It crosses my mind to point out that doing just that got me into this mess in the first place, but she’s already saying her goodbyes.
‘And just remember, she might be a bikini model, but we can eat cupcakes!’ she reminds me cheerfully, and hangs up.
Except I don’t think there are any cupcakes in Agra. Well, I haven’t seen any. If there were I’d probably sit in my room consoling myself with a dozen red velvets and be done with it. After all, not a lot comes close to a freshly baked cupcake topped with rich buttercream frosting. Not even sex.
I hold that thought, for like a second.
Oh, who I am kidding? Of course cupcakes aren’t better than sex with Jack!
Jumping determinedly out from underneath my blanket, I shake out my hair and give my teeth a quick brush. Diana is right, I tell myself firmly. I’m not going to hide away in my room because of some bikini model. So what if she has cellulite-free thighs and big boobs? I’m not going to be intimidated! I write books! (My last one even got a five-star review on Amazon, and no, it wasn’t from my mum. At least I don’t think so.) I can tell a good joke! (Or an even better one, depending on how much wine I’ve consumed.) And I’ve never, ever been beaten at Scrabble!
Filled with resolve, I reach for the door, then take one last look in the mirror. Saying that, it wouldn’t hurt to sex it up a little. I mean, personality only goes so far. I unzip my hoody to show a bit of cleavage, then experiment with folding my arms to give myself an extra bit of oomph. Standing back, I survey the results. Oh god, I look ridiculous. Especially next to Cindy, who has cleavage like the Grand Canyon. Plus it’s freezing.
And, firmly zipping myself back up, I flick off the light and go downstairs.
Jack spots me first. ‘Hey, there you are!’
‘Oh, hi,’ I smile, trying to sound all casual and surprised, as if I’ve just happened across them. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘I couldn’t stay away,’ quips Cindy, who’s dressed as if she’s in Aspen, in a designer fur-trimmed jacket and boots. She flashes a lip-glossed smile at Jack and flicks her hair in a way that says hands off, he’s mine.
For a brief moment my resolve wobbles, but Diana’s warning about cobwebs is still ringing in my ears, and I hold firm.
‘We were just having a beer, want one?’ Jack invites.
‘Yes, please, that would be great.’ I smile broadly and, ignoring Cindy’s glares, plop myself down between them.
‘So where have you been? I knocked on your door but you weren’t there,’ continues Jack.
‘I went to a local restaurant with Rocky; he taught me how to eat Indian food.’
‘You ate local food?’ gasps Cindy. ‘Are you insane? You know they won’t have washed anything in purified water and, let me tell you, if you had ice in your drink, you’re screwed.’ Giving a large shudder, she pulls out a huge bottle of hand sanitiser and starts vigorously squirting it on her hands, as if she might catch something by just talking about it. ‘I packed my own food. I mean, seriously, thank god for power bars and protein shakes!’
‘What did you eat?’ Jack asks me, looking impressed.
‘Chana Masala . . . Malai Kofta . . .’ I clumsily try repeating the names.
‘I’m impressed!’ He grins.
I smile modestly, but inside I feel a flutter of pride. ‘It was all delicious.’
‘What did I tell you? India just takes a little while to get used to, and once you do—’
‘You’ll fall in love with it,’ I finish.
There’s a pause as our eyes meet and, just for a moment, I could swear—
‘I was just going to show Jack some photos of my trip,’ interrupts Cindy, brandishing her camera.
Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now, I reflect, trying not to feel disappointed as we both turn to her.
‘Oh my gawd, you’ve so got to see this one,’ she gasps, thrusting the camera under both our noses. ‘The hotel in Delhi was awesome – the infinity pool on the roof was a-ma-zing.’
It’s a picture of Cindy in a string bikini, by the pool.
‘I mean, just look at the view!’
She starts zooming in and we’re suddenly given a close-up of her impressive chest.
‘Oops,’ she laughs, before scrolling upwards to the skyline.
‘Nice,’ I murmur politely, not looking at Jack. My earlier confidence is fast waning. Trust me, it’s going to take a lot more than being able to get a seven-letter word at Scrabble to compete with that.
‘And what about this one?’
