Destination India. Katy Colins

       ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

       CHAPTER 1

       Turbid (adj.) Confused; muddled

      The first thing I heard were the keys at the door, scratching and jangling against each other as the lock slowly turned.

      Bollocks. I’d done it again.

      I whipped my head off my laptop, QWERTY imprinted on my left cheek as I rubbed my tired eyes, probably wiping the residue of clumped, black mascara everywhere. I heard the clanging of the metal bell as the door opened, and quickly hid under my desk, wincing at the pain of cracking my funny bone on my metal chair leg – not so bloody funny at all. Pulling my knees up to my chin I tried to tuck myself in the corner, hoping that he wouldn’t notice my shoes forlornly left at the edge of my desk.

      I heard his heavy footsteps slowly clump across the tiled floor, tiles that had been imported from Morocco by the previous owner, once dusted with desert sand but now forever ingrained with Manchester mud and dirt in the narrow cracks. They were beautiful but a bugger to keep clean. He was whistling to himself; I could just make out the tune from that TV series that everyone was talking about but I’d never got around to watching. I mentally slapped myself for being in this position again but there was no way I would let him find me here. No way.

      Suddenly his footsteps stopped. My breath caught in my throat. I could make out his smart chestnut-brown shoes from here, the ones that I’d seen in the shop window down the road when they were in the January sales and mentioned how much they would suit him.

      The shoes were now facing in my direction. I tried to stay as still as I could. A deep sigh replaced the whistling. Why is he not moving? I could feel my heartbeat hammering through my chest. Why had I done it again? Put myself in this ridiculous situation with only myself to blame. As his feet picked up and started to edge closer to my desk, I heard the door being flung open once more.

      ‘All right?’ Kelli’s croaky morning voice filled the silent room.

      ‘Morning, Kel, did you leave the lights on last night before you left?’ he asked.

      I heard Kelli groan. I could imagine her rolling her heavily kohled eyes, throwing him her best sarky look, the one she had down to a tee.

      ‘What? Nah, weren’t me. I left before Georgia did.’ She yawned loudly. I could now see her dirty, battered Converse trainers edge into my view, her once-white laces caked in what looked like brown sludge. I really did need to give this floor a proper going over, something else to add to my forever growing to-do list. Maybe I’d hire one of those super-duper carpet vacs or steam cleaners. I was sure my mum had one that she’d won at the bingo a while back. Focus, Georgia. Focus on staying out of view. I tensed my body once more. My shoulders ached from being hunched over my laptop all night and now pins and needles started tickling my legs.

      ‘Oh, right,’ Ben said. His feet were out of my eye line now. I heard the wooden sign clang against the pane of glass in the door, turning us from closed to open. ‘Can you just turn Georgia’s lamp off then? I’ll have a word with her when she gets in. Maybe it’s some new security measure she’s put in place,’ he called out.

      Shit. I’d forgotten that I’d left that on.

      ‘Yeah, fine,’ Kelli mumbled, sloping over towards me. Her feet were just next to my chair. I could see her pale white legs through the rips in her faded denim jeans. ‘Can’t she turn her own bloody lights off?’ I heard her grumble under her breath as she reached across my desk. I scrunched my eyes shut. How was I going to get myself out of here without either of them seeing me?

      ‘Damn. We’re out of milk. Could you go and grab us some coffees? You can take some change from the kitty tin,’ Ben called over from the small kitchen at the back of the room.

      ‘Fine,’ Kelli huffed, knocking one of my pens to the floor.

      ‘Careful,’ Ben warned. ‘Don’t mess up her desk.’

      ‘Yeah, we both know how OCD she is,’ Kelli replied, sniggering.

      ‘Organised, Kelli. The word you’re looking for is organised,’ Ben said. I could sense a smile in his voice.

      ‘Hmm, more like psycho control freak if you ask me,’ Kelli muttered quietly.

      ‘What was that?’

      ‘Nothing. I just said I won’t make a mess.’

      I wasn’t a psycho control freak nor did I have OCD. I just liked order. I liked to keep tabs on things, to have a plan, to know that everything was going as it should – so yeah, I did need to have some level of organisation, something Kelli could do well with learning, I silently seethed.

      Kelli’s skinny arm dipped down to pick the pen up, her hand fumbling on the floor inches from my feet followed by her blue-streaked hair and anaemically pale face. Her bloodshot eyes clocked mine. ‘Oh!’

      I pressed my finger to my lips, wincing.

      ‘What?’ Ben called out.

      I shook my head and pointed to the roof of the desk. A slow smirk broke out on Kelli’s face and she straightened herself up.

      ‘Nothing. I just, erm, just found that stapler I’ve been looking for.’ Her feet backed out of view. ‘Erm, actually I think you should get the coffees. I’ve got lady problems and shouldn’t be out in the cold air for too long.’

      I stifled a laugh. Nicely done, Kelli; every woman knows if you want to get out of doing something then talking about your period is the number one way to spook a man out.

      I could sense Ben’s face turning a lovely shade of crimson as I heard him stutter. ‘Right, OK. Not a problem. You just, erm, get to work and I’ll grab us some coffee.’

      Kelli dramatically slunked onto the office chair opposite. ‘Thanks, Ben. Really appreciate it. I promise I’ll go when I’m off the blob.’

      I heard a rustle of fabric and the bell tingling as the door opened and quickly closed again. Nervously I peeked around my filing cabinet to check the coast was clear.

      ‘S’all right. He’s gone,’ Kelli said, swinging her feet up. I crawled out from under my desk and picked off large pieces of fluff from my creased skirt. ‘You slept here again then?’

      ‘I don’t know how it happened. I was working on the European trips and the next thing Ben’s coming through the door waking me up. He really can’t find me like this, not after what happened last time.’ Kelli and I both winced at that memory.

      A few weeks ago I’d been burning the candle at both ends to get a pitch presentation finished for a new tour operator we were hoping to partner with when I’d fallen asleep at my desk. Ben had found me drooling on one of the slides and when he’d woken me so abruptly I’d accidently spilt a whole mug of cold tea over my laptop. The laptop where I’d collated all our hard work and hadn’t saved a copy, meaning all that effort was for nothing. The technicians hadn’t been able to save anything as brown drips puddled around my keyboard. Ben had shrugged that it was just one of those things, a lesson in the importance of backing up our work, but I knew he was pissed off.

      When we first started this business I had visions of us spending our days working hard but having fun with it, and our evenings wrapped around each other in bed. I hadn’t realised how much this company had pushed us away from each other. The come-to-bed eyes had been replaced with looks of disappointment.

      I glanced at the clock; it was gone nine a.m. I wouldn’t have time to get home and change without Ben wondering why I was so late. I’d just have to hand iron the crumples in my skirt and hope he wouldn’t notice I was wearing the same blouse as the day before. I pulled on my black, scuffed heels and scurried to the bathroom to try and sort out the bird’s