Chapter 2
CALLUM
I stop at the Pret A Manger by our offices and order the largest coffee they’re legally allowed to sell me. I don’t usually rely so heavily on chemical stimulants, but I’m going to need it today.
Not only is it the first day of me going on one of our longest tours, but I also have to do it with the human equivalent of the Energizer bunny. If the Energizer bunny took uppers.
There’s no other explanation for why the woman is always so enthusiastic.
It was like that on our training trip: our fake group (the trainers) got lost, she laughed with a shake of her head before finding them.
When they pretended to get lost on me, I found them and then stared at them sternly until they said sorry for being careless.
A museum she was supposed to go to was closed, she found an ice cream place nearby that was also historic, and no one complained.
When I ran into that same problem, I stood outside the museum and gave my lecture anyway, bringing up relevant pictures on my tablet so people understood what I was talking about.
Then I made them go to the closest historic site and lectured there, too.
The trainers asked inane questions, and she gave them consideration they were not due by actually answering them with a smile.
I answered their questions with a polite face, but they got no extraneous smiles out of me.
And her attitude has not mellowed in a job that is meant to wear down even the most dedicated person.
Taking the masses across Europe sounds like an ideal job until you get a few tours under your belt and realize that tragically, no one in the group will ever care about medieval ecclesiastical architecture the way you do.
And that corralling a group of people with their own agendas, on time, is harder than herding cats. Cats also on uppers.
It’s not right that she still enjoys this job as much as she does. Of course there are parts of it I like too, mainly the teaching of history, but I am appropriately annoyed at the rest of the nonsense.
And her shirt yesterday had a giant bow around the neck. What grown adult wears a bow?
“Hey, partner!” a cheery voice yells from behind me. “Great minds, thinking alike, etcetera, etcetera.”
I cringe. I sincerely doubt there’s anything similar in the way that Asha Kapoor and I think. Case in point, no one should be this cheerful this early in the day. Or so loud.
“Morning,” I say in a reasonable volume and cheeriness level, leading by example. One that is perfectly cordial without offering any extras.
“Are you ready for the best trip ever?” she asks as she stops next to me in the line.
Now that, I can’t let go. I’m sucked into her nonsense despite my determination not to be. “How do you know this trip is going to be the best trip ever?”
“Every trip is the best trip ever.” She makes a face that is probably meant to convey “obviously,” but that still doesn’t convince me.
“That can’t be true. There can only be one best trip. Linguistically speaking.”
“Best trip ever is a state of mind, not a linguistic construct!”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“…No.”
“You say potato, I say best potato ever.” She shrugs, not concerned with my argument.
“But—”
“I’ll have a hot chocolate, please, with whipped cream,” Asha says to the cashier.
I’m still trying to figure out her logic while I order a black coffee.
“How well do you think this is gonna go when we have two bloody groups that have nothing in common?”
“They’re humans.” She extends one finger.
“They were all drawn to a trip around Europe.” Another finger goes up.
“And since this company mostly advertises in America, they’re probably Americans.
” A third finger. “That’s a great start.
It’s more than I had in common with my last Tinder date, actually. ”
Not touching that one. But as for the rest— “Half of them are older, or married with young children, while the other half are wild youths who only want to experience things that happen between ten p.m. and four a.m.”
“That is a gross oversimplification of my precious eighteen-to-thirty tour babies. They also want to see all the sights so they have excellent dating app photos. When was the last time you even did one of those tours?”
I recoil. “Not nearly long enough ago.”
“You’ll see. They have their own charms.”
“Okay, then. Name one.”
“They have stamina, especially on that long, hot Rome tour. Which comes at the end of the trip.”
“Not if they’re hungover.”
“Personally, I am always impressed at the depths of what hungover tourists can do. But look at me going on. You’ll see.” She pats me on the shoulder and goes to the counter to get her hot sugar drink.
She doesn’t even order a proper adult beverage.
Despite her personal faults, I can’t deny that she looks good when she’s being irrational.
Even wearing a novelty backpack that has a scene looking into the facade of an English pub on it.
Which seems unnecessary when a serviceable, sturdy, black or blue backpack would do just as well. And not be ridiculous.
Her wild, wavy hair tumbles down past her shoulders, bouncing every time she laughs, something she does often.
She has a glow about her even when she isn’t laughing, because she always at least has a smile on her face, and the slightest red flush on her tawny cheeks, all suggesting warmth and sunny days even in the middle of a Scottish winter.
That smile, which reaches her warm brown eyes, hasn’t dimmed even though the man’s just handing her a cup that she paid for, not proposing marriage.
Jaysus, how happy does she get when something actually exciting happens?
I shudder to think of the shattered eardrums of innocent onlookers, along with how blinded they’d get from that smile. If she doesn’t faint from all the energy expelled, first.
The woman is a danger to herself and others. And I’m the one who’s going to be closest to her for the next month.
Asha hands me a drink when she walks back. “They had yours ready when I picked up mine. I was going to fill it with sugar and milk”—my eyes widen in disgust—“but then I remembered how morally opposed you are to joy and didn’t want to overstep.” She extends the cup.
