Destination India. Katy Colins

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      In the taxi to the airport, driven by the world’s most pissed-off driver, my empty stomach fizzed with anticipation and excitement. Working in tourism I thought I’d always be jetting away to exotic places but I had just been too busy to take any time off. Even though the circumstances weren’t ideal for this trip, at least I got to add another stamp to my passport.

      We paid the driver and raced through the packed departures hall, scanning the large boards for our flight. We were so behind schedule it wasn’t even funny.

      ‘There!’ I pointed. ‘New Delhi – desk twenty-nine to forty-one. Shit, it says the desks are closing in like five minutes! Hurry!’ I raced off as fast as I could with a lumpy, heavy backpack on, leaving a tufted-haired yawning Shelley staggering after me.

      ‘Good morning. Can I have your passports and tickets please,’ the overly made-up woman at check-in asked. We looked like bedraggled rats compared to her. ‘You’re leaving it a little late, ladies.’ She pursed her glossy, plump lips.

      ‘Here and here.’ I wheezed and smiled apologetically before passing over my documents as Shelley rustled in her bag for hers.

      ‘OK, my ticket is here –’ Shelley slapped the piece of A4 paper on the desk ‘– and my passport is …’ Her thin hand rummaged around her slouchy hobo bag. ‘Wait, it’s in here somewhere …’

      ‘Shelley?’ Watching her arm frantically searching amongst the folds of multi-coloured cotton I felt my stomach clench.

      ‘It’s in here somewhere. God these bloody bags. Jimmy is always calling me Mary Poppins for the amount of crap that gets swallowed up in here.’ She smiled tightly and continued to force her hand deep into the inside pockets.

      The check-in lady raised a thick, painted-on eyebrow at us – they were painfully on fleek – before peering at Shelley’s ticket. ‘Everything OK, Miss Robinson?’

      ‘Fine,’ Shelley said more breezily than she looked.

      ‘Shell? You packed it, right?’ A taste of bile caught at the back of my throat watching her grow more panicked with every second that passed without finding it.

      ‘Miss Robinson, I’m afraid if you do not have your passport you will be unable to travel today,’ the check-in lady unhelpfully reminded us before glancing at a silver watch on her tanned wrist.

      ‘I understand that.’ Shelley flashed a tight, fake smile at the woman whilst looking as if she was desperately trying to restrain herself from lurching across the desk and punching her.

      ‘We overslept,’ I said, wanting to fill this tense wait. She nodded and looked us up and down as if that explained everything.

      A few moments later Shelley glanced up. The colour had completely faded from her face. ‘It’s … it’s … not here.’

      My stomach lurched. ‘No!’ I gasped. I stared at her, desperate for her to break into a huge grin and pull it out of her bag, waving it around saying: ‘Ha gotcha!’ But instead Shelley looked like she was about to cry or pass out or both.

      ‘Shell? You’re a hundred per cent sure you haven’t got it?’ I started rooting around my own bag in case I had picked it up by mistake. ‘Empty everything out and let’s check again,’ I ordered, much to the disgust of the check-in lady. It had to be here. We simply didn’t have time to head home to search for it and make our flight.

      ‘Ladies. Please hurry. I should have closed check-in five minutes ago,’ Check-in lady hissed, trying to ignore the mess we were making on the cold, hard floor of the departures hall.

      ‘It must be here!’ I cried, shaking my bag out as pens and spare socks tumbled to the floor. It was becoming very obvious that Shelley’s passport wasn’t in either of our bags. ‘Check your pockets. Wait – maybe we left it in the taxi? Are you sure you even had it?’

      Shelley turned her empty pockets inside out and roughly wiped her eyes. ‘Positive. I put it in the inside pocket of my bag before we went to the pub. I even took this bag with me last night as I was paranoid I’d lose it …’ She trailed off as if thinking about something before jerking her head up. ‘Marie.’

      ‘What?’ I stopped scrambling on my knees and stared at her. ‘What do you mean Marie?’

      ‘I mean, I left my bag at the table when you two were talking, well, arguing – remember? Then you both left it unattended after your fight,’ she whispered, biting her bottom lip.

      ‘What? Well then it could have been anyone in there, couldn’t it?’ I said, feeling faint with the worry bubbling up inside of me. Marie wouldn’t sabotage this trip, would she? Would she?

      ‘Excuse me, Miss Green?’ Check-in lady barked, pulling me back to the immediate crisis we were dealing with. ‘I need you to go through security right now; your flight will be boarding imminently. Miss Robinson, if you don’t have your passport then you will be unable to fly today.’

      I held up a hand to stall for time. ‘Maybe it’s still at the flat? Maybe it fell out of your bag in the pub? Maybe someone’s handed it in? Maybe it’s in the taxi?’ I was clutching at straws and I knew it.

      Shelley shook her head sadly. ‘I had it last night and now I don’t.’

      ‘And you didn’t think to check you still had it this morning?’ I was half screeching now as waves of hysteria washed over me. Shelley had to come with me; I couldn’t do this trip alone.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Georgia. You’re going to have to go without me.’

      ‘Miss Green, please, if you do not go straight to security I will have to let them know to close the flight without you, without either of you.’

      ‘OK!’ I snapped. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just I can’t believe Marie would do something like that.’

      Shelley sniffed loudly. ‘I can. She was so pissed off with you. Maybe this way you would finally remember her and not leave her out in the future.’

      I shook my head violently. ‘No, Marie would never do something so crazy and spiteful as this. No way.’

      ‘Excuse me, Miss Green.’ The check-in lady seethed. ‘Are you travelling today or not?’

      ‘Is there another flight, maybe a later one that we could get booked onto?’ The woman huffed but looked down at her screen and started angrily tapping at her keyboard.

      Shelley turned to me. ‘I really hope you’re right about Marie. At least this way I can go back to yours, do a proper search for it, head to the pub and ask them, call the taxi firm and …’ She trailed off listing all the options we had for her to make this trip and for my best friend not to be responsible for this fuck-up.

      ‘Yes, good idea. Retrace your steps, find your passport, then fly out later to join me.’

      ‘Sorry,’ the check in lady interrupted, not looking sorry in the slightest. ‘The later flight is all booked up. The next available flight I could get you on would be next Thursday but it’s coming up at almost double the cost of the flight you had booked today. That is, if you find your passport by then.’

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