Destination India (13 page)

‘Mine remembered my birthday but got me a paper shredder,’ Bex grumbled. I winced. ‘Nothing says romance like office supplies.’

‘Well maybe if women didn’t nag so much you would have gotten something a little nicer,’ Chris jumped in. The way he spoke was as if Bex had hit a nerve; maybe he had bought an ungrateful woman a shredder before.

‘I … I didn’t nag.’ Liz blushed. To be fair she looked like she wouldn’t say boo to a goose so I doubted she would have been wearing the trousers in any of her past relationships.

‘Guys, it’s going cold,’ I said, pointing to the food and wanting to move the conversation on before Chris lectured Bex on having an attitude of gratitude even when receiving naff stationery.

As if to demonstrate, I plunged my spoon into the curry nearest to me, a bright orange, oily sauce with what looked like mushrooms bobbing about. Swallowing it down I thought my mouth was going to explode. Chillies scratched at my throat, clawing at my epiglottis. I coughed up and grabbed the nearest plastic cup of lassi, swiped a fly away
from it and took a big glug, hoping the smooth yoghurt would cool the inferno in my mouth.

‘You OK, Louise?’ Bex asked opening a bottle of mineral water to pass to me. I nodded, my eyes streaming and face flushed. ‘I think that was Nihal’s,’ she added apologetically.

Ollie chuckled to himself but stopped when he saw Liz frowning at him. Finally, after drinking the whole of Bex’s water, the pain subsided.

‘Watch out for that one; it’s a little spicy,’ I added lamely.

‘So, Chris, what’s your story then?’ Bex asked as I wiped my mouth, my lips stinging at the oily residue still clinging to them.

He put down his cutlery; I noticed that he ate like a little bird, picking out the dishes with vegetables and snacking at the bright pilau rice. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well, where are you from?’ Bex asked. She seemed to be the only one not put off by his boring stare.

‘London.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Thirty-four.’

‘What’s your job?’

‘IT consultant.’

God this was painful, but Bex didn’t seem ready to let it drop.

‘Why did you come on this tour?’

At this Chris straightened up slightly and tore off a piece of naan bread to slowly chew over before he answered. Bex looked at him; her chestnut-coloured eyes narrowed, sizing him up, waiting for an answer.

‘I … I broke up with my girlfriend at Christmas and wanted to get away,’ he stuttered. A slight blush danced on his angular, grey cheeks.

‘What’s that you were saying about getting crap presents? Getting dumped at Christmas has to be one of the worst times,’ Ollie sympathised. Chris nodded quickly and carried on eating. ‘Dumped on your birthday would be pretty shite too,’ Ollie added.

‘Or during winter, as no one wants to go out looking for a new date when it’s so cold outside,’ Bex reasoned.

‘Yeah but summer’s crap too as everyone is at festivals or on holiday with their boyfriend,’ Flic added.

I laughed. ‘So basically getting dumped anytime sucks!’

‘So, Nihal, are you seeing anyone?’ Liz asked. I almost choked on a torn-off piece of chapatti as she continued. ‘I bet it’s quite hard finding someone here as even with so many people around I assume you don’t get the chance to strike up conversations that often.’

‘No, I …’ Nihal faded out, looking like we were deadly close to regressing back to the grief stage as tears pricked his eyes and his chin trembled slightly.

‘He’s too much of a ladies’ man to worry about that,’ Ollie jumped in and patted Nihal on the shoulder, saving him from explaining the truth.

Nihal dipped his head and then clapped his hands together. ‘Ha ha, something like that. OK, so if you’ve finished eating we need to be making a move,’ he said after clearing his throat.

I thought the sudden decision to finish lunch was because of the awkward conversation but when I looked up to where he’d fixed his steely gaze I spotted Ameera and her group dawdling over to us.

I overheard Ameera call out, ‘Come on, guys, a change of plan. The restaurant we were going to eat at is actually filthy. We’ll find a much better place.’ She turned her neat nose in the air and stalked past us. Some of her tour members, in their matching broken heart T-shirts, smiled at us apologetically.

‘It’s not dirty here, is it?’ Liz turned to face me; she had her small bottle of hand sanitiser out already.

‘No, it’s perfectly fine. All the locals were sat here and they always say if you want the most authentic food then you have to follow the locals.’ I smiled, hoping that Nihal had checked it out before we came here. OK, so there were a few flies around and the overweight guy serving was hardly a picture of good health but I was sure it would be fine.

Just to piss me off, my stomach gurgled loudly.

Oh no.

