The Love Detective (18 page)

‘We just met on the train,’ adds Jack.

‘So you are not . . . ?’ Rocky waggles his finger back and forth between us like a metronome.

Abruptly I get the implication. ‘God, no way!’ I gasp loudly, a bit too loudly probably, but I don’t want Rocky getting the wrong idea. Or Jack for that matter, I think, getting a flashback to me clutching onto his chest at the train station. ‘He’s not my boyfriend! Not in a million years!’ I exclaim, with a snort of derisive laughter.

However, there’s not giving someone the wrong idea, and then there’s torpedoing someone out of the water.

For a split second, I think I see an injured look flash across Jack’s face, but then it’s gone again. ‘Just in case you were in any doubt,’ he raises his eyebrows at Rocky.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, that just came out . . .’

‘No worries,’ he says evenly, ‘you’re not my type either.’

I laugh, but now I’m the one feeling a bit offended. Which I know is ridiculous. Who cares if I’m not his type, he’s not mine. Saying that, I’m not even sure what my type is any more. I mean, can ‘men-who-cheat-on-you-and-break-your-heart’ be a type?

‘So, everything’s sorted?’

‘Yes,’ I nod, glad to be changing the subject. ‘I’ve got my travel document and some emergency cash from my credit card company.’

‘Thank god for American Express,’ he smiles.

‘Well, actually it’s Visa,’ I smile, ‘but yes. And thank god for you saving me at the station, I really appreciate it. I wouldn’t have known what to do without you.’

‘Oh, it was nothing,’ he says casually, shrugging it off. ‘Damsel in distress and all that.’

‘Well, thanks anyway,’ I say, grateful to him for not making too big a deal of it.

‘So what are your plans now?’

‘I think I’ll just stay the night in Delhi and get the first flight back to London,’ I reply, taking a sip of hot chai. ‘Probably the most sensible option, under the circumstances.’

I’d made my decision earlier. Without my phone, the chances of finding Amy would be impossible. I’d thought about emailing a few of her friends for her number (obviously I can’t ask Mum and Dad), but even then it’s no guarantee I’ll ever find her. I don’t even know for sure if she’s in Rajasthan. She could be anywhere.

Because now I’ve had time to think about it rationally, I’ve realised this was a mad idea. OK, so I found a note in her room, and Shine’s family are from Rajasthan, but that doesn’t prove anything. I was so panicked and worried, I wasn’t thinking straight. I just jumped to conclusions and jumped on a train.

Plus, who’s to say she’s still going ahead with the wedding? It wouldn’t be the first time Amy’s changed her mind by now. Dad’s nickname for her is ‘hokey-cokey’, as she’s forever putting one foot in and then taking it back out.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think that maybe what happened is an omen. I’m not superstitious, but even my sensible self can’t help but see this as a sign that maybe I should give up now before I get myself into any more trouble, and go home. Back to London. Back to the life that’s waiting for me . . .

Only now, saying it out loud, I feel a twinge of disappointment. So that’s it. The adventure is over. Back to my normal routine.

‘So, do you want a ride to our hotel? Maybe they have an extra room.’

‘That would be great,’ I nod, as Rocky opens the doors and we all climb inside.

As we pull out into the teeming traffic of Delhi’s inner-city roads, I stare out of the window, trying to take it all in. After Goa’s quiet sleepiness, the city feels both strange and exhilarating.

‘What about you?’ I say, turning to Jack. As I ask, I realise I know nothing about him. I have no idea why he’s even in India. I’ve been so consumed with other things, I’ve never thought to ask him. ‘What are your plans?’

He opens his mouth to answer, then suddenly cocks his head. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘What?’

‘A beep. Sounded like a text or something.’ He scrambles in his pockets for his iPhone. ‘Nope, it’s not me.’

‘Well it can’t be me,’ I shrug. ‘Rocky?’

‘Not me, boss,’ he says solemnly, shaking his head.

‘You must be hearing things,’ I conclude.

‘Huh . . .’ Jack furrows his brow. ‘I guess so.’

Beep.

This time we all hear it.

‘What is this?’ frowns Rocky.

