“Well …” I stared down at the ground. I wanted to tell them because I wanted them to be as mad as I was. “She said that Mum would be glad that Auntie was around to look after us.”
Silence. All around us the noise of the playground boomed in our ears, but we said nothing.
“Got to go,” Geena said at last. “See you.” She disappeared in a hurry. Jazz just turned and went off without a word.
For some reason I felt furious and upset. I kicked a nearby litter bin quite savagely, earning myself more sidelong looks. Chelsea and Sharelle were watching from the other side of the playground, their heads together. They didn't come over. I knew that they were talking about me.
Looking round to make sure as many people as possible were watching, I pulled open a nearby door and walked into school. We were strictly not allowed in the building before the bell rang, and Grimwade usually posted teacher sentinels in the corridor to make sure. But this morning there was no one around. I headed for our classroom. I felt like doing something really annoying this morning. I didn't know what yet, but now would be a good time while no one was around.
Halfway down the corridor I stopped. I could hear voices. Cautiously I crept forward, my ears cocked. Our classroom door was ajar. I could hear Grimwade talking.
“… and what worries me most is if they're going to keep this behavior up when the inspectors arrive on Monday.”
“I think they'll stop.” That was Mrs. Kirke, Geena's form teacher. “They're sensible girls.”
“I agree,” said Mr. Arora. “But maybe we should have another word with them.”
“Yes, it's a very delicate situation.” I recognized Mr. Lucas, Jazz's form teacher. They were talking about us. Intrigued, I moved a little closer.
“Of course,” said Grimwade, “we know why they're doing it.”
I almost gasped and had to clap my hand over my mouth. How could they possibly know about our marriage plans for Auntie and Mr. Arora? They couldn't.
“It's been a traumatic year for them,” agreed Mrs. Kirke. “The stress was bound to come out sooner or later. They've been through so much and on the surface they seemed to be coping so well. It seems they've been fooling us all this time.”
“Maybe we could offer them some kind of grief counseling through the Schools' Psychology Service,” Mr. Arora suggested.
For a moment I thought I was hearing things. Then I got it. They thought we'd gone off the rails because of Mum.
“It's not that, you idiots!” I wanted to yell. But I didn't. I crept away, back up the corridor. I was hot all over with this mad, intense rage. I was so bored with everyone else thinking they knew what was best for us. There was only one thing wrong with our lives. Auntie. Once she was gone, everything would be fine.
So they thought we were going to stop and go back to being perfect once the inspectors came. Had I got news for them. We were going to get worse. And I had the best idea where to start. The oh-so-special assembly on Monday morning.
“I can't believe we did all that stuff,” Jazz said under her breath. “Look, I'm so nervous, my hand's shaking.”
She attempted to put a silver bindi on her forehead and ended up with it stuck to her eyelashes.
“Don't be a drama queen,” I said, picking up my comb. “It had to be done.”
“You don't think—” Geena began hesitantly. She was sprawled on Jazz's bed, watching us dress. “You don't think we went a bit too far?”
My mind flew back two days to Friday afternoon. Sneaking into the hall after Ms. Woods had set things up, we had prepared for an assembly that I guessed the inspectors would never forget. Today was Inderjit's wedding. Tomorrow could be our funeral.
“We agreed,” I said. “We can't back out now.”
“I'm not backing out,” Geena snapped. Looking enormously irritated, she grabbed Jazz's pillow and heaved it at me. It hit me on the back of the head, almost shunting me through the dressing table mirror.
“Stop it,” I shouted, throwing the comb at her.
“You two! You're like a couple of naughty kids,” Jazz moaned.
“You started it,” Geena and I snarled together. We were all on edge, unsurprisingly. And secretly, my row with Kim was still doing my head in. We hadn't made up yet and I couldn't believe how much it was bugging me.
I glared at Geena and Jazz and flounced out of the room, almost tripping over my long skirt. Out on the landing, though, I froze into stillness. I could hear Dad and Auntie talking in the living room. Not talking. Arguing.
