Bindi Babes

by Narinder Dhami

  “No, wait,” I said.

  Something had happened. It had all changed. Auntie took a step backward, frowning. She was waving her hands around a bit. Mr. Arora looked puzzled. Then he frowned too. Auntie put her hands on her hips and began talking at speed. Mr. Arora folded his arms and tapped his foot.

  “That's not good body language,” remarked Jazz, staring intently.

  “God, they're arguing,” Geena said.

  “No, they can't be,” I groaned.

  They were arguing. Why, I don't know. Words were being tossed back and forth between them now and things were getting heated. We saw Auntie snap out a final retort and, with a swirl of her peacock-blue sari, turn away and head in our direction. Her face was grim. Mr. Arora, looking like he did after he'd just had a run-in with George Botley, stalked off in the opposite direction.

  “I don't think they like each other,” Jazz said, aghast.

  “But they have to.” I felt sick. Our plans were tumbling down in ruins.

  “Who's that guy your aunt was talking to?” Dad appeared at the table, clutching a tray of soft drinks. “I don't think I know him.”

  “My teacher,” I said shortly.

  Dad's eyebrows shot up. “Your teacher?” he repeated. “But it looked as if they were arguing.”

  “They were.” I seized the opportunity to stick the knife in and twist it. “I just wish Auntie would stop interfering, Dad. I don't know what she's been saying to Mr. Arora, but she could make things really tough for me at school.”

  Dad's lips tightened as Auntie reached our table. “What were you saying to Amber's teacher?” he asked without preamble.

  “Nothing.” Auntie looked more furious than I'd ever seen her before. “I've met those kind of guys before. They think they know it all, but they don't know anything.”

  She took a glass from the tray and walked off, leaving us all stunned. Looking worried and angry, Dad went after her.

  “So that's that then,” Jazz said flatly. “We're stuck with her.”

  “Oh no.” Geena slumped down on the table with her head in her hands.

  “All right,” I said, rallying a bit even though I was shocked. “It's bad, but not that bad. Arora's out. But we can look around for someone else.”

  “It's not that.” Geena raised a tragic face. “Don't you realize what we've done?”

  Jazz and I looked at her blankly.

  “All that stuff we've done for tomorrow,” Geena went on. “The assembly. It was all for nothing. Now we're going to get into the biggest trouble of our whole lives. For nothing.”

  “Jazz, don't forget the music stands,” I panted.

  I was heaving the right backdrops into place, after we'd spent ages adding scenes from Aladdin on Friday. We'd come to school very early so we had time to put things right. We'd had to persuade the caretaker to let us in, though, by claiming that there were some last-minute adjustments to be made for the assembly. He didn't buy that, so we'd threatened to set Ms. Woods on him, which is enough to put the fear of God into anyone. “Did you remember to bring the screwdriver?”

  Jazz nodded, taking it from her pocket. She went over to the music stands stacked in the corner of the hall, and began to tighten up the screws that held the stands together.

  “I hope we don't forget anything,” she said nervously.

  “I've got a list.” Geena whipped a piece of paper from her bag and waved it at us. She was removing some of the acetate sheets from the overhead projector—we'd added a few alternative, ruder lyrics to the songs we were going to sing.

  “That was efficient,” I said, heading toward the piano. There was a whoopee cushion under Mrs. Murray's seat and we'd stuck the piano lid tightly shut with loads of Blu-Tak.

  “I couldn't sleep for worrying last night,” Geena explained. “So I got up and wrote the list.”

  “Don't forget the punk metal CD we put in the sound system,” I reminded her. “I hid the proper one behind the stereo.”

  Geena bobbed behind the curtain and came out again a moment later with the CD in her hand.

  “I wonder if Dad and Auntie will have made up by the time we get home tonight,” she remarked, stepping down from the stage.

  Dad and Auntie hadn't spoken to each other since the wedding reception incident with Mr. Arora the previous afternoon. I'd stirred it a bit, too, by moaning to Dad about how difficult my life at school would be as a result.

  “I hope not,” I replied. If Auntie and Dad were fighting, it might be our only way of getting rid of her now.

