Destination India (2 page)

‘I only found out this morning, I-I mean last night,’ I stuttered.

‘You want me to come with you to that? You know your list is sounding pretty heavy – it might be best to share the load a little, Georgia?’ He tilted his head at me.

‘It’s all under control. Trust me.’ I smiled weakly, not wanting to look at Kelli who I could feel was giving me a look that said she knew things weren’t under control.

‘If you’re sure.’ Ben wasn’t letting this go.

‘Ben, I’m sure,’ I said, a little more forthrightly than I’d meant to. I softened my tone. ‘Sorry, I think you’ve got enough to look after with preparing for the convention. How’s your speech coming on? Do you want to practise it with us? Maybe you could send it over so I can check it before you go?’ I tried to say it as lightly as I could, hoping to sound like a caring colleague, not a control freak who needed to keep tabs on exactly what it was he would be saying.

‘It’s all under control.’ He grinned, tapping a finger to the side of his head.

‘But you
have
written it down?’

Ben smiled and waved his hands around. ‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’

He hadn’t written it down. He always said that he preferred to speak off the cuff, but just the thought of that made me physically shiver. I nodded and added
write Ben’s speech
onto my notepad. I’d just try and sneak it into his pocket so it would be there if, sorry
when
he needed it and he’d come back thanking me for helping him.

‘Right, so, anyone else got anything to add?’

Ben shook his head but Kelli raised a skinny arm. ‘It’s not really work-related but my band are playing at the Academy tomorrow night.’

‘Wow, that’s amazing!’ Ben said.

Kelli blushed. ‘Nah, it ain’t the real Academy, it’s the one in Rusholme above a curry house but still it’s a gig. I guess.’ She paused collecting her thoughts. ‘So, I wondered if you both wanted to come? I’ll put you on the guest list if you fancy it. You know, if you weren’t too busy or anythin’?’ She nibbled her thin bottom lip.

‘Course we’ll be there. Won’t we, Georgia?’ Ben said, interrupting me from scrolling through the calendar on my phone.

‘It might not be your kinda vibe but the booze is cheap and you get ten per cent off any curry
and
free poppadums if you come.’

‘Georgia? You in?’ Ben persisted.

‘Yeah, yeah sounds good,’ I said distractedly giving them both a tight smile. ‘Right, let’s get down to work.’

It had turned out to be a good day actually, minus the dramatic, unprofessional start. We’d had four walk-ins who booked tours on the spot and another six who took
brochures away, making all the positive noises of coming back to pay a deposit. I was just in the middle of my emails when my phone buzzed: Mother calling.

‘Hi, Mum, I haven’t got long. I’m pretty snowed under,’ I answered quickly.

‘You always say that,’ she tutted, and I rolled my eyes. ‘Well, I won’t keep you, it was just to check that you haven’t forgotten about tonight.’

Tonight? Tonight? My mind raced through my mental to-do list. What was tonight?

‘Erm … Yep. It’s all under control,’ I lied.

She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Great. Your dad is so excited to see you. We’ll let the rush-hour traffic die down before we head out. You know he doesn’t like to drive when all the maniacs fill the roads,’ she babbled. ‘What time is the restaurant booked for again?’

I paused. Then suddenly it all came rushing back. I quickly glanced at my calendar to check I was right. Yup. Shit. Today was my dad’s birthday and weeks ago I’d promised my mum I’d get us a table at Chez Laurent’s, the fancy French bistro that the Manchester glitterati raved about, the place where you needed to reserve stupidly far in advance.

‘Erm, nine p.m.,’ I lied.

‘Perfect. Right, well I’ll let you get on. See you later, love.’

I said goodbye and hung up, my stomach in knots. I forgot what I was doing and hurriedly found the phone number for the restaurant, crossing everything that there would be by some miracle a last-minute cancellation for tonight.

No such luck.

The snooty receptionist, talking in a blatantly fake French accent, told me that ‘eet just wasn’t posseeeble’.

I told her to leave it and focused my attention on scouring the net for other possible options, my workload suddenly seeming less important. I’d set alarms on both my phone and email reminding me to buy my dad a gift and book this place but every time they’d pinged I’d cancelled them as I was always in the middle of doing something else. I could kick myself now. After the stressful end of last year, I’d planned to really treat him for his birthday, to celebrate in style that he was still here with us when we had so nearly lost him. I sighed, mentally slapping myself in the face for being such a terrible daughter.

All the finest five-star restaurants were either fully booked, didn’t answer the phone, or only had tables at five p.m. in two weeks’ time. Now I was really behind. By this rate I’d be pulling another all-nighter just to catch up on what I’d not got done today.

