Superstar Babes

by Narinder Dhami

  Chapter Five

  ‘B-BABY!’ I SPLUTTERED, wondering if I was seeing things. Well, hoping I was. ‘What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?’

  ‘Oh, it’s yours, is it?’ Baby yawned and flicked over a page of the magazine she was reading with one long, crimson, acrylic fingernail. ‘I thought there was a funny smell in here.’

  Downstairs I could hear Geena and Jazz banging on the door and making threats through the letterbox.

  ‘I said, what are you doing here?’ I advanced further into the bedroom, only to find my way blocked by three massive suitcases. ‘What are these?’

  Footsteps came rushing up the stairs and Geena and Jazz burst in, followed at a rather more leisurely pace by Auntie. She must have come in through the back door, and then let Geena and Jazz in. There was hardly space to move now with those ginormous suitcases stuck in the middle of the room.

  ‘Ha! Very funny, Amber!’ Jazz said savagely. Then she took in the spectacle of Baby perched on my bed, and stopped short, as did Geena. Baby yawned again, looking more bored than ever.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’ asked Geena, eyeing Baby up and down. Our cousin had already changed out of her uniform and was wearing a white silk shirt and figure-hugging skinny jeans, which made me, for one, feel like a swotty frump in my school clothes.

  ‘And hello to you too,’ Baby said, raising one perfectly arched and pencilled eyebrow.

  ‘Baby’s staying with you for a while,’ Auntie explained. ‘Her mum and dad have had to go to India very suddenly on business connected with their company.’

  ‘She’s staying with us?’ I repeated, glancing aghast at Geena and Jazz. They both pulled a face at me while Baby smirked and flipped over another page of her magazine.

  ‘Why can’t she stay with you and Uncle Jai next door?’ Jazz grumbled. ‘You’ve got loads more room than us.’

  ‘Because they’ve just got married and they want to be on their own,’ Baby interjected, staring down her pretty little nose at Jazz. ‘I would have thought even an airhead like you would know that. Duh!’

  ‘I’m an airhead?’ Jazz spluttered, hardly able to contain herself. ‘I’m an airhead?’

  ‘Glad you agree,’ Baby said, still smirking.

  ‘Girls!’ Auntie said calmly. ‘Stop this, please. You have to live together for the next six weeks—’

  ‘Six weeks!’ I exclaimed, reeling backwards in horror.

  ‘So let’s start as you mean to go on,’ Auntie carried on, ignoring me.

  ‘We already have,’ Jazz muttered.

  ‘Anyway, why has Baby got my room?’ I enquired. ‘I always have to move out when someone new moves in.’

  ‘Because you have slightly less stuff than Geena and Jazz, so it’s easier for you to move, Amber,’ Auntie explained patiently.

  That reminded me.

  ‘Auntie, we’re going to have a yard sale here on Saturday and I was wondering—’

  ‘If you had any spare stuff—’ Geena interjected swiftly.

  ‘That I could have to sell on my stall!’ Jazz yelled, muscling in at the finish.

  I turned on the two of them. ‘I asked first!’

  ‘No, you didn’t!’ Geena snapped.

  ‘Please, Auntie,’ Jazz wheedled, taking a different tack. ‘I’ll load the dishwasher for a whole week.’

  Auntie smiled. ‘I take it there’s some kind of competition going on here?’

  I explained about the yard sale and the contest to see who could raise the most money.

  ‘I’ll sort out some things for your stalls,’ she agreed. ‘But’ – she held up her hand as we all opened our mouths to stake a claim – ‘I’ll be dividing them fairly between the three of you. Understood?’

  We all nodded sulkily.

  ‘A yard sale?’ Baby sounded as disgusted as if someone had told her to clean the toilet with her toothbrush. ‘How very uncool.’

  All three of us turned on her.

  ‘It’s for a great cause,’ Geena said frostily. ‘The library at school is being renamed after our mum, and we’re giving a donation.’

  ‘Yes, and we’re raising almost all the money ourselves,’ I added.

  ‘Ten thousand pounds,’ Jazz snapped, glaring at Baby. ‘What do you think of that, then?’

  ‘I think a yard sale isn’t going to raise anywhere near that amount of money,’ Baby pointed out. ‘What you need is a really good money-spinning idea. A master plan. A—’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ I interrupted sullenly.

