This Time Next Year(15)

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.

‘Can I search the bag?’ said the shorter man politely.

‘Sure,’ said Minnie, ‘be my guest.’

The taller man said something in Konkani. The shorter man neatly piled all of Minnie’s clothes on the bench and then pulled out an oblong box. It was Leila’s birthday present to Minnie, neatly wrapped for tomorrow. Leila had thrown it in Minnie’s bag at the last minute because her own was too stuffed full of pastel-coloured fisherman’s trousers, crochet tops, and all the scented wooden ornaments she kept buying from the beach vendors.