by Naina Gupta
‘That girl,’ Mrs Sharma pointed a bony finger at Rupali. ‘That girl is disgusting.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Looking from her daughter to Jai and then back to Mrs Sharma, Rupali’s mother couldn’t quite believe the tone of the conversation.
‘She has been in a dirty filum.’ Satisfied that she had finally said her piece, Mrs Sharma stormed into the good room and sat down on the sofa, legs crossed at the ankles, awaiting an apology and an explanation.
Everyone followed her in. ‘I don’t understand what you are saying?’ Rupali looked at Jai. Nothing had happened between them, or anyone else. Rupali knew she was as pure as the day she was born.
Jai’s sister provided the most delicate description of the DVD cover that she could. ‘We saw Rupali naked on the cover of a video. A rude one. In Wembley. On a stall.’ Megha shook her head. ‘It wasn’t very nice.’
‘Exactly.’ Mrs Sharma snapped. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’
Rupali’s heart was beating so fast that she could hear it in her own head, and was convinced that everyone else could as well. She felt dizzy and thought that she was going to faint. Naked on a DVD cover on a stall in Wembley? How was that possible? No one except for her mother had seen her naked. And not for at least twenty years.
Her father, standing by the fake mahogany bureau that housed all Rupali’s dancing trophies, held his arms up. ‘Let’s calm down, there must be some mistake.’
‘Mistake?’ Mrs Sharma said. ‘No. It was her, alright. I saw it with my own eyes. You told us you were a good girl, and now I found this? You think I want you in my family after what you have put us through?’
‘It’s not real, someone has doctored the photo,’ Rupali protested.
And her mother added: ‘And it’s not like your son is so clean. We know the gossip about him and all the other girls.’
Her face a brighter red than a traditional wedding sari, Mrs Sharma seemed as if she might explode. ‘Don’t you dare talk back to me, have you no respect? And if it is a fake, what have you done to make people fake it? I don’t want someone with enemies in my house. I don’t want thugs to start knocking on my door.’
No one said anything to this. What could they say? Either Rupali was unclean, or someone hated her enough to do this. Either way, the deal was off, as far as the Sharmas were concerned.
Rupali felt completely deflated. There was nothing that she could say now. The thought of losing Jai, the only man she had ever loved, was too much to bear. She ran from the room, sobs rising in her throat.
‘Rupa . . .‘ Jai called after her.
But she didn’t turn to face him.
She could never face him again.
On her bed, Rupali cried and cried, and finally came up for air. One thing was for sure. She was going to discover who had created that DVD cover.
And when she did, well. She would certainly face them!
Quite possibly armed with some sort of weapon.
Chapter Twenty -one
A DAY AND A HALF later and V and Neela were waiting at the usual shisha joint when Jai showed. He thumped down a bulky packet, and told her he’d added an extra ₤50 for effort.
‘So it worked, then.’
‘This girl is brilliant!’ A nodding Jai told V, who just sneered at him.
‘Well, it was a pretty good idea,’ Neela boasted.
‘And what about the innocent victim in all of this? What about Rupali?’ V asked.
Jai and Neela seemed to be cut from the same cloth when it came to morals. ‘What about her?’ Neela asked.
‘She might have found a new career,’ Jai said, downing the first of many beers he declared to consume that night in celebration.
V folded her arms and leaned against the wall, ‘I can’t believe you find this funny.’
‘I can’t believe you don’t, after all, aren’t you trying to do the very same thing with that Girish bloke?’
‘It’s not the same. You’ve ruined that poor girl’s reputation,’ V said, shaking her head.
Neela reminded her she did help with the cover.
‘You did that?’ Jai seemed impressed.
‘I didn’t think anyone would believe it. Come on, Rupali does Rajasthan, who the hell would buy that?’
‘My mum and my sister, apparently. Incredibly competent use of Photoshop. You want a job?’
‘You’re so happy with yourself aren’t you?’ V glared at him.
