The Love Detective (32 page)

But now I realise I’ve never experienced the true magic of travel. Being stripped of all the things that usually occupy my everyday thoughts has left me open to serendipity and adventures, to new people and experiences. Casting my mind back to London, I try to remember the last time I struck up a conversation with a total stranger on a train. Or, on a whim, accepted an invitation to explore a new town and learn about new things.

I can’t, because I haven’t. I’ve walked around wearing headphones and listening to my iPod. I’ve sat on the Tube and read my Kindle. I’ve ridden up escalators with millions of other people and never once made eye-contact. And yet here, in India, I’ve sat on the ground and drunk tea with an entire family.

Outside the window, the desert landscape passes by. A dusty, sandy countryside, dotted with small tribal villages, stretching as far as the eye can see, all the way to the horizon. The road stretches hypnotically away into the wide-open distance, empty but for the occasional herd of camels. I feel a sense of liberation. I’m in the middle of nowhere, in an exotic land, far, far away from London and the parameters of my life. Far away from the ghosts of my past.

And, for the first time in my life, I feel something I’ve never felt before.

I feel free.

An hour passes. We continue rumbling along the open road, the needle on the speedometer never going above thirty miles an hour. Jack has dozed off. Rocky is listening to the radio, which is playing softly in the background, one hand on the wheel. It’s quiet. A truck appears over the horizon. Absently I watch it heading towards us on the opposite side of the road, a part of my brain thinking how it’s too far over into the middle, how it needs to get over—

‘
Beeeeeeeeeep!
’ Blasting his horn, Rocky swerves to avoid it.

I feel my heart shoot into my mouth as I’m thrown about in the back seat.

‘What the hell?’ Jack wakes up as the truck thunders by, narrowly avoiding us.

‘Talk about a near miss!’ I gasp, relief exploding.

But it’s short lived. Suddenly there’s a hard jolt and the car rocks to one side.

‘What’s that noise?’ I cry in alarm.

‘Sounds like a tyre just blew,’ says Jack, as there’s a loud rattling noise.

‘Oh goodness me, oh goodness, goodness me,’ exclaims Rocky, his voice in a high falsetto. There’s a screeching of brakes as he slams them on, but he loses control and the car veers off the road.

‘
Ayeeee!
’

It all happens so fast. Suddenly we’re hurtling into the undergrowth, bushes are scratching and scraping the doors, we’re being thrown around like rag dolls, stones fly up, chipping the windscreen, the car tips on its side—

‘
Ayeeeeeeeeeeeee!
’

And now we’ve stopped. As the car grinds to a halt in a big cloud of dust, everything falls quiet. Except for the sound of someone shrieking. For a moment I think it’s coming from me. Until I realise that, in fact, it’s coming from Rocky. He sounds like a stuck pig.

‘Rocky,’ says Jack, shaking his shoulder, but it’s no good. ‘Rocky!’ he shouts louder.

‘Huh?’ He falls silent, as if snapping out of a trance.

Heaving open the passenger door, which has got wedged against a bush, Jack climbs out. With lots of coughing, we both follow suit.

‘As I thought. A flat,’ says Jack, his face grim.

I glance at the deflated tyre and then at Rocky, who’s hopping up and down from one foot to another as if he’s on hot coals.

‘This is not good,’ he’s saying, looking at the car with dismay. ‘This is not good at all.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks,’ reassures Jack, trying to placate our driver who looks like he’s about to faint at the state of his car. ‘All we need to do is change the tyre.’

‘Yes boss,’ Rocky nods dutifully. He looks relieved that someone else is taking charge of the situation. But he doesn’t move.

‘I trust you’ve got a jack and a spare?’

Rocky looks at him blankly. ‘But you are Jack?’

‘A jack, to lift up the car,’ explains Jack, doing hand actions.

‘Oh, yes, yes,’ nods Rocky, snapping to and scurrying over to the boot. Flicking it open, he rummages inside and produces a small foot-jack.

‘Great,’ nods Jack. ‘Now, let’s have a look at your spare tyre.’

