The Love Detective (35 page)

Rocky starts coughing loudly, clutching his head and rolling around.

‘Oh god, he sounds terrible!’ I gasp.

‘And I’m sure he feels terrible,’ says Jack, grimly.

‘My head, my head,’ Rocky moans, wobbling into an upright position of sorts and pressing the heels of his palms onto his forehead.

‘Would you like some water?’ I suggest, grabbing a spare bottle.

Rocky doesn’t reply; instead he lets out a noise that sounds like a wounded animal, then flops back down onto the blankets.

‘Oh dear.’ I shoot Jack a look. ‘What are we going to do?’

Climbing out of bed, Jack reaches for his clothes and I see he’s only wearing shorts. I catch a flash of his body. Strong thighs. Muscular, tanned chest. Flexing biceps. I quickly avert my eyes.

‘Rocky, listen, it’s me. Jack.’

I look back to see he’s crouched down next to him. His earlier annoyance has disappeared and there’s a concerned expression on his face. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’

There’s silence, but for the sounds of faint moaning. ‘A new head, boss,’ Rocky groans, lifting his barely an inch off the cushion, before it collapses back down again.

‘’Fraid I can’t get you one of those,’ smiles Jack good-naturedly.

Rocky smiles weakly, then suddenly clutches his stomach.

‘Oh no,’ I gasp, recognising the warning signs, ‘I think he’s going to be—’

Too late. A loud retching noise fills the air as Rocky throws himself over the side of the mattress.

‘I guess a bucket might have been more handy,’ winces Jack.

Hand clamped across my mouth, I stare in horror. ‘Poor Rocky, he’s so ill,’ I mumble, behind the parapet of my fingers. ‘He’s probably not used to drinking.’

‘You can say that again,’ nods Jack, raising his eyebrows.

As Rocky finishes being sick, he rolls back onto the mattress and closes his eyes. In the distance there’s the sound of a cock crowing.

‘What time is it?’ asks Jack, turning to me.

I glance at my watch and see the time: five thirty a.m. ‘We need to leave!’ I cry, suddenly panicked. ‘We need to get to Udaipur before the shop opens.’

We both turn to look at Rocky, who’s now fallen fast asleep again.

‘OK, well, first things first, let me find out if the tyre’s fixed,’ says Jack calmly, taking control of the situation. ‘Wait here a minute, I’ll be right back.’

He disappears out of the tent, and I pull a spare blanket around my shoulders to stave off the early morning cold, then busy myself trying to tidy up around Rocky. A few times I try to wake him to make him drink water, but apart from a few sips, he lies comatose.

Jack returns a few minutes later with a big thumbs-up. ‘All fixed, you’ll be pleased to know,’ he grins.

‘Oh, thank goodness.’ I feel a rush of relief. For a moment there I thought we might get stuck in the desert after all.

‘Yeah, the boys from the local village did a good job; the car’s back on the road and ready to go.’

‘Great,’ I beam. ‘And I’m all done in here,’ I gesture to the folded blankets.

‘Which leaves . . .’ Trailing off, Jack motions towards a snoring Rocky.

‘I don’t think he’s fit to drive,’ I venture.

Jack grins, despite the situation. ‘A slight understatement,’ he nods, ‘though I’m not sure you can get a DUI here . . . “Driving under the influence”,’ he explains, seeing my puzzled look.

‘So what shall we do?’ I ask.

‘There’s only one thing we can do.’

Fifteen minutes and lots of huffing and puffing later, Rocky is stretched out on the back seat of the Ambassador, still fast asleep.

‘Phew, well, at least that bit’s done,’ says Jack, closing the passenger door.

I nod, still winded from having to lug Rocky out of the tent. Mohan had kindly offered to help, but to be honest he looked to be in the same fragile state as Rocky. ‘Great,’ I pant, catching my breath. ‘The sun has risen but it’s still early and if we get going now, we should be there before the shop opens.’

‘OK, well let’s go,’ nods Jack.

Waving our thank-yous and goodbyes, we turn and reach for the door handle. And crash into each other.

