‘But marriage is a major step!’ Nish gasps. ‘Mills, you were so sure you wanted to find your own husband.’
‘Yeah. And what a success that’s turned out to be. Raza, Dawud, Micky, Basim, Aadam. Shall I go on? Even Wish is just as bad!’
‘What’s Wish got to do with it?’ asks Nish, looking confused.
‘I don’t want to talk about Wish.’ I pull a red sweater out of my bag. ‘Look at this! Isn’t it gorgeous? Reduced by fifty percent.’
And it’ll cover the bruises on my arms when I go home. I don’t want Mummy-ji asking any awkward questions or Daddy-ji and the rest of my male rellies coming to London to beat the crap out of Raza for daring to assault the izzat of an Ali clan member. On the other hand I have every intention of showing Fizz…
‘Never mind the bloody jumper,’ Eve snaps. ‘What’s the matter with you? Tell her, Nish!’
‘Switch on your mobile,’ says Nish. ‘Don’t argue, Mills; just do it and listen to the messages.’
To shut her up I do as I’m told. I have seven messages: two from Nish, three from Eve, one from my mother telling me breathlessly about some gorgeous fabric she’s seen, and then one from Wish asking me to call him. Oddly he’s on a payphone, which cuts out mid message. Nice try, Wish, but I’m not taking the bait, shukriya very much, no matter how many times you insist you’ve something really important to tell me.
‘Happy now?’ I say, lobbing the phone onto the coffee table.
‘What did he say?’ asks Nish.
‘Just some crap about wanting to speak to me. Apparently he has something that he has to say.’ I laugh and am horrified at the harshness of the sound. ‘It’s probably some pathetic explanation for why he left me alone with his psychopath friend and hasn’t bothered to explain why he set me up.’ I busy myself folding the red sweater so that my friends can’t see that my eyes have filled. ‘I’m not interested.’
‘In that case,’ says Nish, ‘you won’t want to know that Wish had a motorbike crash last night, will you?’
The jumper slithers from my fingers.
‘A bike crash?’
Eve nods. ‘That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you.’
‘Wish called Jamal this afternoon,’ says Nish. ‘He had a crash last night not long after he left Raza’s flat.’
In my mind’s eye I see Wish screaming away from Tanners Wharf on his bike, the face behind the tinted visor set and angry. No wonder he never came back to check on Raza.
‘Is he OK?’
‘It was an ambulance job,’ Nish tells me. ‘But as far as I know he’s going to be fine.’
‘Get her some water!’ I hear Eve say, but it sounds like she’s talking from very far away. There’s a rushing sound in my ears and my legs have turned into overcooked noodles. Moments later I’m sitting on the sofa sipping iced water and feeling very peculiar.
‘Sorry, babes.’ Nish pushes the hair back from my face. ‘I didn’t mean to shock you. But at least you now know why he wasn’t able to call in sick.’
‘And why he didn’t call me,’ I say quietly.
‘All the stuff Raza said about the bet was bollocks,’ says Nish. ‘Jamal says that’s just the type of nasty trick he’d play.’
I hardly hear her. Instead I’m seeing visions of Wish lying broken on the road and believing I was willingly about to sleep with Raza. He didn’t abandon me. He hasn’t been ignoring me. The bechara guy is lying injured in hospital.
‘Jamal says he’s going to be fine,’ Nish continues. ‘He’s got concussion, some nasty cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The doctors were keeping him in because he’d had a head injury.’
His poor head...
‘Can we go to the hospital?’ I ask, because it’s suddenly desperately important I see for myself that he’s fine and tell him I’m sorry for listening to Raza’s poison. ‘Could you drive me there, Eve?’
‘Sure,’ says Eve, as though I haven’t spent hours today saying the most horrendous things about Wish. ‘I’ll grab my keys.’
One of the best things about Eve: she never demands explanations. She doesn’t question why I have to go.
But then she doesn’t need to. Eve already knows why.
