Perhaps they’re right? I’m so crap at this dating lark that my dates can’t even be bothered to turn up! Maybe Aadam and Basim have been spreading the word?
I finish my drink and decide I’ll give Mikhail four more humiliating minutes. Then I’m out of here like last week.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Right! That’s it–
‘Sorry! Sorry!’ Right in the nick of time the AWOL Adonis comes tearing through the restaurant, apologising profusely in between trying to catch his breath and thrusting a posy of freesias under my nose. ‘I had to drop my sister off on the way and then I couldn’t find anywhere to park. I’m so sorry!’
He looks so cute, all flustered and pink cheeked, that I instantly forgive him.
‘I’ve only been here a little while myself.’
‘Fibber,’ grins Mikhail. ‘But it’s kind of you to not be angry.’ He plops himself down opposite me and pulls off his cute beanie hat. ‘Let’s grab a menu. I’m starving!’
We peruse the menu and it’s so difficult to decide on what to choose because everything looks so yummy. Trying hard to pretend that the prices, which easily add up to a week’s rent, aren’t an issue I finally decide upon jasmine noodle soup and Thai green curry.
‘Good choice,’ nods Mikhail. ‘I’ll have the same.’
‘So we have Thai food in common,’ I say.
He grins at me, a really cheeky grin that reminds me a bit of Qas. ‘I’m sure we’re going to have way more than just food in common, Mills.’
Over our starters we chat light-heartedly about our families. As I spoon my way through my soup I learn he comes from a really close family and is the only boy, with five big sisters and an adoring mum. No wonder he reminds me of Qas, another totally spoiled beloved son, the apple of his Mummy-ji’s eye.
I let him chat away, indulging him I guess, and all the time I find myself drawn into his amazing blue eyes. I blush whenever he compliments me because he really is attractive and he has a great sense of humour. I wish I could believe that he means it rather than suspecting that he’s just desperate to find a suitable wife. I’d love to feel that someone likes me for myself rather than because I fit the right criteria.
Still, by the time my main course arrives I’m totally at ease. Mummy-ji will love this guy! He adores his mum and totally ticks the ‘families’ must on my wish list. And even better he’s got a really impressive job too, as a stockbroker in the city.
Have I finally struck lucky?
We part on good terms and he’s the perfect gentleman, insisting on paying for a taxi to take me home.
‘Can I see you again?’ he asks shyly, looking at me from under his thick lashes.
‘I’d like that.’
‘Cool!’ Mikhail lights up like a Christmas tree. ‘Wicked!’
And as I sit in the taxi, watching the streets blur past, I can’t help feeling just a little bit glittery and sparkly myself.
I keep that sparkling thing over the next few weeks because Mikhail and I share several dates, and they’re all as much fun as the first. It helps that he totally respects my ground rule of ‘no touching’ and although we’ve spent time together he’s never overstepped the mark. Even when Minty comes into the office and makes snide remarks about dating agencies she can’t take any of the gloss away. It’s early days and we’re taking it slowly but suddenly everything in my world looks brighter! The colours are bolder too and I’m having so much fun. Even work is fantastic: Nina has assigned me to work on a major fashion spread for Ana Pana, the hottest Asian couture label of the moment, and I can’t wait. Everyone who’s anyone is wearing something by Ana Pana this season. I’m still into serious journalism but Nish has heard a rumour that we may be able to get our hands on some freebies and I’m only human!
So work is good. The only down point is Wish who’s been in a bad mood for ages and barely has two words to say to me. I miss our chats but at least I’ve got Mikhail to hang out with. Whatever Wish’s problem is I hope he sorts it out soon because he’s supposed to be working with me on the fashion shoot next week. I don’t fancy a long day made even longer because he’ll only grunt his instructions at me.
But I’m not going to worry about that yet. I’ve got more important things on my mind than a grumpy photographer. Mikhail’s invited me to his sister’s henna night and I’m going to meet his family. I’ve asked if Eve and Nish can come too because I won’t know anybody. Mikhail didn’t refuse but he didn’t appear very enthusiastic either. Whenever I mention Eve and Nish he either seems bored or quickly changes the topic back to his sisters, implying I’ll love them even more than mere friends and that I’ll have more than enough female company to contend with if things ever go the furthest with us.