I sighed loudly, which caught Ben’s attention. ‘You OK, Georgia?’

‘You don’t happen to know any Michelin-starred chefs who could come and cook dinner tonight, do you?’ I asked, with my head in my hands.

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s my dad’s birthday and I promised him a fancy dinner but completely forgot all about it,’ I half moaned.

Kelli looked up from her paper-strewn desk. ‘My mate Sticky Shaun works at TGI Fridays. I could try and bag you a table there? Nah, scrap that – he got his name for a reason.’

Ben grimaced and turned to face me. ‘Why don’t you have a change of plan and cook for them at yours?’

I laughed. ‘I want to treat him, not kill him. Do you not remember how bad I was at cooking when we were in Thailand?’

Memories of being in the spicy, steamy kitchen in Koh Lanta flooded my mind. I blushed slightly thinking back to
how close we’d been then, how I was convinced something would have happened between us by now other than swapping secret-Santa gifts and sharing business ideas in a friendly yet professional manner.

Ben smiled at the memory. ‘Yeah, maybe stick with the restaurant idea.’

I went back to my laptop, wanting to focus on work instead of what could have been between us when Ben called out. ‘Wait, didn’t you go to some networking event or something at Verde, that new Italian place? You could call whoever organised it and see if they could fit you in.’

‘Genius idea! Thanks.’ I flipped through the stack of business cards on my desk; note to self, must get round to organising these one day. I thought back to that utterly boring evening where my restless mind had wandered away from death by PowerPoint to the fresh flowers and walnut fittings in the restaurant. I’d spent the rest of the dull meeting wondering whether we should redecorate the shop in similar hues.

I found the business card for Luigi, the restaurant manager, a no-nonsense Italian man with gelled-back hair and heavy musky aftershave who’d been very keen on sharing his advice on the best places to visit in Rome when I’d told him about our Italian tours. Five minutes later and I’d bagged us a table for three at nine p.m. tonight. Bingo. Maybe I could pull this back after all.

Disillusion (n.) A freeing or a being freed from illusion

‘It’s very fancy, isn’t it?’ my mum exclaimed, picking up the creamy porcelain salt and pepper pots from the starched linen tablecloth. ‘But, weren’t we meant to be at that French place? Viv always goes on about it since her son Adam took her when he visited from London that one time. I swear I’ve heard more about the bloody crème brûlée they serve than I have about Viv’s sciatic nerves, and trust me, she never shuts up about them.’

‘It did sound pretty good though. The pudding, not Viv’s backache,’ my dad chimed in before clocking my face.

‘I tried to get us in there, but it was fully booked,’ I apologised, ignoring my mum pursing her lips that Adam had managed to get
his
mum in. ‘This place is meant to be really good though. It’s the number one Italian in Manchester, or something like that.’

‘Hmmm,’ my mum said. ‘It’s a little on the poky side.’

‘Or you could say cosy?’ I tried putting a positive spin on the large faux-marble pillar that we were tucked away behind. Luigi had come true on offering us a table; he just hadn’t specified that we would be sardined behind the Roman coliseum next to the toilets. The comforting garlic and rosemary smell of the busy restaurant was sliced by regular wafts of strong bleach every time the door opened.

‘Well I think it’s great and makes a change from watching the evening news as I tuck into your mum’s famous corned-beef hash.’ My dad chuckled. After ordering from a harassed-looking waitress, who’d obviously forgotten about us judging by the look on her shiny red face, we tucked into the free, salty breadsticks.

‘So, you’ve come straight from work, Georgia?’ My mum nodded at what I was wearing: my creased work skirt, two-day-old blouse that now had both an ink stain and a coffee stain on the cuff and my Kelli-inspired, emo make-up.

‘Yeah, sorry. I’d planned to go home first but I –’

‘You were running late,’ she butted in, and then sighed. ‘Well it’s so nice to finally get to have a proper catch-up with you. Although, I have to say, you are looking a little peaky, love.’

‘I, erm, tried out a new make-up look today; don’t think I’ll be doing it again,’ I said, brushing crumbs from my lap. ‘So anyway, happy birthday, Dad.’ I raised my glass of Chianti and pecked him on the cheek, smelling his familiar scent of clean linen and tomato plants. ‘Your present’s in the post,’ I lied. Well, half lied. As soon as I got home I’d order something super-duper online to be delivered as soon as possible.

‘Seeing you is the only gift I need.’ He ruffled my hair. ‘Now tell us everything. It’s been ages since we’ve seen you, pet; how’s it all going? You’re not working too hard I hope?’

‘Well, you know the first year of any new business is always a little tough, but we’re fighting our corner of the travel market and even making a small profit.’ I winked, feeling a warm glow inside of me. This was why I worked my bloody socks off: to get results.

