The Love Detective

  ‘Hey!’ I say, rapping on the window, which is open just an inch.

  She shrieks and frantically winds it up, looking even more petrified.

  ‘Cindy!’ I say again, only louder this time. ‘It’s me, Ruby!’

  She glances sideways, a puzzled expression on her face. ‘Ruby?’ she mouths from behind the safety of the glass. ‘Is that really you?’ She looks me up and down in disbelief.

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ I laugh, amused by her reaction. ‘Where are you going?’

  Gingerly she winds down the window, looking left and right as if someone might reach in and pull her out at any minute. ‘I’m trying to get to the airport but this traffic is just insane! It’s worse than on the 405!’ Shaking her head, she cricks her neck out of the window and peers down the street. ‘I wish all these people would just go home! What are they doing?’

  ‘It’s wedding season,’ I explain.

  ‘Whatever,’ she gasps bad-temperedly, ‘I feel like I’m in the goddam riots!’

  ‘Where are your parents?’ I ask, peering inside the car and seeing it’s empty except for Cindy and one very stressed-out cab driver.

  ‘In LA. Where I’m gonna be as soon as I can get out of here!’ Lunging forwards in her seat, she jabs the cab driver in the shoulder. ‘Can’t you go any faster? I’m gonna miss my flight!’

  Dutifully he rests his hand on the horn, but to absolutely no avail. They’ve completely ground to a halt.

  ‘LA?’ I look at her in confusion.

  ‘I lied,’ she says simply, turning back to me. ‘It was all bullshit. They were never here, I came on my own.’

  ‘You did?’ I stare at her, agog. ‘But why?’

  ‘Bad relationship, bad break-up . . .’ She rolls her eyes and chews hard on her gum.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ I suddenly feel myself softening towards her. So even stunning Californian bikini models can get their hearts broken.

  ‘Yeah, well, I needed to get away, but the last thing I needed was a pity party,’ she says briskly, ‘so I said I was with my parents.’

  ‘But why India?’

  She pulls a dog-eared copy of Eat, Pray, Love out of the Louis Vuitton handbag sitting next to her on the back seat. ‘Though coming here was a big mistake. I should have gone to Bali instead and found myself a sexy Javier Bardem type – instead all I got was Jack.’

  At the mention of his name I feel myself stiffen.

  ‘Not that he was even interested,’ she tuts and, pulling out a compact, starts powdering her nose.

  My emotions, which have caused my chest to tighten so I can barely breathe, suddenly relax their vice-like grip. ‘What do you mean, he wasn’t interested?’ I barely dare ask.

  ‘I got the impression he was already spoken for,’ she shrugs, snapping the compact shut. ‘Not that he ever said anything, but it was pretty obvious he was in love with someone else.’

  My heart skips a beat. In love with someone else?

  She turns to me and snorts loudly. ‘What? You didn’t think anything happened between us, did you?’

  ‘Er . . .’ I snap to, feeling myself fluster. My face must say it all. Of course I thought something had happened. I thought they’d slept together! ‘Well, I thought maybe . . . with you staying the night . . .’

  ‘Oh gawd, no!’ Cindy rolls her eyes. ‘I totally crashed out that night. I haven’t been drinking alcohol as I’ve been on this cleanse, and god-only-knows what they put in those drinks! Anyway, he was a total gentleman,’ she adds, then tuts loudly, ‘more’s the pity.’

  But my mind is racing. I barely dare think it, or hope it – and yet: could there be a chance that the person he’s in love with . . . I stop myself, teetering on the edge of the thought . . . could it be me?

  No, that’s nuts. Of course it’s not me! I tell myself sharply. Except, my mind flashes back to the way he looked at me earlier; the feeling I got as we lay next to each other in the tent in the desert; the moment he wordlessly gave me his jacket. Like a stone skimming across a pond, my mind skips from one memory to the next. There was something there, I didn’t imagine it, I know I didn’t— I cut myself off briskly. Stop it, Ruby. You can’t think like this. You’ll only get hurt.

  ‘Anyway . . .’ Cindy looks ahead at the traffic and gasps loudly. Her taxi hasn’t moved an inch. ‘Jesus, this place is the pits!’ she gasps then, turning to me, demands, ‘Seriously, how can you love this place?’