That’s not really the way I thought I’d ever discuss marriage with a guy, but at least he’s serious I suppose, and he is so cute with that floppy hair and those stunning blue eyes. Who knows where this could go? It’s so exciting!
Anyway, this evening is his sister’s henna night, which explains why I’ve tubed half way across London to Wembley, dragging my friends with me. I really hope I make a good impression on his family…
‘Hope he’s worth it,’ grumbles Eve. ‘I bloody hate the suburbs.’
‘Don’t be such a snob,’ says Nish.
‘Do I look OK?’ I worry, smoothing down my pink shalwar kameez. I’m going to meet Mikhail’s mum for the first time tonight so I’m really keen to get every detail.
‘You look stunning!’ Nish squeezes my arm. ‘They’ll love you.’
‘You look great too,’ I say. ‘That’s a gorgeous sari.’
‘Might as well make some use of having rellies in Southall,’ Nish says.
‘Thank God mine all live in Golders Green,’ grimaces Eve. She’s wearing skinny jeans, thigh-high purple boots and a cowboy-style jacket. The whole look is totally hot but not quite the thing you’d wear to the respectable gathering of a Muslim family. Not that Eve gives a toss. If they don’t like her then they can all sod off.
And yes, that is a quote.
‘Mills!’ Mikhail cries. ‘You look stunning! Come and meet Mum and the girls!’
‘Slow down! I haven’t even introduced you to Nish and Eve yet,’ I laugh.
‘Right, yeah, hi.’ Formalities over with as far as he’s concerned Mikhail turns back to me. ‘My sisters are dying to meet the girl who stole my heart!’
‘Who stole your manners?’ Eve mutters.
I groan inwardly. Micky’s such a child sometimes with the way he gets consumed with enthusiasm for something in an instant. I’m sure he didn’t mean to snub the girls.
Hoping Eve isn’t about to combust with rage I follow Micky through the crowds to a gaggle of women at the far side, one of whom has black boot-button eyes, a mouth pursed like a cat’s bum and a wiry hair sprouting from a mole on her chin.
Oh Allah-ji. Please don’t let it be…
‘Ammi jaan!’ cries Micky, throwing his arms around this monster, which takes some doing because she’s as fat as she is tall. ‘This is Mills!’
Micky’s mum looks at me as though I’m something the cat threw up.
‘And we’re her friends.’ Eve sticks out her hand. ‘I’m Eve Daniels and this is Nish Patel.’
Micky’s mum doesn’t speak but the distaste flitting across her pudgy face is more eloquent than any words. A Jew and a Hindu? The poor woman couldn’t look more horrified.
If I tell you this is the highlight of our evening then you’ll get the gist of how truly awful things turn out to be. It gets worse when Micky’s sisters quiz me about why I’ve abandoned my family for a life of sin in the big city. Deciding to leave out the bit about finding a husband, because something tells me it’ll go down like cold chapattis, I launch into my usual spiel about wanting to pursue my dream and become a journalist.
‘GupShup?’ One sister wrinkles her monobrow. ‘The gossip magazine?’
‘That’s right!�
�� Phew, common ground!
‘Never read it,’ she sniffs. ‘I don’t have time for trivia.’
‘GupShup isn’t trivial,’ says Nish hotly. ‘We cover serious issues too, you know. Didn’t you read Mills’ piece on Aisha Khan?’
‘The girl who betrayed her family?’ recalls another sister.
‘The girl with the dangerous brothers.’ Eve draws on her cigarette. ‘She had a lucky escape, if you ask me.’
‘Well, we didn’t ask you,’ says sister number three. ‘What would someone like you understand about izzat, anyway?’
Eve opens her mouth to tell her but sister number four is quicker. ‘Izzat is more important to Mikhail than anything else. When our Mikhail marries, his wife will need to understand that above all else.’
Whoa. Did I miss travelling back to the dark ages? Exactly how far is Wembley from Chelsea?
