Bhangra Babes (17 page)

“It might very well come to that,” I replied.

At that moment Rocky came out of school. Unfortunately, he was with Kiran.

I said a mildly rude word under my breath.

“Well, that's it, then,” Jazz said gloomily. “We're done for. Hung, drawn and quartered. Or we will be by Sunday evening.”

“Everything all right?” asked George Botley, who was hanging around nearby.

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, George.” I managed a smile. “See you.”

George raised a hand. “Hope the wedding goes off OK,” he called as he walked away.

I winced. “So do we,” I muttered as Rocky and Kiran

strolled toward us. “But at the moment there's about a one percent chance of that happening.”

“Hey, girls!” Rocky grinned jauntily at us. “Looking forward to Sunday? I know I am!”

We all glared at him. However, it was like water off a very stupid duck's back.

“Kiran's coming over tomorrow to hear me run through my set,” Rocky went on. “She hasn't heard me play before.”

“Oh, my, Kiran,” said Geena. “Have you got a treat in store.”

Kiran grinned at us. “Yeah? And I've got a surprise for
you
as well.”

I was immediately intrigued. “What?”

“You'll find out soon,” Kiran replied. “Maybe sooner than you think!”

We watched the two of them walk off together.

“What surprise is that then?” asked Jazz.

“It'll be something to do with Rocky,” replied Geena. “Maybe she thinks he's going to ask her out. Or maybe she's going to ask
him
out.”

“Don't say that,” I muttered with a feeling of dread. “Oh, why has everything gone so wrong?”

Kim opened her mouth to reply. But she didn't get a chance because I clapped my hand over it.

“Thank you, Kim,” I said. “I already know that this is mostly my fault.”

“Mostly?” Geena and Jazz said together.

“All right,” I admitted.
“All
my fault.”

“Never mind,” Jazz said kindly. “I'm sure you'll be

punished enough when Auntie hears Rocky play at her wedding reception.”

“That's a certainty,” I replied gloomily.

Friday evening through to Saturday evening was a whirlwind of activity. Even if I'd wanted to go and fling myself at Rocky's feet and beg him tearfully to reconsider, I didn't have time.

Almost every female relative in the family arrived at our house on Saturday. Some of them immediately took over the kitchen and started cooking huge vats of curry and millions of samosas, pakoras and bhajis. We did have wedding caterers, but the idea of running out of food for the ravenous hordes (sorry, wedding guests) was too much to bear, so we stockpiled enough to feed the whole of southeast England in an emergency. Others (like Auntie Rita) sat around gossiping, and others (like Biji) sat around criticizing. One sat around painting her nails (that was Baby). It was traditional pre-wedding chaos. Dad ran off to the office in a panic, and we didn't see him for hours.

Later on, after we'd eaten, there was singing and dancing in the living room. We pushed back the furniture, and most of the women danced around, singing mildly rude songs about the groom, the bride and the wedding night.

“It'll be your turn soon, Geena,” cackled several aunties as they lumbered around the living room floor.

Geena forced a smile, then pulled a face at me and

Jazz. “And I think I can safely say that Rocky won't be playing at
my
wedding reception,” she whispered.

“Why did you have to remind me?” I groaned. “I was enjoying myself so much.”

What made me feel worse than ever was that Auntie was having such a great time. She was glowing with happiness, although remembering to look suitably sad and sweet when any old aunties and grannies were around. Indian brides are supposed to look upset at leaving the family home when they get married. Auntie was doing her best to toe the line, but a smile
would
keep breaking out every so often. I didn't think she'd have any trouble keeping a straight face at the wedding reception, though—once Rocky started playing, she'd be doing her best not to burst into tears.

