The Love Detective Read Online Free PDF Page B

embroidered pink kaftan and a pair of brightly patterned silk harem trousers. Next to me in my head-to-toe black combo she’s like an explosion of colour.
    ‘Wicked!’ she grins back, her teeth looking super-white against her suntan. ‘How are you Rubes?’ She jumps around exuberantly.
    ‘A bit jetlagged,’ I reply, feeling like her ancient, ashen-faced big sister. It’s times like these I think there are more than just ten years between me and Amy; it’s like we don’t even speak the same language.
    ‘Well no worries, we can get a tuk-tuk and head straight back.’ Grabbing my suitcase she starts negotiating her way through the crowd.
    ‘A tuk-tuk? ’ I repeat uncertainly.
    But she’s already sped ahead in her flip-flops. I hurry after her, sweating profusely in my boots and leggings as she charges towards the busy road.
    ‘Be careful!’ I shriek, as she steps into the melee of traffic and starts waving her arms around. ‘You’ll get knocked down . . .’
    Oh god. I’ve been here five minutes and I’ve already turned into Mum.
    As a brightly coloured rickshaw comes hurtling towards her, I have to cover my eyes.
    ‘Here we are!’ she says cheerfully, and I open them with relief to see that yes, I still have a sister and no, she’s not squashed in the middle of the road, but is instead shoving my bag into the back seat. ‘Hey, are you all right?’ She glances at me, curiously. ‘You look worried.’
    ‘Of course I’m not worried,’ I protest.
    Which of course is a total lie. I’m always worried when I’m with my little sister. The two go together. Like PMT and chocolate.
    ‘I’m just a little nervous . . .’ I stare at the tuk-tuk, which is belching out exhaust fumes with a deafening noise. It’s basically a scooter with a sidecar perched on top and has no doors or seatbelts. ‘Is it safe?’ I ask warily.
    ‘Of course it’s not safe,’ she laughs. ‘This is India! Come on, get in!’
    I falter, then, putting aside my fears, I start trying to shoehorn my hand luggage into the back. Only, whilst my Samsonite carry-on might have been made to fit into the plane’s overhead lockers, the designers obviously haven’t given thought to the space in a tuk-tuk.
    ‘Damn, it won’t fit, we’ll have to get a cab instead,’ I say regretfully, whilst feeling secretly thrilled by the prospect. I take back my earlier David Attenborough fears. An air-conditioned cab seems like a much better option.
    But I hadn’t bargained on the driver’s determination not to lose a fare. Before I know it, he’s jumped out of the front seat and is shoving my luggage on the roof.
    ‘Is it going to be OK on there?’ I ask, somewhat anxiously, as he ties it on with a bit of string.
    ‘No problem,’ he beams, shooting me a blindingly white smile and swinging back behind the wheel. He motions for me to get in.
    ‘Because there are a few breakables,’ I continue, clambering onto the back seat behind my sister, who’s already hopped inside with the ease of someone for whom climbing into a tuk-tuk is now like jumping on a bus, ‘and I’m just a bit concerned—’
    The driver slams his foot on the gas and I’m catapulted forwards as the tuk-tuk accelerates off.
    ‘Ouch . . . oomf . . . sorry,’ I jabber, bashing my leg as I lose my balance and crash headfirst onto my sister’s lap.
    ‘Will you stop worrying!’ laughs Amy, as I resurface. ‘You’re on holiday!’
    ‘I know I’m on holiday,’ I nod, lurching onto the back seat and clinging on for dear life as we career around a corner. ‘It’s just . . . you know me . . . I don’t want my camera to break . . .’
    ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t have insurance?’ Amy gives a little snort of disbelief.
    I colour. I’m renowned for being prudent. I have insurance for insurance.
    ‘I’m just being careful, that’s all,’ I say, a little stiffly. ‘If you were a bit more careful, I wouldn’t always be having to . . . ow !’ We