Destination India (21 page)

She was a wily minx. I nodded and took the material, never feeling so overwhelmed and emotional over a piece of handicraft before.

‘OK.’

‘Thank you. So when’s your flight booked for?’

‘Tomorrow lunchtime.’

She nodded. ‘Plenty of time to make things right. So, you fancy a quick dip then?’ I nodded and grinned before hugging her.

The water was colder than I’d imagined. In Thailand, the piercing blue sea was as warm as a bath; here the waves slapped your thighs, forcing you to jump right in and swim around to heat yourself up. It was fast-moving and powerful, just what I needed to kick myself back into action. Ameera was like a water baby, powerfully slicing through the surf with strong butterfly strokes. I only knew how to swim breast stroke so kicked my feet out and raised my neck like some grandma in the local swimming pool not wanting to get their blue-rinse curls wet.

‘If we swim over there, we can rest on the rocks!’ Ameera shouted from ahead of me, pointing to the hilly
cove dunked in the water, where waves were thrashing the sides.

Yeah, looks like a lovely place to rest, I thought sarcastically. ‘I don’t know if I can make it!’ I called back, awkwardly treading water. It seemed like a bloody long way off. The beach was so much closer. Couldn’t we just head back there and sunbathe?

‘Come on, Georgia! Of course you can! Louise would do it.’ She laughed and effortlessly increased her speed, heading to the rocks.

I took a deep breath and thrust myself forward, coughing up salty water that was slapping my face. She was much further in the distance now and the beach was slowly slipping further behind us.

Suddenly a burning pain jolted through my right leg.

‘Argh!’ I screamed but Ameera was too far ahead to hear.

I jolted my head around but couldn’t see any grey shiny fins bobbing in the waves. Do they even have sharks in India? I expected a pool of deep crimson blood to emerge around me but there was nothing, just the throbbing pain as I kicked harder. What the hell? I winced and rubbed my leg; my fingers didn’t sink into any open raw wound; they just brushed against my stubble. Oh, not a shark attack, just leg cramp. But still it bloody hurt. I needed to make a decision: I could turn back to the beach, or carry on.

Ameera was almost to the rocks now, her black hair bobbing on the surface ahead. I couldn’t see or touch the bottom. What was I doing? I hated being this far out at sea. When I was in Thailand I’d almost died going scuba diving and here I was having willingly put myself at risk again.

Come on. You can do this. You can do anything!
I screamed at myself, forcing my tired brain to ignore the cramp and keep going.
Don’t give up. Don’t be a failure.

I splashed and moaned, gritted my teeth, and swam. The breast stroke move was long gone as I flailed about, putting one aching arm in front of the other, thrashing one exhausted leg behind the other, pushing myself forward. I’d thought we were going for a leisurely dip not a bloody sea marathon. Was that even a thing? Well, it was now.

‘Come on! You’re almost there!’ Ameera cheered as she found her footing on some rocks away from the scary, enormous waves and effortlessly slid herself up to her feet. ‘You can do this!’

‘Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,’
the blue fish from
Finding Nemo
chanted in my head. The rocks didn’t seem to be getting any closer. I was about to protest that she was going to have to come back in and pull me to safety when she started to jump up and down.

‘Shark!’ Ameera screamed and pointed to somewhere behind me. ‘Come on!’ Her eyes were wide and her finger was jabbing in my direction.

Fuck! I gave it everything I could, swimming like my life depended on it, which apparently now it did. I reached the rocks and followed her lead, placing my shaking feet on rough granite and scraping my hands on sharp, jagged stones to heave myself out of the shark-infested waters.

‘Where? Where’s the shark?’

I was shaking and anxiously darting my eyes at the frothy sea for a telltale dorsal fin. I felt like I might collapse, my breathing was erratic, my head pounded with blood, and my chest was contracting stupidly fast.

‘Ha ha ha!’ Ameera was doubled up laughing, holding her tiny waist as she bent over. ‘There aren’t any sharks. I just wanted you to get a move on.’

I could have hit her.

‘Sorry! I’m sorry. But look, you did it!’

I half growled at her, not remotely seeing the funny side of her joke, and looked back at the non-shark-infested waters. The beach was a small dot of golden yellow, our beach huts tiny brown specks.

‘Oh my God! I did it. I hate the sea but I did it.’

Ameera high-fived me. ‘Yeah you did! Now, let’s grab some lunch. I’m starving.’

