Destination India. Katy Colins

quietly, ‘Thought you knew about this sort of stuff.’

      ‘Please don’t start.’

      ‘You ladies OK?’ Smug, gorgeous Mr India know-it-all sidled up to us as I shoved my passport back in my bag.

      ‘Fine,’ I muttered.

      ‘You don’t know where there’s a photo booth near here, do you? Or an Internet café? We need to download some forms.’ Shelley flashed him her most dazzling smile.

      ‘It’s fine. We’ll find somewhere.’ I placed my hand on her shoulder, trying to steer her past this irritating guy.

      ‘I’ve got some spare forms here that you can use.’ He rustled in his black leather man-bag. Course he did.

      ‘Wow, that’s really nice. Isn’t it, Georgia?’ Shelley beamed.

      ‘Hmm. Got a mini camera in there too to take our photos?’ I said sarkily. Why was I being so obtuse with this man? There was just something about him that got on my nerves.

      Mr India laughed. ‘Nope, but there’s an ASDA not too far from here where you can get some printed. If you want, I’ll save you a place in the queue.’

      I was just about to tell him that we didn’t need his help when Shelley clapped her hands and thanked him profusely before tugging me out of the doors to the supermarket.

      ‘He was so nice!’ she mused as we trudged over the slippery pavements. ‘And bloody gorgeous.’

      ‘You’re too trusting,’ I said, narrowly avoiding stepping into a pile of fresh dog turd.

      ‘Pfft. And you’re too cautious. You can trust people, even strangers; sometimes they really do just want to help a girl out.’

      ‘We’ll see about that,’ I muttered. I wanted to add that I spoke from experience of misreading people who I thought I could trust, but I stayed quiet, as in a weird way I wanted to be proved wrong.

      True to his word, Mr India was indeed waiting patiently for our return holding out forms and even a stick of glue to attach our admittedly awful-looking passport photos.

      ‘Here you go, ladies.’ He handed them over, stifling a laugh at my photo. ‘So, Georgia Green and Shelley Robinson,’ he said, reading our names off the forms. ‘I hope you have an excellent time in India. Right, I’d better be off. Oh, my name’s Rahul, by the way.’

      ‘Thank you so much, Rahul!’ Shelley called out behind him just as our number was called. ‘God, what a nice guy. Shame we’re both taken; well your heart is taken, as otherwise this trip could be getting a lot hotter – and I don’t mean the spicy curries.’ She laughed, pretending to fan her face as Rahul walked off.

      I mumbled a response. ‘Come on, let’s get this sorted.’

      ‘That was quick,’ Glasses Lady murmured as she took our forms. ‘OK, these look all right.’ I let out a sigh of relief. ‘I’ll get them processed and let you know if you’ve been successful.’

      ‘Wait – if we’ve been successful? So even after wasting our whole morning here it still isn’t guaranteed that we’ll be granted a visa?’ She shook her head, making her dangly earrings jangle loudly. ‘Well how long is that decision going to take?’

      ‘If you’ve been approved then you’ll receive your passport back with visa in ten business days.’

      ‘Ten days!’ I screeched. ‘I thought you just gave us a stamp in our passports? We’re leaving in ten days!’

      She gave me a look that screamed not my problem and pointed to a small notice taped to her booth that said verbal abuse towards staff would not be tolerated. I tried to calm down. ‘You’d better hope it arrives in time then.’ She glared at me and hollered for the next customer. ‘Number fifty-nine.’

      ‘So much for being spontaneous,’ I grumbled as we walked out of the soulless visa office into a torrential rainstorm. The heavens had opened and the wind whipped our cheeks as we trudged to the bus stop. Shelley stayed silent during the whole bus journey to the other side of town.

      I walked through the door of our shop, dripping wet and covered in goosebumps, which did not improve my mood. It felt like this trip was doomed before it had even started. Although, I did cheer up drastically when I realised that we had a visitor. Sat in my chair cradling a cup of tea was Trisha, Ben’s godmother and my friend; I couldn’t stop the grin taking over my wet face.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ I said as I pulled her in for a hug.

      ‘Hello, dear, got caught up in that storm did you?’ She nodded at my soaked trousers. ‘Well, I hear the weather in Delhi is much nicer this time of year.’ She winked.

      ‘Ah, so Ben told you.’

      ‘Yes, oh how exciting! You are going to love India. Every time I’ve been I swear I’ve ended up leaving feeling like a changed woman,’ she gushed. ‘It is the birthplace of spirituality after all and just has this aura about it. India inspires, thrills and frustrates like no other country.’

      ‘You can say frustrates again,’ I grumbled, hanging up my jacket that was dripping on the floor. ‘I’ve spent all morning waiting in line at the visa office and still might not get it in time before we fly.’ I sighed, trying not to panic about what would be the alternative if my passport didn’t arrive back before our flight. I could picture smug Rahul shaking his head at how late we had left it to sort out.

      ‘Ah yes, I know it is a pain but it will be worth it once you step off that plane in such a wonderful land. It’s an enigma; nowhere stirs the soul like India does. You’ll see.’

      ‘Hmm, I’m not sure I want my soul stirring.’ I winced.

      ‘Oh but you don’t get a say in the matter.’ Trisha chuckled. ‘Mother India will do what she wants.’

      I nodded as if I knew what the hell she was going on about. ‘Anyway, how are you?’

      ‘Fine fine, getting used to this retired life has been a bit of an adjustment.’ She flashed a bright smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

      ‘You know you could have stayed working here?’ I said.

      When we first decided to launch Lonely Hearts Travels, Trisha had still been running her Making Memories tours but we quickly overtook her loyal base of clients and merged the two together to create Young At Heart. Pitched as small groups to European destinations where solo mature men and women could experience one of our less lively but still as wonderful tours that Kelli liked to call Randy Retirees. So far it had really taken off with retired over sixties looking to spend their children’s inheritance on treating themselves to travel. Trisha still popped in every so often but her visits were a rare and delightful surprise rather than routine.

      She patted my hand; I was taken aback by how translucent her wrinkled hands were next to mine. ‘I know, but this is yours and Ben’s baby now.’ I blushed. ‘You know what I mean!’ She laughed. ‘It is looking so good in here; Kelli was just telling me how busy you have all been. I think she was hoping for a pay rise.’ Trisha winked.

      ‘Wouldn’t we all.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘So have you started any new hobbies then? When my dad retired it seemed like he suddenly sprouted green fingers.’

      Trisha shook her head. ‘Not me, I can barely keep cacti alive. I have been reading a lot more and catching up with friends now that I have more time on my hands.’ The way she said this was as if it was more a chore than a freedom. ‘I’m sure I’ll find my feet soon.’

      She smiled brightly and began flicking through one of our brochures when a thought suddenly came to me.

      ‘Trisha, what are you doing on the twenty-seventh?’

      She looked up. ‘Nothing. Why?’

      ‘How about coming out of retirement for a while?’