  ‘Amber, start moving some of your things into Geena’s room before dinner,’ Auntie instructed me. ‘You can sort out things for your yard sale while you’re doing it.’

  ‘My room!’ Geena repeated with horror. ‘Why can’t she move in with Jazz?’

  ‘No-o-o-o!’ Jazz wailed. ‘I shared with Amber when Auntie came here, and when Molly Mahal moved in. It’s your turn, Geena.’

  ‘But I need my space!’ Geena proclaimed melodramatically. ‘I have GCSE coursework!’

  ‘Oh, stop moaning and get on with it,’ Auntie said, and went out.

  ‘Thanks for the warm welcome, Geena,’ I said, making a great show of squeezing my way past Baby’s gigantic suitcases. ‘I’ll start collecting my stuff and be over to yours right away. And don’t worry if you have any secrets you don’t want anyone finding out about. I won’t say a word, I promise . . .’

  Looking rather fraught, Geena disappeared abruptly along the landing. I smiled to myself. I hadn’t forgotten about the possibility of her having a secret boyfriend – I just hadn’t had much time to investigate yet. But maybe moving into her bedroom would give me the perfect opportunity. Jazz had obviously realized this too, because she winked knowingly at me as she went out.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Baby, nose twitching like a bloodhound. ‘What’s Geena up to?’

  ‘Why are you so interested?’ I asked, opening my wardrobe. It was stuffed to the seams and I was sure I had plenty of clothes I could sell on my stall.

  ‘Well, I’ve got to find something to make the next six weeks a bit more fun.’ Baby lay back and lounged on my bed. She was still wearing her red stiletto shoes. ‘I don’t suppose Auntie will let me go out in the evenings, will she?’

  ‘Got it in one,’ I replied, beginning to sort through the clothes rail.

  ‘Well, do you think she’ll let Rocky come round?’

  ‘She might.’ I held up a Gap denim skirt I hadn’t worn for ages. ‘But you can forget any hanky-panky. Snogging and such-like will be strictly out of bounds.’

  ‘Oh, great. Just great.’ Baby flopped back sullenly onto the pillows. ‘You can get rid of that stripy tank-top, by the way, Amber. Those are so out this season.’

  I gritted my teeth and did not reply. I’d only bought it last Saturday.

  By dinner time I’d made a pile of clothes, shoes and trainers for my stall. I’d added books, games and bits of make-up and anything else I could find. But I still wasn’t satisfied. I needed more. I’d never raise more money than Geena and Jazz with just this stuff.

  ‘You’ll never raise more money than Geena and Jazz with just this stuff,’ Baby said, picking up a pink pleated skirt and staring at it disdainfully.

  ‘I haven’t finished collecting things yet,’ I replied, wondering how long it would be before one of us murdered Baby and hid her corpse under the bed.

  Dad was working late on his engineering project again, so Auntie and Uncle Jai came over to have dinner with us. They didn’t always when Dad was out, but I guessed that tonight they were playing the same role as a United Nations peacekeeping force.

  ‘So how are all you girls getting along?’ asked Uncle Jai as we sat down at the table.

  There was a grim silence.

  ‘They’ll be fine,’ Auntie said. There was an edge to her tone which made it clear that we would be fine, or else. ‘Baby’s our guest, and she’s very welcome. Have some salmon, Baby.’

  Baby pulled a face. ‘I don
’t like fish.’

  ‘You should,’ Jazz said. ‘It’s brain food. Perfect for you.’

  Baby looked offended. She and Jazz eyeballed each other across the table.

  ‘There’s some chicken in the fridge,’ Auntie said.

  ‘Oh, can I have a stir-fry?’ asked Baby sweetly. ‘It’s nice and healthy. I don’t want to get fat.’ And she stared pointedly at Geena, who was serving herself chips. Geena, who’s not fat but rather curvy, looked furious and put four chips back.

  Auntie glanced down at her own dinner, which she hadn’t even started on, sighed slightly and got up.

  ‘Baby’s our guest, remember?’ I told her.

  ‘Don’t push it, Amber.’ Auntie disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘I can’t believe Dad’s working late again,’ Jazz grumbled. ‘He worked late all last week too.’

  ‘It’s because his firm’s working on that big project,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Maybe he’s got a girlfriend,’ Baby suggested idly, nibbling on a slice of cucumber.

