The Love Detective (10 page)

‘Amy, you’re being ridiculous,’ I snap back. ‘You have to come home. OK, so I understand why you’ve fallen for him – I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m sure every woman in his class is in love with him.’ I’m trying hard to be the voice of reason. Well, someone has to be. I remember what it was like when I was on holiday in Greece aged seventeen and fell head-over-heels for the water-skiing instructor. I wouldn’t listen to anyone. ‘But this is just some holiday romance—’

‘We’re getting married.’

What the . . .?

For a moment, I can’t speak. Amy has pulled some crazy stunts before but . . . I pause, mid-thought. Of course! This is her idea of a joke!

‘Oh, ha-ha, very clever,’ I snap, glancing across departures. She’s probably hiding behind a pillar, ready to jump out. ‘Only this isn’t funny, Amy, the plane’s going to leave without us at this rate. Now will you stop joking around? I’m serious.’

‘So am I Ruby. I’m perfectly serious.’

She never calls me Ruby. I get an icy feeling at the bottom of my spine.

‘Shine and I are eloping and there’s nothing you, or Mum and Dad, can do to stop us,’ she continues determinedly.

Oh my God.
Mum and Dad
. At the mention of them I feel a sudden horror. They are going to kill her.
But not before they’ve killed me.
My whole life I’ve been told, ‘Look after your little sister.’ I can’t let her run off in a foreign country and marry a man she’s only just met.

‘Amy!’ I say sharply, trying to corral her back to reality. ‘Stop being so selfish, think about Mum and Dad! How do you think they’re going to feel?’

‘You said I could never let them down,’ she replies petulantly.

I flash back to our earlier conversation when I was packing. Of course, this is why she was so nervous; it had nothing to do with her new job.

‘And what about the research centre?’ I remind her. ‘You’ve worked so hard for this opportunity, it’s what you’ve always wanted . . .’

There’s a pause and for a split second I sense a moment of hesitation, of regret.

‘It’s an amazing opportunity, Amy, you can’t just throw it away. Mum and Dad were so proud, we were all so proud.’

At the other end of the line, I can almost feel her wavering.

‘I’m getting married,’ she repeats more firmly, as if to convince both herself and me.

I feel myself explode. ‘Amy, stop being so stupid and pig-headed,’ I cry with frustration. ‘You’re being crazy, you can’t get married!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s ludicrous! You’ve only known him a couple of weeks.’

‘Love isn’t measured by time,’ she retorts. ‘You should know. That’s a line from one of your books.’

‘But that’s fiction,’ I almost yell down the phone, ‘this is real life!’

‘It can happen in real life too,’ she argues.

I catch my breath. She sounds so convinced, so sure, so certain, she reminds me of myself. Of how I used to be. I pause as my mind flicks back . . . Once upon a time I shared her conviction. I believed in love at first sight, in marriage, in happy-ever-afters . . . but now I’ve grown up, I remind myself sharply, and I don’t believe in fairy tales any more.

‘He feels the same way,’ her voice interrupts my thoughts. ‘He’s in love with me too.’

Suddenly I have a flashback. To a few days ago. Going for the massage and getting lost down a side street. ‘Amy, there’s something you should know,’ I say urgently. ‘Shine’s not being honest with you, I saw him . . .’ I pause, briefly, wondering how I can tell her, then blurt it out. ‘He was with another woman, ask him—’

But she doesn’t let me finish.

‘I knew you’d be like this,’ she accuses angrily, ‘that’s why I didn’t want to tell you!’

‘Like what?’

‘Not every guy is like Sam, you know.’

The mention of his name is like a raw nerve. ‘This isn’t about Sam,’ I protest hotly.

‘Yes it is! It’s got everything to do with him!’ she cries. ‘Just because Sam turned out to be a cheat, and broke your heart, doesn’t mean you have to write every guy off.’

Our voices are growing louder and louder.

‘I am not writing every guy off,’ I fire back, feeling stung. ‘I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did!’