“I know you think I'm interfering, Johnny—”
“Aren't you?” Dad sounded weary and defeated. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. “Can't you just leave it alone? Things will work themselves out.”
“Will they?” Auntie asked. “It's been a year, Johnny. It's too long already. I'm worried about the girls. And you. You never talk to them. You're never here, except when I nag you to come home from work early—”
“The office is very busy at the moment,” Dad retorted, a trace of anger in his voice.
“It's been busy for the last year, as far as I can tell,” Auntie broke in. “When are things going to change? Because they can't go on like this. Buying the girls everything they want and never being here is not the solution—”
I jumped as Geena and Jazz came out of the bedroom behind me.
“What are you doing lurking around out here?” Geena demanded.
I shook my head at her but it was too late. Dad had heard us overhead, and was already halfway out of the front door.
“Girls, are you ready?” Auntie called.
We clattered downstairs. Auntie was wearing a peacock-blue sari stitched with gold swirls, and high-heeled sandals. Her hair was swept up on top of her head and pinned with two jeweled combs.
“You all look lovely,” she said approvingly.
“So do you,” Jazz blurted out. Geena and I were stunned, but Jazz seemed even more shocked than we were. She was so mortified, I didn't have the heart to kick her.
Dad was getting the car out of the garage, so we went to join him. He and Auntie were talking, but only just. They certainly weren't getting on very well at the moment. Dad had always been laid-back, but you could only push him so far before he'd snap. It was all very hopeful.
We drove to Slough and then crawled up and down the road outside Inderjit's parents' house, looking for a parking space. The cars were double-, and in some cases treble-parked, and someone had even parked sideways with the bonnet of the car on the pavement.
“Who's the groom?” Geena asked, as Dad squeezed the car between a Mercedes and a BMW, muttering a prayer under his breath.
“Harjinder's a doctor from Coventry,” Auntie replied. “He has a younger brother, if you're interested.”
Geena looked outraged. I almost laughed but just managed to stop myself in time, and Jazz did actually give a kind of strangled snort.
The front of the house was decorated with flashing fairy lights. The door stood open, and people were spilling out to stand on the driveway. Bhangra music thumped and echoed down the street, played on an enormous sound system. As we approached the front door, we were patted on the head, pinched on the cheek and kissed and hugged by lots of people, some of whom I didn't actually know. I suppose most of them were some sort of relatives, but it's kind of hard to keep track when you have so many.
The house was controlled chaos. There were about twenty men in smart suits, some wearing turbans, crammed into the front room drinking whisky and all talking at once. Dad peeled off straightaway to join them. We fought our way into the back room, where some aunties were watching a video of Lagaan. Auntie Rita and Biji were arguing in a corner, and Baby was in the garden, chatting up a teenage boy. The kitchen was heaving with women heating up samosas, handing out trays of tea and occasionally slapping one of the kids for misbehaving. There seemed to be hundreds of kids all over the place, playing, fighting, screaming, crying and generally getting on everyone's nerves. It was just like
every other wedding I'd ever been to. Everybody was enjoying themselves enormously.
“Let's go see Inderjit,” Geena suggested.
The three of us stepped around a squawking toddler and headed upstairs. Auntie had already been absorbed into the group of women in the kitchen and was chattering away in Punjabi.
There were more kids fighting on the stairs, but eventually we made it to the top. There was another bunch of them in Inderjit's parents' bedroom. Two girls were pulling sari after sari out of a wardrobe like magicians, while a little boy was parading around with a big pair of white underpants on his head. Inderjit's door was closed, so Geena tapped on it loudly. Sukhvinder, Inderjit's sister, opened it.
“Oh, it's you,” she said with a grin. “Indira, it's Geena, Amber and Jazz.”
“Yeah, they're all right,” Inderjit called. “Let them in.”
The bedroom was full of girls dressed up like colorful painted butterflies in floaty pastel-colored saris and salwar kameez. Inderjit was sitting on the bed in her sari underskirt and tight top. Her hands and feet had already been intricately patterned with mehndi, and one of her cousins was weaving white flowers into her long dark hair. Lucky it had grown back, really.
