at her. ‘What do you mean Marie?’

‘I mean, I left my bag at the table when you two were talking, well, arguing – remember? Then you both left it unattended after your fight,’ she whispered, biting her bottom lip.

‘What? Well then it could have been anyone in there, couldn’t it?’ I said, feeling faint with the worry bubbling up inside of me. Marie wouldn’t sabotage this trip, would she? Would she?

‘Excuse me, Miss Green?’ Check-in lady barked, pulling me back to the immediate crisis we were dealing with. ‘I need you to go through security right now; your flight will be boarding imminently. Miss Robinson, if you don’t have your passport then you will be unable to fly today.’

I held up a hand to stall for time. ‘Maybe it’s still at the flat? Maybe it fell out of your bag in the pub? Maybe someone’s handed it in? Maybe it’s in the taxi?’ I was clutching at straws and I knew it.

Shelley shook her head sadly. ‘I had it last night and now I don’t.’

‘And you didn’t think to check you still had it this morning?’ I was half screeching now as waves of hysteria washed over me. Shelley had to come with me; I couldn’t do this trip alone.

‘I’m so sorry, Georgia. You’re going to have to go without me.’

‘Miss Green, please, if you do not go straight to security I will have to let them know to close the flight without you, without either of you.’

‘OK!’ I snapped. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just I can’t believe Marie would do something like that.’

Shelley sniffed loudly. ‘I can. She was so pissed off with you. Maybe this way you would finally remember her and not leave her out in the future.’

I shook my head violently. ‘No, Marie would never do something so crazy and spiteful as this. No way.’

‘Excuse me, Miss Green.’ The check-in lady seethed. ‘Are you travelling today or not?’

‘Is there another flight, maybe a later one that we could get booked onto?’ The woman huffed but looked down at her screen and started angrily tapping at her keyboard.

Shelley turned to me. ‘I really hope you’re right about Marie. At least this way I can go back to yours, do a proper search for it, head to the pub and ask them, call the taxi firm and …’ She trailed off listing all the options we had for her to make this trip and for my best friend not to be responsible for this fuck-up.

‘Yes, good idea. Retrace your steps, find your passport, then fly out later to join me.’

‘Sorry,’ the check in lady interrupted, not looking sorry in the slightest. ‘The later flight is all booked up. The next available flight I could get you on would be next Thursday but it’s coming up at almost double the cost of the flight you had booked today. That is, if you find your passport by then.’

My heart sank.

Shelley’s face drained of colour. ‘Well that’s that then.’ She sighed, blinking away tears. ‘We’ll have to leave it. I’m so sorry. Will you be OK going by yourself?’

I didn’t have time to answer as the check-in lady had now stood up and logged off her computer. ‘Miss Green, please follow me or neither of you will be heading to India.’

‘I’m going to have to be.’ I sniffed and quickly pulled Shelley into a hug. ‘Call me as soon as you find your passport.’

She nodded. ‘Be safe, Georgia, and good luck!’ she called behind me as I raced to keep up with the woman striding ahead in her shiny black court shoes.

This would be fine. Fine. I swallowed back the bile that burned my throat. Wouldn’t it?

I was rushed through security, raced down the never-ending bright corridors and half tumbled into my seat, wheezing and out of breath. I nervously stared out of the small aircraft window as they ran through the safety announcement, hoping beyond hope that Shelley would miraculously turn up and take the seat next to me. However, once the doors were pulled shut there was no chance. I was now on my own. There was no turning back.

All the other passengers around me were excitedly chatting about their travels, the friends and family they were meeting or the places they were going, but all I could think was how I was going to survive. I let myself cry thinking of what lay ahead of me, ignoring the strange looks I was receiving. How was I going to face travelling round this enormous country by myself? Being spontaneous comes with its downsides. This was all Shelley’s idea and now she wasn’t even here to help me.