‘And what mistake’s that?’ she demands, ‘Falling in love?’

‘No, it’s believing in love,’ I yell back.

As the words fly out of my mouth, there’s silence on the other end of the line, and in the middle of arguing we both break off, breathless. Emotions are swirling around us and for a moment neither of us speaks. Until, after a pause, she says quietly, ‘Tell Mum and Dad I’m sorry I’ll miss their wedding anniversary and not to worry. I’ll call in a few days.’

‘Look, can’t we just talk about this?’

‘There’s nothing to talk about, I’ve made up my mind,’ she says stubbornly.

‘Listen to me, he’s seeing someone else,’ I say urgently. ‘
I saw him!
’

‘You’re lying. Shine loves me!’

That’s what Sam told me, I think desperately, my mind flashing back.

‘Amy, please, I’m not lying—’

‘And I’m not listening,’ she says resolutely. ‘Rubes, I know you’re my big sister, but I know what I’m doing and I can look after myself.’

‘It didn’t seem like that when you were borrowing money,’ I remind her peevishly, before I can stop myself.

‘I’ll pay you back every penny,’ she replies stiffly. ‘You don’t have to worry.’

‘Like I’m worried about the money!’ I burst out. ‘I just care about you, I don’t want you getting hurt—’

‘Look, I have to go.’

‘
Amy, wait
. . .’

But it’s no good. She’s already gone.

Shocked, I stare at my silent phone, my mind whirling, my heart thumping.

What on earth am I going to do now?

Chapter 9

I remember once seeing one of those life coaches being interviewed on some daytime chat show. I can’t remember the programme, but I do remember him. He was one of the Dr Phil types, with grey hair and friendly eyes, and he was talking about how if you can’t make a decision about something, you have to break it down into simple options. Like, for example, it’s a multiple choice question.

In which case, if this was a multiple choice question, it would go something like this:

1) You are at the airport in India about to get a flight back to London, when your little sister tells you she’s eloping with the yoga instructor. Do you:

A. Panic

B. Think sod it, she’s old enough to make her own mistakes and get on the plane without her

Or C. Miss the flight and try to stop her

‘Hurry! The flight is closing!’

I snap back to the check-in attendant who’s frantically gesturing for me, a stricken expression on her face. An alarm sounds in my head. I need to make a decision. I need to make a choice.

And fast.

‘Miss, if you don’t come now, the plane will leave without you,’ she instructs sternly.

My mind is running through a million different scenarios, seeing the consequences of every action, the domino-style effect it’s going to have on everything . . .

If I get on the plane, I’ll be leaving Amy to run off and make a terrible mistake. It’s lust, not love. She can’t
marry
him, she barely knows him. And what about the fact I saw him with another woman? Who was she? It could be innocent and yet . . . oh god, who am I kidding? It didn’t look innocent and, moreover, why would he lie? Why would he pretend he was on his own? In which case, how long’s it been going on? And what if she’s not the only one? What if, god forbid, he’s cheating on Amy with lots of women?

There are so many unanswered questions, but Amy’s so impulsive, so headstrong,
so naive
. She thinks she knows everything, but she doesn’t know anything. She still believes in happy-ever-afters, but this isn’t a fairy tale, it’s real life, and I can’t just stand back and watch her throwing away her heart, her career and her life on a man she’s just met and knows hardly anything about. Gambling everything on love.

And yet, on the flip side, if I don’t get on the plane, it means I’m not going home. I’m not going back to my life in London, I’m staying here in India and for who knows how long . . . I suddenly think about work, about Heathcliff, about the reality of the situation . . . No, it’s impossible, I have to get on that flight, I have to go back. I have responsibilities. I have a deadline to meet, a dog to look after, a pile of bills to pay. Not to mention Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary.

I feel a wave of anxiety. God, it’s like
Sliding Doors
. Only in this case, there’s no Gwyneth Paltrow, just an irate check-in attendant. I flinch, catching her eye, and feeling the knot in my stomach twist even harder.

