Читать книгу Destination India - Katy Colins, Katy Colins - Страница 13

Tremulous (adj.) Exceedingly sensitive; easily shaken or disordered

I hadn’t really had time to let the rash decision that I was going to India on one of my own tours sink in. I was too busy making sure that my handover would be as simple as possible for Ben and Kelli. I’d cleared my diary, rearranged meetings that I was meant to have and politely declined networking events, asking to be emailed the presentation notes instead.

The most urgent thing of all was to get our visas sorted, as without those the whole trip wouldn’t take place. I’d put a call in to Sanjay, who worked for Visa Express, to see if he could take care of it like he did for our customers. However, word had got round that I was planning on breaking ties with his company as I wanted to bring it all in-house so he politely but firmly told me to bugger off.

So, here I was one wet morning waiting for the visa office to open, huddled under a shop front as I’d forgotten to bring an umbrella in my rush to leave my flat and be the first one here when the doors opened. Only, it was like the whole of Manchester had had the same idea. At least thirty other tired-looking people were patiently waiting in the queue ahead of me, and Shelley being Shelley was running late. The minutes ticked past and the doors still weren’t opening; I was cold, miserable and really didn’t have time for this. Where the hell was Shelley?

‘This your first time?’ the tall Indian man in front of me asked as I strained my neck past his shoulder for the umpteenth time to see what the hold-up was. It was now two minutes past nine and there was no sign of the rusty shutters being raised.

‘Oh, erm, yep,’ I replied not wanting to get into conversation with anyone.

His pale, hazel-coloured eyes circled with a ring of olive green creased as he laughed. ‘I could tell. You know they say that this is the first step in your preparation for going to India.’ He paused, half smiling at me.

‘What’s that then?’ I stared at him, taking in how good-looking he was. His brooding eyes seemed to pop from his light brown skin and designer stubble; his thick mane of black hair screamed tug me and his crooked smile was bashful but playful at the same time.

‘Patience.’ He laughed.

Despite how absolutely gorgeous this guy was, I was in no mood to fall under his spell; I had far too much I needed to be getting on with to even think about what his body looked like under his classic, well-fitted suit.

I huffed. ‘We’re not in India; we’re in Manchester where things open at the time they’re supposed to.’

He just shook his head in mirth. ‘If you think this is testing, wait till you get over there. You will learn things about yourself that you never would have discovered in a million years. Oh, and you’re going to love it.’

I knew his type: fit but he knew it, full of condescending arrogance thinking because he fell from heaven he was somehow better than you.

‘I think I know myself pretty well, thank you,’ I retorted with a tight smile, wishing this queue would hurry up and move so I didn’t have to look at his annoying, smug face. I was going to be fine in India. Fine.

‘Georgia! I’m here!’ Shelley called out, running over red-faced and waving at me. ‘Excuse me; my friend’s saved me a place.’ She pushed her way down the line, pretending not to see the looks of disgust and hear the irritated huffs and puffs from the queue. ‘Sorry I’m late, hon,’ she said breathlessly, fanning her flushed cheeks with her phone. ‘God look at this queue. Could you not have got one of your contacts to sort this out for us?’

‘If I could have I would have, trust me.’

She nodded, seemingly picking up on my pissed-off tones. I had so much I needed to be doing thanks to our spontaneous holiday; waiting in line to get a stamp in my passport was not one of them. After realising that our rash, drunken decision didn’t just affect the two of us I’d been trying to make my unplanned leave as seamless as possible, including looking into getting an extra pair of hands to help Ben and Kelli out whilst I was gone. Ben had said that they would be fine but I wasn’t a hundred per cent convinced so thought it would be better if I hired a temp just in case. Ben would thank me; I was sure of it.

The only problem was that out of the many applicants the local temp agency had emailed over, hardly any seemed suitable. I had made two piles – one of potentials and one of absolute no-nos but I needed to get someone lined up soonish.

‘Ah, I see. Well hopefully we’ll be in and out before you know it.’ She smiled. ‘So, how are things? No regrets?’

‘No regrets. Apart from I’m never drinking rum again.’ I noticed that buff Bollywood guy had suddenly become engrossed in his phone, thankfully.

Shelley pulled a face. ‘Me neither. So, how was Ben? Did he mind that you’ve booked this trip? He must be pleased that you’re taking the initiative in sorting out these negative reviews?’

I hadn’t had time to call her properly since he’d found out. ‘Let’s just say he wasn’t super impressed with my spontaneous decision to go all undercover boss in India. He was more disappointed that I hadn’t mentioned this idea to him first.’

‘Oh. Bugger.’ I nodded in agreement. ‘Hey, don’t worry. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. Plus, when he realises that this idea was brilliant and we are a pair of masterminds I’m sure he’ll change his mind.’

‘I hope so.’ I smiled sadly.