  I look around me, at the people, the colours, the magic.

  ‘How can you not?’ I ask simply.

  She stares at me, uncomprehending, then unexpectedly a space opens up and her cab lurches forwards. ‘Finally!’ she whoops. ‘I’m outta here!’ And throwing her arm out of the window, she waves as she moves off through the crowds.

  I wave back, my bracelets jangling, and as I watch the brake lights of the car receding into the distance, I suddenly can’t help feeling sorry for Cindy. And to think I used to be envious of her.

  Funny how things turn around, isn’t it?

  I keep waving until she disappears, swallowed up by the crowd, and for the first time in a long time I feel truly happy to be me. For so long my bruised heart has been a constant reminder of everything I’ve lost, everything I’ve wanted to change, but here, now, amid all this chaos and festivity, I feel a sense of peace. Of coming home. As if I’ve come out of a long dark tunnel and into the shiny dazzling light, to find my old self waiting for me.

  ‘There you are!’

  I twirl around to see Jack, out of breath from all that dancing. ‘I thought I’d lost you!’

  ‘Me too,’ I smile.

  ‘Huh?’ He looks at me in confusion, but before he can ask any questions, I grab his hand.

  ‘Come on, Amy’s not here. We need to keep looking.’

  A shower of fireworks explodes down by the water’s edge, and with no time to lose we hurry into a side street and race down towards the lake.

  Chapter 35

  As the evening unfolds, Jack and I find ourselves plunging from one wedding to another, each overlapping the next like a cleverly edited movie montage. I’ve heard Indian weddings can go on for days, but we only have this one night, and our quest to find Amy turns into a breathless, giddy adventure that leads us from processions to parties, feasts to fireworks, and more dancing then I’ve done in my whole life.

  ‘Ruby!’

  As we finally reach the lake we see a string of hotels and restaurants and a girl dressed in a glittering pink sari, who starts waving madly at us. ‘You came!’ she cries excitedly, rushing over.

  Suddenly I realise it’s Suhana. And this must be the Royal Shiva, I realise, just as I spot the sign of the five-star luxury hotel.

  ‘Well, actually, we’re looking for my sister—’ I begin, but she grabs hold of both of our arms and starts dragging us through the arched entrance.

  ‘Please, come inside, the ceremony is about to begin.’

  ‘Ceremony?’ Jack shoots me a rather panicked look.

  ‘My cousin lives in Los Angeles. He’s a movie producer and he’s marrying an American actress, the wedding is going to be Hollywood meets Bollywood!’ she chatters along excitedly. ‘He won’t mind you being there at all; he’s really cool like that.’ She laughs happily at the use of the word cool, and shoots a shy glance at Jack.

  ‘That’s great,’ he smiles evenly, ‘but you see, we really need to be someplace else—’

  ‘Where?’ she demands.

  ‘Um . . .’ He stalls and glances across at me for an answer, but all I can do is throw my hands palms-upwards. ‘See, that part’s a bit tricky . . .’

  ‘So, you must come!’ she instructs. ‘My family will be honoured!’

  Jack and I exchange looks. Neither of us wants to be rude. And it would be amazing to go to an actual ceremony. Plus, I don’t know about Jack, but I have to confess, I’d really like to see who this American actress is.

  Except . . .

  ‘But we haven’t found Amy,’ I
whisper anxiously.

  ‘Yet,’ he replies reassuringly.

  His steady eyes meet mine and I flash him a small grateful smile. Then, turning back to Suhana, who’s peering at us both impatiently, I nod in agreement. ‘OK, cool,’ I grin, copying her turn of phrase, much to her delight. ‘Let’s go!’

  When it comes to wedding ceremonies, I’ve sung the hymns, thrown the confetti and bought the hat. In my mid-twenties I’d only done this once or twice, but by my late twenties I was beginning to spend nearly every other weekend in an Irish castle or a church in the country, and since turning thirty there’s been what I can only call a stampede up the aisle by all of my friends from school or university.

  However, not one of those weddings was anything like this one, I muse, as the bride and groom make their grand entrance on lavishly bejewelled elephants and are taken to a stunningly decorated tent that has been erected by the side of the lake and filled with brightly coloured flowers and decorations. Part Hindu, part Hollywood, it’s a mix of tradition and glamour and a whole world away from the stuffy white weddings I’ve had to sit through. Here, they place garlands of rose petals and marigolds around each other’s necks and various rituals and ceremonies are performed, including one that involves the bride and groom taking seven steps together around the holy fire.

