Minnie let out a weary sigh. ‘Can’t we just stay here, live in hammocks and drink coconuts for ever?’
‘I don’t think Islington Council would let me work remotely. I doubt the vulnerable members of the community I look after would appreciate chatting to their case worker over Skype, from a beach. It doesn’t send the right message.’
Minnie laughed, twiddling a crunchy curl of hair between her finger and thumb.
‘You never know. I just have this real Sunday-night back-to-school feeling, don’t you? In seventy-two hours we’ll both be back at work, you with Admin Pain Elaine and me with Pervy Pete and his stinky feet.’
‘Seriously though,’ said Leila, ‘how did these people get to be in charge? I see so many people desperate to work who just can’t get a break, but we live in a world where Pervy Pete and Admin Pain Elaine are the gatekeepers.’
‘Well, when you’re running the show I’ll expect to see it staffed by a wonderful array of waifs and strays – a chaotic, shambolic utopia.’
Leila laughed. ‘That’s the manifesto I’ll be running with.’
Minnie looked out to sea. Three local men in a blue fishing boat were bobbing up and down on the turquoise waves. One pulled the choke on the engine, and with an unhealthy-sounding roar it spluttered into life, emitting a cloud of black smoke as the boat chugged off towards the horizon.
Coming to India for Christmas had been Leila’s idea. She’d convinced Minnie there was nothing like a holiday to help you get over a bad break-up. Minnie had only left the UK once before, to Alicante on a package tour; the one year her parents had felt they could afford a family holiday. India was another world compared to Spain, and certainly compared to the cold, grey winter of home. Stepping off the aeroplane was a sensory awakening, like seeing the world in Technicolor for the first time.
There was something magical about being away with your best friend in a foreign land. She and Leila had discovered their new favourite food together (spicy samosas), laughed so hard they could hardly breathe as they careered around corners in speeding tuk-tuks, and had lain on the beach side by side, tearing husks from coconuts and telling their dreams to the stars.
Though it had been an unforgettable ten days, it was the first time either of them had been away from their families for Christmas, and they’d both found it strange not having turkey or a tree. They had brought a few tokens of festive familiarity with them. They’d packed miniature stockings for each other and opened them on the beach on Christmas morning with their bare feet buried in the sand. They wore cheap Christmas hats on their heads and ate melted Terry’s Chocolate Oranges for breakfast. Leila gave Minnie some beautiful emerald earrings and a chef’s hat with the words ‘Minnie’s Pies’ embroidered on the front.
‘For when you have your own pie business,’ she said, nudging Minnie with an elbow.
A lump formed in Minnie’s throat. Running her own catering business was something she’d often daydream about. She’d only ever mentioned the idea to Leila once, when she was drunk – she was amazed Leila even remembered the conversation.
Minnie scratched her leg irritably. Little red welts had erupted all over her skin.
‘I think I’m allergic to that suncream you lent me, Leils.’
Leila’s head popped up over the side of Minnie’s hammock; her bright green hair had gone wild in the humidity and the fake tan on her face had come out a little too orange – she looked like an unhinged Oompa-Loompa. Minnie jolted in surprise, sloshing coconut water down her front.
‘Don’t creep up on me like that,’ she cried, brushing water off her kaftan.
‘Your little friend is back,’ said Leila, raising her eyes skyward while pointing an accusatory finger down at the dog standing next to her in the sand.
‘Fleabag dog!’ cried Minnie, leaping down from the hammock to greet him.
The dog launched himself at Minnie and started licking her face. Fleabag dog was a mangy-looking grey and white stray with a stumpy tail and a limp. He had been following the girls around all week. Minnie had become fond of his friendly little face and given him a few fish scraps on their first night in the beach hut. As a result of her kindness, he’d been following them around like a little dog-shaped shadow.
‘Don’t let him lick you,’ said Leila, grimacing.
‘Poor thing,’ said Minnie, giving him an affectionate rub on the head. ‘It’s like he knows we’re leaving and he’s come to say goodbye.’
‘You’re only going to make life harder for him when we leave. Where is he going to get food from now?’ said Leila.
‘He’ll be OK, look at him – who could resist that face?’ Minnie nuzzled her face against the dog’s nose.
‘Minnie, I don’t think that rash is a suncream allergy, I think it’s flea bites,’ Leila said, holding up both hands in disgust.
‘Do you think?’
‘Well, if you will insist on having a holiday romance with Fleabag dog.’
‘That’s only a silly nickname – you don’t think he really has fleas, do you?’ Minnie asked in alarm.
‘Yes. I think you both do. Bags not sitting next to you on the plane.’
At the airport Minnie began to sweat as soon as they got out of the taxi. She repeatedly kept checking she had her passport, her wallet and her luggage, convinced one or all of them would be stolen at any moment.
‘Relax, Miss Paranoia. You’re only going to draw attention to where your wallet is if you keep checking it like that,’ said Leila.
The air in the terminal building was cool compared to the humidity outside. In the sprawling modern concourse, there were queues everywhere: queues to check in luggage, queues to have your bags wrapped in cellophane, queues snaking around the building going – apparently – nowhere.
‘Ooh there’s a Cafechino! Do you want a coffee or one of those yummy spicy samosas?’ asked Leila, nodding her head towards a café near the entrance.
‘I’m not eating anything until I get home, I’m not tempting fate,’ said Minnie, shaking her head and pinching her lips tight shut.
At baggage security, Minnie was still sweating and scratching her arms furiously.
Leila handed her a tissue. ‘Don’t look so guilty, Minnie, or they’ll take you for a full cavity search,’ she hissed.
As Minnie’s bag went through the security scanner, the man sitting behind the screen eyed Minnie suspiciously. He had a neat brown moustache and dark hair combed into an arrow-straight side parting. His blue uniform was crisp and starched; his eyes darted between Minnie and the screen in front of him. He motioned to a colleague, pointed at the screen and then at Minnie.
‘Miss, is this your bag?’ said a tall, thinner man with old-fashioned spectacles and a more wrinkled uniform. He beckoned Minnie through to the other side of the conveyor belt.
‘Yes,’ Minnie said with a resigned little nod.
Of course someone had hidden drugs in her bag and now she was going to rot in an Indian prison for the next twenty years. It was all too predictable.
‘Please come, miss,’ said the taller man, beckoning her.
She followed him through to a small room, while the shorter man carried her black suitcase behind them. Minnie looked around for Leila who shook her head and held up her hands in an overblown shrug.