‘When our brother gets married his wife will have to be the traditional type,’ adds another identikit sister. ‘As the only daughter-in-law she will be sharing the rest of her life under the same roof as our parents, and so it makes sense that she be less career-motivated and more homely-bound, looking after her husband, and her parents-in-law in old age. She’ll also have to juggle the rest of the family and of course she’ll have to stay at home when she has children.’
I wait for them to all crease up with laughter and shout, ‘Nahin! Only kidding’, but this doesn’t happen.
Oh God. They hate me. They really, really hate me.
The evening is not a happy one. Eve chain-smokes and goes out of her way to be obnoxious, Nish eats her way through piles of food but I can tell she’s really angry and I know Micky’s hideous sisters are bitching about me from behind their moustaches. So I heave a massive sigh of relief when the henna night finally comes to an end and Micky offers to hail a taxi for us.
Next time I want a fun night out I’ll give Basim a call and book myself in for a spot of root canal.
The taxi pulls up and Micky escorts me through the car park. Eve and Nish trail sullenly behind and I feel really angry. How dare Micky’s horrible family make my friends feel bad? Who the Hell do they think they are?
‘Did you have a good time?’ asks Micky.
‘No,’ I say. Honesty is vital in relationships, right? And so I voice my irritation with the appalling behaviour of his women folk.
‘And as for all that crap about living with in-laws! Tell me that really was a bad joke?’
But if it is Micky doesn’t see the funny side.
‘Of course it’s not,’ he says. ‘I will always live with my parents. Have you got a problem with family?’
‘No!’ I say hastily, ‘I’m all for family but…’ I don’t know what to say, so I choose a different tack. ‘But what about the wife at home stuff? Surely no man expects to have a full-time wife in the twenty-first century?’
Micky says nothing but a muscle twitches in his cheek.
‘After all,’ I plough on, ‘it was a Professional Singles Night we went to as far as I recall. Come on, Micky, surely it’s not such a bad thing for a couple to share the bills? It leaves more money for fun stuff.’
‘It’s a man’s duty to be the provider,’ says Micky. ‘A woman should be dedicated to her role as a homemaker. That’s what nature has designed. Just look at my mother.’
I’d rather not.
‘I can’t believe you’re coming out with all this chauvinistic Pakistani macho-man bollocks!’ I cry.
‘And I can’t believe that you’re nothing but a coconut!’ he hisses, and I recoil as though I’ve been slapped.
Calling an Asian a ‘coconut’ is just about the worst insult imaginable. It means that although I’m Asian on the outside I’m white on the inside. Not that there’s anything wrong with being white, but I’m not, am I? I’m a Pakistani and proud of it.
Very, very proud.
‘Living with her,’ he jerks his head in Eve’s direction, ‘has made you forget your roots! You need a husband’s guidance.’
‘She’s my friend!’
‘You need to reconsider your friends,’ Micky says.
Luckily at this point Nish and Eve overhear and pull me away before I have a chance to whip off my stilettos and aim the heels into his eyes. I stumble into the cab, my ears ringing with his hateful words. As we pull away he just watches, arms folded across his chest and with a face like thunder.
‘Tosser!’ shouts Eve, sticking her head out of the window and flipping him the bird.
‘Too right,’ agrees Nish. ‘Ask for your money back, Mills.’
Micky looks more dejected now than angry. He’s every inch the little boy again and my heart goes out to him. With such a revolting family what hope has he got of having any normal perceptions of what real women want?
‘Dump him!’ advises Nish.
‘Right now,’ adds Eve, sparking up a fag. ‘Here, give me your mobile! I’ll tell him where to go. Wanker!’
And so on all the way back to Chelsea until my head is spinning. Already my phone is bleeping but I’ve learned a lot since Aadam and turn it off.
Let him sweat. It’s the least that he deserves.
The following morning I wake up feeling awful. I must have had about two hours’ sleep because I’ve been trying to decide what to do about Mikhail all night long. It’s as though a wicked witch has snatched away the guy I’ve become so fond of and replaced him with a revolting little mummy’s boy.
