Free Destination India by Katy Colins Page B

fella’s not happy,’ Shelley called from the front door as I did a final scan that I’d unplugged everything. ‘Georgia, come on!’
    ‘Coming!’ I called back, lugging my backpack onto my back. I had to admit that it did feel nice having it back on.
    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 crapthat 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 ignorethe 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