“Hi,” I said. “Did you know there's a fire under your bed?”
Inderjit gave a shriek, bobbed down and retrieved a lit cigarette. “I thought you might be my mum,” she said.
“Your husband won't like you smoking,” one of the girls teased.
“He knows what he can do,” Inderjit retorted. The girls giggled and started making rude comments about the groom and the wedding night in Punjabi.
“Inderjit, beti,” called a voice from outside the door.
“God, that is my mum!” Looking panicky, Inderjit threw the cigarette out of the open window onto the driveway. We heard a faint “Ow!” below us.
“You scored a direct hit on Uncle Davinder,” remarked Jazz, who was nearest to the window.
Inderjit's mum had come to hurry things along because we were late for the gurdwara. We were shooed out of the room so that Inderjit could be wound into her sari, and then we hung around outside the house so that we could see her emerge in all her glory. She came out looking doe-eyed and innocent, as if she'd never shaved her head or smoked a ciggie in her life.
“Let's make a dash for it,” Dad said in a low voice. “It's going to be hell trying to get a parking space at the gurdwara.”
Everyone else had the same idea, and there was a mad rush to the cars. Dad just doesn't have that killer instinct when it comes to parking, so we had to leave the car three streets away. We hurried to the gurdwara, which was an old church hall, and joined the end of the queue at the doors. Once inside, we took off our shoes and left them on the racks.
People were moving along the aisle down the middle of the hall to bow to the Holy Book, which was under a gold canopy at the far end. When we'd done that, we split up, Dad to sit on the men's side and us on the women's. I sat down cross-legged on the floor and looked around. The bride and groom were already sitting at the front with the priest, but people were still coming in from outside.
I looked at my watch. Twenty-two hours to go to the special assembly and then we'd be dead. I was still sure we'd done the right thing. Fairly sure. About fifty percent, really. Or maybe thirty.
More people were coming in down the aisle. I watched idly as Mr. Arora walked past me.
Mr. Arora?
What was he doing here?
My eyes almost fell out of my head. It was like seeing a dream suddenly become real. Mr. Arora was here. I didn't know why or how. I didn't care. This was our chance, and we were going to grab it.
I glanced at Geena and Jazz sitting either side of me. Geena was examining her nails and Jazz was fiddling with her hair. I elbowed them both in the ribs simultaneously.
“Mr. Arora's here,” I whispered.
“What?” Jazz hadn't heard what I said.
“Nice try, Amber.” Geena yawned, not looking up.
“He is.” I looked round, but he seemed to have disappeared. “Where's he gone?”
For a moment I was worried. Maybe my brain was overheating and I was hallucinating. Then I spotted him sitting down not far from Dad. “There he is,” I whispered. “Near Dad, next to the guy in the hideous purple and green tie.”
“That's Mr. Arora!” Jazz gasped.
“That's what I've been trying to tell you,” I said.
We all stared at Mr. Arora's handsome profile, willing him to turn round and see us. He didn't.
“Do you think he's going to the reception?” Geena asked.
We looked sideways at Auntie. The same thought was in all our minds.
“Let's hope so,” I said.
“Maybe we shouldn't wait to find out,” Jazz said anxiously. “Maybe we should just grab him afterward and push him in Auntie's direction.”
From then on, I paid no attention to the wedding at all. I fixed my eyes on Mr. Arora, watching his every move. Not that he did much. He looked at his watch four times, ran his hand through his hair twice and scratched his arm once. By the end of the ceremony I was a nervous wreck.
“Listen,” I whispered, as everyone rose to their feet. “You two keep Auntie here while I grab Mr. Arora and bring him over to meet her.”
I scrambled to get up, almost tripping over my floaty scarf. But as I attempted to launch myself across the aisle toward Mr. Arora, one of Inderjit's aunties, well over a hundred kilos and dressed in a lime-green sari, sailed into my path like a battleship, all guns blazing.
“There you are,” she boomed, pinching my cheek and nearly taking the top layer of skin off. “I thought you weren't here. Come and give your auntie a hug.”