‘That’s excellent news.’ My dad grinned and chinked his glass to mine.

‘What about outside of work? Any men on the scene we should know about? I always thought you and Ben would make such a lovely couple. With your intelligence and his dark brown eyes the children would be like genius supermodels.’

‘Mum!’ I hurriedly wiped the dribble of crimson wine from my chin.

‘What?’ She innocently shrugged. ‘Don’t be so busy working that you forget to have fun, Georgia.’

‘I do have fun.’ I half pouted, ignoring her as well as trying not to gag at the smell trailing an overweight man who’d just squeezed past us coming out of the toilets. ‘I’m having fun right now.’

‘Coming out tonight for your dad’s birthday doesn’t count. It’s not like you’re going to meet the man of your dreams in here,’ my mum tutted.

‘I have to say I agree, pet.’ My dad jerked his head to the male bogs before laughing.

‘I haven’t got time for all that at the moment.’ I wafted my hands around, wishing the waitress would hurry up with our mains and take the attention away from what a failure I was in every area other than my career. No way did I want my feelings about Ben bubbling to the surface, not when I’d tried so hard over the last few months to keep them neatly locked in a box marked
do not open.

‘Hmm, well we’re worried about you, that’s all,’ my mum said, gently placing a hand on mine. ‘When you came back from your travels you were so fired up about this business idea and it is great it’s working so well. Really it is.’ She sighed. ‘But, Georgia, you need to be careful it isn’t taking up
all
of your time.’

I pulled my hand away, took a big gulp of wine, and smiled at her. ‘I told you I’m fine.’

My mum kept her eye on me and raised an eyebrow before slowly nodding. ‘So, how’s Marie? And little Cole? It’s been ages since we’ve seen him; I bet he’s growing up so fast.’

‘They’re fine …’ I said, thinking about my best friend and her son. ‘I’ve not seen them for a while but you know how it is, she’s doing her thing and I’m doing mine. I’ll give her a call soon.’

‘Well when you do please say that your dad and I said hi.’

‘I will, I promise. So how have you spent the rest of your birthday? Get any nice presents?’ I asked my dad, wanting to change the conversation and quickly. There was something about being around my parents that made me revert to being a sulky teenager, not wanting to talk about boys – or at least this one boy in particular.

‘Well yes. Your mother here outdid herself this year with this top-of-the-range digital radio.’ The laughter lines around my dad’s eyes crinkled as he spoke. ‘You should see it, Georgie. I can tune into radio shows I never even knew existed before. I mean, what will they think of next?’

I was listening to him tell me about how he was listening to a gardening talk show hosted by a man called Wayne in Dorset, when my phone buzzed. ‘Sorry, I need to take this. Hold that thought; I’ll only be a minute.’ I got up, trying not to bang my head on the eaves we were sat under to answer it.

‘Oh right, OK.’ My dad nodded sadly.

I quickly headed outside, walking out of the warm cosy restaurant into the chill of the spring wind so I could hear the caller better. I had completely forgotten I’d scheduled a late call with Dan Milligan, head of sales for the leading travel magazine
Itchy Feet.
I’d been working on trying to secure some advertising space with them as I’d noticed
all our competitors had super-snazzy, full-paged ads and whatever they could do we could do better.

‘Evening. Georgia Green speaking,’ I said in my poshest phone voice, hoping the fading sound of sirens wouldn’t be too noticeable.

‘Hey, Georgia, Dan here. I wanted to give you a call ‘cause, as you know, today’s the last day for advertisers to bag space in the next issue. I’ve got a cracking deal that I may be able to sort out for you.’

He then launched into a rehearsed sales pitch covering readership numbers and other figures I didn’t fully understand but that sounded impressive before taking a dramatic pause.

‘So … as we’re really keen to include up-and-coming tour operators in the mag, keep it fresh and bang up to date you know, we could do you a half- or full-page ad for …’ he paused again ‘… forty per cent less than the usual price.’

‘Wow, that’s a lot less than I’d expected.’ I coughed in surprise.

He let out a cheesy, game-show-host-style laugh. ‘The thing is, I can offer it to you at this price as we are literally down to the wire, meaning I will need that information, like, pronto. It has to get off to the printers ASAP, if you know what I mean?’

‘Tonight? It can’t wait until tomorrow?’ I glanced at my watch. I’d have to leave my dad’s birthday dinner to rush back and quickly knock something up. Plus it would mean not running this past Ben first. Surely they could wait until tomorrow morning?

‘No can do. I’m already stalling things ‘cause I wanted to offer this heavily discounted rate to you. We’re basically giving this away!’