  “I'm glad we didn't saw through the head's chair legs like I suggested,” Jazz said. “We'd never have been able to repair those.”

  “I can't lift this,” I gasped, struggling with the piano lid. “Give me a hand.”

  All three of us pushed and heaved at the piano. Eventually the lid popped open, and we began scraping off the Blu-Tak.

  “I can't believe we did this,” Jazz said soberly. “Are we mad?”

  “We had a good reason,” I reminded her.

  “I know.” Jazz glanced sideways at me. “But …” She cleared her throat awkwardly. I knew that something quite shocking was coming and I had a fair idea what it was going to be. “Apart from Auntie, didn't you kind of enjoy it?”

  “I don't know what you mean,” Geena said uncon-vincingly.

  “Oh yes, you do,” Jazz retorted. “I don't know about you, but I'm fed up with trying to be perfect all the time. I just want to be me.”

  “Oh God,” I said. “What a prospect.”

  Jazz stuck her tongue out. “I don't mean that I want to behave like this all the time. I'm just tired of trying to pretend to everyone that everything's OK when it isn't.” She came to a full stop and stared wide-eyed at Geena and me.

  “All right,” Geena admitted. “I do know what you mean.”

  “And I think we should stop trying to get Auntie married off, too,” Jazz mumbled, staring down at her feet. “It's got us into loads of trouble so far, and all this”—she waved her hand around the hall— “would have got us suspended.”

  “You know, I think she's right,” agreed Geena soberly. “Much as I hate to admit it. We'd better just drop it, Amber. It was a stupid idea.”

  “It was my idea,” I reminded her.

  Geena raised her eyebrows at me. “I rest my case.”

  “The teachers think we started all this stuff because of Mum,” I blurted out, surprising even myself. “They think we might need help or counseling or something.”

  For once Jazz and Geena did not look away or run off. They both regarded me thoughtfully.

  “What do you think?” Geena asked, looking at me intently.

  The hall doors flew open, and we all nearly jumped out of our skins. Ms. Woods stood there. Her hair was as wild as ever and she looked on the verge of hysteria.

  “Oh, hello, girls,” she said, eyeing us a bit warily. “I just popped in to make sure everything's ready. But I see you beat me to it.”

  “Yes, miss,” Geena said, sliding the CD smoothly into her pocket. “Everything's fine.”

  We helped Ms. Woods set out some more chairs. There wasn't time for us to talk anymore, and we hadn't really said anything earth-shattering. But somehow I felt better. Lighter. As if someone had come along and lifted a huge weight off my back.

  Five inspectors turned up, but they were a bit disappointing. As Mr. Morgan, the headmaster, marched into the school hall with the inspectors behind him, everyone sat up to get a better look. Geena, Jazz and I were on the stage behind the curtains with the rest of the assembly cast, and we were all fighting to get a peek. After all the buildup, we were expecting them to look like gangsters or film stars. But there was a mousy woman in a blue suit, and four men who looked like rejects from Mrs. Dhaliwal's marriage file. They sat down, poker-faced, and waited to be entertained.

  “They don't look like inspectors,” Jazz muttered, as Ms. Woods flapped around giving us a last-minute pep talk.

  Ms. Woods
rushed up to us, crackling with tension. “Geena, are you ready to give the introduction?” she whispered. “Amber, the backdrop. Everybody else, stand by!”

  Looking perfectly calm and composed, Geena glided out onto the stage. Her voice was clear and confident as she stood in front of a large map, showing the spread of world religions, and read out the short introduction about how the assembly was to celebrate the diversity of religions and cultures in our school. Meanwhile, I took up my position at the ropes that controlled the backdrops.

  “Christians!” whispered Ms. Woods, sounding about as friendly as a Roman gladiator in the Colosseum. “Onstage now!”

  Paul Bruford, Katie Heaps and Jackson Jones shuffled out onto the stage, looking terrified. Quickly I began to haul at the ropes to change the backdrop to one of St. Paul's Cathedral. Unfortunately, nothing happened. I pulled again, frantically this time. Still no change.

