Err. Right.
‘Your voice is like music,’ he continues. ‘I could listen to it forever, no matter what you say.’
Music?
‘Every word is a symphony,’ he continues. ‘Every nuance a note of purest clarity.’
‘I’m tone deaf,’ I quip. ‘You’d better get some ear plugs!’
‘I’ll do no such thing!’ Aadam sounds offended. ‘Everything about you is perfect.’
‘Right,’ I say. What’s going on here? I know I want a guy who worships me but after two minutes? Surely that’s not normal?
I’m not sure where this is going so I pick up Eve’s mobile from the fruit bowl and dial our flat number.
‘Oh dear!’ I say. ‘That’s the land line!’
This is the point where he’ll say I’ll call another day, right?
No. Totally wrong.
‘Oh no,’ Aadam wails. ‘Just when we were really connecting! Can I call you back later?’
‘Sure, if you’re still awake,’ I tell him. ‘Got to go, bye!’
Sheesh. How intense was that?
By bedtime, with a stomach full of pizza and a mind full of gorgeous George, I’ve practically forgotten Aadam. I’m just giving my teeth a good going over with Pearl Drops (paranoid after seeing Minty’s gnashes? Moi?) when my phone beeps.
The caller ID reads Aadam and not wanting to appear rude I answer with a mouth still full of toothpaste. I quickly spit it out and rinse my mouth. Then I put the phone back to my ear and laugh.
‘Sorry!’ Surely after hearing me gargle and spit he must be a bit put off? ‘You don’t want to hear me cleaning my teeth.’
‘I adore all the sounds you make,’ he says.
There speaks a man who’s never heard me play burp tennis with Qas.
‘I was just getting ready for bed,’ I hint.
But Aadam doesn’t get hints and he rabbits on for over an hour. I know this because I’ve also got an eye on the television and am flipping through some notes for Nina while he witters on. In all this conversational time Aadam won’t let me say a bad word about myself, which gets very tedious very quickly. Although I don’t mind others singing my praises sometimes a girl is entitled to take the piss out of herself, and I’m bored with the conversation after five minutes.
This isn’t going to go anywhere so why time-waste?
I’ll wait a day or two before telling him firmly but gently it isn’t going to work out. I’ll say there’s no point in pursuing matters because there’s no spark between us and really I’m not that great anyway. Just ask Minty Vane.
By the time I come to this conclusion I’m desperate to end the call. My bladder’s absolutely bursting too and even though Aadam claims to adore every noise I make I have no way reached the familiarity status where I can just joke about it and tell him upfront that I need to pee! And he won’t care anyway and will probably give me permission to carry on with what I have to do because hey, he wouldn’t at all mind me peeing when still on the phone to him.
And anyway, even my peeing sounds wonderful.
‘Aadam,’ I say, crossing my legs, ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Already?’ says Aadam, as though we haven’t been talking for what feels like aeons.
‘I need my beauty sleep.’
‘You’re so beautiful already you could stay awake for the rest of your life and remain an outstandingly stunning girl.’
I’m cringing so much I’m tempted to tell him there and then this is going to have to be a final Allah hafiz. Then I yawn and decide I can’t face breaking the bad news. I’ll do the deed when I’m a bit more alert.
And when I have an hour or six to spare.
‘I’ll be dreaming of you all night,’ he adds.
I bloody well hope not.
Aadam is doing himself no favours with this ridiculous flattery. I’m actually starting to get freaked out. Haven’t I seen a film that starts a bit like this? And doesn’t the heroine end up getting stalked? Time to get rid of Aadam! I say nothing now though but a final ‘Night!’ and cut him off, just at the point where he’s whispering ‘Sweet dreams and–’
I don’t stick around to hear what he has to say after the ‘and’ part because I’m not fussed if I don’t hear the rest of it.
Just my luck to pick a weirdo.
I’m nodding off when Aadam sends a text reiterating how great it was to chat and how he hopes to chat again, the sooner the better. I really can’t be bothered to reply because I have a feeling we’ll be playing text tennis until dawn and I don’t have the energy or the inclination.
The next morning it’s a different story.