I stared at her like she’d lost the plot. ‘Lunch? What, we going to catch some fish?’

Ameera laughed again. ‘You didn’t think I’d make you swim all this way just so we could get back in and swim home did you?’ Err yeah, that was exactly what I thought she was doing. ‘There’s a hidden little café through the trees that only locals know about. Our table’s waiting.’

‘But I haven’t got any cash; we’re in our bikinis!’ I wobbled up the rocks wincing at the stones slicing my bare feet.

‘Pfft. Don’t worry! Come on, everyone is waiting.’ She bounded off like an Indian Lara Croft down the rocks and through the trees.

I gulped.
Everyone?

Confront (v.) To face in hostility or defiance; oppose

I picked up my pace to catch up with her, my burning thighs and leaden arms acting as victory wounds. Pushing back palm leaves and stepping onto soft, spongy moss I saw there were a few tables clustered around a hut made of corrugated iron. Smells from a barbecue rushed up my nose and the sound of applause rang through the air. Everyone from the tour group was here, sat at a long table partially hidden by bushes, and clapping their hands as Ameera and I stumbled up to them. What was going on?

‘You made it!’ Nihal jumped to his feet to give Ameera a kiss and shake my soaking wet hand.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked, still trying to get my breath back, feeling very underdressed and exposed in my bikini. As if reading my mind, Ollie chucked me a warm dry towel. I took it gratefully and wrapped it around myself, looking at him nervously in case he was going to start shouting at me again.

He smiled softly. ‘Nice entrance. We were all watching you and even had bets on whether you’d make it or not.’ He quickly glanced over to Chris who was suddenly very interested in the salt and pepper shakers.

I felt like Leo in
The Beach
after he’d swum to the secret tropical island. Only for him he was welcomed into
paradise; I was faced with a group of people who yesterday had hated my guts. I nervously chewed my bottom lip and glanced over to Ameera who smiled innocently.

‘Thanks. I wasn’t even sure if I would make it.’ I sat down at the only remaining chair, which was at the head of the table, and cleared my throat. I needed to make amends. ‘Listen, everyone. I am really sorry for not telling you the whole truth about why I’m here. I really didn’t mean to hurt you.’ I looked over to Liz who was holding Ollie’s hand and nodding at me to continue. ‘I am going home tomorrow. But I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye and thanks. To all of you, for showing me how lost I’d become without realising it.’

‘You’re going?’ Bex asked, her mouth wide open.

I nodded.

‘Because of us?’ Ollie said, biting his thumb.

‘Because … it’s time for me to leave. I wasn’t meant to stay for this long and as you all know I do have a business that I’ve been neglecting.’ A few people laughed lightly. ‘I know you’re all going to be just fine. Nihal and Ameera have totally got the rest of the tour covered,’ I said confidently.

It was true; they did. If he could take charge of herding the group around and Ameera could trick me into admitting my true feelings, then the Lonely Hearts Travel Club was going to be absolutely fine.

‘We’re going to miss you, Louise, I mean Georgia,’ Liz said, as the others nodded their heads in agreement.

Slowly I felt the pressure of the group subside. Ameera grinned at me and Flic blinked back the tears, acting like she had just swallowed a strong chilli in her mild curry. The only one who kept looking at me was Chris; he seemed reluctant to let this go, as if desperate to understand if there was something more to it than we were letting on.

‘It won’t be the same without you,’ Bex said before raising her glass.

Everyone clinked their bottles of Kingfisher beer in unison; the dappled sunlight through the palm trees made the soft ruby glass glow.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered, gulping back the emotion clouding my throat.

‘Right. Enough of that. Is no one going to comment on the fact that Flic is eating meat?’ Bex boomed across the table. We all darted our eyes to our boho beach babe who was in fact gnawing on a stick of barbecued chicken and looking like she was loving every bite of the succulent, oily meat.

‘What?’ she asked nonchalantly with her mouth full.

‘Err … You forgotten about all this weird food crap you preach about? How the government controls what we eat and everything that goes into
your
mouth is pure?’ Ollie asked.

‘Unlike the stuff that comes out of it,’ Bex grumbled quietly.

Flic put down the empty wooden stick and wiped her greasy fingers on a paper napkin. Ignoring Bex, she looked like she was stalling for time as she concocted some hippy theory or something. But then as she slowly took a sip of her mineral water she began to laugh. ‘I just really, really missed meat! Screw morals when it tastes
so
good and this stuff is flipping fantastic.’

