Katy Colins - Destination India

I grabbed my phone, jabbing in Kelli’s mobile number to see if she’d seen any more reviews like this without telling us. Her answerphone rang on a few seconds later, reminding me that she would be warming up for her gig. I sighed and went to call Ben when I stopped. If I told him about it now he’d know I was still in the office and would tell me to leave it, that it could wait until tomorrow, but I knew that it couldn’t. I needed to sort this out myself. Right now.

I quickly jabbed a text message to Shelley telling her I was running late but would be with them all soon, shrugged my jacket off and flicked the lights back on. Work had to come first. There would be other gigs; surely Kelli and Ben would understand. Wouldn’t they?

Spontaneous (adj.) Arising from a momentary impulse

I turned my phone off after it started beeping constantly with texts from Shelley asking where I was, telling me how great Kelli’s band actually were, and how there was still enough curry left for me to join them. I needed to concentrate. I couldn’t let my business go the same way that my social life was – down the shitter.

Christmas and new year had been a whirlwind of activity as we wanted to attract the resolution crowds, fired up to make this year the one in which they followed their dreams and travelled. Then Valentine’s Day came and went with a silly amount of bookings for single people determined not to sit at home and sob. It was also the time when I lost the courage I had been building up to ask Ben out for a coffee or maybe even a dinner date as we were both at different networking events. So what if my love life was non-existent? At least our business was going from strength to strength, all because of hard work, determination and sacrifice; tonight was just one of those sacrifices.

The Indian tour guide, Nihal, wasn’t answering any of the numbers we had for him. I let out a deep sigh as I realised that it was silly o’clock in the morning over there so no wonder my emails went unanswered and he wasn’t online on Skype. I was about to draft a firmly worded email to the author of the awful blog post asking them to take it down when the door to the shop was flung open. I must have forgotten to lock it after Ben left.

‘We’re closed,’ I called out, as I tried to work out the best way to start a conversation with an internet troll.

‘Hey! You never close; that’s the problem.’ Shelley beamed at me, holding two bottles of wine in her outstretched arms, her pretty doll-like face looking slightly squiffy.

‘What are you doing here?’ I got up and hugged her; she smelt like a curry house, and my stomach gurgled loudly. ‘Thought you were all at Kelli’s gig?’

‘Well when you said you were running late I figured I’d have to come here and drag you out with the incentive of wine. But the gig finished, the curry ran out and still there was no sign of you. Anyway how are you doing? You look like shit by the way,’ she said in her throaty Australian accent, peering at me through glassy eyes. The gig must have been good.

‘Thanks, Shell, always a pleasure to see you too.’ I half smiled and took the wine from her, locking the shop door behind her. ‘I look like shit because I’ve just found yet another bad review for one of our tours, the nastiest one we’ve ever had. Made worse by the fact it seems to have gone viral and the bloody tour guide has gone AWOL so I can’t get to the bottom of what’s happened.’

‘Ah. Right.’ She nodded along as she rummaged in the kitchen for two clean mugs. ‘What’s that mean?’

I sighed and ran my fingers through my knotted hair. ‘It means that I couldn’t make it to Kelli’s gig, that I couldn’t stomach eating a curry as the only Indian thing my brain is processing is how stressed out I am at trying to track Nihal down. It means we have paying customers planning to head to Delhi in two weeks for a Lonely Hearts Indian Tour with an apparently absent tour guide. And it also means that both Ben and Kel are probably really pissed off with me for not making it tonight, especially as I go on so much about the value of teamwork.’ I sighed and massaged my temples.

‘Ah, yup, that is a kick in the balls,’ Shelley said filling up the mugs with wine and passing me one. I took it gratefully. ‘Well, if we’re not going to be leaving here anytime soon then the least I can do is help you figure this out. Sit down and tell me everything .’

So I did, in between filling up our mugs and cracking open bottle number two I told her how important it was that this tour still took place, how hard we had worked to secure Nihal, who had come highly recommended, as well as the other suppliers that I’d personally hand-picked, spent ages interviewing via Skype and God knows how much cash on promoting this route. ‘Crap!’ I slapped my hand to my head, leaving wine residue on my forehead. ‘I’ve just forked out a shit ton of money to Itchy Feet .’

‘Itchy what?’ Shelley laughed.

‘ Itchy Feet – it’s, like, the number one travel magazine, and I paid for us to advertise the sodding Indian tour.’ I pounded my fist on my desk. What an idiot. ‘Ben doesn’t know about this yet. I thought I’d try and fix it without bothering him about it.’

‘Hmm, so about Ben. What’s going on with you two?’ She tucked her legs under herself.

‘Nothing,’ I said forcefully before downing the rest of my drink. ‘Pass that wine, would you?’

‘Here, top me up too.’ She leant over and grabbed the bottle, knocking off a stack of brochures to the floor but I felt too stressed even to flinch at the mess. ‘Well here’s the thing, Georgia, and I’m going to tell it to you straight.’ Her eyes had gone even more squiffy as she tried to focus on me, pointing her finger out. ‘You’re a workaholic.’

‘What? No I’m not.’ I pushed her accusing finger away and filled my mug to the brim, spilling some on my trousers.

‘You are. You’re a workaholic who is SO determined to make this business a success that you’ve forgotten everything else in your life, including finding the courage to actually make a move with Ben.’ She sat back with a smug look on her alcohol-flushed cheeks.

I huffed. ‘Shell, I appreciate your opinion but I’m not a workaholic. I’ve just invested a lot of time and cash into the business and I need for it to go well, that’s all. I’m just like any other business owner.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Right. So where’s Ben then? Your business partner? If you were running this together why isn’t he here working all hours?’

I gave her a look. ‘He works hard.’

‘Yes, but he also knows when to take a break and, you know, live a little. He really missed you tonight,’ she said, making my heart flutter.

‘Really? He said that?’

‘Well, not in so many words.’ The butterflies that had been prancing in my empty stomach stopped doing the conga and played dead. ‘But I know he felt it. You two are made for each other. Everyone can see that apart from the bloody pair of you.’

‘You really think that?’ I asked, feeling the warming glow of the cheap wine kicking in.

She nodded her head. ‘Tsk, course, we all do. But you know, Romeo would never have gone all lovey-dovey for Juliet if he thought she wasn’t interested in him. Instead he’d probably have copped off with some distant Capulet cousin or some shit, got married and had loads of Leo lookalike children whilst Juliet just grew old and shrivelled up, kicking herself that she hadn’t been brave enough to tell him how she felt.’

I laughed. ‘I bet old Shakespeare would be turning in his grave hearing your version of the greatest love story of all time.’