Needing no encouragement, she starts flicking through the photos on her camera. There’s Cindy posing with a cocktail, Cindy posing with a monkey, Cindy posing at the Taj Mahal . . . basically, lots of close-ups of Cindy. In fact, India seems to be there only as an afterthought.
‘Oh and wait, Jack, you just have to see me on the elephant,’ she exclaims, leaning in towards him so he can get a closer look at the screen.
And her cleavage. She went for the unzipping thing, only with a lot more success, I observe, although thankfully Jack doesn’t seem to have noticed.
‘Where was this taken?’ he asks, peering at the screen.
Cindy doesn’t look best pleased that he’s not focusing in on her. ‘Oh, that’s just some old castle-y thing in Jaipur,’ she says dismissively.
‘You mean the Amber Fort,’ he says knowledgeably. ‘One of the finest examples of Rajput architecture.’
‘Whatever,’ she shrugs. ‘It was kinda boring, to be honest, but the elephant ride up there was fun. Well, apart from the fact my folks were on one elephant, so I had to share with this girl who was kind of a downer . . .’
‘What’s so special about it?’ I ask, turning to Jack. I’m genuinely curious.
‘Well, it’s most famous for its amazing mirrored hall. It’s designed in such a way to refract light, so that you only need two candles, one at each end, to light the whole palace.’ He passes over the camera as Cindy keeps talking.
‘She’d had some fight with her boyfriend about something, she was pretty upset . . . He was the one who took the photo – really cute guy, body to die for – but I said to her, “Honey, listen, they’re just not worth it”.’
Holding the camera, I take a look at the photograph. My breath catches in the back of my throat.
‘Impressive, huh?’ says Jack.
I can see the fort in the background but I’m focused on the foreground. There’s Cindy on an elephant, and sitting next to her is a girl . . .
I zoom in, but I didn’t have to. I recognised her immediately.
Amy.
Chapter 23
Fast-forward to early the next morning, and I’m already dressed and waiting in reception for Jack to surface. I’m eager to leave. I couldn’t sleep at all last night for thinking about Amy. After the radio silence of the last few days, seeing a photograph of her is a relief. It’s alleviated my scary worst-case-scenario worries: she’s not lying dead in a ditch; she’s sitting on an elephant in a T-shirt and a sarong, looking tanned and healthy.
And upset.
Because of that, the photograph has also managed to inflame my fears. If only she’d listened to me. I said it would all end in tears! What have they been rowing about? What’s happened? Is she all right? A million questions are racing through my head. I hate to think of Amy upset. She can be headstrong and stubborn and totally bloody selfish sometimes, but she’s still my little sister and I’m worried about her. If anything bad happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.
Which is why seeing that photograph has made me more determined than ever to find her. The picture was taken in Jaipur, which isn’t that far from here, and apparently Amy mentioned something about heading on to a town called Pushkar. At least Cindy thought so. Trying to get details out of Cindy was like asking a goldfish to remember what happened yesterday. Actually, I’d probably get more sense out of the goldfish.
Saying that, the one thing Cindy was 100 per cent sure about was that A
my wasn’t married yet. ‘I can spot a rock a mile away and there was nothing on her finger,’ she’d said categorically. ‘Trust me, girlfriend, he ain’t put a ring on it yet.’
‘There you are.’ I hear a voice and look up to see Jack walking in through the front gates. ‘I was just coming to wake you.’
‘Oh, I thought you were still in your room,’ I say, looking at him in surprise. Discovering the photograph had got my mind racing and I’d turned in soon after, leaving Jack and Cindy together. ‘I presumed you would have stayed up late drinking and still be asleep.’
‘No, I was outside talking to Rocky,’ he replies, his breath making little white clouds in the cold morning air.
‘Oh . . . well, I wanted to ask you a favour,’ I say, in the most business-like voice I can muster.
Jack raises his eyebrows.
