Free Destination India by Katy Colins Page A

on the tension between us and hurried off to the fruit machines.
    ‘I’m sorry for not calling you before now. I’ve been meaning to call you for ages,’ I said quietly.
    ‘Mmmm.’ Marie gulped her drink and avoided eye contact. ‘Well my number’s not changed.’
    An old man hacking up a load of phlegm and the repetitive tinny music from the fruit machines were the only sounds breaking this awkward silence that had settled around us.
    ‘So, Bollywood, huh?’
    ‘Marie, it’s not like that.’
    ‘Oh really?’ She whipped her flaming red hair towards me, put a hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes. ‘Tell me, Georgia, what
is
it like?’
    ‘Well, you’d actually laugh about it,’ I said, rolling my eyes at how the trip to India had even come about.
    ‘You think this is funny?’ I stopped smiling and looked to the floor. ‘You want to know something funny?’ By the look of her pinched mouth I wasn’t sure that I did. ‘I encourage my best friend to go off backpacking after being a jilted bride; I was there fully supporting her, helping herto get over the really shitty thing that had happened to her. And what do I get in return?’
    ‘Wait I –’
    ‘No you wait. If I don’t say this now when will I get the chance again?’ I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat that had suddenly risen.
    ‘I understand that you’re busy with work but I
never
hear from you; you never return my calls or answer my texts. Then I randomly walk in here for a drink with my boyfriend and see you and your cool backpacking friend sitting here laughing. Only to find out that you and her are jetting off to India tomorrow, to a place I’ve always wanted to go. I mean, fucking Bollywood! Did it not occur to you that maybe, just maybe, your actress friend would want to experience that with you? Or are you too busy being backpacker businesswoman Georgia to notice?’ Her eyes filled with tears but she blinked them back.
    ‘Marie, I’m sorry. I understand that it might look like this from your perspective, but trust me, it’s nothing like that.’ I placed my hand on my chest feeling like I wanted to cry too.
    ‘Is this because I’ve got a kid? Or because I’m just working as a mobile hairdresser? Not cultured enough or fancy enough for you now?’
    ‘No!! Of course it’s nothing to do with that. I’m sorry for being a crap friend; I’ve just had a lot going on but as soon as I get back I’ll make this up to you, I promise.’
    She continued to glare at me. ‘It might be too late then.’ With that she turned on her heel and got lost in the pub.
    I should have raced after her, apologising to her for being a shitty friend recently, but the truth was I was tired. Tired of messing things up, tired of having people tell me they were worried about me, tired of letting people down and feeling their disappointment.
    I was tired of it all.

CHAPTER 8
    Drawn (adj.) Tense; fatigued
    We’d overslept. I must have cancelled the three alarms I’d set on my phone as the sound of the pre-booked taxi impatiently beeping its horn woke me with a start.
    ‘Shit! Shell, get up; we are really fucking late!’ I jumped from my bed and flung on some clothes before hopping into my shoes.
    ‘What?! Ah man,’ Shelley cried, tumbling from the sofa to her unsteady feet.
    After the bust-up with Marie we’d stayed in the pub until closing time, nursing a bottle of wine as I’d resolved that this trip would be the solution to all my problems. I’d be like Trisha and come back a changed woman. That plan had seemed possible at eleven o’clock last night but wasn’t going quite so well this morning.
    My small flat turned into a hive of activity as I raced from room to room chucking last-minute bits and bobs into my bag. I triple checked I’d turned off the heating, locked the windows and hadn’t left the oven on. Not that I could even remember the last time I’d used it but you never could be too careful.
    ‘We have to go; this taxi