The Love Detective (5 page)

Fine is sitting on the sofa with your feet up, drinking a cup of tea and flicking through
Grazia
. Fine is not melting in thirty-five-degree heat, encased in Lycra and sporting a pair of swollen cankles.

And now I’m being dived upon by a whole crowd of taxi drivers. ‘Miss! Taxi! You need taxi? I give you ride! Where you go?
Taxi!
Miss!
’

It reminds me of a wildlife programme I once saw where all these lions were circling a herd of elephants and one became separated and was all lost and vulnerable and
boom
, they pounced.

In my head I can hear David Attenborough’s voiceover:

‘The taxi drivers circle the crowds of arriving passengers, hungry for a fare, until suddenly they spot one . . . jetlagged and disorientated, it’s been left stranded . . . and as it moves away from the pack and starts looking for its relative, it leaves itself defenceless . . .’

Just as I’m identifying with the elephant (trust me, you haven’t
seen
my cankles) and thinking, that’s it, there’s no point trying to resist, I might as well give up on my sister and be bundled into a cab, I hear a voice:

‘Rubes!’

At the sound of my name I twirl around and see a tousled blonde head bobbing up and down in the crowd and a pair of tanned, skinny arms stacked with lots of sparkly bracelets waving in the air. I watch them both getting closer, until suddenly the crowds part, and my little sister bursts forth.

‘You’re here already!’ she gasps breathlessly, flinging her jangly arms around me.

My sister always acts surprised to see you when she’s late. As if it’s a complete mystery to her how this could have happened.

‘Well yes, my flight arrived an hour ago,’ I reply, hugging her back.

‘Oh, was it early?’

‘No, it was on time,’ I bristle as we break apart. ‘Didn’t you get my text?’

She looks at me blankly.

I’m about to remind her that I texted her my flight details, but I don’t want to get into an argument already, I’ve only just arrived. Plus, knowing me and my little sister, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

‘So how are you?’ I ask, quickly changing the subject and standing back to take a good look at her. Her hair has gone even blonder in the sun, her skin is tanned and, instead of her usual Topshop wardrobe, she’s wearing an embroidered pink kaftan and a pair of brightly patterned silk harem trousers. Next to me in my head-to-toe black combo she’s like an explosion of colour.

‘Wicked!’ she grins back, her teeth looking super-white against her suntan. ‘How are you Rubes?’ She jumps around exuberantly.

‘A bit jetlagged,’ I reply, feeling like her ancient, ashen-faced big sister. It’s times like these I think there are more than just ten years between me and Amy; it’s like we don’t even speak the same language.

‘Well no worries, we can get a tuk-tuk and head straight back.’ Grabbing my suitcase she starts negotiating her way through the crowd.

‘A
tuk-tuk?
’ I repeat uncertainly.

But she’s already sped ahead in her flip-flops. I hurry after her, sweating profusely in my boots and leggings as she charges towards the busy road.

‘Be careful!’ I shriek, as she steps into the melee of traffic and starts waving her arms around. ‘You’ll get knocked down . . .’

Oh god. I’ve been here five minutes and I’ve already turned into Mum.

As a brightly coloured rickshaw comes hurtling towards her, I have to cover my eyes.

‘Here we are!’ she says cheerfully, and I open them with relief to see that yes, I still have a sister and no, she’s not squashed in the middle of the road, but is instead shoving my bag into the back seat. ‘Hey, are you all right?’ She glances at me, curiously. ‘You look worried.’

‘Of course I’m not worried,’ I protest.

Which of course is a total lie. I’m always worried when I’m with my little sister. The two go together. Like PMT and chocolate.

‘I’m just a little nervous . . .’ I stare at the tuk-tuk, which is belching out exhaust fumes with a deafening noise. It’s basically a scooter with a sidecar perched on top and has no doors or seatbelts. ‘Is it safe?’ I ask warily.

‘Of course it’s not safe,’ she laughs. ‘This is India! Come on, get in!’

I falter, then, putting aside my fears, I start trying to shoehorn my hand luggage into the back. Only, whilst my Samsonite carry-on might have been made to fit into the plane’s overhead lockers, the designers obviously haven’t given thought to the space in a tuk-tuk.