  “Amber!” Ms. Woods called urgently from the other side of the stage. I'm sure everyone in the hall heard her. I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd heard her at the end of the street. There was a loud gasp from the audience, which chilled me. After our recent display of behaving badly, they thought I was doing this on purpose.

  I began to sweat as I realized that somehow I'd messed up, while rushing to change the backdrops earlier that morning. All I could do, as I worked to untangle the ropes, was close my eyes and pray that Widow Twankey's kitchen didn't appear when I pulled.

  I pulled. St Paul's Cathedral unfurled before my eyes, and my knees wobbled with relief. The teachers looked relieved too, although some of the pupils seemed quite disappointed.

  “You do enjoy living on the edge, don't you, Amber?” Geena remarked, as we lined up to replace the Christians, who were trooping offstage looking relieved.

  “Danger's my middle name,” I said airily, trying to still my madly beating heart.

  “We're on,” Jazz whispered.

  After that tiny hiccup, everything went smoothly. The inspectors remained poker-faced throughout the whole assembly, but they must have been quite impressed. Even Daniel Cohen remembered his words.

  As we all filed out of the hall afterward, there was a definite atmosphere of cautious confidence throughout the school. Even Mr. Grimwade was looking pleased and baring his teeth at everyone. It felt like we'd met the challenge head-on and we were going to survive it. And as we went back to class, Kim smiled at me for the first time in ages. That made me feel better too.

  However, there was something unpleasant but necessary that had to be done. At break time, when everyone had gone outside, I went to speak to Mr. Arora. He was sitting in his classroom marking books, and he looked up at me wearily as I approached. There were black circles under his eyes, and I wondered if he'd got any sleep last night at all.

  “Sir,” I said hesitantly, “I just wanted to say—I'm sorry for everything that happened last week. It won't happen again.”

  Mr. Arora looked at me quizzically for a while. “I'm very glad to hear it,” he said at last. “And, Amber, it's not surprising. You've had a very tough time over the last year.”

  “Yes.” I couldn't even get the “sir” out because my throat was tight.

  “And you must know that if you ever want to talk, I'm always available,” he added gently.

  What I really wanted to know was why he'd had a row with Auntie at Inderjit's wedding. But I couldn't ask that.

  “So …” Mr. Arora began fiddling with a paper clip. “Your auntie lives with you now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see.” I didn't know what he saw, and he wasn't going to tell me, either. He pushed back his chair and stood up. “We'll discuss this again when we've got a bit more time. Off you go now.”

  I went out into the corridor. Why Auntie had rowed with Mr. Arora didn't matter now anyway. We'd decided not to try and get her married off. That left us with a bit of a situation, though. Was Auntie now here to stay? It was something I would have to discuss with the others.

  As I turned the corner, I bumped into Geena, who was coming out of her form room.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “The bell went ages ago.”

  “I could ask you the same question,” I said.

  Geena looked a tiny bit embarrassed. “I've just been apologizing to Mrs. Kirke,” she said. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

  “So did I,” I assured her. “I've just come from Mr. Arora.”

  “Oh, good,” Geena said, relieved. “Do you think if we twist Jazz's arm enough, she'll say sorry to Mr. Lucas?”

  “Let's ask her.”

  Jazz was standing in a corner of the playground on her own. Her eyes were suspiciously pink and she was sniffing.

  “What's up?” Geena asked, handing her a tissue. “You don't have to examine it. It is clean.”

  “I've just been talking to Mr. Lucas,” Jazz sniffled. “He was really nice to me. We talked about Mum and everything.”

  Geena and I put our arms round her. My lip was wobbling and Geena looked bright and teary round the eyes. In a moment we'd all be bawling, and this wasn't the time or the place.

  We were saved by Kim, who was coming slowly toward us, her face pink, as if she wasn't sure of her welcome. Geena nodded at me, whispered, “Make it up,” and led a gulping Jazz away.

  “Are you all right?” Kim asked shyly.

  I nodded. “Don't worry. We've given up behaving badly. You were right. It was a stupid idea.”