  ‘What!’ Jazz howled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  Baby smiled.

  ‘Would you like a spoon, Baby, as you seem determined to do quite a bit of stirring,’ I said calmly. I was quite cool about it, unlike Jazz, who looked as if she wanted to plunge her fork into Baby’s arm.

  ‘Now, now, girls,’ said Uncle Jai in his teacher’s voice.

  ‘Six weeks living with her,’ Jazz moaned as we adjourned to the living room after dinner to watch that evening’s episode of Who’s in the House? ‘How can this be possible? I feel ill.’

  ‘It’s freezing,’ Baby complained loudly. ‘Do you ever have the heating on or are you just too poor?’

  ‘The timer should be switching it on round about now,’ Auntie replied in a clipped tone. ‘Have you been watching Who’s in the House?, Baby?’

  ‘Ooh, yes,’ Baby said enthusiastically. ‘I just love Steve Kelly. He’s gor geous!’

  I rolled my eyes at Geena and Jazz. Steve Kelly, a Premiership footballer, seemed determined to be a complete stereotype. He boasted continually about all the money he earned and the cars he owned, and spent most of his time leering at Romy Turner in her bikini. I guessed that Baby’s ultimate ambition in life was probably to be a WAG.

  ‘And what about that old has-been Molly Mahal?’ Baby went on. ‘Hello, major plastic surgery alert!’

  ‘OK, so she’s had a bit of help in the looks department,’ I said sharply, ‘but she’s very popular. Everyone thinks she’s going to win.’

  ‘Why are you standing up for her?’ Baby yawned, slumping into the comfiest armchair, which was also in the best position for viewing the TV. ‘She was completely snooty and obnoxious when she stayed here.’

  ‘Remind you of anyone?’ Jazz muttered in my ear as Baby shivered theatrically.

  ‘Can I have a cup of coffee, please?’ she asked in a poor little me voice. ‘That might warm me up a bit.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Uncle Jai said quickly after one glance at Auntie’s face.

  ‘By the way, how much stuff have you two got for your stall?’ Jazz asked, looking from me to Geena.

  ‘Oh, lots,’ said Geena guardedly.

  ‘Loads,’ I replied. ‘And that reminds me. Kim and I started making some posters this afternoon. We can finish them off after Who’s in the House?’

  I ran upstairs to get the posters. On the landing there was a large bookcase, crammed with books and a hundred other different things. As I passed by, I caught sight of a silver sunglasses case perched on top of a pile of books.

  I stopped and opened the case up. Jazz’s Calvin Klein sunglasses were inside. They’d been her favourites once upon a time, but then she’d bullied Dad into buying her some Gucci shades for her birthday and she’d never worn the CK ones since, as far as I could remember . . .

  ‘What are you doing, Amber?’ Baby was peering through the banisters at me. I hadn’t heard her come up the stairs.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, sliding the sunglasses neatly behind my back.

  ‘I need my cashmere jumper, I’m freezing,’ Baby complained. She went into my bedroom and I heard her banging her suitcases about. Meanwhile I hurried into Dad’s room: I’d decided to hide my stash of stall goodies under his bed, away from the prying eyes of Geena and Jazz.

  I shoved Jazz’s sunglasses under the bed and sat back on my heels, flushed with satisfaction. Oh, come on, of course I wasn’t stealing Jazz’s sunglasses. Not at all. If she mentioned that they were missing before the yard sale, then I’d hand them over straight away. No question. But I’m sure she doesn’t want them any more. They’ve been sitting on that bookcase for at least six months.

  Anyway, you know the old saying.

  Finders keepers, right, girls?

  ‘Is it going to be like this every morning for six weeks?’ Jazz asked in a superbly tragic tone as we trudged off to school the next day. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Baby had outdone herself. First she’d spent an hour in the bathroom and used up all the hot water. Then she’d managed to burn a hole in my bedroom carpet with her GHD hair straighteners. She wanted toast and orange juice for breakfast and we didn’t have any OJ so Auntie had to run to Mr Attwal’s minimarket. And then go back for low-fat marge because Baby doesn’t eat butter. All this before eight o’clock too.

  ‘Baby’s acting like J-Lo,’ Geena grumbled. ‘All these diva-ish demands.’