‘Damn, it won’t fit, we’ll have to get a cab instead,’ I say regretfully, whilst feeling secretly thrilled by the prospect. I take back my earlier David Attenborough fears. An air-conditioned cab seems like a much better option.

But I hadn’t bargained on the driver’s determination not to lose a fare. Before I know it, he’s jumped out of the front seat and is shoving my luggage on the roof.

‘Is it going to be OK on there?’ I ask, somewhat anxiously, as he ties it on with a bit of string.

‘No problem,’ he beams, shooting me a blindingly white smile and swinging back behind the wheel. He motions for me to get in.

‘Because there are a few breakables,’ I continue, clambering onto the back seat behind my sister, who’s already hopped inside with the ease of someone for whom climbing into a tuk-tuk is now like jumping on a bus, ‘and I’m just a bit concerned—’

The driver slams his foot on the gas and I’m catapulted forwards as the tuk-tuk accelerates off.

‘Ouch . . . oomf . . . sorry,’ I jabber, bashing my leg as I lose my balance and crash headfirst onto my sister’s lap.

‘Will you stop worrying!’ laughs Amy, as I resurface. ‘You’re on holiday!’

‘I know I’m on holiday,’ I nod, lurching onto the back seat and clinging on for dear life as we career around a corner. ‘It’s just . . . you know me . . . I don’t want my camera to break . . .’

‘Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t have insurance?’ Amy gives a little snort of disbelief.

I colour. I’m renowned for being prudent. I have insurance for insurance.

‘I’m just being careful, that’s all,’ I say, a little stiffly. ‘If you were a bit more careful, I wouldn’t always be having to . . .
ow
!’ We bounce over a pothole and hit our heads. I hear my luggage bang up and down on the roof.

Amy stifles a giggle. ‘Well anyway, you’re going to be too busy doing yoga to be worrying about anything for a week,’ she replies.

‘Oh I don’t think so.’ Now it’s my turn to laugh. ‘I’m terrible at yoga. You know me, I can’t even touch my toes.’

‘You will be able to after a week at Rising Bliss, it’s one of the best yoga retreats in Goa.’

‘A yoga retreat?’’ My laughter trails off and I peer at her uncertainly. ‘But I thought we were staying in a resort.’

‘Resort, retreat, what’s the difference?’ She gives a tinkly little laugh and for the first time I notice something glinting underneath her fringe.

‘What’s that?’ I ask, pointing to a little sparkly thing between her eyebrows.

‘My bindi,’ she shrugs nonchalantly.

‘Your bindi?’ This, from a girl who left Heathrow six months ago wearing skinny jeans and a Scouse brow and with her beloved hair straighteners carefully packed in her hand luggage.

‘I can get you one if you like,’ she offers.

‘Thanks, but I don’t think it would suit me.’

‘You need to chill out a bit, Rubes, let go of your negativity, open your chakras.’

Oh god help us, my little sister’s gone all hippy on me.

‘My chakras are already open, thanks very much,’ I say, a little huffily.

‘Wait till you meet Shine, he’ll sort you out.’

‘Who’s Shine?’ I ask. ‘And, by the way, I don’t need
sorting
out
.’

‘He’s the yoga instructor. He’s amazing,’ she gushes, going all limp-eyed.

‘Oh-oh, someone’s got a crush,’ I tease, in big sisterly fashion.

But now it’s her turn to get all tetchy. ‘Don’t be a teenager,’ she says huffily, and changes the subject. ‘So how are Mum and Dad?’

‘Good, they’re driving down to France next week with the caravan,’ I nod, remembering the conversation I’d had with them at Heathrow this morning. Well, I call it a conversation, but it was mostly Mum running through a list of all the terrible things that can happen in India, from rabid dog attacks to tourists having their kidneys stolen. It ended with her saying if I needed a holiday, why didn’t I go with them to Brittany instead? Thankfully my flight started boarding and I was saved from answering. ‘It’s their anniversary at the end of the month,’ I add. ‘Thirty-five years. They’re going out for dinner with a few friends, I said we’d join them.’