‘Wrong side, they drive on the left here,’ I laugh. I feel a buzz of happiness. Finally, after all this time and all these setbacks, I’ve made it. I’ve found my sister, and in only a few hours I’ll be with her in Udaipur. ‘This is the passenger side.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ nods Jack.

I realise his fingers are still curled tightly around the door handle. How odd.

‘The driver’s side is that side,’ I clarify. Well, it is early; he’s obviously getting mixed up.

‘I know,’ he nods again.

All at once, I feel a doubt start to creep in around the edges.

‘What do you mean, you know?’ I ask, frowning, though for some reason I already know I’m not going to want the answer to this question.

‘You’re driving,’ he replies.

I
knew
I wouldn’t want the answer.

As his words register, I stare at him in disbelief. ‘What do you mean I’m . . .’ I break off. ‘Oh ha-ha, this is one of your jokes,’ I smile, suddenly getting it. ‘You know how terrified I am of the roads, you thought you’d pull my leg.’ Playfully shoving him away, I push the button on the handle to release the door and tug it open.

Only Jack doesn’t move. In fact, he’s still holding stubbornly onto the door handle. Actually, make that
hanging
on to the door handle.

‘I don’t drive a stick.’

I look at him blankly. ‘
A stick
?’

‘I’m American,’ he says simply. ‘We drive automatics.’

‘You mean, this isn’t a joke?’ Anxiety knots.

Jack shakes his head. ‘Nope.’

‘You don’t know how to change gears?’

Jacks shakes his head again.

‘Or use the clutch?’

And again.

I feel my mouth go dry. This is my worst nightmare. My biggest fear:
I’m going to have to drive.

‘Oh fuck.’

There’s a famous book entitled
Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway
. It’s an international bestseller and over twenty-five years has sold millions of copies, changing millions of people’s lives. Personally I’ve never read it and now I will probably never need to as I’m feeling the fear and doing it anyway
and
I’m absolutely terrified.

Ten minutes later and we’re on the road. Such an innocuous phrase – ‘we’re on the road’. It sounds so casual and harmless, as if one should be having a jolly old time on a day trip down to the coast, driving along playing I-spy and eating sausage rolls. Not white-knuckling the steering wheel, rigid with fear, eyes staring straight ahead, dodging camels and trucks and rickshaws.

And stray dogs that run out in front of you, causing you to swerve, slam on the brakes and your heart to jump into your mouth as the gears crunch and scream.

‘Argh, where’s second?’ I screech, along with the gears.

‘Um . . . after first?’ suggests Jack, from the safety of the passenger seat.

Well, I say safety, but judging by these roads and my driving, that’s open to debate.

I shoot him a look. ‘Listen, smarty-pants—’

‘Look out!’ he yells, as I take my eyes off the road for a second and a bus appears from nowhere.

I pull down sharply on the steering wheel and veer out of its path.

‘
Argghh
. . .’ we both shriek loudly as it hurtles past us, its horn blasting.

‘Jeez, Ruby!’ Clinging onto his seat, Jack turns to me, ashen-faced. ‘The roads here are crazy, maybe you should try slowing down.’

‘I can’t slow down,’ I say determinedly, above the whirr of the engine. ‘I’ve got to get to Udaipur before the shop opens. There’s no time to lose.’

I stare fixedly ahead at the road, my jaw clenched tightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can feel Jack still looking at me. ‘Great manoeuvre, by the way,’ he nods approvingly, after a few moments.

‘Thanks,’ I shrug and, feeling a faint swell of pride, I press my foot back on the accelerator and we race on ahead.

But it’s not just the roads; the car itself is also taking a bit of getting used to. Compared to driving my parent’s zippy new Renault, the thirty-year-old Ambassador feels heavy and solid – apparently its nickname is ‘The White Elephant’ – but it’s also surprisingly fast and powerful. In fact, the accelerator seems to have a mind of its own, as does the horn, which makes me jump out of my skin every time I have to use it. Oh my god, this is awful. My nerves are frayed. I don’t know if I can do this.