There was more fun and games as Auntie's hands and feet were decorated with mehndi, and she was given the traditional twenty-one red and cream wedding bangles to wear. Afterward, some of the relatives started to drift off home. The other fifteen or so were staying the night with us. Jazz and I had been unceremoniously ejected from our bedroom and were bunking in with Geena. A fiercely contested pillow fight had ensured that I got to share Geena's double bed, while Jazz was stuck with the creaky camp bed on the floor.

“If you and Geena weren't so mean,” Jazz grumbled, climbing into her pajamas, “I could get in at the other end.”

“Which means we'd have to sleep with your feet in our faces,” replied Geena. “Forget it.”

“I'll be worrying about Rocky all night,” I muttered, snuggling under the duvet. “I bet I don't get any sleep.”

“Well, you might as well have the camp bed, then,” Jazz said hopefully.

There was a tap at the door.

“Not asleep yet, girls?” Auntie poked her head round the door. She was wrapped in her dressing gown.

“You should be getting your beauty sleep for tomorrow,” Geena said severely.

Auntie came in and closed the door. “I've got to wait a bit longer for this to harden before I wash it off,” she said, waving her hands at us. The henna paste was the color of dried mud. “So I thought I'd come and say good night. As this is the last time I'll be here.”

“We should be so lucky,” I joked.

“All right.” Auntie smiled. “I mean, the last time I'll be living here.”

There was a short silence.

“It hasn't been so bad, has it?” asked Geena.

“It got better,” Auntie replied. “The first few months were horrible.”

“Yes, for us too,” I said. I wasn't joking this time.

“But once I found some rather lovely girls underneath the spoilt little brats, I think we got along fine,”Auntie went on. “Your mum had written and told

me how wonderful you all were, so I knew I had to keep trying.”

I was horrified to find tears pricking my eyes. “Well, as soon as we found out you could cook, we decided to keep you on,” I said. My voice wobbled a bit at the end.

“I'm just sorry I'm leaving when we've started to get on so well,” Auntie said shakily.

“But Mr. Arora's so 1-1-lovely,” Jazz stammered, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “You couldn't turn him down.”

“No.” Auntie gulped. “Not after the three of you went to so much trouble to get us together.”

“I hate goodbyes,” Geena mumbled.

“I'm going to miss you all,” Auntie sobbed.

We gathered on the bed and had a group hug.

“I'm not going to be far away,” Auntie reassured us. “We'll still see each other most days.”

“It won't be the same, though,” I wept. “You won't be here when we get home from school.”

“And when you and Mr. Arora buy your own house,” sobbed Geena, “you might move miles away.”

“We won't,” Auntie promised.

Jazz sniffed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“How did you always know when we were listening outside the living room door?”

“If the door was open a little way, I could see your reflections in the mirror in the hall,” Auntie replied, wiping her eyes.

We stopped sobbing and started laughing.

“Well, that explains
that,”
I said.

“It's time we all got some sleep.” Auntie gave us all one last quick hug. “We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

I felt my heart sinking, sinking, sinking right down to my feet. I did not see how I could possibly enjoy the wedding, knowing the horrors in store at the reception. Geena and Jazz looked suitably depressed too.

I didn't sleep very well that night. It felt like I didn't sleep
at all.
Every time Jazz turned over, the camp bed creaked. I'd whisper, “Shut up!” and then Geena would elbow me in the ribs. This seemed to happen every five minutes.

The whole house was awake and buzzing by five-thirty We tried stuffing our fingers in our ears and sticking our heads under our pillows, but nothing could muffle the sound of high-pitched excited chattering. So in the end we got up too.

We looked fabulous in our new outfits, even if Jazz's pale pink skirt
was
slit a little too high. But although I felt ultraglamorous in my aquamarine suit with matching silky scarf and high-heeled silver sandals, I just could not relax and enjoy myself.

All the relatives started crying and showering blessings on Auntie as she was escorted downstairs by Dad. Although she kept her eyes down, like a proper Indian bride, she looked stunning. Her red silk sari, heavily embroidered with gold, had cost a whole shed load of money, but it was worth it, and she was drip-

ping with gold jewelry from her head right down to her feet.