‘I think my sister might be in Pushkar. I’m not certain; it’s hard to get information out of Cindy.’ I stop myself. Jack likes Cindy, he invited her for a drink last night, remember? ‘But anyway, I think it’s worth a shot. So I was wondering . . . I know you’re going to Udaipur, and you’ve been really kind to give me a lift this far.’ I can hear myself starting to ramble ‘ . . . and I don’t want to put you out.’ Get to the point Ruby, get to the point, ‘ . . . but well, is there any chance . . .’
‘It’s on the way,’ he says evenly.
I stop talking and look at him in surprise. ‘It is?’
‘Well, I don’t have a map to hand, but I’m pretty sure,’ he nods.
‘Oh . . . wow,’ I smile, broadly. ‘That’s great. I really appreciate it, you’ve saved my life.’
‘What, again?’ His eyes flash with amusement.
Reminded of the train, I feel my cheeks go hot despite the chill. I’m never going to live that down. ‘So, are you ready to leave?’ I ask, briskly standing up.
‘Well actually, that’s why I was coming to find you,’ he says, his face falling serious. ‘There’s a bit of a problem.’
‘Problem?’ I feel a clutch of anxiety. It’s like my body’s on a flight-or-fight response the whole time, just bracing itself for the next disaster. ‘What problem?’
‘Something’s wrong with the car. Rocky says we won’t be able to leave for a couple of hours.’
‘Oh. OK.’ I feel a flash of disappointment. I’m eager to get on the road. Still, at least it’s nothing major.
‘So I was thinking of doing a spot of sightseeing and going to the fort here in Agra, seeing as there won’t be time to visit the one in Jaipur,’ he adds in explanation. ‘Apparently it opens at sunrise, so if you fancy coming along . . .’
With the events of last night, my feelings for Jack have taken a back seat, but now they rear their head again. ‘That sounds interesting,’ I reply casually, my disappointment at not leaving replaced by a flicker of excitement.
‘OK great,’ smiles Jack. ‘I told Cindy we’d leave in about five minutes—’
‘Cindy?’
At that precise moment I hear a door slam closed and look up onto the balcony to see her emerging from Jack’s room. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. They must have spent the night together.
Well, what did I expect? Of course they spent the night together, Ruby. Did you really expect they wouldn’t? Did you really think you stood a chance?
As I watch Cindy bouncing towards us like a Victoria’s Secrets Angel, I swallow hard, pushing down my feelings of rejection. I can’t let Jack see I’m hurt and upset. I have to act normally.
‘Hi, handsome!’ she beams, planting a large kiss on his cheek. ‘Oh, and hi, Ruby,’ she adds, spotting me. ‘You look great.’
‘Er, thanks,’ I reply, taken aback by her compliment.
‘There’s nothing like having a favourite outfit,’ she smiles sweetly.
I flinch slightly but don’t react.
‘So, we all ready? I’m so excited!’ she whoops. ‘This is going to be awesome!’
‘Actually, on second thoughts, I’ve just remembered something I need to do,’ I fib quickly. ‘Damn! Silly me, head like a sieve.’ I make a show of slapping my head, but Jack doesn’t look convinced.
‘What have you got to do?’ he asks, his brow furrowing.
‘Erm . . . just a few errands,’ I say vaguely. I desperately need to find some new clothes, but I’m not saying that in front of Cindy and giving her the satisfaction of knowing I’m well aware of what a state I look. ‘You two go ahead without me.’
‘OK,’ beams Cindy, without the need for any further persuasion. Looking thrilled, she loops a long slender arm through Jack’s.
He frowns. ‘But if it’s only a few errands, it won’t take long,’ he reasons. ‘We can wait, can’t we, Cindy?’
Cindy gives a lip-glossed pout. ‘Well, I suppose so,’ she says reluctantly, ‘but it does get really busy – we should go early to avoid the crowds.’
I bite my tongue. Isn’t this is the same person who thought the famous Amber Fort was a ‘kinda boring old castle-y thingy’?
‘You should go.’ I force a bright smile. ‘I can always catch up with you,’ I add, with absolutely no intention of doing so.
‘Well OK, as long as you’re sure,’ says Jack uncertainly, after a pause.
‘Absolutely,’ I nod, glancing at Cindy, who’s holding on to Jack in the same way women clutch on to their designer handbags, as if someone’s going to try and steal him away from her.
