The Love Detective (31 page)

‘
He is
?’ I whisper, wide-eyed. I’ve obviously still got an awful lot to learn.

After vetting several would-be priests, he finally declares someone suitable and, in exchange for a few rupees, I’m taken down to the water’s edge by a gently spoken man who recites prayers for my family, floats flowers on the water and duly presents me with my Pushkar passport.

It’s a moving experience. I’m not religious; the nearest I’ve got to it is a brief brush with Sunday school as a child, taking Mrs Flannegan to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve and a turbulent flight to New York when I clung onto the stranger next to me and recited the Lord’s Prayer. But there’s something here that draws me in.

Next, we visit a temple. But not the one in the town at which all the other tourists are congregating with their guidebooks and cameras. Instead, Billy takes me on a trek up to a small, isolated hilltop temple, perched high above the town, which offers incredible views and is well worth the climb up hundreds of steep steps that we take to get there.

Afterwards we make our way back into town. Tired and hungry, Billy takes me to his friend’s rooftop restaurant overlooking the lake and we order lots of delicious vegetarian food. Local custom enforces a strict no meat, no eggs, no alcohol diet, but there are all kinds of imaginative things on the menu and, after my lesson with Rocky, I’m feeling a lot more confident about trying different dishes.

‘So, tell me, where did you learn to dance?’ I ask, sampling a plate of sizzling aubergine.

‘From my mother . . . and watching a lot of movies,’ he grins, taking a sip of his freshly blended lassi. ‘Now I teach Bollywood dancing to children at school.’

‘Wow, really?’ I smile.

‘Yes, every week,’ he nods, ‘and for weddings too.’

‘As well as running the café?’

‘I’m a busy man,’ he laughs, reclining back in his chair and letting out a sigh. ‘Amazing view, hey?’

I follow his gaze across the whitewashed rooftops and out across the lake.

‘Yes,’ I murmur, drinking it all in, ‘it’s amazing.’

‘I bring my son up here to fly kites. He loves it.’

‘You have a son?’ I say in surprise.

‘Yes, he’s three years old, and I have a daughter who’s just a baby.’

I look at him in wonder: he doesn’t look old enough to have children, though I guess he is. I mean, if we’re talking from a biological point of view, I’m old enough to have a teenager – something that my mother is always fond of telling me, for some reason known only to her. ‘I had no idea you were married.’

‘I’m not,’ he replies, shaking his head.

‘Oh, I see,’ I fluster, suddenly feeling foolish that I’d jumped to conclusions. I should have known Billy wouldn’t necessarily follow the traditional route of an arranged marriage. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . . I just assumed . . . not that it matters, of course, I mean, lots of people live with their partners and have children; in fact I know tons of couples who aren’t married—’

‘We don’t live together. My girlfriend ran away and left me with the children,’ he says matter-of-factly.

‘Left you?’ However, I wasn’t expecting this.

‘She said she was too young, she didn’t want to be tied down,’ he says, his ever-present smile slipping. ‘She lives in Mumbai, where we met. She didn’t like it here.’ He breaks off, and looks out across the middle distance. ‘How can she not like it here? It’s beautiful.’

‘Oh Billy, I’m so sorry,’ I say, giving his arm a squeeze.

‘It’s OK,’ he nods. ‘My mum helps me with the children while I am at work.’

I feel indignant for him. ‘Well, your ex is a fool,’ I say supportively.

‘It’s not her fault,’ he shrugs. ‘She’s young.’

This, from a man who can’t be more than in his early twenties. I feel a sense of admiration for how he’s handling all this; it can’t be easy.

‘I still believe in love,’ he adds after a pause.

‘You do?’

‘Of course,’ he says and flashes me his trademark smile. ‘There are so many, many things to love . . . I love this view, I love my family, I love that we are spending these wonderful hours together . . .’

As he throws me a wink, I can’t help smiling. There’s something about Billy, his irrepressible good humour is infectious.