‘It came from you,’ accuses Jack, turning to me.

‘But that’s impossible.’ Shaking my head I start patting down my combat trousers. ‘See, there’s nothing in them . . . my phone was stolen . . .’ There’re tons of pockets and I futilely run my hands up and down my legs. I feel like I’m a security officer at the airport. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to find it, am I?

Er, hang on a minute. Lower down my leg, my fingers suddenly touch on something hard and flat. Stuffing my hand inside one of the pockets I’d forgotten about, I grab hold of . . .

‘My mobile!’ I exclaim, pulling it out and thrusting it at Jack. ‘Look!’

‘Wow, that’s great.’

‘I know, isn’t it?’ I say excitedly. ‘I can’t believe it!’ In the same pocket is the scrap of paper with the number on it that I found in Amy’s room. I feel a rush of relief.

‘You sure you haven’t got anything else in there?’ he continues. ‘You know, like your passport? Or your wallet, maybe? Or even some luggage?’

Realising he’s being sarcastic, I throw him a look. ‘I did check, you know,’ I say tightly. ‘I must have forgotten about this one.’

‘That’s understandable. I mean pockets are pretty obscure places to look.’

‘What’s it like to be perfect?’ I scowl, feeling my earlier gratefulness fast disappearing.

‘Well, now you mention it—’

‘What did your message say?’ interrupts Rocky, wading in between us like a referee.

‘Oh, yes, of course . . .’ Feeling a rush of anticipation, I quickly check it. It might be from Amy. ‘Oh . . . it’s just one of those promotional messages from T-Mobile,’ I murmur, feeling a crush of disappointment. ‘Nothing important.’

‘But I heard two beeps,’ he continues. ‘You must have another message.’

I look again. Sure enough, there is another text.

‘It’s from my sister!’ I say excitedly.

‘The one you’ve lost?’ counters Jack, but I’m quickly reading:

Hope you get back to London OK. I’ve gone to Rajasthan to get married. Tell Mum and Dad not to worry. Amy x

I suddenly have two thoughts.

She never got my texts from the train.

Followed by:

Oh my god she is there and she’s really going ahead with it.

‘She’s in Rajasthan,’ I announce, looking up from my phone. ‘She’s run away to get married . . . I have to find her. I have to stop her.’

My voice is suddenly drowned out as we turn into a narrow side street and slap, bang, into the middle of some kind of procession.

‘Everyone is getting married!’ hollers Rocky, honking his horn and trying to negotiate the little white car through the crowds swarming around us. ‘It’s wedding season!’

‘
Wedding season?
’
I repeat in astonishment, as we’re engulfed by dozens of flame-torch-carrying revellers and a full marching band.

‘Yes!’ nods Rocky happily. ‘Now is the most auspicious time in India to get married! It is in the heavens. It is written in the stars!’ He slams his hand hard on his horn and the whole car reverberates. ‘In India many people are very superstitious,’ he continues, shouting to make himself heard above the loud beating of drums. ‘Astrologers spend many, many hours studying charts to work out when is the luckiest time for couples to have their weddings, and now is the season!’ Letting go of the steering wheel, Rocky throws his hands in the air. ‘There are weddings everywhere!’

Sitting on the back seat, I’m listening to this information with a mixture of fascination and horrified disbelief. I mean, WTF? Here I am, jilted, jaded and single,
and I’m in the middle of fricking wedding season?

‘Even better is when there is a full moon,’ continues Rocky excitedly. ‘Then will be the most luckiest day! Then there will be
so
many marriage celebrations! It will be one big wedding!’

The irony isn’t lost on me. Is this someone’s idea of a joke? Well, is it? I mean, seriously, you couldn’t make this up. With my own wedding plans still a painful memory, this is the last place I want to be.

Yet I have no choice, I have to find Amy.

If only so I can kill her for doing this to me, I tell myself, as I turn to peer out of the window at the excited faces and extravagant costumes. It’s an explosion of dazzling lights and colour in the darkness and revellers start hammering jubilantly on the car as we inch our way forwards.