‘Well, I am,’ Neela said. ‘I’ve just made ₤500.’
‘₤550,’ Jai corrected, clinking her glass.
‘The ₤50 is V’s. For helping.’
‘You’re both disgusting,’ V said, standing up and walking away.
‘You can’t walk away!’ Neela called out. ‘Who’s going to take me home?’
*
Jai had gone outside to make a call to one of his mates, and was contemplating a strange attraction to the girl inside, when he noticed a guy lurking outside.
‘You okay mate? Good looking in a more ordinary way than Jai, the guy looked vaguely familiar.
‘Just watching my wifey to be.’
‘Stalking her, you mean?’ There were so many lunatics around nowadays, Jai thought. Young, good looking ones like Rupali and this guy.
‘Whatever. She is going to pay.’ He continued to stare at the window, as if he were afraid he’d lose sight of her.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m going to get her,‘ his finger prodded the air in front of the window, ‘to the altar, then shame her. Out her as a slut. No one will want her then.’
Shaking his head, Jai was disgusted. He didn’t see the irony of being appalled at something he himself had just done. Looking into the bar, in the direction that the lunatic was pointing, Jai couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
The guy was planning to outwit Neela Solanki.
Jai patted him on the arm and walked away. ‘Good luck with that,’ he called. If anyone could handle themselves against that sort of stupid plan, it was Neela.
She would never let herself be put in a situation like that.
Probably just some loser she’d rejected, a wimp who was all talk.
He didn’t give it another thought.
The lookalike Payal spent six minutes of airtime running through the empty rooms of extremely large house that she had been living in for just three weeks. She was crying her eyes out: Mummy-ji had kicked her out and said she never wanted to see her again. The internal monologue revealed that even though she had been impersonating the real Payal, she still had feelings, and she genuinely loved Lohit with all her heart.
Throwing open the front doors, tears streaming down her face, Payal walked slowly out onto the lavish front porch. The camera panned back to the family in the dining room, talking about the awful actions of their daughter-in-law: Ishika still with an angry look on her face and clutching onto her pregnant but very flat stomach; Mummy-ji, now fully recovered and waggling a finger; and Lohit looking confused, as he had done for three episodes.
Then Payal was back on screen, running out of the garden and into the street. It had conveniently started pouring with rain. Thunder boomed loudly, immediately followed by the lightening – sound travelled faster than light in Indian soap-land. The lookalike Payal ran out into the road, still crying crazily. There was a close up on a small car, a Nano, hurtling towards her from 100 feet away. She stood motionless in the middle of the street, mouth wide with shock, even though there was still time for her to take one step back onto the kerb and save herself.
It was two days until the big date with Kiran’s family, and Neela was feeling claustrophobic. When they weren’t watching reruns of PAL, her mother and Daadi-ji were beside themselves with excitement, which just depressed Neela because she knew where it was all going to end up – in tears and the overuse of incense.
‘Just going shopping,’ she called out. No answer. No one cared about the shopping now. In addition to the debit
card, her credit card had been fully restored to its fully functioning glory, and Rishi was even encouraging her to spend up big for her ‘big day’.
But then Soorbhi came running out from the kitchen, a list in her hand. Various ingredients for the feast she was planning for the Acharyas. Scanning it, Neela realised that unless she went to Wembley, she couldn’t fulfil her mum’s requests. Saying nothing, she took the list anyway. Have the argument later, rather than now – that was Neela’s motto.
Neela was wandering around Westfield, idly asking herself whether yet another short black skirt could be squeezed into her overflowing wardrobe, when she felt a her phone ringing in her handbag.
‘Neela? Neela Solanki?’
Wow, this girl didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
‘It’s Priya!’
Great. Never heard of her. ‘Look, Priya, I am pretty busy, what with the wedding plans and all . . .‘
‘But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘You want to talk about my wedding?’
‘No. Are you getting married?’