I’m expecting Amy to be all enthusiastic – being the baby of the family, she’s close to our parents. But instead she seems to hesitate.

‘Um . . . well, I’m not sure when I’m flying back . . . I can’t remember the date . . .’

This is nothing new; despite Amy being able to carbon date a three-thousand-year-old Egyptian mummy with ease, when it comes to the modern day, she’s useless with dates. I’m always having to remind her of birthdays and anniversaries and even then she forgets and I end up signing her name on all my cards.

‘It’s next Saturday, I checked with Mum, she’s got your flight details.’

‘Oh . . . right, of course.’

‘I’ve booked myself on the same return flight as you, so we can travel together,’ I say cheerfully. ‘I got the last seat so I was really lucky.’

‘You did?’ replies Amy, but she doesn’t look as pleased as I’d expected. In fact, if I didn’t know her better, I’d think something was troubling her.

But this is Amy we’re talking about. Nothing ever troubles her and, as if to prove me right, her face quickly relaxes back into her characteristic grin.

‘Brill,’ she enthuses, ‘Can’t wait!’

Chapter 5

Oh god. Are we nearly there yet?

We’ve been on our way now for about forty-five minutes, bumping along narrow dusty roads through towns and villages, narrowly avoiding wild pigs, goats, stray dogs, even people. And I’m not liking this. I’m really not liking it at all.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m absolutely terrified.

Gripping my sister’s hand so tightly I’m probably going to cut off her circulation, I try to steady my thudding heart. I’m all for new experiences, but driving in India is something else. Forget pedestrian crossings, pavements, even traffic sticking to their side of the road, it’s like a game of fairground dodgems. Cars, tuk-tuks, motorbikes, trucks, all swerving around each other, in one constantly flowing insanity. It’s a miracle everything doesn’t collapse into one big pile-up, I wince, as we narrowly miss another crash.

And then there are the horns. Everyone has their hand on one, our driver included; there’s constant honking and blasting at everyone and everything to get out of the way. It’s like being in the loudest club I’ve ever been in, and then multiplying it by a thousand. My eardrums are pounding. My nerves are shredded. My eyes are . . .

Argh . . .

As the tuk-tuk swerves violently to avoid a couple of cows, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. There are cows everywhere. I read a bit of my guidebook on the plane and it explained how, because they are sacred to Hindus, cows are allowed to roam freely. Not having to stay stuck in a field, they can stand anywhere they want, go anywhere they want, do anything they want. It’s as if they’ve been given a VIP all-access pass. Unlike in the West, where they’re just walking beefburgers, here they’re worshipped, revered, untouchable.

Opening my eyes I see a couple of tourists taking their photograph . . .

. . . and a great big truck heading towards us – Fuck!

Finally, after the hair-raising, white-knuckle ride, we pull up outside where I’m staying for a week. At least, I presume it’s where we’re staying. My eyes are still screwed tightly shut in fear as the driver turns off the engine on the tuk-tuk and suddenly, there’s silence.

‘Rubes, we’re here,’ prods Amy, elbowing me sharply in the ribs. I open my eyes and clamber out after her. The brightness hits me. The sun has risen during our journey from the airport and I blink rapidly. After the British winter and months of it getting dark at 3 p.m., I’m unused to bright light and hastily rummage for the cheap pair of sunnies I bought at the airport.

‘So, what do you think?’ she asks impatiently, hopping up and down on one leg, just like she used to do when she was a kid.

Sticking them on, I take a deep breath and look out through a gap in the palm trees. I can see the glint of the ocean beyond, shimmering in the distance. My heart’s still racing after the journey, but all at once it’s as if the adrenaline just disappears and is replaced by a warm, calm feeling of joy.

So what if it’s a yoga retreat, it’s also paradise.

‘I think it’s beautiful,’ I murmur, taking in the view.

‘I told you!’ she beams. ‘I knew you were going to love it here.’

‘See, we do agree on something,’ I smile, turning back to her. ‘Though I’m still not sure about that bindi,’ I tease.