  ‘This is the Saptapadi,’ whispers Suhana in explanation, as they begin circling the flames. ‘These are the seven promises to each other . . .’

  I watch in fascination as the groom leads the bride by her little finger, the priest reciting the vows and the groom repeating them in English for the benefit of his American bride and her family.

  ‘With the first step, let us share our food together . . . With the second step, let us vow to be strong together . . .’

  I never cry at weddings; I mean, they’re lovely and all that, but I’m usually the practical one providing the tissues. But now, sitting here, at the side of the lake, witnessing these vows, I suddenly feel myself tearing up

  ‘With the seventh step, let us vow to be friends with each other.’

  Of all the steps, I think that’s my favourite. It’s all very well to be in love with the person you’re marrying when everything’s wonderful and exciting and you’re wearing a fabulous dress. But to promise to remain friends with each other, years down the line, when sometimes you won’t actually like your partner, let alone feel like you love them – well, that’s something else. That’s what true love is actually all about.

  ‘Now it’s official! They’re married!’ whispers Suhana excitedly, as her cousin places a beautiful necklace around his bride’s neck and they daub sandalwood paste on each other’s foreheads. ‘Time to party!’

  And boy, do they know how to party.

  Ten minutes later we’re at the wedding reception and it’s in full swing. Strobe lights and fire-breathers, magicians and street performers, a world-famous DJ spinning disco tunes and Bollywood hits, and a feast of Indian dishes prepared by the best chefs and served with cocktails mixed by bartenders flown in from the trendiest bars in LA.

  ‘Wow, this is amazing,’ cries Jack, sipping on a rainbow-coloured cocktail that has real gold leaf in it, apparently.

  ‘I know, it’s incredible,’ I reply, doing the same. Oh wow, these are delicious.

  ‘So do you recognise the bride?’ he asks, pointing over to where the pretty blonde, dressed in a stunning red sari embroidered with millions of tiny glittering sequins, is having her photograph taken.

  ‘Wasn’t she in that movie with Ryan Gosling?’ I suggest.

  ‘Was she?’ Jack pulls a face. ‘I’m hopeless with celebrities, I never know who anyone is.’ He breaks off, his jaw suddenly dropping. ‘Hang on, isn’t that . . .?’ He gestures over to an older man sitting by the corner of the dance floor. Surrounded by a bevvy of beauties, he’s smoking a cigar and wearing his trademark dark glasses.

  ‘Oh my god, yes!’ I gasp excitedly, and then something I once read in one of those celebrity magazines suddenly rings a bell. ‘Actually, I think he might be the father of the bride!’

  ‘No way!’ he gasps, all goggly-eyed, and then we both look at each other and burst into giddy conspiratorial laughter.

  Actually, I’m beginning to feel quite tipsy. These cocktails are really quite strong. I turn to watch the action on the dance floor. As always at a wedding, it’s a hive of activity.

  ‘Come on, let’s dance,’ cries Jack, draining the last of his cocktail.

  ‘Hang on, I haven’t finished my drink,’ I stall, waving my glass in front of me as a sort of protective shield. Making an idiot of myself by dancing on the street is one thing, but on the dance floor at a big fancy wedding in front of A-list Hollywood celebrities is quite something else, thank you very much.

  The music is really beginning to pump now, as a catchy song starts blasting out of the speakers. Is it me, or is it getting louder?

  And then suddenly, dozens of dancers burst on to the huge stage above the dance floor and start performing a carefully choreographed routine, like something out of a Bollywood movie.

  ‘Oh wow!’ I gasp in delight. ‘How amazing!’

  ‘I know, look at all the kids,’ grins Jack, pointing to the cutest children you’ve ever seen, bopping away in the front row. ‘I wonder how they learned how to dance like that?’

  And then I see him in the front row.

  Billy.

  I let out a shriek of elation and, handing my drink to a bewildered Jack, charge onto the dance floor. ‘Billy!’ I cry, waving madly as I rush towards the stage. ‘It’s me, Ruby!’