Neela was confused. Was this Priya drunk? ‘What wedding did you want to talk to me about?’
‘Mine, of course. Jai told me all about you. But first, can you tell me how much you charge? You’ll understand why I am asking, when you hear my story.’
‘Charge? What for?’
‘Your services, of course.’
Ah. So Jai was spreading the word. He hoped it didn’t spread as far as Hira. No information could be successfully contained once her cousin discovered it. The last thing Neela needed was advertising like that – if Soorbhi and Rishi knew what Neela was doing, they would disown her in an instant.
‘So, what is the price?’
Thinking about her costs with Jai, and all the driving to and from Wembley, Neela quickly inflated her fee. ‘₤1500. Plus expenses.’
The girl whistled in awe. ‘As much as that? Still, I heard you can work magic. Fix any situation.’
‘It depends on the situation. I could do it including expenses, if you are really desperate.’
Priya calculating in her mind, ‘Okay, ₤1500 it is. Can we talk, then?’
‘Right now?’
‘Of course. I can give you a down payment.’
‘I’m in Westfield right now, can you get here? We can meet in Costa.’
It took 20 minutes for Priya to drive to White City, which was fast considering North Circular Road traffic. Neela had already had one cappuccino by the time she got arrived. Waiting around for some girl she never met was a bit weird.
Priya was pretty enough, with long, shiny black hair and the heavily made-up eyes of someone who worked in a trendy fashion store. As she sat down in the leather tub chair Neela noticed she seemed to be looking over her shoulder, not like she was scared, but as if she needed encouragement. Checking the concourse of the centre, Neela tried to make out what she was looking out for, but couldn’t see anything obvious.
Maybe the girl was a little nuts. Or drunk. Never mind. As long as she paid. Rishi would snatch that credit card back the minute Kiran called off the engagement, which left her with one day of financial freedom. Another job would swell her coffers nicely. It occurred to her that she should be working on V’s problem with Girish, rather than shopping or sitting here with another client, but told herself not to worry. It would be sorted out in time. After all, Jai’s situation had been resolved in less than 24 hours.
Sipping a skinny latte bought for her by her new client, Neela listened as the story of Priya and her fiancé Hiten Rampal unfolded.
‘When we got engaged, Hiten and I agreed that opening up a joint account would be a great way to save more for our future, more interest, you know.’
Neela was bored already. She tried not to yawn. What person opens up a joint account that early anyway?
‘I was always sensible with money. When I was a kid, my parents told me and my brothers that it was better to put our birthday and other money in a savings account rather than spend it. So we did, and eventually, when we’d all turned eighteen, we bought an investment property.’
That caught Neela’s attention. The girl only looked about 21 now. Only someone so young would attempt a skirt that short. The only thing Neela had to show for the thousands in birthday and Diwali money was loads of photographs of her wearing the outfits the money had bought.
‘So, me and Hiten agreed that if we both worked hard we could afford a thirty per cent deposit on a family house. But to do it, we needed to put a third of our salaries away each month.’ Priya paused for effect. And waited. And then said: ‘Understand?’
Neela stopped sipping. Why? Was the girl going to spring a pop quiz on her after this? ‘Right. Got it.’
‘Well, a few months later, when I looked at the funds, I found that a huge chunk of the money that should have been there was missing. So I ordered a statement and saw payments being made to another account each week.’
‘Where was it going?’
‘I don’t know, the bank says some refuge for poor kids in Delhi.’
‘You have a problem with that?’
‘Well, it’s mental, isn’t it? Stealing my money to spend on people we don’t even know overseas. And without asking me! I know plenty of poor people here, if he wanted to do that sort of thing.’
If all her clients ended up like Priya, Neela might consider actually marrying Kiran to escape them. Or that seedy Jai. ‘Can’t you just ask him to stop?’
But Priya was furious. She liked earning money and did not want her cash to be spent on anything frivolous that deviated from her plan to create a property portfolio.
