Golden Girl (17 page)

‘You can go out with JJ if you want,’ she said.

‘No way,’ I said. ‘Mates come first, always. Anyway, you know we can’t go too far unaccompanied. I can see JJ when we’re back in the UK.’ I meant it too. Now
that I knew that JJ and I were OK with each other and that he wasn’t into Shreya, I didn’t mind so much that we were chaperoned on all the excursions we went on. I’d let go of my
expectations and fantasies of being alone with him in romantic locations and had come to accept that for this trip, we were always going to be with other people. If not Mr and Mrs Lewis, then Vanya
would be somewhere keeping an eye on us and if he wasn’t around, then Alisha, Pia and Prasad were. Since the night that Alexei arrived, Kunal had kept his distance. Alisha told me that Prasad
had confided in her that on the night of the wrap party, Shreya had asked Kunal to keep me out of the way so that she could be with JJ. When I heard that, I was so glad I’d given him my
version of an ayurvedic massage. I only wished I’d slapped him harder. I couldn’t stay mad for long, though. There was too much to see, too much to take in and enjoy. After the awe
we’d felt at the A-list lifestyle at the beginning of the trip, Pia and I had taken to it like ducks to water and were loving every single second.

On the last day, for JJ’s birthday, our whole group – the Lewis family, Prasad, Vanya, Pia and I – travelled in three vintage Bentleys to the Deogarh Mahal, a hotel about an
hour from Udaipur. It was a vast terracotta-coloured palace built in the seventeenth century and spread out on top of a hill. It looked like Disney meets Bollywood with its turrets, domes, terraces
and balconies. I texted Charlie and told him to Google it so that he could see exactly where we were. He texted back half an hour later.
Awesome. Looks like an amazing fort. Curry on, party girl. C
U l8r. Chaz

Lunch was served up on a terrace on top of the palace from where it seemed like we could see the whole of India stretched out before us – a breath-taking panorama of hills, lakes and
mountains in the distance. While we ate plates of fresh mango, we watched a beautiful young girl, in a red traditional dress, balance four wicker baskets on her head while she danced barefoot on
broken glass. It didn’t seem to hurt but I did wonder about her life. She looked around the same age as me but our lives were so different.

‘Maybe she’s the Indian Lady Gaga,’ Pia commented.

After lunch, we meandered down the hill into the town of Deogarh, where Mr and Mrs Lewis browsed the stalls and bought bits and pieces from the stallholders. Mr Lewis kept his shades on but
no-one appeared to recognise him and he seemed to relish moving about anonymously for a change. I was amazed at what I was able to buy with the money I had: pashminas for Gran and Aunt Maddie,
silver bracelets for Flo and Meg, a small drum for Charlie, a painting of an elephant on silk for Dad’s office. Everything was so affordable and Pia was a dab hand at bargaining, something we
soon found out was expected and part of the fun.

‘But what can I get for JJ?’ I asked Alisha as we looked at a stall selling silk paintings. I had to find something because we’d all agreed that we’d give him our gifts
at the birthday dinner on the barge that evening.

‘I know. Difficult one,’ she said. ‘He’s got watches, clothes and he even got a car last year.’

I laughed. ‘A car’s a bit out of my budget. What have you got him?’

‘I usually get him fun stuff, you know, to make him laugh. Like a jokey book or a DVD. But from you, maybe something personal, like, can you draw or paint?’

‘Not brilliantly.’

‘Or write? Maybe you could write him a story or a poem. Something like that. I think that’s what he’d treasure. Something money can’t buy.’

‘Yes, but what?’

‘You’ll think of something,’ she said, then went to catch up with Prasad who had gone ahead and was looking at a stall selling old books.

I glanced at the stalls lined up ahead along the street and saw that a lot of them were selling bric-a-brac and antiques. Some of it was junk but there were some nice pieces, though nothing that
seemed right for JJ. At one stall, I noticed that there was a box underneath the table full of old photos. ‘Can I look?’ I asked the stallholder.

He nodded. ‘Yes. Look, look.’