  “Oh.” Kim looked relieved.

  “What about Gary?” I asked. “Did you talk to your mum?”

  Kim beamed as if a light had been switched on inside her. “Yeah, I did. You'll never guess what, she'd decided to chuck him anyway. He's gone. For good.”

  “That's great.” I gave her a big hug. I'd never done that before, but she looked pleased.

  A snigger from behind interrupted us. George Botley stood there, his eyes popping out. “What are you two up to?” he said, grinning.

  I walked up to him and stood nose to nose. “George,” I said, “you're not going to get anywhere while you're the class joke. And no girl's going to look at you twice. So you'd better take a long, hard look at yourself, and start shaping up.”

  I led Kim away across the playground. We left George openmouthed and red-faced, gawping after us.

  “You're not going to go out with him, are you?” Kim asked in awe.

  “No way,” I said. “But it's given him something to think about.”

  By the time I met up with Geena and Jazz at the end of the day, we all looked and felt happier. But we didn't say anything about what had happened until we'd left Kim at the flats and walked on. Then there was something else to sort out.

  “What are we going to do about Auntie?” I asked.

  Geena gave me a stern look. “I thought we'd decided not to try and find her a husband.”

  “Fine,” I agreed. “She might get married anyway, sometime, and move out. But what are we going to do now?”

  Jazz looked alarmed. “If you've got any more dumb ideas, Amber, just keep them to yourself.”

  “As a matter of fact, I haven't,” I admitted. “Not a single, solitary one.”

  “So what are you saying?” Geena asked briskly.

  I knew what we had to do. I just didn't want to admit it. “I'm saying that I haven't got any more ideas.”

  “Which means,” Geena persisted ruthlessly, “that Auntie's here, she's staying and we have to get used to it.”

  “Oh, let's not go that far,” I cut in. “We'll give her a chance, that's all.”

  “And what if she still gets on our nerves after six months?” Jazz asked doubtfully.

  “Er—I'm sure I'll have another idea by then,” I mumbled.

  Geena shook her head. “Admit it, Amber,” she said. “Auntie isn't going anywhere. There's only one thing for it and, believe me, I don't like it any more than you do.” She took a deep breath. “We'll have to try and get along with her.”
<
br />   “Are you kidding?” Jazz shrieked.

  “Have you got any better ideas?” demanded Geena.

  Jazz looked sullen. “No. But I'd rather cut my ears off.”

  “Then you won't get your second holes,” I pointed out.

  Jazz couldn't help laughing. “But will she try to get along with us?” she asked.

  “If you mean, will she let us stay up late and live on takeaways and get away with murder, then, no,” Geena replied. “But then, Mum wouldn't have done that either, would she?”

  Jazz and I were silent. Almost without knowing it, we'd kind of slipped into a routine over the past three weeks. Thinking back, it reminded me of when Mum was there. If I was perfectly honest, I knew that Geena was right and that Mum would have behaved almost exactly the same as Auntie about bedtimes and boring stuff like that. We'd only got away with so much over the last year because Dad had been so out of it.

  “Does that mean we have to be nice to her, though?” I asked, only half joking.

  “We're teenagers,” Geena replied. “That means we don't have to be nice to anyone.”

  “Amber's not a teenager yet and neither am I,” Jazz remarked.

  “You behave like one,” I told her.

  “Do I?” Jazz looked pleased, then frowned.

  Dad's car was outside the house again when we got home. But we were so used to it by now, nobody commented. He came out of the living room as we let ourselves in, and one look at his face made my stomach lurch sickeningly. He looked as if he'd been crying.

  “Dad, what's the matter?” Geena asked.

  He stared emptily at us. “I had a row with your auntie,” he said. “She's gone.”

  “Gone?” I repeated. “What do you mean?” “She packed up and left in a taxi a few minutes ago,” Dad said. “I don't know where she's gone.”

  A great wave of fury rushed over me. She'd gone? When the going got rough, she'd just upped and left? I had Auntie down as many things, but not a quitter.

  “You mean, she's not coming back?” Jazz asked, arriving into the conversation late as usual.