Katy Colins - Destination India

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. So much for Shelley’s bright idea at making Ben more interested in me. I had imagined him giving me a look of admiration for being so ballsy and taking control, not being unable to look at me at all as I’d let him down – again.

I opened my emails and typed furiously to check with Shelley that she knew we were actually going to India. We had to make this work.

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.