Which one’s the real Mikhail?
With a groan I switch on my mobile and wait for texts to come buzzing through like a swarm of wasps. Knowing my luck something will have kicked off in Bradford the one night I break my ‘no turning off’ rule and my parents are already haring down the motorway like the North’s answer to Formula One.
Sure enough, within seconds the phone is vibrating, although luckily the message isn’t from my terrified parents but predictably from Mikhail.
Can we talk?
Is that it? Outraged at such a short message (come back Aadam, all is forgiven) I text back:
u said it all last nite
The coconut comment really hurts. I hate racism full stop. Just because he’s inverted it doesn’t make the sentiment any more acceptable. Picking up the phone I pull on my dressing gown and pad into the kitchen. I need some coffee to get my brain in gear.
‘God, Mills, you look like shit!’ Eve exclaims, in between shovelling in cereal.
‘Thanks.’ I click on the kettle. ‘Shit is exactly how I feel.’
Eve dumps her bowl in the sink. ‘Mikhail was appalling last night. You can do without a tosser like that.’
Buzz! Buzz! Here’s the tosser, right on cue.
‘Don’t answer,’ advises Eve. ‘The guy’s a waste of skin.’
Meet me? Cafe by the lake? Half ten? Pls?
Damn, he’s good at pressing my emotional buttons. The little café in the park has become one of our special places. Last time we went there Micky hinted I could be the person he wanted to spend his life with. I found this really touching at the time but now all I can picture is his absolute horror of a mother bossing me around for the rest of my years.
Not pretty.
OK, I text and put the phone down. I’ve no desire to play mobile frisbee all morning.
‘Where are you off to, anyway?’ Dragging my thoughts away from Micky I notice Eve’s dressed and perfectly made up at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning. Nish is long out jogging somewhere but Eve normally needs a crowbar to prise her out of bed before noon.
‘I’m going into work.’
‘But it’s Saturday!’
‘I know. We’ve got a crisis at the office and I’ve been called in.’
‘Poor you.’ And I thought Nina was a demanding boss. ‘Damien Oxley again, is it?’
Eve nods her blonde head. ‘Of course. He’s insisted I go in. Bastard.’
‘Can’t you tell your dad how much he’s picking on you?’
‘No!’ she looks horrified. ‘I
can’t do that, it’d look like favouritism.’
Since when did Eve Daniels worry about favouritism? I thought favouritism was the main reason she went to work at B-D International?
‘Anyway,’ she adds, scooping up her Chloé bag (real, no fakes for our Eve), ‘Damien’s one of Daddy’s oldest friends so I guess it’s the least I can do.’ As she whirls to the door she calls over her shoulder, ‘Think hard about old Micky Blue Eyes, won’t you, babes? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’
Which leaves me, I think as I carry my coffee back to bed, with more scope than I know what to do with.
By half ten I’m making my way to our appointed meeting place. It’s a chilly morning and although the sun is out it’s only making a token gesture and I’m already shivering. I spot Mikhail sitting on the bench overlooking the lake, snuggled into a fleece and with a beanie hat pulled low over his head. He looks deep in thought. Well, either that or the ducks are far more interesting than I’ve ever realised.
‘Mills!’ Micky cries. ‘Thank God you came. I know that I don’t deserve it.’ He grasps my hands. ‘I was a shit last night. Can you ever forgive me?’
Never mind the unexpected physical contact. As Micky stares down at me imploringly I have the biggest shock. This isn’t Micky! It must be a lookalike evil twin because the eyes that plead with mine aren’t blue at all but puddle brown.
I don’t have a problem with brown eyes but my Micky has blue eyes, the most beautiful blue eyes in the world! This brown-eyed look just isn’t right. If yesterday’s harsh words hadn’t already made him feel like a stranger then his new eye colour certainly does.
‘Your eyes!’
‘Hey?’ For a second Micky looks confused, then he laughs. ‘Oh right! I must have forgotten to put my contacts in! I was so upset after last night I haven’t been thinking straight.’
The Wedding Countdown Page 15