“You look great too, Dad,” I said as we waited outside for the wedding car to arrive.

Dad winced. “This is the first and last time I buy an Armani suit,” he replied. “I had to sit down when I wrote the check.”

“Hey, what about when
we
get married?” said Jazz. “You'll want to look good then, won't you?”

“Don't worry,” Dad replied, “I shall be wearing this suit for the next twenty years, after what it cost me.”

“You'd better not put on any weight, then,” remarked Geena.

Dad grinned. “Remind me not to eat too much at the reception. The food looks fantastic.”

I sagged despondently as a white limo, decorated with flowers, purred down the street toward us. The reception … for a minute there I'd forgotten all about it.

We set off for the gurdwara. When I was a little kid, I remembered how long the marriage service had seemed. I'd get bored very quickly, and Mum would sometimes let Geena and me go outside and play until it was over. But now it all seemed very quick. Too quick. Mr. Arora was waiting for Auntie, looking like a movie star in his pink turban, white suit and saffron-colored scarf. People came in, bowed to the Holy Book and took their places on each side of the aisle. Then the granthi, the holy man, began the ceremony.

As the marriage hymn was sung, Auntie and Mr. Arora walked around the Guru Granth Sahib, the

Holy Book, each holding one end of the orange scarf. Then there were prayers, and it was all over.

“We could hit Rocky over the head and knock him out,” Jazz suggested as we came out of the gurdwara into the autumn sunshine.

“And if we accidentally killed him?” Geena raised her eyebrows. “That would certainly ruin Auntie's day.”

I sighed. “There's nothing more we can do,” I said. “We'll just have to hope everyone thinks he's a comedy act. Then we might just get away with it.”

I felt sick with nerves as we made our way to the reception. Rocky would be waiting there for us. Either he had improved tremendously in the last five days, or he was going to bring the house down, and not in a good way. I just hoped Auntie would be able to forgive me.

T
he reception was held in a large community hall, not far from the gurdwara. Garlands of sweet-scented flowers had been hung around the doors, and the hall had been decorated with more flowers—red and white carnations and roses—and streamers. The waiters were already rushing out from the kitchens and placing silver dishes of nuts and sweets on the tables, which were set out around the stage.

The stage. My heart jumped painfully in my chest as I peered across the hall. The Bhangra Boyz's instruments were set up, ready for them to perform, but they had left a large space at the side of the stage for Rocky's decks.

The space was still there. And that was what it was. An empty space.

“Geena,” I said faintly, clutching her arm.

“Ow!” Geena grumbled. “You're hurting me.”

“Tell me if I'm seeing things,” I muttered. “But Rocky's equipment isn't there, is it?”

Geena stared. “Oh, my God,” she said in amazement. “He hasn't turned up!”

My heart soared upward again. “I don't believe it!”

Jazz joined us then, her eyes wide. “I thought Rocky was supposed to be coming a couple of hours ago to set up,” she said.

“He hasn't turned up!”
Geena and I sang together. We grabbed Jazz's hands and danced her round the hall.

Guests were crowding in through the doors now. I saw Kim come in, looking very pretty in the blue salwar kameez I'd lent her.

“Auntie and Mr. Arora are just getting out of the limo,” she called, making her way over to us. “Auntie looks lovely.”

“I know.” I beamed at her. “Notice anything?”

Kim looked blank. I pointed at the stage.

“Oh!” Kim's eyes opened wide. “Where's Rocky?”

“He's not here!” I chortled, slapping her on the back. “We're saved!”

“Well, where is he, then?” Kim wanted to know.

“Oh, who cares?” said Geena. “The further away the better.”

“That wasn't what you said a few weeks ago,” Kim remarked.

We blushed.

“All right,” I said. “So you were right about Rocky and we were wrong. He turned out to be a bit of a disappointment.”