I need to make a decision.

‘
Miss!
’ The attendant’s unflappable calm suddenly disintegrates and she rushes over in a frenzy, almost rugby tackling me to the ground in an attempt to grab my wheelie suitcase. ‘We need to check this in!’

‘No, stop,’ I yell, holding on to it for dear life. ‘
Stop!
’

In mid-tussle she freezes, her hand on the suitcase handle, and seeming to remember herself, stands upright.

As do I. And I suddenly realise:

I’ve made my decision, and it’s C.

‘I’m not coming,’ I announce, my mind racing. ‘I’m not getting on that flight, I’m not going back to London . . .’

Well, what else could I do? She’s my little sister, I have no choice. I’ve looked after her my whole life, I can’t just abandon her now.

‘I’ve got to stop my sister from getting married,’ I say, reaching for my suitcase.

The check-in attendant stares at me in astonishment. ‘But weddings are wonderful,’ she exclaims in confusion, ‘you can’t stop a wedding!’

‘I’m not stopping a wedding,’ I reply.

‘But . . . ?’

Leaving the attendant staring after me in confusion, I set off towards the exit. And, under my breath, I add quietly and determinedly to myself, ‘I’m stopping her from getting hurt.’

In which case, I need to get a bloody move on.

Breaking into a sprint with my suitcase, I set off on a hundred-metre dash across the terminal. Big Sister to the rescue! I feel like I should go into a telephone box and change into a cape and a pair of tights.

God, I just hope I’m not too late. I know Amy’s impulsive, but surely she’s not that stupid. Oh, who am I kidding? This is Amy, remember. The girl who once ran away to join the fair at five years old. OK, so she only got as far as next-door’s garden, but still. My little sister is capable of anything.

I race outside through the automatic doors and grab the first thing I can find that has wheels – a brightly painted tuk-tuk whose driver looks about fifteen – to take me back to the guesthouse.

What a difference a week makes. Whereas before whenever a stray chicken or goat wandered across the road, or we overtook into the path of an oncoming lorry, I’d bury my face in my hands. Now it’s all I can do not to lean over and stick my hand on the horn myself.

‘Please, can you hurry?’ I plead as we rumble along dusty, potholed roads.

‘You want me to step on it?’ The driver turns down the radio, which is blasting out Bollywood music, and glances at me in his cracked rear-view mirror, his boyish face lighting up with delight. ‘Like in the movies?’

‘Yes, like in the movies,’ I nod, swallowing hard. I daren’t even
think
about what I’m letting myself in for. I just need to concentrate on finding Amy.

‘Okey-dokey,’ he grins, crunching the gears loudly and accelerating hard so the engine sounds as though it’s about to explode.

Then again, I’m not going to be much good at finding Amy if I’m dead, am I?

Thrown around on the back seat, I cling onto the side handle like my mum does whenever my dad is driving, something which causes no end of amusement for me and Amy. I wouldn’t mind, but they live in a tiny village in the Yorkshire Dales, where no one ever goes over thirty miles an hour and still she grips onto that handle shrieking, ‘Slow down Roger, slow down!’ I swear, you’d think Dad was Michael Schumacher, not the careful owner of a fifteen-year-old Peugeot.

As the tuk-tuk driver suddenly swerves violently to avoid a bicycle-rickshaw, I have a sudden image of Mum in this tuk-tuk. Actually, I’m not sure her nerves would stand it. Even with her smelling salts, which she carries everywhere with her in her handbag, I think she’d pass out.

Which is probably not a bad idea, I wince, as, with a twisting, crunching sound of metal, we lose a wing mirror to an oncoming bus.

Oh. My. God.

I’ve never been one for believing in miracles, but as we skid to a halt outside Rising Bliss twenty minutes later, I’ve completely changed my mind. Miracles do happen! Look! Lord behold! I’m still alive!