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bounce over a pothole and hit our heads. I hear my luggage bang up and down on the roof.
    Amy stifles a giggle. ‘Well anyway, you’re going to be too busy doing yoga to be worrying about anything for a week,’ she replies.
    ‘Oh I don’t think so.’ Now it’s my turn to laugh. ‘I’m terrible at yoga. You know me, I can’t even touch my toes.’
    ‘You will be able to after a week at Rising Bliss, it’s one of the best yoga retreats in Goa.’
    ‘A yoga retreat?’’ My laughter trails off and I peer at her uncertainly. ‘But I thought we were staying in a resort.’
    ‘Resort, retreat, what’s the difference?’ She gives a tinkly little laugh and for the first time I notice something glinting underneath her fringe.
    ‘What’s that?’ I ask, pointing to a little sparkly thing between her eyebrows.
    ‘My bindi,’ she shrugs nonchalantly.
    ‘Your bindi?’ This, from a girl who left Heathrow six months ago wearing skinny jeans and a Scouse brow and with her beloved hair straighteners carefully packed in her hand luggage.
    ‘I can get you one if you like,’ she offers.
    ‘Thanks, but I don’t think it would suit me.’
    ‘You need to chill out a bit, Rubes, let go of your negativity, open your chakras.’
    Oh god help us, my little sister’s gone all hippy on me.
    ‘My chakras are already open, thanks very much,’ I say, a little huffily.
    ‘Wait till you meet Shine, he’ll sort you out.’
    ‘Who’s Shine?’ I ask. ‘And, by the way, I don’t need sorting out .’
    ‘He’s the yoga instructor. He’s amazing,’ she gushes, going all limp-eyed.
    ‘Oh-oh, someone’s got a crush,’ I tease, in big sisterly fashion.
    But now it’s her turn to get all tetchy. ‘Don’t be a teenager,’ she says huffily, and changes the subject. ‘So how are Mum and Dad?’
    ‘Good, they’re driving down to France next week with the caravan,’ I nod, remembering the conversation I’d had with them at Heathrow this morning. Well, I call it a conversation, but it was mostly Mum running through a list of all the terrible things that can happen in India, from rabid dog attacks to tourists having their kidneys stolen. It ended with her saying if I needed a holiday, why didn’t I go with them to Brittany instead? Thankfully my flight started boarding and I was saved from answering. ‘It’s their anniversary at the end of the month,’ I add. ‘Thirty-five years. They’re going out for dinner with a few friends, I said we’d join them.’
    I’m expecting Amy to be all enthusiastic – being the baby of the family, she’s close to our parents. But instead she seems to hesitate.
    ‘Um . . . well, I’m not sure when I’m flying back . . . I can’t remember the date . . .’
    This is nothing new; despite Amy being able to carbon date a three-thousand-year-old Egyptian mummy with ease, when it comes to the modern day, she’s useless with dates. I’m always having to remind her of birthdays and anniversaries and even then she forgets and I end up signing her name on all my cards.
    ‘It’s next Saturday, I checked with Mum, she’s got your flight details.’
    ‘Oh . . . right, of course.’
    ‘I’ve booked myself on the same return flight as you, so we can travel together,’ I say cheerfully. ‘I got the last seat so I was really lucky.’
    ‘You did?’ replies Amy, but she doesn’t look as pleased as I’d expected. In fact, if I didn’t know her better, I’d think something was troubling her.
    But this is Amy we’re talking about. Nothing ever troubles her and, as if to prove me right, her face quickly relaxes back into her characteristic grin.
    ‘Brill,’ she enthuses, ‘Can’t wait!’

Chapter 5
    Oh god. Are we nearly there yet?
    We’ve been on our way now for about forty-five minutes, bumping along narrow dusty roads through towns and villages, narrowly avoiding wild pigs, goats, stray dogs, even people. And I’m not liking this. I’m really not liking it at all.
    Oh, who