I knelt down and flicked through the photos. They were very old. Most were black and white, some were sepia, some faded and a little torn around the edges. They showed various family groups
sitting in palaces that looked very similar to some of the ones we’d visited. In one, the man of the family sat on a throne by a pillar. He had a big moustache, was dressed in a jewelled and
embroidered tunic with a sash and had a silk turban on his head. He was looking down his nose at the camera, his expression wonderfully haughty. Behind him, two male servants in white traditional
dress stood to attention, while at his feet sat a sulky teenage girl, her left hand pulling her sari over her hair and face as if she didn’t want to be photographed. Another photo showed a
group of men sitting on the steps of what looked like the Deogarh Mahal. Some had long beards and wore tunics with sashes and cummerbunds and were holding weapons similar to the ones we’d
seen in the Darber Hall in the City Palace. Everything about them, from their posture to their dress, was regal. Two women in the picture sat at their feet, frowning out from under their saris.

‘Where are these photos from?’ I asked the stallholder.

‘Royal houses. Palaces,’ he replied. ‘Royal family.’

Pia came over to join me and knelt down to see what I was looking at. I glanced to check that the others had gone on ahead then handed a couple to her.

‘I think I’ve found JJ’s birthday present,’ I said. ‘He told me one day when we were going around City Palace that he wished he could see what the people who lived
there looked like. Not just paintings but their real faces. And here they are.’

‘Brilliant. Great idea. These are wonderful,’ said Pia as she looked at the photos. ‘And this one tells a story.’ She handed me a sepia photo of an Indian lady on a
chair. She was dressed like Shreya had been for the part of the Maharaja’s daughter. She looked very majestic and she didn’t have the cowed look of the women sitting on the floor in the
other photo. This lady was clearly somebody important. By her side stood a young boy of about six years old, his arm resting on her knee; he was dressed in Western safari clothes, even a small pith
helmet. ‘It shows two eras in Indian history, doesn’t it? The lady in traditional dress representing old India, her son representing what was to come with the British raj.’

‘How much for the photos?’ I asked.

‘Two thousand rupees,’ said the seller.

‘How much is that?’ I asked Pia, who was better at working the exchange out than I was.

‘About thirty pounds,’ she said. ‘How much have you got?’

I counted my money. ‘About one and a half thousand,’ I said. ‘Not enough.’

Pia pointed at the three photos I wanted. ‘You can do for less?’ she asked but the stallholder shook his head.

‘Very valuable. Original. No do cheaper.’

Pia got her purse out. ‘You have to get these,’ she said and she handed me five hundred rupees. ‘They’re the perfect present.’

I gave her a hug. ‘I’ll pay you back,’ I said as I got up and handed over the money.

In the evening, Pia and I packed our bags before the party so we’d be ready for the early morning flight the next day. I felt I had so many things I wanted to remember
from the trip. Snapshots in my mind of the people, the bright sunshine colours, the animals, the stunning locations – like the Ladies’ Garden just outside Udaipur where four fountains
had been built to sound like rain falling; Lake Pichola, where we took a boat ride; a hotel courtyard strewn with fairy lights where we had dinner one evening, sipping tea as musicians sat nearby
playing sitar and tabla, the shops and stalls in the bazaar, where we stopped to watch travelling Kathakari dancers, who looked like Hindu gods come to life – and lastly, the insane traffic
and terrifying rickshaw rides with Pia, JJ, Alisha and me stuffed in the back, hanging on for dear life. All separate moments making up a colourful collage in my brain.

‘You OK tonight? You’re not going to throw up again, are you?’ asked Pia as we got into our party clothes.

‘I’m thinking of doing it at every celebration,’ I replied. ‘Like my party trick. See how far I can reach.’

Pia pulled a face. ‘Ew. You’re disgusting.’

‘I try to be,’ I said, as I sprayed perfume on my wrists, then headed for the door.

I gazed out at the wet London afternoon as we sped along the M4 in the back of the Lewises’ UK limo. It felt good to be back in England, even if it was grey and dismal. I
was longing to see Dave and Dad and Charlie – though it had only been six days, it felt like we’d been away much longer.

