Page 33 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘Of course.’ Meena nodded and showed me through the next door. This room was so narrow that I’d have to walk sideways to pass the bed, but it had a door and a window and I wouldn’t need to use a ladder to get into bed.

‘This is perfect,’ I told her.

‘You can find places to eat in Sanaura village tonight – from tomorrow all your meals will be provided. Breakfast is at seven in the dining hall. The children arrive at eight. Namaste.’

She left me to settle in and I sat down on the bed and unzipped my suitcase. But the floor space was so tiny that once it was open, I realised I’d blocked myself in. I clambered over and slid it under the bed. Then I reached inside, took out my toiletries and arranged them on the small chest of drawers at the end of my bed. I thought wistfully of my triple wardrobe at home, my dressing table and the mirror with the lights around it and my own private bathroom.

But then I also remembered that my cottage despite all its home comforts had felt like an empty shell with the heart ripped out of it, and that for now being in cramped quarters and sharing a bathroom with strangers was easily a better option.

I opened my bedroom door to go in search of the bathroom, and in stalked a scrawny tabby cat.

‘Hello.’ I bent to stroke it, but it dodged my hand and jumped up on the bed. ‘Oh no you don’t, fleabag.’

I lifted it off the bed and it lashed out, scratching my hand.

‘Ouch. It’s like that, is it?’ I set it down in the corridor outside my room and shut the door firmly behind us both.

I opened the bathroom door and screamed as two cockroaches came scuttling out. I glanced downwards, expecting them to be followed by the rest of their army. The coast seemed clear, so I stepped inside. There was no other word for it other than disgusting. It smelled of drains, the tiled floor was slippery, and every square centimetre of space was covered with other people’s toiletries. I resolved to keep my ablutions to a minimum for the next two weeks; the less time I spent in there, the better. I grabbed my bag and headed out of the camp to explore.

The shops were shutting up for the day, but I bought water and fruit and followed a sign to the Rapti river. I passed men cooking spiced meat over charcoal, stalls selling savoury snacks, and people selling bottles of cola and beer straight from coolboxes.

The quay down by the river was lively too. Little boats strained at their moorings and clusters of children fished with pieces of line. A man wearing a nautical hat was trying to sell boat tour tickets to a large family, and a group of young Chinese men were taking it in turns to snap selfies with the setting sun as a backdrop.

I took a seat on an empty bench at the river’s edge and let my senses tune into the new neighbourhood. The gentle slosh of the water, the sulphur scent of the washed-up debris on the riverbank, the soft heat of the dying sun on my skin, an insistent whine from a mosquito … My eyelids fluttered, a wave of weariness reminding me that I’d barely stopped to catch my breath since I’d arrived.

The bench shifted and I opened my eyes to see I’d been joined by an elderly couple. They nodded to me and then, hands interlinked, her head on his shoulder, they gazed out across the water and pointed things out to each other.

A pang of loneliness washed over me.

It had been a while since I gave up dating. How had Brontë put it? Oh yes, I had the saddest love life known to humanity. Charming, although there was more than a grain of truth in it. Seeing her so happy with Harry had made me think about dipping my toe in the dating pool again, but nothing had come of it. Kat said I was too fussy; I preferred to think I had high standards. Maybe now it was time to look for love again. Maybe.

I shook away the thought and stood up, deciding to get back to my accommodation before it got too dark.

There were bars and restaurants on my way, but I wasn’t tempted to stop. I didn’t usually mind dining or drinking alone, but tonight I couldn’t face it. Even the one playing Coldplay and decorated with thousands of pretty fairy lights couldn’t lure me in.

‘Hey, Maggie!’ yelled a voice from somewhere behind me.

I turned to see a group of young people crowded round a table loaded with beer bottles, their faces lit by the lights strung above them.

‘Hey,’ I waved back.

‘Join us!’ shouted one of the boys from the minibus.

I walked towards them, feeling every one of my years. There were about twelve of them, boys and girls. All around Brontë’s age.

‘Thank you, you’re very kind. But I’ve had a long day and I don’t want to cramp your style,’ I said.

‘Babe, you are rocking those jeans,’ said one of the girls, taking her feet off a chair and patting it for me to sit. ‘You’re the stylish one. And look, snap!’ She held up her foot. We were wearing the same Birkenstocks. ‘I’m Izzy, by the way.’

‘Yeah, come on!’ said another girl, waving her beer bottle in the air. ‘We’re swapping stories with the new boys.’

The boys who’d only smiled shyly on the drive here were now full of energy, possibly alcohol-fuelled. One of them looked particularly glassy-eyed.

‘I could have one, I suppose,’ I relented, despite the fact that my pyjamas were calling. ‘What’s everyone having?’

The gang erupted into cheers as I climbed over the wall to join them and caught the eye of a barman.

Two hours later, I’d forgotten about my pyjamas. I was on first-name terms with Krishna the barman, and Izzy had persuaded me to sing ‘Maggie May’ with her on the bar’s rudimentary karaoke machine. Everyone cheered at the end of our terrible duet, and I resumed my seat gratefully.