Suddenly a small pathetic cheer broke out as the doors were finally opened and the throng of people gently pushed forward and filed in. The visa office was as drab on the inside as it was on the outside. A table propped up with a wedge of yellowing newspaper under one wonky leg held leaflets and biro pens tied on with scratty pieces of string to stop anyone from stealing them. Three musky pink coloured counters stood at the back of the cold room and tired-looking employees plodded around putting out plastic chairs for customers to sit on.

I took a ticket, like at the delicatessen counter in Tesco, and waited our turn, far away from smug Mr India know-it-all, tapping my feet impatiently and hoping they would hurry up and call our number.

‘I still can’t believe we’re going to India,’ I said nodding at the large, albeit tatty, poster of the Taj Mahal on the wall opposite.

‘I know! It’s going to be amazing.’ Shelley grinned.

‘How was Jimmy about it? Not going to be pining for you for too long?’ I teased.

‘Probably.’ She let out a throaty laugh. ‘Like I said, absence makes the heart grow fonder.’

‘Number thirty-two,’ a robotic voice buzzed over the intercom.

‘That’s us!’ I jumped up out of my seat and we rushed over to the booth where a middle-aged woman with thick glasses looked at us expectantly. ‘Hi, we need to get visas for India, please.’ I slid our passports under the grubby glass screen and checked my watch.

‘You got your forms?’ Glasses Lady asked in a bored, nasally tone.

I jerked my head up to face hers. ‘Forms?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Your forms – we need them to process your application.’ She sighed. ‘All this information was on our website.’

Bloody hell.

With our customers we simply put them in touch with Sanjay’s visa services and he got on with sorting that aspect out. I didn’t know that there were forms involved.

‘Erm, no, we don’t have any forms.’

The woman sighed and looked at the queue of people behind me. I could feel Mr Smug India’s eyes on me; bet he had bloody forms.

‘What’s the matter?’ Shelley piped up.

‘We were meant to bring some forms,’ I grumbled.

‘Forms? I thought we just got a stamp in our passports and we were on our way?’

‘Me too.’ I let out a deep breath and turned to Glasses Lady. ‘Do you have any forms here we could fill in?’

‘All the forms are online.’ She was loving the power; you could tell.

I tried to stay calm. ‘So we need to go home, download the forms, fill them in and print them off then come back here? To join that queue again?’ I was so behind I just didn’t have the time for this.

‘Well, they’re the rules.’

‘Seriously?’ I gave her my best begging look but she just continued to stare blankly at us.

‘Come back with the forms and your passport-sized photos. You do have your passport-sized photos, don’t you?’ I bit my lip and shook my head. ‘Well then, I’d be getting a move on if I was you. We shut in two hours.’

I flashed her an insincere smile. ‘Great, well thanks for your help. Come on, Shell.’ I turned on my heel and walked to the front door.

‘Wait? She can’t be serious?’ Shelley gasped. ‘Seems a bit over the top if you ask me. What did she say about passport photos?’

‘We need some, pronto.’

Shelley nodded, then added quietly, ‘Thought you knew about this sort of stuff.’

‘Please don’t start.’

‘You ladies OK?’ Smug, gorgeous Mr India know-it-all sidled up to us as I shoved my passport back in my bag.

‘Fine,’ I muttered.

‘You don’t know where there’s a photo booth near here, do you? Or an Internet café? We need to download some forms.’ Shelley flashed him her most dazzling smile.

‘It’s fine. We’ll find somewhere.’ I placed my hand on her shoulder, trying to steer her past this irritating guy.

‘I’ve got some spare forms here that you can use.’ He rustled in his black leather man-bag. Course he did.

‘Wow, that’s really nice. Isn’t it, Georgia?’ Shelley beamed.

‘Hmm. Got a mini camera in there too to take our photos?’ I said sarkily. Why was I being so obtuse with this man? There was just something about him that got on my nerves.

Mr India laughed. ‘Nope, but there’s an ASDA not too far from here where you can get some printed. If you want, I’ll save you a place in the queue.’

I was just about to tell him that we didn’t need his help when Shelley clapped her hands and thanked him profusely before tugging me out of the doors to the supermarket.

‘He was so nice!’ she mused as we trudged over the slippery pavements. ‘And bloody gorgeous.’

‘You’re too trusting,’ I said, narrowly avoiding stepping into a pile of fresh dog turd.

‘Pfft. And you’re too cautious. You can trust people, even strangers; sometimes they really do just want to help a girl out.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ I muttered. I wanted to add that I spoke from experience of misreading people who I thought I could trust, but I stayed quiet, as in a weird way I wanted to be proved wrong.

True to his word, Mr India was indeed waiting patiently for our return holding out forms and even a stick of glue to attach our admittedly awful-looking passport photos.

‘Here you go, ladies.’ He handed them over, stifling a laugh at my photo. ‘So, Georgia Green and Shelley Robinson,’ he said, reading our names off the forms. ‘I hope you have an excellent time in India. Right, I’d better be off. Oh, my name’s Rahul, by the way.’