When we arrived back at Porchester Park, the Mercedes pulled up out front and Yoram came over to open the back doors. He looked like he’d sucked a lemon when he realised that he was
letting me and Pia out, but when he saw Mrs Lewis and JJ and Alisha, his expression turned to a smile. Yoram had never been friendly to me and Pia. To the residents, however, he was impeccably
polite, greeting them with charm and professionalism.

‘Back to reality,’ Pia whispered. We’d got so used to being part of the in-crowd, it was going to be hard to be just normal again.

We said our goodbyes and thanked Mrs Lewis again for having invited us, then made our way into reception.

‘I’ll call you later,’ said JJ, after he’d given me a hug.

‘The parting of the ways,’ Pia commented as we crossed over to the door leading to the staff area and the Lewises went to the lift to take them up to their apartment.

‘I know. Do you think it’s going to be weird going back to our life after having lived in the lap of luxury?’ I asked.

‘Only if you make it weird,’ said Pia and tapped her head. ‘It’s all in the mind, in your attitude.’

I did a small bow to her. ‘You are indeed wise, O small one,’ I said. She came out with extraordinary stuff sometimes.

‘I know,’ said Pia. ‘Just call me Guru Pianand ji.’

‘Pianand?’

Pia nodded. ‘And I’d like you to walk two steps behind me as a sign of respect from now on.’

‘Dream on, nutjob,’ I said.

Once in the staff area, we went our separate ways and soon I was swept up into my own personal homecoming. A big hug from Dad, a small hug from Charlie – he didn’t really do hugs but
I could tell he’d missed me – and a good lick and nuzzle from Dave, who didn’t hold back in letting me know how glad he was that I was back.

After I’d given my presents out and had a cup of tea and piece of toast with Marmite, I went and sat in my room and looked at my emails. There weren’t that many because I’d
kept up with them in India and also on the plane coming home, though we’d mainly slept on the return trip. I sent messages to Meg and Flo to let them know we were back, then sat and stared
out of the window. It looked so dull outside compared to the bright light of India and it felt like life had suddenly come to an almighty and abrupt full stop. Only the night before, I’d been
dressed in my best clothes having dinner by candlelight on the Imperial Barge on Lake Pichola, one of the most beautiful locations in the world. It had been a wonderful evening and JJ had loved his
Indian photographs. His favourite present, he told me, which was saying something seeing as his mum and dad had got him a whole hoard of expensive goodies. And now I was back home, looking out of
the window at a brick wall opposite.

I got out my phone and texted Pia.
Strange to be back.

She phoned straight away. ‘Yeah. Feels so quiet and Mum won’t play the servant game. I told her that I was used to being waited on hand and foot and being served the finest food on
the best crockery and that I wanted to be known as Princess Pia from now on. She laughed then threw a tea towel at me, pointed at the sink and said, “Get over it, Lady Muck. Life is all about
balance. Now get drying those dishes.” I’ve only been back half an hour and already she’s using me as her personal slave.’

‘My mum used to say that was one of the perks of having kids,’ I said.

‘Got to go,’ said Pia. ‘Mum’s calling. Probably wants me to mop the floors. Oh how the mighty are fallen.’

I sat back on my bed and my phone bleeped that I had two texts. The first was from JJ.
Don’t want it 2 end yet. Can I C U l8r? Maybe finally get some time alone? XXX

And the second from Tom.
When can I see you? Missed U. Tom XXX

‘Tom!’ I said to Dave. ‘What does
he
want?’

Dave rolled onto his back and pawed the air.

‘Yes, he probably wants his tummy tickling too.’ However, after India and Shreya and Kunal, I wasn’t going to mess JJ around, not for a second. We’d had a good
heart-to-heart on the plane coming back, before we all slept like zombies, and we agreed to be totally up front about everything from now on. ‘So, sorry, Tom. You might be Mr
Cutest-Boy-In-School but you’re history.’ I meant it too. JJ was my first real relationship and I wasn’t going to blow it by keeping my options open in case anything went wrong. I
trusted JJ and I didn’t feel quite the relationship newbie that I had when we’d first set out on the trip. I’d learnt a big lesson – never to assume that you know what is
going on in your boyfriend’s head. Never second-guess and always give him a chance to explain. I’d been off on a total fantasy in my head about him and Shreya and almost blown it, all
because of my own insecurity.