We burst into laughter as she caught the waiter’s attention for another order.

Bex put a chubby, pink arm around Flic’s shoulders and squeezed her tight. ‘Lose the dreadlocks and you and I could become friends!’

‘Speaking of friends …’ I trailed off, leaning my head close to Bex and whispered, ‘You
have
to do something
about that Stefan. I can’t go without knowing that one of you had the courage to make the first move.’

The smile dropped from Bex’s rosy cheeks as she seemed to withdraw into herself. She cast a furtive glance up the table at the strapping German man who was deep in an animated conversation with Chris.

‘He’s actually asked me out …’

‘See! I told you he liked you!’

‘Yeah, but Louise, I mean Georgia, I’ve never been on a date before,’ she admitted before slurping Coke loudly through her straw and trying to keep down a belch.

Ah.

‘OK, well maybe don’t do that.’ Flic winced through another mouthful of freshly cooked chicken.

‘See. I’m such a fanny. I ain’t got the foggiest how to act like anything other than how I am,’ Bex half whined before checking Stefan hadn’t heard.

Watching how this usually confident woman had suddenly slipped into the role of a lost and petrified teenager was heartbreaking. Trying to get someone you like to like you back was a minefield that could turn even the most sassy, self-assured person into an overanalysing neurotic puddle of self-doubt. The hours I had spent panicking whether the tone of my messages to Ben were full of witty, flirty banter or that I had covered up my blemishes with enough foundation … It was exhausting. I now realised that I had to believe that I was good enough just the way I was, and if he was looking for a Serena-type then he was better off with her as I couldn’t change to be anyone else other than who I was. I was more than OK with that.

‘Exactly,’ I said firmly.

‘You what?’

‘You should never change yourself to make others happy. He obviously has taken a mahoosive shine to you as
you are, so don’t overthink it. If it comes naturally to you, then just say or do it.’

Bex raised an eyebrow and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘Cheers. That does sound a lot simpler. God I’m going to miss you!’ She pulled me into a warm hug and whispered in my ear, ‘Thank you. For being here, for creating this whole business, and for making me feel like I’m going to be just fine.’

I pulled back and dabbed at my wet eyes. ‘I
know
you are.’

‘Right, someone pass me some of this amazing chicken. I’m starvin’ over here.’ She winked at me and called out to the others. It wasn’t long before we had all tucked into buttery-soft naan bread, stuffed paratha and freshly grilled fish curry served on giant banana leaves with extra servings of barbecued chicken. The last supper had never tasted so good.

After many goodbyes, swapping contact details and hugs, I caught a tuk-tuk and headed to the airport. Sinking back in the bouncy leather seats I glanced out of the window and watched the lush green jungle whoosh past. I’d made it through India. I’d survived food poisoning, farting during silent yoga, starred in a Bollywood film, and now it was time to go back and face whatever was waiting for me at home. It wasn’t just work that I had to get my head prepared for but also seeing Ben, my Ben, loved up with Supermodel Serena,
and
make amends with my justifiably pissed-off best friend.

I’d checked my WhatsApp messages just after I’d woken up but still not a peep from Ben. I tried to put it out of my mind telling myself that I would soon be back in gloomy Manchester, in our shop, and able to see what had been happening since I’d been away. I’d smoothed things over with the group, yes I felt them looking at me a little differently after what I’d done, which stung, but I wasn’t
running away any more. I just hoped I’d done enough that the reviews wouldn’t be completely scathing. I still needed to warn Ben that we might not get five out of five because of this.

I sailed through security and wasn’t interested in buying anything from the bright duty free shop so I rushed into a small café, ordered my last cup of chai tea and eventually managed to connect to the Wi-Fi. I messaged Shelley and my parents telling them I would be coming back earlier than planned. I decided not to call Ben; I wanted to see his face when I walked into the office. A part of me wanted to keep my return secret so I could see exactly what was going on between him and Serena, just so I knew where I stood. I slurped my tea, but the strong flavours just made me feel sick. I felt like I had a wave of cinnamon and saffron burning my chest. It was like the onset of indigestion but worse.

‘Flight 10KV to Manchester now boarding through Gate 3,’ a tinny voice boomed through the speaker above my head. Sighing, I left my tea half drunk and plodded to join the queue to board my flight. Standing in the stuffy heat of the airport, fanning my face with my passport and surrounded by tanned holidaymakers and smartly dressed businessmen, I suddenly had a sinking feeling of dread at what I was about to go back to.