Ailing (adj.) Sickly; unwell

The rest of the afternoon was a disaster. After leaving the Taj Mahal and pushing our way through sellers and touts all desperate to take our group off to their cousin’s/brother’s/friend’s gem shop for a
nice price, nice price,
we made it over to the Red Fort. It was actually more of an imposing, walled city made of dusty red sandstone that stood out against the piercing blue sky. However, I couldn’t tell you a thing about this striking building as I was forced to rush to the nearest public bathroom, a stinking hole in the ground guarded by swarms of flies and mozzies, doubled up in pain whilst trying to keep my balance over the squat toilet.

I eventually emerged, scuffing my sturdy but ugly travel sandals on the ground, trying to wipe off what had been left by other toilet visitors that I’d accidently stood in. Clutching my stomach and almost limping outside, I managed to track down a shaded place to sit under a nearby tree. Everyone else had traipsed into the fort so I had some time to kill and try to rehydrate before they would be finished. I flopped on the stone bench and slowly sipped on a bottle of mineral water, cursing Nihal for leaving his super spicy curry near me, and for Ameera’s prissy look that had encouraged my stomach to experience the souvenir no one wants: Delhi belly.

I’d already tried to ignore the advances of two skinny, well-dressed Indian men wanting to show me some tatty carpet samples and a gaggle of children who’d run up to me with their hands outstretched asking for cash; but with only notes tucked away in my travel wallet, and too doubled up to access them from my money belt, I waved them away. Beads of sweat collected at my forehead. I hoped Nihal’s tour wouldn’t take too long, although thinking about the long taxi journey home made me want to rush back to the stinking loo to throw up.

About ten minutes later I heard footsteps make their way over to the bench where I was lying. I was almost passed out. I looked up pathetically to see Nihal striding over to me, pale-faced and knotting his hands with worry.

‘We need to go now,’ he said quickly.

My heart sank that I’d left them alone for no longer than thirty minutes and something else had kicked off with him and Ameera’s group. I was about to ask him why but I was saved from using what little energy I had left by taking one look at the grey, drawn faces of the tour group slowly staggering behind him. They looked as bad as I felt.

‘Oh no. It’s not just me, is it?’ I asked.

Bex’s normally wide grin was now contorted into a grimace, Ollie was holding his stomach, and both Liz and Flic were taking slow deep breaths. They looked like zombies with some life-threatening parasite had attacked them – well, everyone apart from Chris.

‘I think it was that food; that Indian woman with the other tour group did say it was dirty in there.’ Bex grabbed her chubby waist as it gurgled loudly in agreement.

‘We’ve all been sick,’ Liz replied. Strands of slicked-down hair were clinging to her sweating forehead.

‘Not all of us,’ Chris said. I couldn’t tell if he was being sympathetic or loving every second of watching the others
writhe around in pain. ‘I told you not to eat any meat or dairy here.’

I could have punched his smarmy face but the energy involved in swinging my arm would have wiped me out completely.

‘Oh, right. Yeah, I’m not feeling so great either,’ I answered.

Nihal looked fine health wise. His gut was probably used to the local strains of food poisoning; he looked partly pitying and partly embarrassed. ‘We have a tour of the nearby market planned but …’ He trailed off seeing the washed-out faces of the group. ‘We could go back early.’

Everyone nodded fervently apart from Chris who acted like he was really annoyed, even though I imagined looking round a hot and stuffy market hall was not exactly high on his list of things to see and do. Our minibus pulled up moments later and with fresh bottles of mineral water, plenty of tissues and taking a deep breath we boarded the van to go back to Delhi.

Every rock, hole and bump we juddered over on the road back was met with yelps of pain from the rest of the passengers. I had willed myself to try and sleep but kept getting the urge to go to the toilet. With five of us out of action the minibus stopped almost every twenty minutes for one or all of us to rush off into the prickly bushes on the side of the road, clutching handfuls of loo roll and staggering back on board. The journey home felt like it took for ever. And it wasn’t helped by Chris opening up packets of nuts and seeds that he had brought with him. The smell of food, no matter how bland, made my stomach turn even more.

Back at the hotel the group swiftly disappeared off into their own rooms, Rashid watching on horrified as we staggered past. We may not have had the chance to sit
and get to know the guests as well as I had hoped yet but I certainly felt like we all knew each other a little better after vomming and shitting in such rough, raw conditions. I had never been so grateful for a clean bathroom and a western-style toilet before.

After another painful trip to the loo, I felt convinced I had nothing left in my system. Thankfully Nihal had left us all bananas and more bottles of water outside our doors, along with tiny rehydration sachets. I just hoped I could keep it all down long enough for it to work.