‘Yes, it’s true, she stole my heart and broke it. But, you know, every time your heart is broken it gets stronger.’

I suddenly feel ashamed. Sam leaving me suddenly seems trivial compared to what happened to Billy, and he’s not bitter or jaded – on the contrary.

‘The heart is also a muscle,’ he continues, and changing the mood he starts comically flexing one of his large biceps, ‘and it is very important to exercise it.’ Jumping up from his chair he launches into one of his Bollywood dance moves, sticking out his chest and making a heart-shape with his fingers.

I laugh with delight as he pretends to make it beat from his chest.

‘Hey, watch out.’ He suddenly stops dancing.

‘What?’ I frown, and turn just in time to see a giant monkey swing down from the corrugated iron roof and grab my food from the table. Startled, I jump and let out a shriek.

Which makes Billy laugh even harder. ‘You are so funny, beautiful,’ he cries, shaking his head with amusement. ‘We have to be careful of the monkeys here, they steal everything!’ We both watch the monkey scampering away before, turning to me, Billy flashes me a smile. ‘But never our hearts!’

Afterwards, it’s with the biggest hug that Billy bids me goodbye. ‘I will miss you, beautiful,’ he grins, squeezing me tightly.

‘You too,’ I smile, then as we break apart he hands me something.

‘This is for you.’

It’s the charger for his phone.

‘No, I can’t,’ I protest, trying to hand it back, but he’s insistent.

‘No, please,’ he protests, before adding with a wink, ‘now you have to return to Pushkar, so you can bring it back.’

Laughing, I leave him practising his dance moves in the street, a big goofy smile on his face, and start walking back slowly through the town towards the hotel. It’s early afternoon but already the temperature is starting to drop and, thankful for my warm jacket which I’ve had tied around my waist, I put it on. Absently I make my way down the main street, letting my gaze drift past the rows of shops and cafés until, on the outskirts of town, I happen to notice the little girl again, still sitting at the side of the road with her family.

She spots me immediately, her face lighting up with recognition, and this time I go over to say hello.

‘Hi . . . hi . . .’ I smile and nod politely as her family welcomes me warmly, making room for me to sit down and join them under the tent-like canopy they’ve erected, whilst the little girl shrieks with delight. Clambering all over me, she claps her hands excitedly, almost in disbelief, as if to say
hey, that waving thing really works!

‘Chai?’ offers a teenage girl, who I think is one of the sisters. She holds out a small plastic cup of steaming tea and I accept their hospitality gratefully.

‘Thank you,’ I smile, taking a sip. It’s grown even colder and I’m glad of the hot sweet liquid to warm me up. Their mother, a slim, fine-boned woman in a pale green sari, is busy cooking chapattis on a small stove in the corner. Seeing me glance over, she smiles shyly – unlike her children, who dive on top of me, curious to see who this new visitor is.

This is where they must live, I realise, noticing a washing line of rainbow-coloured clothes strung across the wall behind the tent, next to which lies a pile of blankets. Earlier I saw some other families camping on the side of the road, and Billy explained they were travellers who come for a few months to sell their wares before returning to their villages in the mountains when the weather becomes too hot.

But now it’s cold and the temperature can easily drop to freezing at night. I think of my own family with our central heating and warm beds, our jumpers and duvet coats, and look at the children in their thin clothes.

‘Here,’ I motion to the little girl, impulsively taking off my warm jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. Thrilled to be playing dress-up, she slips it on jubilantly. It completely drowns her. ‘It suits you,’ I cheer and her family laugh and clap as she dances around in it, tripping over the hem, sticking her hands in the far-too long sleeves and waggling them.

My intention had only been to say hello but I end up drinking chai tea with the parents and their teenage daughter, playing with the little girl and her two brothers – identical twins with wild mops of hair and smiles that would lift your soul. I’ve written about love at first sight but always as a romantic love, never as an instant overwhelming love you can feel for an entire family. The Taj Mahal might have opened a chink in my heart, but this family blows it wide open.