  Hearing his name, I see him glance over mid-dance-move. ‘Beautiful!’ he exclaims, flashing a smile bigger than Texas as he spots me in the crowd. Reaching down, he holds out his hand. ‘Come dance with me!’

  For a split second I pause: he’s wanting to pull me on stage – to dance – in front of all these people. Are you kidding?

  No, I’m not kidding. I’m throwing out my hand and grabbing his fingers, and now suddenly I’m up here on stage with everyone, and he’s showing me how to dance and the crowd are going mad and cheering, and I can see Jack clapping and laughing, and I know I’m going to remember this moment for the rest of my life: Bollywood dancing at an Indian wedding and feeling so happy I could burst.

  Life, sure as hell, is full of surprises.

  The party looks set to run all night but finally we manage to tear ourselves away and continue our search around the old walled city. Around every corner there’s a groom resplendent on a white horse, a marching band of tuba players, or a procession of revellers, until Udaipur blurs into one big, fat, Indian wedding.

  But still no Amy.

  ‘I give up,’ I admit finally, a few hours later. It’s after midnight and we’re both exhausted. ‘We’re never going to find her.’

  Jack opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I nod. I feel a bizarre mix of disappointment and elation. Disappointed that I couldn’t find Amy, and yet elated by my experiences of the night. Another burst of fireworks explodes overhead and I pause to watch them light up the night sky. ‘It does seem a shame to miss this, though.’

  ‘True, but I am pretty beat,’ admits Jack.

  ‘I’ve got blisters,’ I confess, smiling ruefully.

  Jack pulls an ‘ouch’ face. ‘How about we go back to the guesthouse and watch the fireworks from the roof?’ he suggests.

  ‘You mean I can sit down and take my shoes off?’

  Jack nods.

  Oh god. Heaven. ‘That’s the best idea you’ve had all night,’ I grin.

  We set off walking through the maze of backstreets to the guesthouse and, climbing the stairs, finally make it up onto the roof. It’s much quieter up here; slipping off my sandals, I relish the cool tiles beneath the soles of my feet. Above us the moon seems much closer, as if you could almost reach out and touch it with your fingertips and, as I turn towards the lake, the view takes my breath
away. Wow. Now I know why they call Udaipur one of the most romantic places on earth. It’s amazing, magical even. I gaze at the Lake Palace Hotel, floating like a fairy-tale castle on the water, whilst in the background fireworks light up the sky, raining down like sparkling raindrops.

  Leaning against the parapets, I take a deep breath, breathing it all in. To be honest, the whole night feels like a bit of a fairy tale.

  ‘Who’s Sam?’

  Jack’s voice behind me snaps me out of my reverie. ‘What?’ I twirl around, taken aback at the mention of his name.

  Jack is looking at me intently. ‘You mentioned him when we first met, that time at the railway station when you were upset.’

  Reminded of my meltdown, I feel my cheeks redden.

  ‘He was my fiancé. He cheated on me. We broke up,’ I say simply. Talking about him, I suddenly realise I haven’t thought about him for ages; in fact the thought of him now feels almost like an intrusion.

  Realisation floods Jack’s face. ‘Oh I see. It all makes sense now.’

  ‘What does?’ I frown.

  ‘All that stuff about weddings, the Taj Mahal, romance . . .’ His voice trails off but his gaze is still fixed on me.

  ‘I stopped believing,’ I shrug, ‘it all seemed like crap. It never worked out, not for me, not for anyone I know . . .’ I pause as I think back over the years, not just to Sam but to all the disastrous dates and failed relationships I’ve known people go through, all the disappointment and heartbreak, all the evenings spent drinking wine, consoling friends and being consoled. ‘But then I came to India and, well . . .’ I trail off and turn back to the lake, to the moonlight reflecting on the water. ‘Everything changed.’

  ‘Yeah, India can do that to you,’ nods Jack quietly, following my gaze.

  And then for a moment we’re both silent, staring out across the water, listening to the distant sound of music and celebrations. High above the rest of the world, I feel as if we’re in our own little bubble, as if somehow up here we’ve managed to make time stand still.

  ‘What about you?’ I ask. All this time I’ve been asking everyone I meet about their love life: Rocky, Vijay, Billy, Suhana . . . and yet the one person I’ve never asked about it is Jack. ‘What’s your story?’