I stayed silent thinking it through; even with the cheaper price it was still a huge chunk of our advertising budget.

Dan must have sensed my apprehension. ‘You know, I do have Totally Awesome Adventours waiting to hear from me too. I wanted to offer you first refusal but I know as soon as I get off the phone to you they’ll snap this offer up.’

Usually Ben was in charge of the advertising budget but this was too good a deal to resist; I’d have to apologise to my dad but I was sure he’d understand. I took a deep breath.

‘Yeah, great, let’s go for it. Count us in.’

‘Excellent. Let me make some calls and I’ll bell you back to confirm. Once that’s done then I’ll need your copy in the next hour.’

‘You have my word.’ I smiled to myself and hung up.

I’d lost track of time. My arms were covered in goosebumps and my teeth were chattering, but I’d managed to bag us a full-page coloured ad in the next issue. I couldn’t wait to tell Ben. OK, so he may go a little mental at how much of the advertising budget I’d just blown in the space of five minutes, but I was convinced it was the right thing to do.

Things were really taking off with Lonely Hearts Travels, our bespoke travel tours designed to help broken-hearted singles go from lost to wanderlust with like-minded people. Since we launched back in November I’d lived, eaten and slept the business, desperate for it to become a success and amazingly it seemed to be working. I rubbed my arms and headed back into the restaurant.

‘I’m so sorry. That took longer than I thought …’ I faded out once I took in my mum’s pissed-off, tight face and my dad’s disappointed, creased forehead. Their dinner plates were empty whilst my spaghetti carbonara had congealed into a disgusting buttercup-yellow sticky mound.

‘We couldn’t wait any longer.’ My mum pursed her lips.

‘Oh, right – course. Sorry,’ I mumbled, trying to get my fork into the dried-out sauce, after scraping a layer of skin
off the top. I couldn’t stomach it so pushed the plate away. ‘So, tell me what else you got for your birthday,’ I said to my dad who was struggling to make eye contact with me.

‘Well, the lads down the local clubbed together and bought me a new –’

The sound of my ringtone cut him off. ‘Sorry.’ I winced. ‘I won’t be long.’ I picked up my mobile and headed back outside once more.

‘Georgia!’ Dan said cheerfully on the other end. ‘You’ve got yourself a deal!’

‘Wow, erm, great.’ Was it strange that a slight nugget of worry was dancing in my stomach? No, this was too good to let pass, especially not to those Totally Awesome Adventours bastards.

‘The only thing is I’ll need your copy in, like, the next hour or so. That going to be a problem?’

I shook my head. ‘Nope. I’ll get onto it right away.’

I hung up and was just about to go back inside, working out how quickly I could get away and back to my office, when the main door of the restaurant opened and out came my parents, wrapped up in their winter coats.

‘Mum, Dad? Where are you going?’ I called out and jogged over to them. ‘We’ve not had dessert yet,’ I said, rubbing my arms for warmth.

‘Georgia. We’re going home. We came here to see you, not to sit staring at an empty third chair and being gassed by strange men’s farts,’ my mum snapped. ‘Have you forgotten it’s your dad’s birthday? That all he wanted was to see you and spend some family time together?’

Even though I did need to be making a move myself I didn’t want tonight to end like this. My stomach dropped and my cheeks grew flushed. ‘I told you I was sorry; I’m just caught up in the middle of something that I needed to get sorted. But it’s done now. I’ve managed to get us into
Itchy Feet
; you know that magazine I mentioned a few weeks ago?’

My dad cleared his throat before giving me a weak smile. ‘That’s nice, love. Sorry to be a party pooper but I’m just feeling a little tired – you know how it is getting older and all that. Another time?’

I nodded and bit my lip. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Georgia, it’s late. Let’s just call it a night. You can get back to your work and we’ll see you soon,’ my mum said, fastening up her coat before giving me a peck on the cheek.

‘Well call me soon! Oh and happy birthday, Dad,’ I called out behind them.

I was about to head back inside the restaurant to grab my jacket and pay the bill when I heard my mum talking to my dad in a not very hushed whisper. ‘Also, have you seen how tired she looks? I swear owning this business is getting too much for her.’

‘I think she just needs a good sleep and a little TLC, Sheila,’ my dad replied.

‘Hmm, I hope you’re right. It’s not normal how hard she is pushing herself, trying to prove something that doesn’t need to be proved. I’m worried about her – that’s all, Len.’

‘I know you are, we both are but she’ll be OK. She’ll figure it out. She’s a Green after all.’

I trudged into the restaurant. Did
everyone
think I was a complete failure? I was doing fine. More than fine.