The first thing I always do upon opening my eyes is to switch the alarm off, fumble for my mobile and the check call register and my texts. Ever since Roma’s frantic late-night call I’ve been paranoid about something happening at home. Being so far away is a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. I love my job but I miss my family so much.
Can you imagine how I’d feel if I had to live in Pakistan?
I get my first shock of the day when the phone display reports three text messages and one missed call. At first I dread the worst, thinking that Mummy-ji’s been trying to contact me because something bad’s happened at home. When I read the sender’s details, I’m relieved it’s not a home number.
But this relief doesn’t last very long.
Aadam is the culprit.
Hesitantly I read the messages. They all communicate the same sentiments: how great I am and how great it was to meet me and how great it was to chat to me and how great it is going to be to meet me again. Oh, and by the way, when can he meet me again?
This doesn’t look too great to me!
And it doesn’t sound any better either. The voicemail is Aadam’s, sent at four bloody a.m., vocalising my greatness again and informing me that he’s just had a great dream about me and can’t wait till the morning to share it.
I sit bolt upright. This is not normal behaviour.
The guy has only known me for a maximum of two hours and he’s dreaming about me already? Every girl wants to be the stuff of a guy’s fantasy but it’s got to be the right kind of guy not some obsessed stranger.
My phone vibrates in my hand. Shit! A new text message. I really, really do not want to read it. I don’t have to be a clairvoyant to know the identity of the sender.
Warily I open the message.
Hi Mills! It’s a great morning and I hope you have a great day! A x
Bloody great.
Things don’t get better. By lunchtime I can’t bear reading more great things about myself. I’m a nervous wreck, leaping six inches off my seat every time the phone bleeps or someone else’s rings. If I chew my nails any more I’ll be up to my elbows.
As I write up a review of a new foundation especially for Asian skin (really nice in case you’re wondering) I resolve to contact Aadam after work and let him down as best I can. Maybe I could tell him that my parents have arranged my marriage? A good Pakistani boy wouldn’t dream of arguing with my olds.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
Throughout the rest of the day my phone vibrates continually, so much so that I end up turning it off. Thank goodness Aadam doesn’t know my email address. Can you imagine the amount of spam?
At six o’clock I head home, my mobile tucked away in my bag. As I stand at the elevator, mentally composing Dear John texts, Wish joins me.
‘Are you annoyed with me?’
‘Should I be?’
‘I thought maybe Minty upset you yesterday?’
It’s a strange old thing but having a stalker has done wonders for taking my mind off her bitchy comments.
‘She was out of order.’ Wish looks awkward. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. Was she having a bad day?’
‘Maybe,’ says Wish. ‘She’s just... Oh I don’t know; it doesn’t matter.’ He smiles but his eyes are troubled. ‘Anyway, if you’re not mad how come you stood me up
for lunch?’
I wrack my brains. ‘Did we make plans?’
‘I called you quite a few times, but no response so I sent a text. I was in the middle of a shoot so I asked you to meet me.’
‘Wish! I’m so sorry! I didn’t check my phone all day.’
‘Phew,’ says Wish. ‘That explains it. And there’s me thinking you deliberately ignored my text messages.’
‘Actually there’s a story about me avoiding my phone.’
The lift door pings open.
‘Haven’t paid your bill?’
I slosh him on the arm. ‘Of course I have! No, nothing like that. Promise me you won’t laugh?’
‘I promise so long as it’s not funny.’
‘I don’t find it funny at all but not everyone sees it that way. When I told Nish she cracked up.’
‘Try me.’
‘You know the matrimonials thing I went to?’
‘The one where everybody wanted your details?’
‘You heard that?’ I’m surprised, because I hadn’t thought he was interested when we were all discussing it yesterday. ‘To cut a long story short one of the guys won’t leave me alone. He’s been texting and calling non-stop. That’s why I turned my mobile off. I seem to have got myself a stalker.’
I wait for the laugh.
But Wish doesn’t laugh. In fact he looks really worried.
‘He sounds like a freak. I’d get rid of him.’