“And how is your cavity in a cup?”
She smiles in satisfaction after taking a sip. “Grand.”
Hey, I think she’s mocking my fine Irish accent. But before I can tell her about the noble history behind said accent, she’s off, walking out the door and to the offices. I follow her, not having many options since the group should be getting there soon.
The street outside the office is quiet. For now.
Soon, the sidewalk is gonna be swarming with people and all of their luggage to boot, running around like headless chickens when all they need to do is stay calm and we will get them and their shite onto the bus.
I savor the quiet, cool morning while I can.
Or I would have, if Asha wasn’t laughing uproariously at something our office assistant was saying. I know that assistant, and I sincerely doubt that whatever she’s said is worth the volume of praise she’s getting for it.
A laugh from Asha can’t even be worth that much, if she gives them out so freely. Whatever. It’s none of my business.
I finish my coffee and throw away the cup. Getting my iPad out of my practical, adult backpack, I start reviewing the last-minute details.
A half hour later, the first of the group arrive, an Indian woman and a Latina woman. They are going to be my favorite. The people who believe that getting places early is on time. Now if only they retain their punctuality and don’t get corrupted by the habitually late, I’ll be content.
“Welcome to Expedition Tours, where every trip is an adventure.” I recite the naf slogan, managing to keep my eye roll internal. A feat made possible only with practice. “I’ll get you checked in and settled on the bus.”
“Hi. I’m Roshni and this is my wife, Camila.
” They look less than enthused for people about to go on a trip, but that is none of my business.
It is my business to check them in, which I do without any unnecessary conversation.
Asha appears out of nowhere to take the bags.
And to engage in some of that unnecessary chat with the tourists.
The next ten minutes are quiet again, and then the rush descends fifteen minutes before departure.
Asha and I fall into a pattern, where she steals my iPad to check in people while I take over the baggage-loading duties.
Since I also need to learn everyone’s name today, I keep an ear out while she checks them in, glad I don’t have to make small talk this once.
Maybe she is useful.
There’s Peter and Jennifer with their daughter, Virginia.
The white couple look like they took the expedition in our name seriously, since they’re more suited to trekking through a jungle, with khakis and performance shirts, than a whirlwind tour of ten cities in twenty days.
But I refrain from rolling my eyes. Their daughter, dressed in what was very fashionable wear for the nineties and probably again now—not that I would know since I don’t keep up with teen fashion—doesn’t have as much self-control and does roll her eyes at her parents. Well, she’s not the professional here.
Thomas and Kevin are next, old fraternity brothers in their twenties on a holiday.
The two white men are definitely part of Asha’s group.
I can tell because they’re already on the tear.
At nine in the morning, no less. But they aren’t vomiting yet, so Rob tells me I’m not allowed to judge. Verbally.
Christina, Maria, and Charlotte are attorneys who work together.
I can’t imagine voluntarily spending time with any of my coworkers, but more’s the power to them if they can stand each other.
The women look to be in their late twenties, all in a uniform of leggings and what may or may not be a stylish top.
Better people than me can decide that. Christina is East Asian, Maria is Latina, and Charlotte is white, and they all have a lot of enthusiasm for very early in the morning.
At least we won’t have to worry about getting them up on tour.
Unless the former frat boys, who are already looking at them, have anything to say about it.
Henry and Doris, a retired Black couple, are next. They seem to still like each other, go figure. Henry hovers round Doris, helping her up the steps and getting settled in the bus. That much attention would be stifling to me, but Doris humors him, looking on in what I assume is affection.
Then Asha checks in a group of tourists who all came on their own.
A white man, a white woman, a Latino man and a Black woman.
Who are apparently named James, Erica, Emilio, and Rebecca, in that order.
I don’t get much more than that because they’re a lot quieter than anyone else, and less susceptible to Asha’s idle chit-chat.
But no one can say if it’s a natural shyness or nerves at coming alone, and if they’ll become just as boisterous as the rest of the lot by the end of the tour. A man can hope it’s the first option.
And then my least favorite group. The one that strolled up to the bus with no urgency despite being ten minutes past departure: Louis and Brian with their son, Jack.
To be fair, Louis, a Black man, does look slightly disheveled and apologizes.
Brian, a white man, on the other hand, saunters up the bus stairs with no concern for other people’s time.
Jack, a Black teenager, just looks embarrassed by it all.
He’ll make fast friends with Virginia, bonding over the time-honored tradition of being embarrassed by parents.
And oh joy, all the travelers are American. The amount of selfies they’ll take in the coming weeks could power the whole coal obsessed-country, if science could only find a way to harness it.
Asha is already bounding up the bus after the group, a huge smile on her face.
While the sounds of the people on the bus are muted, I take an extra few seconds to breathe.
Asha might be able to turn on happiness at the drop of a hat, or, heaven forbid, might actually just be that happy all the time, but us mere mortals need a slight bit more preparation.
Because these people are going to be my responsibility for the next twenty days. And I have to entertain them like I’ve never entertained before, or my paycheck is going to shrink.
And that is enough to force a small smile to my lips.