I thought back to the way Marie had looked at me last night, how hurt and angry she was. She couldn’t have hidden Shelley’s passport; she would never do something so spiteful and stupid, would she? A small voice piped up in my head: She would if she wanted to teach you a lesson, let you be this fearless backpacker that she thinks you are.

But the truth is, I’m not fearless at all.

CHAPTER 9 (#ulink_4b91ef28-266f-52e3-8c17-6335e84862eb)

Trepid (adj.) Timorous; fearful

Fifteen hours later I landed at New Delhi airport. You can do this, I repeated in my head, giving myself a pep talk as I traipsed through immigration and headed to the baggage carousel. Steeling myself I grabbed my backpack, wiped my red-rimmed, teary eyes and followed the large crowd to the arrival doors. Come on, get a grip; you’re in India, not on Mars. It will be fine. You can do this.

However, if I thought arriving into Bangkok airport was overwhelming it was nothing compared to here. I stepped foot from the safety of the air-conditioned terminal building into what felt like a wall of noise. People were shouting, smells of spicy, fried food and cow poo mixed in the stuffy, oven-like heat and intimidating stares from strange men made me want to flee back onto the next flight home.

There are more than a billion people living in India and it felt like they had all congregated in this small space to welcome my flight. A pulsating energy was constrained by a weak wire fence just in front of me. Thin brown arms poked through holes, swiping at the air. Voices yelled out ‘taxi’, each competing for the best fare. The knackered-looking railings seemed to surge forward as other passengers walked past. ‘Taxi?’ ‘Madam, good price, taxi?’

My tired eyes stung from the sunlight. I felt like I was in the middle of the stock exchange with people bartering all around me, pushing and shoving for business. I jumped, feeling something touch my arm and looked down to see a small street boy grinning at me with half his teeth missing. He placed his tiny, dirty palm out – wanting cash – but all my money was safely stored away in my unsexy, beige travel belt, which was currently sweating against my stomach.

‘Oh, sorry, erm, no money,’ I apologised and pulled out a handful of boiled sweets from my pocket that I’d been given on the plane. ‘Here, take these.’

‘Bitch,’ he said, chucking the sweets on the floor and spitting at my dusty feet. I gawped back in shock as I watched him scurry off to find someone else to ask.

My head was spinning with all the people milling around me, relentlessly pushing and shoving me. I tried to focus on the many handwritten signs bobbing up and down in front of me, looking for my name or Shelley’s, but they were nowhere to be seen. We expected all the guides on our Lonely Hearts tours to be at the airport meeting and greeting guests as they arrive in their country, to provide safe and preferably air-conditioned transport that takes them to the hotel where they meet the other guests and get their adventure started. I couldn’t even find my way to get from this cattle market section of arrivals over to where an official taxi stand might be. Looking at the chaos before me I was reminded of a quote from one of the awful reviews: I was left stranded at the airport like an unwanted sales phone call when you’re just about to eat dinner. After a long-haul flight and already feeling emotional it was not the welcome I had expected or paid for. Little did I know that this was a taste of things to come …

Suddenly someone grabbed my bag, almost toppling me over with the force.

‘Madam, I am very sorry but your hotel has burnt down. They sent me here to take you to other hotel,’ a gangly Indian man with surprising strength said, bobbing his head as fast as he was tugging my bag straps.

‘What? Wait. Can you just let go of my bag, please?’ I replied in shock. My hotel had burnt down? Oh my God! I needed him to let go of me so I could breathe and think, impossible to do with the ceaseless caterwauling noise around me.

‘Miss, we need to go now – come, come.’ He had a firm grip on one of my straps and started to lead me away like a dog on a leash when I heard someone else shout out.

‘Miss Green?’ I spun my head to face where I thought the voice had come from.

An old man with peppered grey hair holding a scratty piece of paper with my name scrawled on was waving a thick arm to get my attention. The guy pulling my bag straps instantly let go and scampered off. What the …? I elbowed my way over to the tired-looking man with the sign.

‘Miss Green?’ he asked again.