  ‘Just be grateful we can get away from her at school,’ I pointed out. Baby was so late leaving this morning that she’d bullied Dad into giving her a lift (the school was ten miles away from Dad’s workplace, in the opposite direction and through some of the most hellish commuter traffic in the history of western civilization). Apparently Baby ‘didn’t do buses’.

  ‘Do you know, she even told Dad not to drop her off in front of the school.’ Geena sniffed disapprovingly. ‘She said it’s not good for her image to be seen getting out of a car that isn’t a Mercedes.’

  ‘I thought Molly Mahal was a complete pain in the behind when she stayed with us,’ Jazz remarked, ‘but Baby’s a hundred times worse.’

  ‘Speaking of Molly Mahal, I think she almost cracked last night for the first time,’ I said. ‘Did you catch that look on her face when they announced that she was up for eviction this week?’

  Who’s in the House? the night before had ended in uproar. The remaining five contestants had, as usual, been given a silly challenge. This time they’d been asked to cut each other’s hair into certain styles. This sounded hilarious until we found out that they were going to be wearing wigs so no one’s actual hair was going to be affected at all. What a con.

  Anyway, they all chose their wigs and put them on, and then they hacked each other about, and it was quite funny. Molly cut Luke Lee’s (he’s the has-been pop star), and his wig actually looked a lot better than his own hair.

  Then had come the shocking announcement that this week we, the public, weren’t going to be voting for the two people who’d done worst in the week’s trials so far (Jazz had her phone in her hand ready to vote for Romy Turner, who’d made Steve Kelly’s head look like a lop-sided pineapple). Instead the contestants were told to look inside their wigs as two of them had notes hidden in them. These notes said: You are nominated to leave the house this week. Molly Mahal got one and Steve Kelly got the other.

  ‘It’s such a fix,’ Geena said. ‘The programme makers know that everyone’s going to vote to keep Molly in because they love her so much. Cue lots of phone votes and lots of lovely money for the TV company.’

  ‘I wish she’d gone ballistic and torn the house apart,’ Jazz said wistfully. ‘That’s what I was hoping for.’

  ‘She did look a teensy-weensy bit annoyed for about half a nanosecond.’ I remembered the expression that had flashed across Molly’s face before she went into her Oh, well, never mind, I never expected to win anyway, I’m just so happy I got this far routine. ‘She’s definitely got some sort
of master plan going on.’ Molly Mahal was a survivor who always looked after Number One. I knew that for a fact.

  There was hardly anyone around in the playground when we arrived at school. I’d texted Kim and Kiran to tell them we were coming along early to put up the posters about the yard sale and not to wait around for us later.

  ‘We ought to spread them out across the playground,’ I said, unrolling the ones I’d made. They were quite tasteful – large black stencilled lettering on a pale pink background: YARD SALE AT THE DHILLONS’ HOUSE, and then the date. Very stylish.

  ‘Dear me, Jazz, yours are a bit garish,’ Geena remarked as Jazz unrolled her own posters. She’d used loads of gold sequins and silver glitter and she’d also cut out pictures of celebrities and stuck them on there too. One of them was Molly Mahal, next to the head of Victoria Beckham.

  ‘Well, yours and Amber’s are boring,’ Jazz retorted. ‘We need some glamour and excitement to make people come along and buy our goods.’

  ‘So are you two selling loads of your designer stuff then?’ Geena asked curiously.

  ‘Me?’ I said innocently. ‘No, of course not. Only a few things I don’t want any more.’

  Which was true enough. I wasn’t going to mention that I’d added two of Geena’s Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirts and a pair of Jazz’s Nike trainers to the rapidly expanding pile of goodies under Dad’s bed. I mean, these things were just lying around the house, doing nothing. Geena and Jazz obviously didn’t want them.

  ‘I’m selling a few of my designer things too,’ Jazz added, tying one of her posters to the gate. ‘And there are loads of my old toys in the loft. I think I might try selling those—’

  ‘You there! What are you up to?’

  Geena’s face darkened. ‘It’s him again!’ she hissed.

  Gareth Parker was charging across the playground towards us, clutching a clipboard.

  ‘Oh, hello, Commandant – I mean, Gareth,’ I said. ‘Where’s your little sidekick today?’

  ‘If you mean Soo-Lin,’ Gareth snapped, ‘she’s not in today. She’s sick.’

  ‘Of you?’ Geena enquired sweetly.