And yet, as we speed along the highway, the engine roaring loudly, the desire to get to Udaipur to save my sister propelling me forwards, something odd starts to happen. It’s as if a strange sort of transformation begins to come over me. Gradually my fears start to recede. I start feeling less jumpy. Not as scared. More in control. I feel my confidence growing . . .

Fast-forward to three hours later, and the terrified scaredy-cat who had to cover her eyes and clung to the back seat of the tuk-tuk on the ride from Goa Airport is long gone. Now I’m behind the wheel in the driver’s seat, my eyes wide open and my hand permanently on the horn. Changing gears and revving hard, I’m swerving in and out of traffic, overtaking tuk-tuks and careering around cows like I’ve been doing this for years. Jenson Button, eat your heart out!

Finally, after several hours’ driving, we arrive on the outskirts of Udaipur. As we race into town, the little white car negotiating the tiny streets, we catch our first glimpse of the shimmering lake that stretches out before us. After the long, dusty drive, it’s like a mirage. Beautiful.

Wow.

But we don’t have time to stop and take in the view; I have to find the shop and my sister and, armed with the address, we take off down a small side street.

‘According to Google maps it should be first left,’ instructs Jack, peering at his iPhone.

I swing a hard left and I hear a groan from the back seat as Rocky is thrown sideways. It’s the first noise I’ve heard from him the whole journey, so I take it as a good sign, rather than a cause for concern, and keep driving.

We pass lots of little shops that are starting to open, shopkeepers sweeping steps, dusting off their awnings and putting out their wares. We slow down as we weave through the crooked maze of higgledy-piggledy streets and race across the bridge.

‘OK, now take a right,’ instructs Jack.

I do as I’m told. I have to say, we make rather a good team, him reading the map, me driving. It makes a nice change, this role reversal. Turning in to the small narrow street, I see the shop sign straight ahead.

‘Bingo!’ I exclaim, thrilled. I pull up quickly. ‘Good job with the directions.’

‘Good job driving,’ says Jack, impressed.

Smiling, I turn off the engine and throw him the keys. ‘I’ve done the driving, you can take care of him,’ I gesture to the back seat. ‘I’m going to get my sister.’

Leaving Jack to take care of Rocky in the car, I take the steps in one leap and push open the door. The shop is already open, and as I enter it’s like walking into an Aladdin’s cave of shimmering golds and reds, vibrant pinks, sapphire blues and luminous emerald greens. Walls are lined with roll upon roll of fabric, stacked from floor to ceiling in an array of dazzling colours, whilst hanging from racks are a glittering display of exquisitely embellished ready-made garments.

As someone who spends her whole life head-to-toe in boring old black leggings and T-shirts, I’ve never realised clothes could be this beautiful, and for a moment it stops me in my tracks.

‘Hello, can I help you?’

I snap back to see a tiny middle-aged lady appear from the back of the shop. Dressed in a beautiful peacock green sari, with a glossy black plait reaching down her back that is almost the same length as she is tall, she looks at me enquiringly through a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

‘Mrs Gupta?’ I ask hopefully.

‘Yes, this is me,’ she nods.

A smile of relief washes over me. ‘Hi, I’m Ruby . . . I spoke to you yesterday on the telephone,’ I begin hurriedly explaining, ‘about my sister.’

The crease down her forehead disappears. ‘Ah yes,’ she says briskly, ‘you are the older sister of Amy Miller.’

‘Yes, that’s me!’ After all this time, just hearing someone say my sister’s name feels like a massive breakthrough.

There’s a pause as Mrs Gupta peers at me and I feel jittery with expectation.

‘You don’t look anything alike,’ she observes, clicking her tongue.

‘Um . . . yes, I know . . .’ I nod, suddenly conscious that not only being heavier and darker, I’m a complete mess. Glancing down at my new clothes, I realise that after camping out in the desert they’re covered in dust and dirt. Plus, the only mirror I’ve looked in today has been a rear-view, so I dread to think what kind of state my face and hair are in. I swear, trying to keep clean and look pretty on a road trip is just impossible.