Flopping on my soft bed I instinctively curled into the foetal position. I had the urge to call Ben; I needed to hear his soothing tones. I needed him to tell me I was going to get better, that this was just an Indian rite of passage. I needed comforting from someone who knew me. I also wanted to know what was going on back at the office and if he had managed to find a suitable temp worker. And I needed to take my mind off running to the bathroom and sinking down on the cool hard tiles.

But as much as I tried with the limited movement I could muster, I couldn’t get onto the Wi-Fi in my room and there was no way I could crawl to reception to get a good signal. I slumped back onto my pillow, feeling as limp and disgusting as a wilted lettuce leaf at a summer barbecue. I stayed like this, cradling my stomach with my eyes closed, until a loud hollow gurgle made me bolt from my comfy position.

Why on earth did I agree to do this tour again?!

Green-eyed (adj.) Jealous; envious; distrustful

We’d been given a free day to rest and recover as everyone, apart from Chris, was still feeling slightly tender and empty. I spent most of the day with the air con turned up, curled up in bed eating dry toast and drinking mineral water that Rashid brought me, worrying about how bad this tour was turning out to be and crossing everything I could that surely things had to start looking up soon.

I still couldn’t face leaving my room and the hotel’s Wi-Fi seemed to hate me as much as Indian curry did, but I desperately wanted to hear Ben’s voice so I ignored how much it would cost me and called his office phone.

‘Hello?’ a woman said distractedly on the fourth ring.

‘Hiya, Kel,’ I said warmly despite the fact that no matter how many times we told her she needed to answer the phone ‘Hello, Lonely Hearts Travels, Kelli speaking, how may I help you?’ she always seemed to forget.

There was a pause down the line.

‘Who’s that?’ the woman said, in a plummy accent and sarky tone. The woman most definitely wasn’t Kelli. I suddenly panicked that I’d called the wrong number. Maybe this food poisoning had sent me delirious.

‘Oh, sorry, is this Lonely Hearts Travels?’ I asked.

‘Yeah,’ she replied, sounding bored at the very effort of speaking to me.

‘Who am I talking to, please?’ I felt my patience wane as my confusion rose.

‘What’s it any of your business?’ she replied followed by a loud yawn.

‘Well, as a matter of fact, it
is
my business. I’m the co-owner, Georgia Green. Who the hell is this?’ I asked gritting my teeth.

There was a long pause. After what felt like for ever the rude woman changed her tone to an almost purr. ‘Oh, I am sorry, Miss Green. I think there were a few problems with the line just then,’ she said calmly and blatantly lying through her teeth. ‘My name’s Serena DeVere. How may I help you today?’

‘Erm, is Ben there?’ Who the hell was Serena DeVere and why was she picking up my work phone?

‘Ben!’ she called out in the same way she would if she had just climaxed with him. ‘He’s just coming, Miss Green.’ She emphasised the word
Miss
just to highlight the point. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘No, no just a word with Ben,’ I said curtly.

‘Sure, well have a great day,’ she purred. I could hear her passing the receiver over to Ben. His light laugh danced down the line, and she let out some cringy, girly giggle.

‘Hey, Georgia! How are you?’ I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke but I couldn’t place if it was because he was talking to me or because this sexy fembot was inches away from him.

I bit my tongue and plastered on a smile. ‘Oh, fine, fine. Just calling up to see how everything is with …’

Ben cut me off as he started to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ I lightened my tone as if I got the joke.

‘Oh nothing. Just something Serena said earlier,’ he said pulling himself together.

‘Yeah, erm, who the hell is Serena?’

‘Ah sorry! Serena is the new temp.’

What? It had only been a day!

‘Oh, right. That was fast,’ I said trying to hide the hurt in my voice, which was stupid as I was the one who’d told him to recruit someone. Serena DeVere. From that name and her butter-wouldn’t-melt accent I instantly imagined a sex kitten. My stomach contracted. I hated her already.
She’s going to marry him and have his babies all before you get your chubby ass out of your Delhi pit,
a voice sang in my tired mind.

‘Yeah, I know, it was strange really; she walked in the moment I got off the phone to you with her CV. It was like fate or something, plus it saved me going through an agency.’ He laughed. ‘She’s fitted in really well and already given us loads of great ideas to think about. You’ll love her.’

I felt like I wanted to run to the bathroom to throw up.

‘Great. Just great,’ I said through gritted teeth.

Georgia – don’t be jealous.
Maybe she was really ugly and just has a sexy voice and exotic-sounding name. Maybe her parents felt sorry for her when she was born as she frightened all the nurses so they needed to give her something in order to survive this cruel world, I told myself. If things had been left better between Ben and me before I left, I probably wouldn’t be feeling so paranoid that Little Miss New Ideas was going to come in and ruin everything.
What – like you actually telling him how much you freakin’ love him?
My subconscious had her hand on her hip, giving me her best sassy face that would mirror Shelley and her
I told you so
look with her lips pursed, wagging a finger in my face for not admitting how much I
liked Ben. Ooh but maybe I could send her down to spy on the shop for me?

