The Love Detective (19 page)

And yet, I do need to try and find Amy and I have no clue where to start looking. Udaipur sounds as good a place as any. Plus, though I hate to admit it, I’m a little scared of travelling on my own. As much as I like to think I’m this strong, independent woman who can take care of herself, so far I haven’t exactly done a great job of this travelling-solo business, have I?

‘Well if you’re sure you don’t mind—’

‘It is better you are not travelling alone,’ interrupts Rocky gravely. ‘It is not safe for a woman, it is better this way—’

I glance at Jack. He looks as reluctant as I feel. This is definitely Rocky’s idea.

‘That would be great, thanks,’ I say decisively.

‘So that’s agreed then,’ says Jack, in a business-like tone. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning at six a.m. We want to make an early start.’

‘OK . . . right . . . six a.m.,’ I nod hastily, still taking in this sudden turn of events as the lift arrives and the doors slide open. I step inside, then turn. ‘By the way, I never did get to find out why you’re here in India.’

Under his frayed fedora, Jack’s hazel eyes meet mine, and for a moment he pauses, as if deciding how to answer. ‘I’m here to keep a promise,’ he replies finally.

I look at him, intrigued. A promise?
What promise?
Why is he being so evasive?

I open my mouth to say something, but before I can ask any more questions, the doors of the lift slide closed between us. Still, that’s probably a good thing, I decide. I’ve got enough to think about without wondering what Jack is up to. Plus, who cares? It’s none of my business. He’s just some American guy I’m sharing a car with. After we get to Udaipur, I’m never going to see him again.

And pressing the number for my floor, I rattle upwards in the tiny elevator.

Chapter 16

I’m woken at what feels like the crack of dawn by the alarm on my phone. It’s still dark, and for a moment I lie in my strange bed, in my strange room, listening to the strange sounds from the street outside my window, wondering where on earth I am. Before suddenly I remember: I’m in Delhi. Trying to find my sister. About to set off on a journey across India to Udaipur, a place I’ve never heard of before, know nothing about and have no clue where it is, with two men I barely know.

Bit different from my usual morning coffee and slippers routine then.

I quickly get dressed, then hurry into the foyer to use the computer to check my emails. I scan through my inbox. There’s a couple of emails from Harriet detailing another dating disaster, and a link Rachel has forwarded to a cheery article on how every woman in her thirties is freezing something, whether it’s her forehead or her eggs. She’s added the postscript: ‘Sod this, the only frozen thing I want is a margarita. When are you free to get hideously drunk?’

But there’s nothing from Amy.

I feel a clunk of disappointment. It was a long shot, but still. I pause for a moment, anxiety drum-rolling, then pull myself together. I don’t have time to worry right now, I need to email Mum and Dad. I’ve been putting off contacting them as I was hoping for a miracle, plus I didn’t want to bother them while they were caravanning in France, but they’ll be heading back now. I can’t put it off any longer. I start typing:

Having such a fantastic time, we’ve decided to extend our trip a few more days, Amy sends her love!

Crossing my fingers, I press send. I hate lying to them, but I can hardly tell them the truth, can I? Mum gets into a panic if she can’t find her Tesco Clubcard, so telling her Amy’s eloped to Rajasthan with a yoga instructor would probably give her a heart attack.

I also call Mrs Flannegan. It’s after midnight in London but I know she likes to stay up into the early hours. She picks up immediately, and after a somewhat confusing few moments trying to explain that no, I wasn’t ringing from next door and couldn’t just pop over because I was in Delhi (‘Deli? What you doing in a deli at this time of night? If you’re hungry I can make you a sandwich, I’ve got some lovely cheese and pickle’), I finally manage to explain and ask if she could look after Heathcliff a little longer.

‘Why of course dear, you should have just said,’ she chastises. ‘Heathcliff and Snoopy are getting on just wonderfully . . .’ Her voice is drowned out by a burst of barking and blood-curling miaows. ‘Oh, they do like to play,’ she chuckles, her laugh turning into a hacking cough, which adds to the mayhem.