‘So I realised I needed to be with someone I could trust, someone honest. The wedding plans are nearly complete. I need out and I need out fast. And if you could do that for Jai, who is such a prat anyway, you could do that for anyone, couldn’t you?’
Head spinning, Neela tried to consolidate her thoughts. ‘So you want to break up an engagement because your fiancé is spending money on orphans?’
‘I don’t know if they are orphans. They are just poor.’
‘Okay, whatever.’
‘Yes. That’s what I want. Will you do it? Will you help me?’
It was one thing de-arranging a marriage when one party was completely horrible, such as Girish; or nuts, like Rupali. It was another thing to break people up because someone was too generous and kind. What if word got out that Neela engaged in such activities? Anyone who knew Girish or Rupali would understand those breakups, but this guy - what was his name? Hiten, that’s it – that was just mean.
‘I’m really not sure. You see, sometimes you have to be quite nasty to make it work, and your fiancé sounds like a nice person.’
‘He was, until he lied.’ She seemed adamant.
‘But he lied about helping starving kids in India. Surely it’s forgivable.’
Priya crossed her arms. ‘Nope. I mean, what is he going to do next? Donate all our money to a Save the Donkey Fund or something? Imagine it.’
‘Look, if you really want to go through with this, I’ll do it, but give yourself a day or two to think about it.’
Priya pushed a cheque across the table for half the amount agreed. It was made out to cash. ‘I don’t need to think. I know. I want him gone. And if possible, I want him to pay for what he took, too.’
Was this girl for real? Who did she think Neela was? A debt collector? ‘Sorry, the money is your problem. I just do the breakup.’ What did Priya expect? That Neela would take Hiten to an ATM at gunpoint or something. After he had spent the money on the poor?
‘Fine, fine. But it needs to be done fast.’
Sighing, Neela pocketed the cheque. Where had she heard that before?
Chapter Twenty-two
RACING INTO THE HOUSE, Neela took the stairs two at a time to her room. Buoyed by her new client, Neela thought seriously of how to help V – by matching Girish to Rupali. Perhaps she could–
‘Well?’ Soorbhi stood in front of her.
‘Well what?’
Her mother held out her hands. ‘Where is my shopping?’
‘Oh, I went to Westfield.’
Her mother frowned. ‘So now go to Wembley and get my things.’
‘I can’t.’
‘And why is that?’
‘I have work to do.’ The words were out of her mouth before Neela had time to think.
‘Work? What work?’
Then Daadi-ji appeared and saved her. ‘For the vedding, of course. See, I knew she would be a good girl if she found the right person.’
A familiar theme tune struck up from the TV in the living room. Soorbhi and Daadi-ji pricked up their ears, and scurried away, leaving Neela in peace to plot and plan the downfall of two Indian unions.
Booting up her Vaio, Neela first thought about how to achieve the impossible – getting Rupali to fall for Girish.
She figured getting Girish to fall for Rupali was a no-brainer. Girish was ugly and pretty much undateable. If a sumptuous being such as Rupali so much as winked in his direction, it would be pretty easy to imagine him falling completely in love with her.
When the idea first occurred to her, Neela assumed it was crazy to go through with it. The gorgeous Rupali, and Girish? It was ridiculous. Then, the more that Jai said about her, particularly about the toenail stuff, and the more V revealed about Girish’s apparent wealth, Neela realised it could work.
Fingers hovering over the Google search box, Neela’s eyes were drawn to the ad boxes on the side of the page. Flowers, employment agents, theatre tickets.
Flowers!
Yes. That was it. Girish Patel would become Rupali’s secret admirer. He would be her unseen champion, supporting her through this difficult time of pornography allegations. Eventually, she would ask to see him, but by then she’d known he was wealthy and caring, so might possibly overlook his hellish appearance. Maybe she’d even mention the toenails. Sure, executing the idea would cost, but Neela was earning now. And V deserved proper attention. She could use Priya’s money to help fund V.