As I leave I try to buy a few strings of beads, but they push them on me as gifts and, humbled, I thank them all one by one, politely shaking each one’s hand as they line up to bid me a formal farewell. It’s only then I realise that, apart from the odd word, we haven’t spoken to each other the whole time. I don’t speak Hindi and they don’t speak English. I don’t know anything about them and they don’t know anything about me, and yet it’s not important. Sometimes it’s just not about words.

They wave me off, the little girl still proudly wearing my jacket, and I wave back until my wrist hurts, before turning away to set off back to the hotel. When suddenly I’m aware of someone’s eyes on me and I glance over into a shop doorway across the street. I see a figure watching me.

It’s Jack.

For a moment I pause. I’ve been so absorbed by the little girl and her family, I’d completely forgotten about our row, but now seeing him again I’m suddenly reminded. I brace myself, but as he walks towards me I can see the anger has gone from his face. Instead, without saying a word, he takes off his jacket and puts it around my shoulders. I reach my eyes up to his and a look passes between us. Neither of us has to say anything. Silently, we start walking and after a few steps he reaches his hand across me. As his fingers brush against my chest I feel the breath catch in the back of my throat and for a split second I almost think—

Slipping his hand inside the breast pocket of the jacket, he pulls out his phone.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask as he hits redial.

‘Calling that number,’ he replies, putting it to his ear.

‘Look, it’s OK, I’m sorry—’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ he says firmly, ‘I was wrong.’ His eyes meet mine and for the first time it’s as if the tables have turned and I see a newfound respect. I’m not some silly tourist any more. ‘I should never have said those things, I should never have doubted you,’ he continues quietly. ‘Your heart’s wide open.’

We’ve stopped walking and are standing close together, our bodies almost touching, and I can feel an energy field between us, an anticipation—

Then something happens that neither of us expected.

Someone answers the phone.

Chapter 28

Less than an hour later we’re in the white Ambassador, heading to Udaipur. At first, Rocky had been reluctant to leave. The late afternoon sun was already fading and it would be nightfall by the time we arrived, but he agreed once Jack explained the urgency.

It had been a woman who’d answered. Her name was Mrs Gupta and she was the owner of a bridal shop in Udaipur. It was actually the shop we’d been calling, but she’d been so busy with the wedding season, her phone was ringing off the hook and her answering machine was full of messages from frantic brides. One of which, it transpired, was my sister Amy, ‘the pretty blonde English girl’, who was due to pick up her sari tomorrow.

‘But what time?’ asks Rocky, from behind the wheel.

‘I don’t know, she couldn’t say,’ I reply, ‘she was doing last-minute alterations.’

‘Which is why we need to get there tonight,’ adds Jack, ‘so Ruby can go to the store first thing tomorrow morning, as soon as it opens—’

‘So I’ll be sure to be there when Amy arrives,’ I finish.

I feel both relieved and excited. And a little scared about how she’s going to react. She’s not going to take too kindly to her big sister showing up. Over the years I’ve lost count of the times I’ve turned up at late-night parties, illegal raves and a particularly dodgy ex-boyfriend’s house – the big bad wolf come to spoil the fun. But I just want to talk to her. Even if I can’t stop her, I just want to see her and make sure she’s OK.

I look at Jack across the back seat. ‘Thanks,’ I mouth.

He frowns. ‘For what?’ he mouths back.

I pause, my mind flicking back through a photo album of mental images from the past few days since he rescued me at the railway station. ‘Everything,’ I mouth back.

I turn back to look out of the window. I feel buoyed up and hopeful that I’m coming to the end of my journey, yet there’s also a part of me that doesn’t want this to ever end. I’ve travelled before, but the travelling part was just a means to an end. An inconvenience. A necessary evil to be got through as quickly as possible with the aid of high-speed trains and aeroplanes, so that I could reach my destination. My whole life it’s been about the destination, never the journey.