Poor Heathcliff, I wince. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

Feeling like a very bad mother, I hang up, then call both Amy and the number I found in her room. There’s no answer on either. I’m resigned, more than disappointed. Like I said, she never answers her phone in normal circumstances, so it’s hardly a surprise.

I leave a voicemail, telling her I’m in Delhi and to call me. There’s nothing else for it, I’ll just have to keep trying, I tell myself, hanging up and waiting for Jack and Rocky to appear. Which they do – Jack looking dishevelled with heavy bags under his eyes, striding down the corridor and yawning – and Rocky, immaculately dressed and ramrod straight, standing next to the little white car, which appears outside in the darkness like a ghost.

‘Morning,’ mumbles Jack, as he bundles himself onto the back seat.

‘Morning,’ I nod, sliding in next to him. It’s a lot smaller in the back than I remember, and as our thighs press up against each other we spring apart awkwardly.

‘Oops, sorry,’ I fluster, trying to rearrange myself into the corner. It feels suddenly very cosy on the back seat.

‘Actually, I think I’ll get in the front,’ says Jack, reaching for the door handle.

‘I’m afraid that will not be possible,’ says Rocky firmly from the driver’s seat. ‘Passengers must sit in the back.’

Ignoring him, Jack pushes on the door, but it won’t open.

‘It is for your own safety, boss,’ he continues solemnly.

‘Hang on, is this door locked?’ Jack rattles the handle.

‘It is better that you both travel in the back together. This way is much more comfortable and you will be happier. And if you are happy, I am happy.’

Jack mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, then slumps back against the seat. ‘Whatever you say,’ he surrenders, pushing his fedora down over his eyes. ‘Just wake me when it’s time for lunch.’

‘Yes, boss,’ says Rocky, beaming widely, and winking as he catches my eye in the rear-view mirror.

Hang on a minute, did I miss something? What was all that about? I peer at him doubtfully, but he’s already turned the ignition and is shifting gears.

So this is it. We’re off. As we pull out into the darkened street, I suddenly feel a clutch of trepidation. I’ve never done anything like this in my life. I hope I’m going to be OK. I get a flashback to my childhood and my parents telling me never to get into strange cars with strange men and feel a wave of panic. Oh fuck, it doesn’t get much stranger than this. No one knows where I am or who I’m with . . . wait a minute . . .
I
don’t really know where I am or who I’m with.

What if something happens to me? I know I need to find Amy, but still. I’m someone who likes to play it safe, and this is anything
but
safe. In fact, this is probably the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done in my whole, entire life!

It’s also, I realise, with a flutter in my stomach, the most bloody exciting.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, it’s daylight. Sunlight is streaming in through the window and I have to shield my eyes as I wind it down, letting in a blast of pollution and heat as I look out at the chaotic, traffic-choked roads.

‘Um, where are we?’ I ask, stretching myself out and tugging off my sweatshirt. I look across at Jack. He’s still fast asleep. At least, I think he is. I can’t see his face, it’s still hidden underneath his fedora, but I can hear faint snores.

‘Agra,’ announces Rocky, rather grandly.

‘Agra?’ I repeat in confusion. ‘But I thought we were going to Udaipur.’

‘Udaipur is our final destination, yes,’ nods Rocky, ‘but it is very far and now it is time for eating.’

‘Who mentioned eating?’ Jack suddenly jerks upright like a jack-in-a-box, dislodging his fedora, which tumbles onto his lap. He glances at me, and does a double take.

‘What?’ I say defensively, at his expression.

‘Um . . . nothing.’

He’s a terrible liar.

‘What?’ I say again. ‘Have I got something on my face?’

‘No, it’s not that . . . you just look a little different.’

Leaning across him, I angle myself towards the rear-view mirror to try and get a look at my reflection. And get the shock of my life. It had been dark this morning when I got up, and without any of my things I’d had to make do with washing my face with soap, brushing my teeth with the toothbrush I found in my hotel welcome pack, and that was it.

