Destination India by Katy Colins Page B

seamless as possible, including looking into getting an extra pair of hands to help Ben and Kelli out whilst I was gone. Ben had said that they would be fine but I wasn’t a hundred per cent convinced so thought it would be better if I hired a temp just in case. Ben would thank me; I was sure of it.
    The only problem was that out of the many applicants the local temp agency had emailed over, hardly any seemed suitable. I had made two piles – one of potentials and one of absolute no-nos but I needed to get someone lined up soonish.
    ‘Ah, I see. Well hopefully we’ll be in and out before you know it.’ She smiled. ‘So, how are things? No regrets?’
    ‘No regrets. Apart from I’m never drinking rum again.’ I noticed that buff Bollywood guy had suddenly become engrossed in his phone, thankfully.
    Shelley pulled a face. ‘Me neither. So, how was Ben? Did he mind that you’ve booked this trip? He must bepleased that you’re taking the initiative in sorting out these negative reviews?’
    I hadn’t had time to call her properly since he’d found out. ‘Let’s just say he wasn’t super impressed with my spontaneous decision to go all undercover boss in India. He was more disappointed that I hadn’t mentioned this idea to him first.’
    ‘Oh. Bugger.’ I nodded in agreement. ‘Hey, don’t worry. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. Plus, when he realises that this idea was brilliant and we are a pair of masterminds I’m sure he’ll change his mind.’
    ‘I hope so.’ I smiled sadly.
    Suddenly a small pathetic cheer broke out as the doors were finally opened and the throng of people gently pushed forward and filed in. The visa office was as drab on the inside as it was on the outside. A table propped up with a wedge of yellowing newspaper under one wonky leg held leaflets and biro pens tied on with scratty pieces of string to stop anyone from stealing them. Three musky pink coloured counters stood at the back of the cold room and tired-looking employees plodded around putting out plastic chairs for customers to sit on.
    I took a ticket, like at the delicatessen counter in Tesco, and waited our turn, far away from smug Mr India know-it-all, tapping my feet impatiently and hoping they would hurry up and call our number.
    ‘I still can’t believe we’re going to India,’ I said nodding at the large, albeit tatty, poster of the Taj Mahal on the wall opposite.
    ‘I know! It’s going to be amazing.’ Shelley grinned.
    ‘How was Jimmy about it? Not going to be pining for you for too long?’ I teased.
    ‘Probably.’ She let out a throaty laugh. ‘Like I said, absence makes the heart grow fonder.’
    ‘Number thirty-two,’ a robotic voice buzzed over the intercom.
    ‘That’s us!’ I jumped up out of my seat and we rushed over to the booth where a middle-aged woman with thick glasses looked at us expectantly. ‘Hi, we need to get visas for India, please.’ I slid our passports under the grubby glass screen and checked my watch.
    ‘You got your forms?’ Glasses Lady asked in a bored, nasally tone.
    I jerked my head up to face hers. ‘Forms?’
    She rolled her eyes. ‘Your forms – we need them to process your application.’ She sighed. ‘All this information
was
on our website.’
    Bloody hell.
    With our customers we simply put them in touch with Sanjay’s visa services and he got on with sorting that aspect out. I didn’t know that there were forms involved.
    ‘Erm, no, we don’t have any forms.’
    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