Even though it’s the evening the hospital is buzzing. Serious-looking doctors stride along purposefully, stethoscopes flung over their shoulders; porters trundle trolleys past and a steady stream of visitors pours through the front doors. Swallowing nervously, I make my way through the maze of lino-floored corridors and follow the sporadic signs to the ward where Jamal said Wish is staying. En route Eve pulled in to our local Spar and grabbed some seedless grapes and magazines for Wish, plus a packet of Silk Cut, which she chain-smoked all the way to the hospital. My stomach did nervous origami throughout the journey. What on earth was I going to say to Wish?
‘Sorry?’ suggested Eve, pulling up outside the hospital and tipping me out into the night. ‘I totally misjudged you? Give us a snog?’
I sigh as I push open the heavy doors to the ward. I guess that would cover it really. Apart from the last bit, of course.
This hospital wing is a casualty of the crumbling NHS. I can almost see the germs waving at me as I wander across the sticky floor, and the fetid air is a positive germ orgy. I scan the ward for Wish. An old lady is yelling incoherently from behind the raised bars of her bed; across the ward a man is ringing a buzzer and the television babbles away to itself while somebody yells for a bedpan.
And there’s no sign of Wish anywhere.
‘Excuse me,’ I call to a passing nurse. ‘I’m looking for Wish?’
The shadows under her eyes are so dark she could double as a panda but she still manages to smile at me. I really must see if I can do an investigation into the state of the NHS for GupShup. The realities behind the headlines, or something. I can even interview Wish if he’s still talking to me.
Then I remember I won’t be working for GupShup any more because I’m going to marry Subhi, and my stomach churns.
‘Are you all right?’ asks the nurse.
To be honest, I don’t think I am, but there’s nothing the medical profession can do about it.
‘I’m looking for a friend of mine who was admitted last night,’ I tell her. ‘He had a motorbike crash?’
‘Oh, Wish!’ Her face splits into a smile. ‘He livened the place up no end, he did. I’m sorry, love, he’s gone.’
‘Allah-ji! He’s not...’
‘Bless you, no! Of course he isn’t! He discharged himself a few hours ago. He said he could see we needed the beds and there was no way he was going to take one when somebody who was really sick could use it.’
‘He’s gone home?’
The nurse nods. ‘His fiancée picked him up. It was so sweet. She couldn’t keep her hands off him. Not that I can blame her! He’s a looker, your friend Wish, isn’t he?’
‘His fiancée? I don’t think so. You must have the wrong guy.’
‘I wouldn’t forget a top model turning up on my ward!’ laughs the nurse. ‘A tall girl with blonde hair and the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen. Mr Jones nearly had another heart attack.’
I stare at her while the tacky floor rolls and dips beneath my feet and hear again Wish’s voice on the answerphone, urging me to call because he has something important to tell me. Well, now I know what it was.
Wish and Minty have got engaged.
‘There’s nothing like a brush with death to make you realise that you love somebody, is there?’ says the nurse.
‘No,’ I tell her. ‘There isn’t.’
I’m at work bright and early the next day because I’ve made a decision: I’m going to clear my desk, say my goodbyes and tell Nina Singh I’m leaving for good. This seems the best way, the kindest way – even if it hurts like Hell right now. This is the brutal amputation of Wish from my existence. No more friendship, no more chats, no more choccie sharing and no more working together. I know it sounds extreme but I don’t have a choice.
B
ecause I think I’m in love with him.
I know! I don’t know how it happened either but Wish has somehow found his way into my heart. Maybe even my soul. And it hurts so much it’s all I can do not to throw back my head and howl because it’s never going to happen, Wish and me, is it? My parents would flip and I don’t suppose that his would be delighted either if he swapped a titled top model for some northern nobody. Right from the very start I knew it was impossible; I’ve never once let myself think otherwise, so how has he managed to get under my skin so totally and utterly?
I’ve done everything I can to convince myself Wish is just a friend but it seems Eve is right; what do feelings care about what people should or shouldn’t do? From the morning I met Wish by the photocopier I was lost.
When I went to bed last night I closed my eyes and I could see every detail of that moment: what he was wearing, the way that his hair curled over his collar, the patterns as the summer sunlight played across the planes and angles of his face. I can remember what he said and how he alone got me through those first few strange and difficult days. Then I thought about how kind he’d been to me, the fun we’d had going to Southampton, how our fingertips brushed in the cool silence of the Vanes’ library, the way he helped me search for Fizz. And I cried bitterly when I realised I’d chosen to believe Raza’s lies because this was easier than trusting my heart.