‘Yeah, I’m working on that,’ I say, as we step out of the lift. ‘Oh crap, to think I was going to agree to meet him later this week. He’d probably handcuff me, drag me to the registrar’s office and push a ring onto my bound hands.’
‘Mills! Surely you’re not thinking of meeting up with him? Don’t be so bloody stupid!’
‘Not now! No way! I’ve no intention of risking life and limb just to hear a guy worship my greatness. I’m not perfect and I know it.’
‘You want a guy to say you’re imperfect? OK, I’ll tell you that. How can you be perfect if you’d consider going off alone to meet some nutter? You’d have to be crazy!’
We’re glaring at one another when Nish joins us and the subject is hastily dropped. Wish accompanies us to the station, and just before I follow Nish down the steps – she always runs because she’s convinced every rumbling tube has to be ours even if it’s going in the opposite direction – he grabs my elbow.
‘Mills,’ he says urgently, ‘please be careful. If this guy won’t stop harassing you, then promise you’ll call me? Maybe I can talk some sense into him? And if he still doesn’t get it then I’ll put my kickboxing skills into action. But tell me you won’t see him on you own. Please?’
I’m touched Wish is willing to risk being charged with GBH for me. I should have got myself a stalker earlier if this is the reaction I get.
‘Chill,’ I say. ‘It’s sorted. But thanks anyway. It’s sweet of you to care.’
‘It’s not sweet, Mills! Don’t you realise–’
‘Bloody Hell, Mills,’ puffs Nish, coming full speed back up the steps, and looking none too pleased. ‘Are we catching this train, or what?’
Practically pulling my arm out of its socket she drags me after her, leaving Wish a solitary figure framed against the blue sky. I roll my eyes and give him a grateful smile. As he smiles back something stirs in the pit of my tummy. Ripping my gaze away I follow Nish into the throng of commuters all itching to get home.
It’s all in my imagination that he stands there staring long after I’ve vanished from sight. But it’s a nice thought.
Much nicer than the thought of contacting Aadam.
By the time we reach home I’ve turned my phone on and listened to it beep a dozen more times.
‘For God’s sake!’ says Nish in exasperation. ‘You’re a nervous wreck. Tell this fruitcake to sod off, or smash your phone.’
‘Smash my phone?’ I echo, looking at my iPhone 5. ‘I’m not smashing my gorgeous phone just to get rid of Aadam the Great.’
The more I think about it, the more infuriated I become. Why should a weirdo mobile-boiler make me lose out on several hundred pounds? That’s what I’d have to shell out to replace my phone or to pay for the counselling I may well need soon if I continue to allow Aadam to harass me.
There’s only one non-violent option left.
I’m through with this.
Seizing the moment I call Ayoob. I’ve a mammoth’s skeleton worth of bones to pick with him, this so-called events organiser who’s responsible for misjudging the strict ‘sane’ criteria. Has he even bothered to do a thorough background check-up of previous Hannibal Lecter-style convictions?
Actually, I don’t want to think about that.
When I eventually get through to Ayoob I waste no time giving him a full version of my phone events since Aadam got his mitts on my mobile number. Just to add further weight to my displeasure I threaten to write up the whole sorry affair in GupShup unless Aadam’s nonsense stops this very minute.
‘I can’t apologise enough,’ grovels Ayoob. ‘His behaviour’s totally unacceptable. I’ll take immediate action and have a severe word with Aadam and tell him this organisation does not tolerate such conduct. I’ll tell him we’ll be forced to warn all the other females he’s requested contact details from to block his advances, unless he desists.’
I say nothing. Cutting out Aadam’s tongue is more what I’d like to hear.
‘And let me assure you that I’ll also threaten to put his name on the black list where he will not be welcome to attend any more matrimonial events,’ finishes Ayoob. ‘I’m sure that’ll do the trick.’
Temporarily comforted I ring off, feeling as though a tonne of concrete has just been lifted off my head. About an hour later my phone vibrates so, saying a silent prayer, I scan the message.
Sorry. Thought u were the one. How wrong was I? A
For a fleeting second I suffer a very slight guilt complex. Have I been a tad harsh? Maybe I should have called him instead and been the personal bearer of not so great news?