‘Bye, have fun,’ she trills, in a tinkly, singsong voice.
‘Yes, you too,’ I say, waving them off with a cheery smile, which collapses like a soufflé as soon as they disappear out of sight. Still, it’s my own fault for being so naive and foolish. I should never have listened to Diana; she was just being loyal. And anyway, so what if he slept with Cindy? As I said, it’s not as if I like him. It’s just my pride that’s hurt, I tell myself firmly, not my feelings.
Yet, for some reason, that doesn’t make me feel any better.
For a moment I stand there, feeling deflated, then glance at my watch. It’s still early; they won’t be back for a while. What am I going to do for a couple of hours?
Exactly what I was going to do, I decide. Go buy some clothes.
And not just because I urgently need some. But because it doesn’t matter where in the world you are, or how different things are, there are some things in life that will always remain the same. When you need cheering up, there’s only one thing for it.
Shopping.
I’ve heard about the famous local bazaar and so, armed with a map from reception, I go off to explore. Despite it still being early, Agra is awake and already bustling with activity. Whoever said New York is the city that never sleeps has obviously never been to India, I muse, as I walk around the narrow, dusty streets, teeming with people and rickshaws.
It’s funny how quickly I’ve become acclimatised to the noise and mayhem of India. Like the dust underneath my fingernails, I no longer notice it. It’s almost hard now to recollect that initial shock to the senses when I first arrived. It’s as if India gives you a new set of eyes, allowing you to see through the dust and the pollution, past the mayhem and the poverty, to the true beauty and magic beyond.
I pause for a few moments to watch a group of boys playing a makeshift game of cricket at the side of the road. Using sticks as improvised stumps and a piece of wood as a bat, their faces are filled with concentration as they bowl and bat, their shrieks of frustration and jubilation filling the air as one team bowls the other out.
One boy sees me watching and waves, his smile lighting up his face, and I wave back, wishing I had a camera so I could take a picture, yet at the same time knowing I don’t need a photograph. I won’t forget that face, or that smile.
Leaving them to their game of cricket, I continue walking, and it’s not long before I come across the labyrinth of lanes overflowing with dozens of markets that make up one great big bazaar. Forget the famous Portobello Road market in London, this place puts it to s
hame, selling everything from exotic spices to pashminas to electrical goods to intricately carved marble work.
Turning a corner, I leave one market selling only spices and enter yet another filled with row upon row of stalls selling nothing but clothing. I feel a wave of happy relief. I’ve spent years wailing ‘I have nothing to wear,’ but now I really don’t have anything to wear. I’ve spent the last two nights hand-washing my underwear.
Eagerly, I pounce on the first stall. OK, so I need socks, underwear, a change of clothes, ooh, and look at that jacket . . .
Reaching for it, I quickly take it off the coat hanger and try it on. Wow, it’s so lovely and warm!
‘Welcome.’ The stallholder appears from the back of the shop. A big man, he has an even bigger beard. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Hi, yes,’ I smile broadly. ‘How much is this jacket?’
Taking a calculator, he punches in some numbers and passes it to me. I look at the display. OK, so that’s . . . I do a quick calculation in my head . . . ‘How much?’
‘It is a very fine jacket,’ says the stallholder gravely.
‘Um . . . yes, I know,’ I nod hastily, not wanting to offend him, ‘it just seems rather expensive . . .’ I break off.
Of course! I’m such a dummy, I nearly forgot. I’m supposed to haggle!
Haggling, I’ve learned, is a way of life in India, but until now I haven’t been bold enough to try it. I haven’t got the skills or the confidence and so in Goa I just paid the asking price. But I’ve decided: if I can learn to eat Indian food, I can try my hand at haggling. So I did a quick bit of reading up on it before I set off. According to the guidebook I found in reception, all I need to do is follow a few simple rules:
Rule number one: Never make it too obvious you like something.
I catch sight of myself in the jacket in the stallholder’s mirror. Oh dear, I don’t think I’ve got off to a very good start. Does actually wearing the item class as making it too obvious?
Rule number two: Don’t buy the first thing you see. You can often find the same or similar items on other stalls. Look around and check out the prices.