Up until this moment I’d been feeling comforted. Yes, OK, after the near miss with the truck and now this, we’ve cheated death twice, but fortunately we’re all in one piece. It won’t take long to change a tyre and then we’ll be on our way.

At least that was the thinking before I saw the expression on Rocky’s face. And heard the loud groan from Jack.

‘Er, is there a problem?’ I ask tentatively.

‘You could say that,’ says Jack, his jaw set hard.

‘It is not so much a problem as a misfortune,’ corrects Rocky, with all the diplomacy of a politician.

A look flashes between Rocky and Jack. I’m not sure how to describe it but, put it this way, it’s not a look of love.

‘Call it what you want but . . .’ Lifting a tyre out of the boot, Jack drops it with a thud onto the ground. A cloud of dust rises up as he pokes the rubber with his foot. It’s all squidgy.

Now, I don’t know much about cars and flats and spare tyres. I live in London. I spend my life on the Tube and the number nine bus and only drive when I go to see my parents. But even I know that’s not a good sign.

‘Erm, it looks flat.’

‘As a pancake,’ agrees Jack.

‘So what do we do now?’

‘You tell me.’

We both turn to look at Rocky, who’s wearing a frozen expression. Eyes open wide, mouth agape, hands clutching at the side of his face, he looks as if he’s doing his impression of Macaulay Culkin from that iconic
Home Alone
poster.

‘Rocky?’ I prompt.

He snaps back. ‘Yes, Miss Ruby?’ He smiles broadly, as if nothing is the matter and it’s perfectly normal to stand in a ditch, in the middle of the desert, next to a car with a flat tyre and pass the time of day.

‘What are we going to do?’ I can feel panic beginning to creep in around the edges. This is not a case of just calling the AA and waiting for the nice man in the tow truck to arrive. Or hailing a taxi. Or pulling out my Oyster card. We’re in the middle of a goddam desert!

Oh god. I’m panicking.

‘That is an excellent question,’ he beams.

I wait expectantly for him to elaborate. He just continues smiling. It begins to dawn on me that, actually, Rocky has absolutely no clue whatsoever what we’re going to do.

‘Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer. Just yet,’ he confirms.

‘But it’s going to get dark soon!’ I wail.

‘Look, there’s got to be a way out of here,’ Jack reassures us firmly. ‘We’ll just have to hitch a ride into town—’

‘There is no town.’ Rocky shakes his head.

‘What do you mean, no town? There must be.’ Jack is getting impatient now.

‘We are in the middle of the desert. The nearest town is many, many kilometres away . . .’

As the reality of the situation begins to sink in fast, we all look at each other, no one speaking.

‘We could start walking,’ I suggest, after a pause.

‘It’s too far and too dangerous,’ sighs Jack. ‘The sun’s going to start setting soon.’

I glance over towards the horizon, to the sun that’s already starting to sink. He’s right, it would be too dangerous – hang on, what’s that? Did something move? I shield my eyes, trying to make out shapes in the far distance. It’s a camel. No, two camels. And with them I can see the figure of a man.

‘Look!’ I exclaim, pointing towards them.

As Rocky and Jack twirl around, Rocky lets out a yelp of excitement.

‘He’ll never see us,’ begins Jack, but Rocky has already started running towards him, waving and hollering, clouds of dust flying up from his feet.

The man stops and turns.

‘He’s seen him,’ I gasp.

‘Holy Moly,’ murmurs Jack.

As the two men reach each other, we see Rocky gesticulating wildly and pointing over to us. This seems to go on for a few minutes. We both wait, wondering what’s happening, until finally Rocky comes scampering back towards us.

His face says it all. ‘Everything is wonderful,’ he cries. ‘We have an answer, Miss Ruby!’

What a relief. I feel the tension from my body drain away.

‘Awesome,’ says Jack, who looks more relieved than I would have thought. I hadn’t realised he’d been that worried.

‘Yes, it is very awesome,’ nods Rocky, excitedly.

‘So, what is it?’ I prompt.