But as I delete all the messages sent by Aadam I shudder. It’s for the best. I’ve no desire to be another victim of an obsessed lover who ends up in the Thames.
Eve returns for dinner and as we eat I tell her the tragic story of my telephone stalking experience. It’s actually quite amusing in the retelling and pretty soon we’re all rolling around uncontrollably on the floor. Eve finds it so hilarious that she has to run to the bathroom in order to empty her bladder.
‘Watch it,’ I warn, on her still laughing return, ‘or I’ll forward your number to Aadam, and you can literally be his Eve! And as for you,’ I add, turning to Nish, ‘if you don’t let this go I may be forced to email that photo of you sitting on the bog to everyone in the office!’
This stops them in their tracks and we go on to have a really nice evening. I wanted to watch the rest of Office Hours but strangely it’s gone missing, so it’s back to re-runs of X Factor instead.
Later in the stillness of the night I suffer a silent panic attack.
What on earth am I playing at trying to sort out my own love life? Why couldn’t I just have taken a backseat and gone ahead with my parents’ wishes? I trust them to have done all the hard work of vetoing and screening my suitors for potential obsessive tendencies, because they love me and have an interest in my well-being – not like Muslim-flipping-Matrimonials, who only want my money. Do I really want to risk encountering another stalker? Is it really worth it, searching on my lonesome for a future life partner?
Do soul mates really exist?
I pummel my pillow. Thinking about my parents makes me feel unbearable pangs of homesickness and suddenly I want more than anything to be back in my safe bedroom in Bradford. I miss Fizz's arguments and Roma’s thoughtful company. I miss Qas’s teasing and my dad’s laughter.
But most of all I miss Mummy-ji...
For a moment I’m tempted to call home just to hear her voice but I don’t trust myself to sou
nd upbeat. Mum will detect my melancholy and quiz me again and again about what’s troubling me. My tongue might slip and I’ll end up confessing all about Aadam the nutter. Then the worst will happen. My parents will demand I pack right now and I’ll be flying off to Pakistan before I know it.
I’m not beaten yet. One down, two to go. There are still two wonderful guys who can’t wait to meet me. Maybe one of them is my soul mate? The odds have to be stacked in my favour.
Don’t they?
Chapter 18
OK saheli, relax! You’re going for a coffee, not to meet a firing squad. It’s a very respectable meeting at a café in Covent Garden, not some full-blown Jackie Collins fest with black silk sheets and leopard-print underwear.
Surely this is supposed to be fun, or am I missing something?
It’s one of those perfect winter days when the sun remembers what it’s actually for and the British people throw caution to the wind by taking off their jackets. Crowds of tourists throng the pavements, clapping the human robot man and peering excitedly into the shops. On the piazza there’s a Mediterranean atmosphere as people loll at café tables enjoying the warmth of the sun on their pale skin. A gaggle of French exchange students sit on the steps of the Royal Opera House, munching on baguettes and scattering crumbs for the pigeons.
See? If Auntie Bee herself strolled by she’d not find one little thing to moan about. Basim has been nothing but respectable on the telephone and I’m sure he’ll be the perfect gentleman. And if he’s not sane then I’m under strict instructions to call Wish immediately. Without fail, Wish told me. Bless!
I check my watch. There’s still ten minutes before my second eligible bachelor is due, so I decide to pop into Lush and bruise the plastic for a bit. As I rummage through scented rows of soaps and play Jenga with bath bombs I think again about the several phone conversations that we’ve had. Basim seems to have a sense of humour, taking the pee out of us both for going speed dating, and no comments about how great I am or how fantastic my voice is. Hurrah! I have a really good feeling about him!
Filling my basket with wonderful smellies, including a strawberry shortcake one I could almost wolf down on the spot, I meander to the till, collecting a lip balm and some shampoo on my way. Spending horrendous amounts of money is doing wonders for my nerves so, deciding to carry on this approach, I nip into Monsoon and browse the sale rails. As I do so, I keep checking my appearance in the mirrors, smoothing my hair and hoping that I look suitable for my coffee date.
The Wedding Countdown Page 13