Destination India. Katy Colins

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      The woman sighed and looked at the queue of people behind me. I could feel Mr Smug India’s eyes on me; bet he had bloody forms.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ Shelley piped up.

      ‘We were meant to bring some forms,’ I grumbled.

      ‘Forms? I thought we just got a stamp in our passports and we were on our way?’

      ‘Me too.’ I let out a deep breath and turned to Glasses Lady. ‘Do you have any forms here we could fill in?’

      ‘All the forms are online.’ She was loving the power; you could tell.

      I tried to stay calm. ‘So we need to go home, download the forms, fill them in and print them off then come back here? To join that queue again?’ I was so behind I just didn’t have the time for this.

      ‘Well, they’re the rules.’

      ‘Seriously?’ I gave her my best begging look but she just continued to stare blankly at us.

      ‘Come back with the forms and your passport-sized photos. You do have your passport-sized photos, don’t you?’ I bit my lip and shook my head. ‘Well then, I’d be getting a move on if I was you. We shut in two hours.’

      I flashed her an insincere smile. ‘Great, well thanks for your help. Come on, Shell.’ I turned on my heel and walked to the front door.

      ‘Wait? She can’t be serious?’ Shelley gasped. ‘Seems a bit over the top if you ask me. What did she say about passport photos?’

      ‘We need some, pronto.’

      Shelley nodded, then added 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 СКАЧАТЬ