I’m going to miss Wish every minute of every day for the rest of my life, and he’ll never know it.
As I empty my desk I’m comforted by the knowledge that Wish has never known how I feel. I hid my feelings so well from myself I’m sure he hasn’t an inkling, which is just as well since he’s just got engaged. How stupid would I have looked if I’d arrived at the hospital and made some emotional declaration?
There’s no doubt either that the two of them are engaged because the tabloids have been full of it this morning. Even BBC Breakfast News featured images of the happy couple on their celebrity news section. Eve and Nish had watched with mouths hanging open, but at least I’d been forewarned and could smile and make chit-chat. So what if it felt like my heart was being stamped on by the entire Bollywood film industry? At least I looked good on the outside and had my own engagement to think about.
So my dignity’s intact.
But I’m starting to think my sanity’s another thing entirely.
‘I can’t believe it!’ shrieks Raj, for the hundredth time. ‘Has Wish gone mad?’
‘She’s up the duff, innit?’ says Kareena. ‘Why else would ’ee marry her?’
‘Because she’s beautiful and loaded?’ suggests Nish, scrawling good luck, you’ll need it across the engagement card Kareena has hastily purchased from Clintons.
‘Or maybe he loves her?’ says Sunny.
Raj balances one bum cheek on Sunny’s desk and pats him gently on the head. ‘You old romantic! This is Araminta Vane we’re talking about. Mouth like a sewer? Heart of ice?’
‘I’m getting married too,’ I say.
Suddenly I have the attention of everyone in the room.
‘Oh! My! God!’ Raj cries, one hand pressed dramatically to his pigeon chest. ‘The lawyer proposed?’
Oh crap, I’d forgotten about Raza. Well not forgotten exactly; how could I forget that charming experience when I’ve got so many bruises I look like something out of Crimewatch? But I’ve been living a very intense internal life for the past twenty-four hours and it’s strange to realise that, with the exception of my closest friends, nobody else has a clue what’s gone on.
‘I’m not engaged to Raza,’ I tell my saucer-eyed colleagues. ‘I’ve agreed to marry Subhi. He lives in Pakistan.’
You could hear a pin drop in the office. I think they’d be less surprised if I’d announced I was Wonder Woman in my spare time.
‘But you live here!’ says Raj.
‘Not for much longer. I’ve handed in my notice. Maybe we’ll live in Pakistan? We haven’t really talked about it.’
‘You haven’t talked about anything,’ mutters Nish, whom I suspect is not one hundred percent behind my arranged marriage, ‘because you haven’t even met him yet.’
‘You ’aven’t met him!’ Kareena gasps. ‘But what if he’s well minging?’
‘Marriage is about much more than looks,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s about a partnership, not sex. There’s more to life than sex.’
Kareena couldn’t look more shocked if I’d stripped naked, painted my bum blue and done a tap dance.
‘Like what?’ she asks.
‘Darling, are you sure?’ Raj says.
‘Of course. I can’t wait.’
Behind us echoes the sound of slow clapping.
‘How charming, Mills. Congratulations.’
Raza stands in the doorway, his rangy body framed against the light that streams in from the lobby, and his mouth twisted into a mocking expression. His eyes are bloodshot, his face blurred with the suggestion of stubble and his nose is swollen, which makes me feel a bit better.
‘What do you want?’ I hope I don’t sound as terrified as I feel.
‘That’s not very friendly, Mills. I was hoping that we could have a chat.’ Raza crosses the office until he’s just inches from me. I’m no expert but I’m sure I can smell alcohol on his breath. ‘It’s not very nice for a man to discover his girl is about to marry someone else.’
‘She’s not your girl!’ Nish snaps. ‘Not after what you tried to do to her!’
Raza smirks. ‘Is that your story, Mills? That’s not how it felt when you decided to be alone with me.’
Oh great. That’s my izzat well and truly down the bog.