I was crushed against her enormous stomach, and released, dazed and bruised, about ten seconds later. Jazz was trying to hide behind Auntie, but neither she nor Geena escaped. By the time we'd all come up for air there were so many people milling around us, we couldn't see Mr. Arora at all.
“Let's get straight to the reception.” Dad had appeared next to us, looking harassed. “We might have a chance of a parking space if we run.”
“What about Mr. Arora?” Geena mouthed at me as we raced out of the gurdwara.
“He'll be at the reception,” I said confidently, hoping I was right.
The reception was held in a hall about a mile away. By cutting through the back streets and jumping one red light (Geena said it was two, but Dad swore the second one was amber), we reached the hall and nicked the last space in the car park. I glanced round as we went in, but I couldn't see Mr. Arora's car.
The hall was filling up fast. It had been decorated with streamers and garlands of flowers, which some of the kids were already dismantling and chucking at each other. There were tables everywhere, and the harassed caterers were rushing out of the kitchen and plonking silver dishes of crisps, peanuts, samosas, pakoras and bhajis on them, which were pounced on and scarfed in five seconds flat. Dad headed straight for the bar in the corner. There was a dance floor in the middle of the hall, and a band was setting up onstage.
“Stop checking out the lead singer and look for Mr. Arora,” I instructed Geena. “Where's Jazz got to?”
Jazz had got left behind somewhere in the crowd surging forward for food. She bobbed up at my elbow about a minute later, grinning widely. “Mr. Arora's over there by the door,” she said in a stage whisper. “What are you going to do?”
“Ask him if he wants to marry Auntie,” I said. “Don't be stupid. I'll get him to come over and meet her. You hang on to her. Don't let her go anywhere.”
I pushed my way through the crowd as the band began to play. Rocky, one of Inderjit's cousins who's quite good-looking but thinks he's so it, tried to grab my hand and pull me onto the dance floor, but I avoided him with a sweet smile.
Mr. Arora was standing near the door talking to a couple of men I didn't know. I went over and touched his arm.
“Amber.” He stared down at me, his fa
ce crinkling into a warm smile. “Hello, what are you doing here?”
“Inderjit's my cousin, sir,” I said. “I didn't expect to see you, either.”
He laughed. “I was at college with Harry, the groom.”
“Oh.” That explained that. “Would you like to come and meet my aunt, sir?”
All right, it was a bit upfront, but he was hardly going to say no, was he?
“That would be lovely,” Mr. Arora replied politely.
Dizzy with triumph, I led him across the dance floor. Heads turned as we made our way to the other side of the hall. He was so good-looking, it was impossible not to imagine Auntie falling at his feet. And she looked all right too. It was going to work, I was sure.
Geena and Jazz had cornered Auntie, managing to get her away from the gaggle of gossipy women she was talking to. They were looking around for a free table when I stepped forward, smiling innocently.
“Auntie, this is my teacher, Mr. Arora,” I said smoothly. “He's a friend of Inderjit's husband.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Mr. Arora said with that winning smile. Auntie smiled back. They stared into each other's eyes. I almost expected to hear a Bollywood love song playing in the background, but the band were actually belting out very loud bhangra with a techno beat.
“I think I see a free table,” Geena said. “We'll go and save it, Auntie.”
I nodded. Leave them alone together. Great idea. Geena and I turned and went off, but had to go back and remove Jazz, who was still there, grinning knowingly from one to the other.
“Ow!” Jazz complained as we carried her away by her elbows. “I wanted to hear what they were saying.”
“They're not going to get all lovey-dovey if you're standing there with your ears flapping,” I said.
We sat down at the table and kept watch. At first, everything went well. Mr. Arora and Auntie were talking, their heads together. They seemed oblivious to all the noise around them. They were smiling. It was looking good.
“Shall we get up and dance?” said Geena, who had one eye on Auntie and Mr. Arora, and the other on the singer who, admittedly, was very fit and looked like an Indian Leonardo DiCaprio.
Bindi Babes Page 11