‘Woah, some party,’ whistles Jack, winding down the window so that the blasting music increases ten-fold and suddenly we’re no longer spectators, we’re part of it.

And all at once I feel my reservations drowned out by the buzz of energy and celebration. Hands appear, and faces, and excitement so tangible you can almost reach out and touch it.

‘Look!’ exclaims Rocky. ‘Look, see the groom!’ He points ahead into the crowd where a white horse has appeared, embellished in coloured plumage and a bejewelled saddle on which is seated a man, dressed all in white but for a flaming red turban. He’s holding a little boy, who’s dressed identically, like a mini-me.

Jack pulls out his camera and starts taking pictures. And now a coach has appeared heading in the opposite direction, forcing us to back up. Into the path of a fantastically decorated elephant, I marvel, spotting it majestically towering above the crowd. I feel a rush of adrenaline. I can’t believe this is real! It’s crazy. I feel like I’m in the opening scene of an Indiana Jones movie. I feel like . . .

Like I’m alive, I suddenly realise. That’s how I feel.
Alive.

Finally, after making our way through the procession, we park up outside a small, modern hotel and make our way inside the starkly lit foyer. Luckily they have a spare room and, dumping my things on the counter, I start filling in the check-in form.

‘So tell me, what have you got against a wedding?’ asks Jack, eying me curiously. ‘I thought all you women wanted the church, the ring, the big white dress.’

‘Not all women,’ I reply, a little huffily. Let it be on the record that mine and Sam’s was never going to be a big white wedding. It was going to be small and understated and I was going to wear a pale yellow shift dress and carry a bunch of daisies that Dad was going to pick from his allotment as a bouquet – I feel a lump in my throat as I remember. ‘Anyway,’ I say, brushing the thought quickly away, ‘I don’t have anything against weddings, just my sister’s.’

‘But why?’

‘Because she’s making a big mistake,’ I reply flatly.

‘How do you know?’

God, he’s so persistent. ‘Because I just do.’

‘But how?’

I look up from filling in the form and our eyes meet. How do you begin to explain the relationship between two sisters? The lifetime of emotions and experiences you’ve both shared? The history? The love? The broken heart you hope she will never share. There are a hundred different reasons, so I just go with the simplest one. ‘How about I saw the guy she wants to marry with another woman?’ I reply. ‘Is that a good enough reason?’

Rocky, who’s carrying in the few bits of luggage left on the back seat, gives a sharp intake of breath. ‘This is not good, this is terrible!’ he thunders. ‘This is a bad man!’

‘Rajasthan’s a big place,’ cautions Jack. ‘You’ll never find her.’

‘Well, I’ll have to,’ I say, with a new wave of determination. ‘And I’ve got until the end of the week,’ I add, remembering the words of the official when he gave me my emergency passport.

‘So you’re not going back to London?’

‘Not without my sister,’ I shake my head. My mind’s made up. There’s no way I can go home now. Not when I’ve come this far. Taking my key from the receptionist, I turn to Jack. ‘Well, it’s been nice meeting you. Thanks for everything.’ I go to shake his hand.

‘It’s been fun,’ he nods.

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ I agree, then turn to Rocky. ‘You too.’

‘It has been my pleasure,’ replies Rocky, holding my hand for just a little too long.

For a moment there’s an awkward pause, nobody knowing what to say. ‘Well, goodnight,’ I say finally and, leaving them standing in the foyer, I turn towards the lift.

Waiting for it to arrive, I hear them talking together in low voices, and then . . .

‘Hey, Ruby.’

I hear Jack’s voice and turn around.

‘I’m going as far as Udaipur, in Rajasthan.’ He pauses and I hear Rocky loudly clearing his throat. A look flashes between them and I swear I just saw Rocky elbowing him in the ribs. ‘If you need a ride,’ he adds, gruffly.

Jack’s offer takes me by surprise. I’m not sure what to say. We’ve known each other for forty-eight hours and we haven’t exactly hit it off. We nearly killed each other on the train ride – correction:
I nearly killed him
– and when we’re not arguing, we’re hardly getting along like a house on fire. Quite frankly, the thought of a long car journey doesn’t bode well.