‘Don’t look at me like butter wouldn’t melt,’ sneers Raza. ‘Have you told your friends a very different tale?’
He tries to catch my arm but misses. Oh Allah-ji, he’s drunk.
‘Can we discuss this somewhere else?’ I say.
‘So you can make up more lies? I don’t think so. No, what I have to say I’m going to say right here and right now in front of everybody who works for your pitiful comic. You can find yourself another man, Amelia Ali, because,’ Raza breathes his sour breath into my face, ‘you’re a slag and a nobody.’
‘I’ve already finished with you, remember?’
Raza laughs. ‘Is that supposed to upset me? As if I’d really be interested in a girl from a family of peasants! Come on, Amelia! I wanted to show Wish who could get into your knickers first. I was just having some fun, like I did with your slutty sister.’
‘That’s enough.’ Nish steps forward and her little body only comes up to Raza’s chest. ‘You’ve said enough, you pathetic low life.’
‘Nice company you keep, Mills,’ sneers Raza. ‘Although I shouldn’t be surprised. A girl who’d spend time alone with a guy is hardly going to have classy friends. Good luck to the poor bastard who ends up with you.’
Turning his back on me, Raza weaves through the desks and my stunned colleagues just at the exact moment Wish decides to breeze in. His hair is on end, his jacket is scuffed and there’s a cut running down his left cheek, which has been stitched rather clumsily. But I don’t care. Brad Pitt couldn’t look more beautiful to me.
If Wish is surprised to see Raza then he doesn’t show it. But the atmosphere in the office is so thick you could cut it with a chainsaw and his green eyes glitter dangerously. Raza smiles at his friend.
‘Mate,’ he says slowly. ‘You can have the frigid bitch. The sister’s a much better screw.’
Wish’s face drains of colour and the flesh tightens over the high cheekbones. Without any warning the muscles beneath his tee shirt ripple with astonishing power and his clenched fist shoots out, hitting Raza squarely on the jaw. With a cry of surprise Raza sways and falls to the floor, like a tree felled in a forest of office furniture.
‘If you ever speak about Mills like that again,’ Wish grates, ‘a punch in the face will be the least of your problems.’
Woah!
Raza pulls himself to his
feet and rubs his bruised jaw.
‘You’ll regret that, Darwish!’
Wish shrugs. ‘I doubt it.’
‘I won’t forget this.’ Raza turns his baleful glare on me. ‘And I certainly won’t forget your part, Mills Ali. No one attacks me with impunity!’
He storms from the office and a cold trickle of fear runs down my spine. I wouldn’t put it past Raza to do something really nasty just to spite me.
‘What’s impunity?’ asks Kareena. ‘A posh word for fists?’
And I could almost pity Raza because his dramatic exit is completely ruined as everybody creases up with laughter. On the other hand this could mean just one more grudge that he can hold against me.
‘Are you OK?’ asks Wish.
‘Fine.’ My heart is breakdancing beneath my ribs. Wish just defended my honour! That killer punch has to be the most romantic moment of my life.
Wish flexes his grazed hand and winces. ‘Ouch. That hurts in real life.’
‘Come on, knight in shining leathers.’ I force a note of lightness into my voice. ‘I think the least I can do is dress that hand.’
Wish perches on my desk while I search for the tatty first-aid box, which I eventually discover, buried beneath the washing up. Around us the others reluctantly return to work, but there’s an awful lot of whispering going on.
‘Don’t worry,’ Wish says. ‘They’ll forget about it in a minute.’
I take a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry about the message I left you. I know Raza was lying.’
‘Relax,’ says Wish. ‘Whatever it was I never got it. My phone was trashed in the accident. I’ll have to get a new one.’
Phew.
I dab the dubious remnants of Dettol onto a cotton pad and reach for his grazed knuckles. As I take his hand I have the strangest fizzing sensation in my fingertips, and from the way that Wish takes a sharp breath I know he feels it too. A sudden rush of longing fills my every sense, a molten liquid sensation that is exquisite and terrifying all at the same time.
‘Mills,’ says Wish hoarsely, his warm fingers clasping my wrist, ‘there’s something I have to tell you. Two things actually.’
The Wedding Countdown Page 29