‘Thank you so much, Rahul!’ Shelley called out behind him just as our number was called. ‘God, what a nice guy. Shame we’re both taken; well your heart is taken, as otherwise this trip could be getting a lot hotter – and I don’t mean the spicy curries.’ She laughed, pretending to fan her face as Rahul walked off.

I mumbled a response. ‘Come on, let’s get this sorted.’

‘That was quick,’ Glasses Lady murmured as she took our forms. ‘OK, these look all right.’ I let out a sigh of relief. ‘I’ll get them processed and let you know if you’ve been successful.’

‘Wait – if we’ve been successful? So even after wasting our whole morning here it still isn’t guaranteed that we’ll be granted a visa?’ She shook her head, making her dangly earrings jangle loudly. ‘Well how long is that decision going to take?’

‘If you’ve been approved then you’ll receive your passport back with visa in ten business days.’

‘Ten days!’ I screeched. ‘I thought you just gave us a stamp in our passports? We’re leaving in ten days!’

She gave me a look that screamed not my problem and pointed to a small notice taped to her booth that said verbal abuse towards staff would not be tolerated. I tried to calm down. ‘You’d better hope it arrives in time then.’ She glared at me and hollered for the next customer. ‘Number fifty-nine.’

‘So much for being spontaneous,’ I grumbled as we walked out of the soulless visa office into a torrential rainstorm. The heavens had opened and the wind whipped our cheeks as we trudged to the bus stop. Shelley stayed silent during the whole bus journey to the other side of town.

I walked through the door of our shop, dripping wet and covered in goosebumps, which did not improve my mood. It felt like this trip was doomed before it had even started. Although, I did cheer up drastically when I realised that we had a visitor. Sat in my chair cradling a cup of tea was Trisha, Ben’s godmother and my friend; I couldn’t stop the grin taking over my wet face.

‘What are you doing here?’ I said as I pulled her in for a hug.

‘Hello, dear, got caught up in that storm did you?’ She nodded at my soaked trousers. ‘Well, I hear the weather in Delhi is much nicer this time of year.’ She winked.

‘Ah, so Ben told you.’

‘Yes, oh how exciting! You are going to love India. Every time I’ve been I swear I’ve ended up leaving feeling like a changed woman,’ she gushed. ‘It is the birthplace of spirituality after all and just has this aura about it. India inspires, thrills and frustrates like no other country.’

‘You can say frustrates again,’ I grumbled, hanging up my jacket that was dripping on the floor. ‘I’ve spent all morning waiting in line at the visa office and still might not get it in time before we fly.’ I sighed, trying not to panic about what would be the alternative if my passport didn’t arrive back before our flight. I could picture smug Rahul shaking his head at how late we had left it to sort out.

‘Ah yes, I know it is a pain but it will be worth it once you step off that plane in such a wonderful land. It’s an enigma; nowhere stirs the soul like India does. You’ll see.’

‘Hmm, I’m not sure I want my soul stirring.’ I winced.

‘Oh but you don’t get a say in the matter.’ Trisha chuckled. ‘Mother India will do what she wants.’

I nodded as if I knew what the hell she was going on about. ‘Anyway, how are you?’

‘Fine fine, getting used to this retired life has been a bit of an adjustment.’ She flashed a bright smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

‘You know you could have stayed working here?’ I said.

When we first decided to launch Lonely Hearts Travels, Trisha had still been running her Making Memories tours but we quickly overtook her loyal base of clients and merged the two together to create Young At Heart. Pitched as small groups to European destinations where solo mature men and women could experience one of our less lively but still as wonderful tours that Kelli liked to call Randy Retirees. So far it had really taken off with retired over sixties looking to spend their children’s inheritance on treating themselves to travel. Trisha still popped in every so often but her visits were a rare and delightful surprise rather than routine.

She patted my hand; I was taken aback by how translucent her wrinkled hands were next to mine. ‘I know, but this is yours and Ben’s baby now.’ I blushed. ‘You know what I mean!’ She laughed. ‘It is looking so good in here; Kelli was just telling me how busy you have all been. I think she was hoping for a pay rise.’ Trisha winked.

‘Wouldn’t we all.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘So have you started any new hobbies then? When my dad retired it seemed like he suddenly sprouted green fingers.’

Trisha shook her head. ‘Not me, I can barely keep cacti alive. I have been reading a lot more and catching up with friends now that I have more time on my hands.’ The way she said this was as if it was more a chore than a freedom. ‘I’m sure I’ll find my feet soon.’

She smiled brightly and began flicking through one of our brochures when a thought suddenly came to me.

‘Trisha, what are you doing on the twenty-seventh?’

She looked up. ‘Nothing. Why?’

‘How about coming out of retirement for a while?’