because her dad owns the Bombay stock exchange or some other crap like that. He’s not letting me go home until I’ve said yes.’
‘Jesus! What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve said yes already. There’s nothing I can do about it. I said yes, then I pissed off.’
‘With your uncle’s money.’
‘Right. It’s the least I deserve. Look – d’you want to come with me? I’ll pay for your room. We can have a laugh. If you buy some clothes, eat a bit of decent food and have a shave, you’ll look reasonably presentable. We could do pretty well, me and you. My cousin’s told me about this excellent hotel where all the loosest women go. What d’you reckon?’
‘What?’
‘Do you want to come?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Course I am. Are you on for it?’
‘Er… why not? Sounds like a laugh.’
‘Cool. I’ll send a boy to get train tickets, you go for a shave, and I’ll meet you back here later.’
‘All right. You sharing my room, then?’
‘Thanks, but no thanks. Sick rooms aren’t really my scene.’
The journey to Trivandrum took ages, but Ranj bought a couple of water-melons, a bag of mangos, several bunches of bananas, a kilo of mixed nuts and an endless supply of Bombay Mix, all of which went a considerable way to helping the time pass. We shared our compartment with a family who were carrying even more food than Ranj, and with everything getting passed around, the whole thing felt more like a banquet than a journey. No one in the family spoke any English, and Ranj couldn’t communicate with them either due to some problem with dialects, but this didn’t seem to stop them from wanting us to consume vast quantities of their food.
I had to go easy on the fruit, for obvious reasons, but there were plenty of other things to eat, most of which I stuffed down with glee. The sheer relief of finding myself back on the road without being alone had brought about a sudden return to full appetite.
For the first time since Manali, I was properly happy.
From Trivandrum, we got a bus to Kovalam. On the way, Ranj started reading aloud from his copy of The Book.
‘What do you think of this? “The most luxurious place to stay is the Kovalam Ashok Beach Resort, on the headland just above the bus terminal. Studio rooms and cottages are Rs 550 single and Rs 650 double. The hotel has every facility you would expect, including air-conditioning, swimming pool, bar, crafts shop and boats for hire. Beautiful place blah blah blah facilities for yoga, ayurvedic massage, golf, tennis, blah blah etc.” What d’you reckon?’
‘Six hundred and fifty rupees? Are you mad?’
‘I’m not getting a double. How are we going to get the shags in if we’re in a double? We’re talking five fifty each, man.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Sure.’
‘And you’re paying?’
‘Yup.’
‘Swimming pool and air-conditioning?’
‘Yup.’
‘
‘Yup.’
‘Let’s have a look.’
‘Nope.’
And with that, he threw his Book out of the bus window.
‘What… what are you doing?’
‘We don’t need that any more. We’re on holiday now.’
‘But… but… How are we…?’
‘Calm down, man. It’s only a book.’
‘But…’
I was in shock. The blood had drained from my face.
‘Relax. I haven’t thrown away your copy.’
‘But…’
‘I’m saving that to wipe my arse on.’
‘Jesus! You’ve gone mad!’
‘You’re acting like I’ve killed someone.’
‘You have. Not literally. I mean, how… if you don’t have The Book, then you don’t know where all the other travellers are. How do you expect to meet up with other travellers?’
‘On the beach, maybe.’
‘But what about…?’
‘Besides, we’re not looking for other travellers. Who wants to get into bed with some dry-pussied uptight middle-class bitch who can’t come and won’t suck cock. I mean, for fuck’s sake. Raise your horizons a bit, man. We are looking for sex-starved divorcees with twenty years of prime shagging experience stored up in their vaginal muscles and a five-year drought which is just begging to be blasted away by the biggest fucking thunderstorm of their whole damn fucking lives!’
He was jiggling around in his seat, slobbering with anticipation.
‘You could have a point. I’ve never done it with an older woman.’
He stared into space, his eyes glazed over, and mumbled to himself, ‘Jesus Christ! This is going to be fantastic’
South London was clearly a randy place.
The hotel was initially reluctant to let me in, and only when Ranj had displayed a wad of cash would they give me a room.
A porter took my rucksack and tried to carry it like a suitcase. This made it almost impossible for him to walk, which Ranj and I found particularly funny, but he just about managed to usher us into a lift and show us upstairs.
A lift! This was incredible. And my room was amazing. I had got used to the idea of a hotel room having grey concrete walls, a stone floor and a rock-hard bed, but this one had a proper bed like in England, a carpet, a balcony overlooking the sea, and even some furniture! It was a single room, but the bed, I noticed, was more than wide enough for two. And there was an
The water turned grey almost as soon as I had sat in it, so I drained the bath without getting out and ran a fresh one. Having soaked off most of the grime, I met up with Ranj in the lobby. He immediately took me out in a taxi to buy ‘some decent clothes’. Since he was paying, I didn’t really feel I could argue with his taste, and I ended up wearing a Hawaiian shirt, a pair of lemon-yellow shorts, and blue deck-shoes. He also made me buy evening wear, which consisted of three shirts (all lurid, made of shiny polyester and strangely tight under the armpits), and
