Fanny Blake - Women of a Dangerous Age

She glanced over the architectural drawings, then stepped outside for a final look at the Taj, magnificent symbol for eternal love. With Ian in the forefront of her thoughts again, she crossed the garden to join the others near the huge arched main gateway, where she found Lou engaged in a vigorous discussion with Bharat, their guide.

‘But I’d rather walk to the car park,’ Lou was saying, quite unaffected by the way those in the group already there were glaring at her, no doubt impatient to reach their hotel, a good wash and a gin and tonic.

‘No, no, madam,’ insisted Bharat. ‘You must take bus.’

‘But Bharat, it can’t be more than half a kilometre at the most. I won’t hold you up if I start now and I’ll meet you there.’ She was being quite calm, controlled but determined.

Ali walked over to the two of them. ‘I’d like to walk too, Bharat. Nothing’ll happen to us, if that’s what you’re worried about. There are too many people around.’

Surprised by her intervention, Lou smiled, clearly glad of the support. She flicked her scarf over her right shoulder.

Apart from the anxiety about deviating from the schedule by letting two of his charges out of his sight, Bharat seemed bemused that any right-minded visitor would want to walk when there was perfectly good transport. But he folded in the face of their joint determination. ‘OK, madam. You go together. We’ll meet you in the car park.’

Once beyond the gateway, past the entry queues – one for nationals, one for foreigners – waiting to get through security, they found themselves outside the sandstone walls. Immediately, they were besieged by postcard and souvenir sellers, mostly young children, who swarmed around them, thrusting their wares under their noses, shouting prices and persuasion alongside would-be guides.

‘Where you from, madam? England? Very nice place. London, Manchester, Birmingham, Leicester … You want tour guide for Red Fort? Very important see everything.’

Dejected-looking horses and camels decorated with tinsel, their skin stretched tight over protruding bones, were hitched to carriages at the side of the road. Tuk-tuk and rickshaw drivers were touting for business too. ‘You want rickshaw. Good price. Baby Taj then Agra Fort. Show you my magical India. Two hundred rupees.’

The two women had been in India long enough to know that the only way through was to say little, and keep on walking. Eventually, to their relief, everyone’s attention switched to a large group of Americans emerging from the complex behind them and they were left alone.

‘Thank God for that,’ said Lou. ‘I don’t want to get Bharat into trouble but we spend so much time cooped up in the minibus. l had to experience some of this for myself.’ As they waited in a herd of goats for the stragglers to climb onto the scrubby verge, a pair of ragged dark-eyed children approached them, hands out, begging, ‘Dollar, dollar.’ A man selling sugar cane juice turned his blue mangle and shouted something from the other side of the road. Lou shook her head and carried on walking, Ali running to catch up, the ragamuffins running behind her. The smells of horseshit, bad drains, woodsmoke and cooking drifted through the dusty air. They stood to one side as an electric bus whirred past. Ali took a couple of snaps of a moth-eaten camel pulling a cart, then another of the children who giggled when she showed them the image on her camera.

‘I just wanted to escape the group for a bit longer. Not that there’s anything wrong with them,’ she hurried to add. For some reason, she didn’t want Lou to think badly of her.

‘They’re not that bad.’ Lou smiled. ‘You just haven’t got to know them.’

‘I know, I haven’t made much effort.’ She sounded suddenly anxious.

‘Don’t worry,’ Lou reassured her. ‘You’re down as a free spirit. I think everyone rather envies your independence.’

‘Well, it’s my last holiday alone, so I’ve been making the most of it.’

‘Seems to me that travelling alone but in the company of strangers is about a million times less fraught and tantrum-filled than travelling with family – especially my husband.’ Lou laughed at the thought. ‘Show him an airport and I’ll show you a man on the point of a coronary. And that’s before we’ve even left the country.’

‘You’re married?’ Ali noticed Lou wore no rings.

‘Not any more.’ Her face assumed a guarded expression. ‘I guess you’re not either?’

‘No, but I’m moving in with my boyfriend when I get back.’ Her cheeks were burning. Letting even a bit of her secret go made it feel less special, even though Lou didn’t know her or Ian. She immediately wished she hadn’t said anything. ‘I’m not meant to talk about it really. At least, not until he’s told his wife.’

‘Oh! His wife,’ Lou echoed.

Ali thought she heard disapproval, but when she looked, Lou simply smiled and gave the slightest shake of her head. They detoured round a white cow standing among a pile of rubbish and plastic bags. ‘Odd the way sacred animals exist on such an unsacred diet.’ And the subject was closed.

For the rest of the short way, they walked in a companionable silence, each lost in her own thoughts. Entering the busy car park filled with sudden exhaust and engine noise, they found their minibus and chose two seats side by side.

As they drove to the safari lodge on the Chambal river where they were spending their last two nights, Lou found herself enjoying Ali’s company more and more. There was something about her that reminded Lou of her younger sister, Jenny, killed only eighteen months earlier in a motorway pile-up. Although Jenny had been a loner all her life, the two sisters had shared a particular bond. Since they were teenagers, they had confided only in one another, knowing that all their secrets were safe. Since Jenny’s death no one had come near to filling her place in Lou’s life, not even Fiona, her closest friend. Talking to Ali, Lou found a similar intensity to Jenny’s. She heard something like Jenny’s dry sense of humour, and sensed the same reserve. Lou had been given a glimpse into Ali’s life but she didn’t expect her to tell any more. Given her own unwillingness to bare her soul at this point in her life, Lou sympathised with the younger woman’s reticence and didn’t press her. She was relieved not to have to account for herself and explain the actions she’d taken only months before. There’d be plenty of time to examine the repercussions of those when she got home.

For those last two nights, Ali unexpectedly opened up. She followed Lou’s lead and chatted with the others after supper around the dying embers of the bonfire, easily finding her place within the group. But this happened so late in the trip that there was no pressure for her to give anything of herself away. By the time they returned to Delhi for the flight home, Lou had arranged to meet Ali again on their home turf. She was intrigued by ‘the cat who walked alone’.

Delhi airport was teeming with people. Lou’s suitcase felt heavy and unwieldy as she concentrated on tipping it to one side so that it could roll along on the one wheel that hadn’t jammed. She hated airports, hated flying and was trying to drift into the zone necessary for any air travel to be … not pleasurable, never that, but endurable. She was looking for that Zen-like calm where anything problematic would just slip by her. Key to that condition was maintaining a cool indifference towards everything going on around her. Otherwise, she would be reduced to a gibbering state of impatience, then fear.

She and Ali stood together in the queue that snaked away from the check-in desk. They didn’t talk, just observed the hordes: families with children refusing to stay in line; trolleys laden with belongings heading with their owners towards a new start in another country; couples entwined after the romantic holiday of a lifetime; others barely speaking.