‘I have other guests to consider. You are ruining the reputation of this establishment.’
‘IT’S A BED! A REAL BED! I HAVE TO SLEEP IN A REAL BED! I’M NEVER GOING TO SLEEP ON ONE OF THOSE WOODEN BOARDS AGAIN! NEVER! NEVERNEVERNEVER! AND THERE’S A CARPET! I NEED THE CARPET!’
‘Get this shrieking harpy out of my hotel.’
Caz chose that moment to wake up. Seeing Fee wail, her face instantly crumpled, and she sat bolt upright, exposing her breasts to the room. She started rocking faster than ever, twisting her hair around one finger and moaning to herself at a disturbingly high pitch.
‘It’s an asylum!’ shrieked the hotel manager.
‘Don’t worry,’ said one of the Swedes. ‘The girls are a little upset. We’ll cheer them up again, and then we can all leave. Don’t worry.’ She put an arm on the manager’s shoulder, causing him to yelp.
The manager, his face a livid red with the pain of not looking at the sublime tits hovering just underneath his chin, wriggled out from under her arm. ‘You have twenty minutes, then I’m calling the police.’
He marched out, suavely tripping over a chair leg on the way and slamming the door behind him.
The same Swedish girl then walked up to the bed, and put her arm around Fee, who was now moaning in competition with Caz. ‘You’re not happy, yes?’
‘I CAN’T GO! I CAN’T! IT’S A PROPER BED!’
The Swede looked at me.
‘They’ve been having a hard time lately,’ I said.
‘Do you want to go home?’ she said.
‘I CAN’T. I CAN’T. I’VE GOT TWO WEEKS LEFT. I CAN’T GIVE UP NOW. I’VE NEARLY FINISHED. I CAN’T GIVE UP NOW.’
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough fun for the moment? You might be happier at home.’
‘BUT I’VE NEARLY FINISHED. I CAN’T GO NOW.’
‘There’s no more beds here now. This is your last one until you go home.’
This set her off again.
‘NOOOO! I CAN’T GET UP! IT’S A PROPER BED.NOOOO!’
‘NOOOOOOO!’ wailed Caz, her first word for more than a month.
‘Well,’ said the Swede, ‘how would you like if we take you into town now? We ring your parents and explain that you are not happy, then we go to a ticket agent and book you to go home, asking that your father pays on a credit card, yes? That way, you will be back in a proper bed before you can think about it. You won’t have to sleep on a hard bed ever again.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Maybe one last night, then you can go straight to a proper bed.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. You two…’ she turned to Ranj and me, who were cowering in the corner, and clicked her fingers at us. ‘Go outside and I’ll make her dressed. What’s her name?’
‘Fee.’
‘And her friend?’
‘Caz.’
‘OK. Now go.’
We stumbled next door while the nubile half-naked Swedes stayed behind to help dress the mad Englishwomen.
In silence, I watched Ranj getting dressed and packed. After a few minutes, the half-naked Swedes ushered in the now fully clothed Fee and Caz, and I went back next door, still in my boxer shorts. In the corridor, I noticed twenty or so chambermaids crowded around the fire exit, staring at me with their eyes on stalks. I shrugged at them and slunk away.
Ranj, who had spent the week practising his uncle’s signature, paid the bill with an elegantly flourished American Express Gold Card. That afternoon, the competent Swede rang Fee and Caz’s parents who, by the sound of things, embarked on nervous breakdowns of their own in England. Fee’s mum took charge and booked flights from the Air India office in London, arranging for us to pick up the tickets at Trivandrum airport.
The earliest flights she could get were for a couple of days later, so we took turns acting as bodyguards. While Fee had taken a major backwards step since the three-in-a-bed episode, Caz seemed to have taken a turn for the better and had progressed from total silence to near-permanent gibbering.
A whole gang of us took them on the bus to Trivandrum airport, picked up their tickets, then let them loose into the departure lounge. The two of them staggered off in worryingly different directions. The chances of them getting on the right plane in Trivandrum seemed slim enough, let alone of changing flights successfully in Bombay, but there was nothing more we could do. Presumably, if you stumble around an international airport for long enough, someone eventually puts you on a plane going in vaguely the right direction.
By this stage I had told Ranj all about the background to Fee and Caz’s breakdowns, a story which sent him into paroxysms of glee. He insisted that I told only an edited version to the Swedes, leaving out enough for Ranj to be able to pose as a master of Intimate Yoga.
He held off until Fee and Caz had left, but on the very day of their flight he let slip a few words about his yogic mastery, and afternoon sessions on the beach soon became a regular part of the day.
All of the Swedes, except for the goalkeeper, turned out to be centred on various parts of the upper inner thigh or extreme lower abdomen.
When the Swedes finally left, Ranj slumped into a depression. By this stage I only had a week left in India, so we agreed that Ranj would go home, apologize and get engaged, while I got the train to Delhi. This journey covered the entire length of the country, and according to The Book took forty-eight hours, which, if I left a spare day for emergencies and three days in Delhi for reconfirming my flight home, meant that I had to get a move on.
Ranj and I took a depressed trip into Trivandrum together, and he headed to the airport to see what flights he could get to the Punjab, while I went to the railway station. Back on the beach, we looked at our little slips of paper as if they were death warrants. Well – he did, anyway. I was actually quite pleased to be going home, even if