But now, seeing myself in broad daylight, I realise three things:

1. Never underestimate the power of a toiletry bag.

2. There is nothing I wouldn’t do right now for a lash-lengthening mascara.

3. I would kill for Angelina Jolie’s cheekbones. Or anyone’s, for that matter.

‘I . . . er . . . just did my hair differently,’ I reply, quickly scraping it up into a pineapple on the top of my head. ‘It makes me look . . . different.’ Not for the first time in my life do I wish I was one of those natural beauties who look fabulous without a scrap of make-up and hair that’s been left to dry naturally. Not someone who needs a good hour in the bathroom with an industrial-sized hairdryer and the entire contents of Selfridges’ cosmetics hall at their disposal.

‘Huh,’ shrugs Jack, furrowing his brow as he peers at me, ‘no kidding.’

I smile uncertainly. This is one of those times when I don’t know whether to feel pleased or offended he’s agreeing with me.

‘Anyway, it’s lunchtime,’ I say, quickly changing the subject and making a show of checking my watch.

Fortunately that wasn’t stolen, but then it’s only a cheap little Timex I’ve had for years. I don’t own expensive jewellery. Well, unless you count my diamond engagement ring that I still keep in my sock drawer. I tried to give it back but Sam didn’t want it. He said he’d bought it for me and it was mine to keep. I half thought about selling it, I even took it to my local jeweller’s for a valuation, but something stopped me. Maybe it was sentimentality, or the fact that it wouldn’t be worth much second-hand, anyway.

Or maybe it was because sometimes I do something that I’ve never told even my closest friends. Sometimes, secretly, I take it out and slip it back on and for those few moments when the diamond sparkles softly on my finger, I pretend everything is perfect again.

I know. I really am pathetic, aren’t I?

‘Great, I’m starving.’ Having woken up, Jack makes an attempt to stretch out his long limbs in the small confines of the back seat, arching his back and making loud groaning noises whilst sticking his fingers into his tufts of flattened hair. I watch him scraping them back and forth so vigorously, it’s almost like he’s trying to scrape ice off a windscreen.

God, he can be so annoying. Why can’t he wake up like a normal person? I grimace, being splashed with water as he unscrews a bottle and begins drinking thirstily.

‘I know an excellent place,’ nods Rocky, indicating left at the traffic lights. A rather futile gesture, as no one else on the road appears to pay a blind bit of notice and there’s nearly a pile-up as cars, tuk-tuks, mopeds and pedestrians converge upon us.

‘What kind of food does it serve?’ I ask, a little nervously.

‘Italian,’ replies Jack, resurfacing from his water bottle.

‘Ooh, really?’ I feel a flicker of happiness at the thought of a nice plate of pasta. Since the train I’ve only had a packet of crisps and a couple of bananas.

‘No, of course not,’ he laughs, shaking his head at me. ‘We’re in India, not Italy!’

‘Oh.’ My face falls. Feeling like a complete idiot, I quickly try to hide my disappointment. ‘Right, yes,
durr
. . .’

His brow furrows. ‘Hey, I was only joking,’ he says, his voice softening. ‘You’re not really disappointed, are you?’

‘Me? Gosh, no!’ I lie and shake my head vigorously. ‘I love Indian food!’

‘But Indian food doesn’t love you, right? Of course, now I remember that little speech you gave.’

My cheeks flame at the memory of my outburst. I’m still embarrassed about that. ‘It’s fine, I’m not that hungry.’ My stomach betrays me by gurgling loudly. ‘I think my stomach’s still a little upset.’

‘Your stomach, not you?’ he frowns.

‘No, not at all!’ I protest, shaking my head. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I feel myself warm towards him. He can actually be quite sweet when he wants to be.

‘Good,’ he nods, looking satisfied. ‘Because I know we didn’t get off on the best foot.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ I fib, trying to be all nice and polite.

Unlike Jack, who pulls a face and laughs. ‘I would. You looked like you wanted to murder me on that train.’

Well, in that case . . .‘OK, you’re right. I did,’ I admit sheepishly.