Love You Dead

61 Wednesday 4 March

Morning broke to a milky-white vista of the bay of Mumbai. Jodie leaned on the deck rail, yawning. She’d risen early, kept awake most of the night by her husband snoring like a warthog. But she hadn’t wanted to wake him. Hey, he might as well enjoy his last few days, she thought. But not out of any kind of altruism.

She didn’t want to do anything that might arouse his suspicions.

Dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt, lightweight jeans and plimsolls, holding a mug of coffee, she savoured the warm, humid morning air, and the glorious sight of the Gateway of India monument on the waterfront looming ever closer. The mass of skyscrapers. The long, curved bridge with what looked like a sail in the middle.

Men in small fishing boats waving at them.

She waved back.

Three hours later the minibus moved in short, stop-start jerks through the almost solid wedge of Mumbai morning traffic, and the constant blare of horns. Pulling a shawl round her against the freezing air-conditioning, she dozily watched a man pulling a trailer loaded with canisters worm past them, then leaning against Rollo, who was photographing everything in sight — which was mostly just buses, lorries, mopeds and bicycles — she fell asleep. When she woke up, the minibus was still crawling through the same din of horns in the same heavy traffic. Tall, shabby, white colonial-looking buildings were all around them.

‘Amazing city, isn’t it, my angel?’ he asked.

‘Amazing.’

She dozed on and off again and finally felt their speed picking up. She was next woken by the sensation of the minibus slowing. Through the window she saw a sign.

Moments later they entered a lush forest.

The smartly dressed cruise-ship shore guide, Deepak, speaking loudly, told them that if they were lucky they would see an array of birds, including the Blue Flycatcher and the Maribar Whistling Thrush. He went on to list all the other birds they might see then added that if they were really lucky they might spot a tiger.

She didn’t give a fuck about any of the birds. That was not why she had wanted to come here.

The reason was in the right-hand pocket of her trousers.

Finally the bus stopped and their cruise guide told them they could leave any of their belongings in the vehicle, they would be quite safe. Jodie put on her sunglasses and straw hat, and as she stepped down they were surrounded by a shouting horde of people, many of them kids, holding up plastic crocodiles, photographs of Mumbai, models of the Taj Mahal and a plethora of other tourist tat.

Ignoring them, holding Rollo’s hand to help him down, she was already starting to perspire in the steamy late-morning heat, beneath a fierce sun. Wearing a floppy white hat of the kind favoured by cricket umpires, a linen shirt, bright blue slacks and sandals, a paparazzi-sized camera slung round his neck, and blinking at the light and the surrounding mob, Rollo looked every inch the tourist — and, in this debilitating heat, as if he had aged ten years since leaving the sanctuary of the ship.

Deepak shepherded them past a long queue filing towards a ticket gate that looked like a miniature temple, to a separate entrance where he introduced them to another guide, a smiling Indian in a white kurta, and a set of teeth that looked like they had been borrowed from his grandfather. He held up a bunch of tickets in one hand and a paddle in the other on which was written the words ‘Organza VIPS’ and shouted a greeting at them all.

‘Hello, I am Prakash, your crocodile farm guide! We are going to visit the crocodiles. Everyone OK with crocodiles?’

The group of ten Organza passengers — all elderly apart from Jodie — gave half-hearted smiles.

‘You do not need to worry. These are man-eaters, but we feed them on plenty of chickens, so they are not very hungry. I am guide here for fifteen years — and in all my time, we have not had one visitor eaten — yet! This is my guarantee to you — if you are eaten, then you get full refund of your ticket! Yes, fair?’

‘Very fair!’ an old lady shouted back.

Several of them laughed. Nervously.

‘OK, so now follow me — in crocodile formation, yes! Please be keeping close together. Safety in numbers!’

Jodie stopped to fiddle with the laces of her trainers, as the rest of the group filed off, obediently, in crocodile formation. Rollo waited patiently, then they followed on a short distance behind.

‘Maybe we should catch them up, my love,’ he said, sounding a little uneasy.

‘I hate organized groups,’ she said.

They maintained a steady pace, some thirty or so yards behind the rest of the pack. After ten minutes they reached the start of a forest, bordered, on one side, by a wide, swamp-like lake. A small crocodile lay basking in the sun just a few yards from the path. In the water she could see a pair of eyes above a ripple.

‘They give me the heebie-jeebies, these things,’ Rollo said.

‘I think they’re beautiful, darling! Take a photo of me beside this one.’ She stopped and stepped back until she was just inches from the basking reptile.

‘My love,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it. Do you know how they kill their prey? They pull them into the water and drown them, and then keep them underwater, in what is their larder, to tenderize the meat for a few days before eating them.’

‘These are all fed — Prakash told us!’

Looking dubious, he removed the camera from round his neck, focused it on her and snapped away, quickly. ‘OK, let’s move on!’

The rest of the group had almost disappeared from sight. They continued along a narrowing mud-baked path, with forest and murky swamp to their left and the open water, filled as far as they could see with more and more crocodiles, to their right.

‘Don’t you think there’s something magical about them, darling?’ she asked, slipping her hand into her trouser pocket. She had practised the movements several times, to make sure she had it absolutely right.

‘No, I don’t. I think they’re hideous and scary. And they can outrun humans.’

They walked on a few paces, the forest thickening to their left. Then suddenly she stumbled and fell over, crying out in pain, and lay, face down in the undergrowth. ‘Owwww!’ she cried out. ‘I’ve bashed my bloody knee.’

‘Jodie!’ he said. ‘My poor angel!’ He knelt beside her. ‘Here, give me your hand.’

She reached up towards him, then as he began to pull her up, she used a manoeuvre she had learned in a judo lesson some years ago, to pull him, sprawling forward, without him even realizing it was deliberate. As he landed flat on his face she pulled the fang from her pocket and jabbed him in the right ankle with it, then returned it to her pocket.

‘Owww! Shit!’ he cried out. ‘I’ve been stung or bitten by something!’

‘What, my love, what is it?’

‘My ankle! Shit!’

‘Which ankle?’ She helped him to his feet. ‘Which ankle?’

‘My right one.’

She knelt and pulled up his trouser leg. There was one tiny spot of blood showing. ‘I can’t see anything, my love,’ she said.

‘I felt something! I definitely felt something.’

‘Where?’ She ran her finger across his ankle, wiping away the blood spot. ‘Here?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t see anything.’

‘Hello! Hello! Mr and Mrs White Hat and Straw Hat! Is everything all right?’ the guide called out, anxiously running up to them.

‘Fine!’ she said.

‘Absolutely fine,’ her husband confirmed. ‘I just tripped over.’

‘But was it a nice trip?’ Prakash asked, with a winning smile.

‘Very nice,’ Jodie said.

‘I am always obliged to be at your very best service. Nowhere will you find better trips! Are you in need of any help?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Prakash,’ Rollo said.

‘If you are happy then I am happy!’

‘We’re very happy,’ Jodie said. ‘Couldn’t be happier.’