Throwing his arms wide, he proclaims triumphantly, ‘We will stay the night in the desert!’

There’s silence as this announcement sinks in and then . . .

‘
The desert?
’ repeats Jack dubiously.

‘Yes, we can go on camels, you will see the sunset, it will be like going on a desert safari,’ smiles Rocky, looking very pleased with himself.

‘But we have to get to Udaipur tonight,’ I remind him anxiously.

‘We will leave first thing tomorrow morning. My new friend Mohan says there is a small village nearby and knows of people who can fix the car. He will send a boy with a new tyre. This way we can leave at sunrise and you will be there before the shop has even opened!’ He beams happily.

Jack and I look at each other doubtfully. I’m relieved that we can get the car fixed (for a scary moment there the situation looked hopeless) but it’s this sleeping-in-the-desert business I’m worried about.

‘There is a saying in India, “We can’t change the direction of the wind, but we can change the sails”,’ continues Rocky, ‘and camels are ships of the desert, are they not?’

You know, I’m not really sure about all these sayings.

‘Stay in the desert where, exactly?’ asks Jack, taking charge of the situation. ‘It gets very cold at night and we don’t have any camping equipment.’

‘This is no problem. My friend has tents!’ says Rocky cheerfully. ‘You can sleep underneath the stars!’

We both turn to look at Mohan who’s standing, waiting, in the distance. With his elaborate red turban, curly moustache and white tunic, he looks very much the part.

‘I guess that could be kinda fun,’ says Jack, turning towards me.

‘True . . .’ I nod, feeling my objections fading. He’s right. After all, who hasn’t looked at those glossy pictures of rolling sand dunes and incredible sunsets and thought, wow, that looks amazing?

‘Trust me, it will be very romantic!’ beams Rocky.

Uh-oh.

Suddenly I get where this is going and feel a flicker of panic. The last time Rocky said those words we were at the Taj Mahal, and we all know how
that
turned out, don’t we? When I wasn’t lusting after Jack, I was making a total fool of myself. I daren’t risk a repeat performance. Last time I only escaped by the skin of my teeth.

‘Come! Tonight will be a night you will never forget!’

I can’t look at Jack. Instead I swallow hard and force a bright smile as we set off to join Mohan and his camels.

That’s
exactly
what I’m worried about.

Chapter 29

I needn’t have worried.

There are lots of words to describe what I am experiencing right now, but none of those words is ‘romantic’. Try torturous. Or scary. Or my-arse-is-fucking-killing-me.

Sorry, that’s six words.

OK, so I know a desert safari might sound wonderful
in theory
. But seriously, have you ever
been
on a camel? Trust me, there is nothing romantic about riding a four-legged hump.

Ten minutes later and I’m about twenty foot up in the air, clinging on for dear life. On the camel in front is Jack.

‘Are you OK back there?’ he asks, turning his head slightly so I can hear him above the weird roaring noise the camel is making.

‘Um . . . yes, fine thanks,’ I say in my chirpiest voice as I jig along uncomfortably, my bottom thwacking itself, up and down, up and down, up and
ouch!
‘You?’ I smile, through gritted teeth.

‘Yeah, awesome,’ he enthuses, going all American on me, ‘it’s pretty amazing, huh?’

Oh god, I hate it when people do that. I feel the pressure to agree, like when Mum’s neighbours had a baby and everyone was cooing over it and saying how adorable it was, and I swear it looked
just
like Benjamin Button when he’s an old man. All crinkly-faced and bald as a coot.

‘Er yeah, amazing,’ I mutter, burrowing my nose in my sleeve as I suddenly catch a whiff of something foul-smelling. I have no idea which end of the camel that came out of, but neither can be good.

‘You’ve been on a camel before, right?’

Why of course! I live in London, I’m always hopping on and off camels with my Oyster card –
not
. But of course I’m not going to admit that to Mr Worldwide Traveller over there. ‘Oh yeah, heaps of times,’ I reply nonchalantly, ‘I’m just a little rusty, that’s all.’