‘Georgia?’ Ben’s voice pulled me back to the moment. ‘Did you hear what I was saying?’

‘Yep, yeah. Great idea,’ I lied.

There was a pause down the line. ‘Great idea? Really? Wow, I wasn’t sure you would be on board so early on, especially as you haven’t met her yet but I do think it will be good for us, for the business as we keep getting busier.’

Wait, what was he going on about?

‘Mmmm,’ I added, too embarrassed to admit that I’d tuned out to what he was talking about before. Whatever it was he sounded really pumped up about it.

‘Well OK then, I’ll get the contract drafted up ASAP.’

Wait, contract? Contract for what?

‘Oh right, erm, do I need to be there to sign it?’ I asked, hoping his answer would shed some light on what I’d just agreed to.

I could imagine him shaking his head. ‘No, you’ve got enough on your plate sorting out the Indian tour. Serena has so many excellent ideas on how to make the most of the Asian market. We’re only just scratching the surface now, but I guess once she comes on full time then we can really start making our mark over there.’ He sounded so animated; I hadn’t heard him like this in a long time.

‘Full time?’ I parroted.

We were barely paying ourselves anything with each of us agreeing to take drastic pay cuts in order to get the business through its first year; I doubted we could afford someone else. She had only just started and was meant to be a temp until I got back. Why the hell did he want her sticking around?
Because he fancies her, because he needs a reason to see her every day,
the evil side of my subconscious piped up.

‘Yeeeaaaah,’ he said like he was speaking to a three-year-old. ‘You know, her contract I said I would get sorted?’

‘Well maybe we should wait till I get back so I can actually meet her and …’

‘No, like I’ve said, you’ve got enough on and we’ve spoken before about trusting each other – fifty-fifty remember? Don’t worry about it, Georgia. I’ve got everything under control from this end. You just focus on getting the Indian tour back on track,’ he said sounding firm but friendly.

‘Oh, OK.’ I needed to show him that I trusted his business decisions, if only my heart and my brain thought the same.

‘Speaking of which, how’s it going over there?’

I thought back to the night spent cuddling the porcelain toilet seat and the way I’d flashed my breasts in the Indian restaurant. ‘Fine, fine.’

‘Ah, great. Well I hope you’re having fun; you deserve it. So, any closer to finding out the deal with the terrible review?’

‘Yeah, the review was a fake.’

‘A fake? How do you know?’

‘Nihal’s ex-girlfriend wrote it as revenge when they split up. Oh yeah, the tour guide who is leading our tour of heartbroken guests is also heartbroken. Well he was. I think he is now more pissed off than pining.’

‘Right,’ Ben said slowly as if trying to keep up. I could hear someone giggling in the background and I knew it wouldn’t be Kelli. ‘Well that’s good news, isn’t it? Not the fact he’s been dumped but the fact the review was just spiteful lies?’

‘Yeah.’ I rubbed my face trying to focus on this work conversation. ‘I’m just nervous at what else this woman will do to get back at him for whatever he’s done.’

The sound of laughter down the phone increased.

‘Listen, I better go. We’ve been rearranging the brochure section.’
Let me guess, it was Serena’s idea.
‘And the shop looks in a bit of a state so I need to get it sorted before we leave.’

‘Oh OK,’ I said quietly.

‘Sounds like you’ve got everything under control over there. Take care and speak soon,’ he said and hung up before I had the chance to reply or find out why he said ‘we’ leave and not ‘I’ leave.

As my room grew silent once more my mind was instantly filled with a stunning skinny blonde, her tanned arm draped over Ben, throwing back her head and giggling at everything he said, touching his muscles, leaving her manicured hand for a second longer each time until suddenly their eyes meet and before you know it he has her spreadeagled over my spreadsheets.

I raced towards the bathroom feeling like I was about to puke up.

Wiping my mouth on the soft white towel and avoiding my horrific reflection in the mirror I changed into a woman on a mission and did what any jealous lady does: operation cyber stalk. I finally managed to connect to the Wi-Fi by half hanging out of my bedroom window and hit Google. However, the only Serena DeVere listed was an Australian surfer who died seven years ago. I tapped open Facebook and looked for her on there but there wasn’t a single person with that name and the same thing happened on Instagram and Twitter. Who lives in this century without being connected to social media? I wondered, before putting my hand in sticky bird poo on my windowsill by accident. I went to the bathroom to clean it off, telling myself stop to being so neurotic. I hoped that if I said it enough times I’d believe it.