The Wedding Countdown (8 page)

‘No you haven’t. It’s seriously temperamental.’ Wish moves me aside and pokes his head into the machine. ‘Let me try.’

‘Be my guest.’

He plucks out some paper. ‘Here’s the culprit. All mended.’

‘Phew,’ I breathe. ‘Thanks.’

The copying resumes and Wish leans against the machine. Even though there’s a good foot of space between us I don’t think I’ve ever been more aware of another person’s physical presence. Although good (and decent) girls don’t let their eyes wander on the male form I can’t help noticing that there’s a buff body beneath the faded Levis and tee shirt. Determined not to gawp like some northern hick I concentrate on my photocopying as though it’s the most fascinating task imaginable.

‘Bradford must be really different to London,’ says Wish. ‘Is that where your family live?’

‘Apart from my brother Qas. He’s training to be a doctor at Bristol Uni,’ I say. ‘Or at least he was. I don’t know if he and my dad are still talking.’ Annoyingly my eyes are filling and I dash the back of my hand against them, furious with myself for being so emotional.

‘Here.’ Wish offers me a hankie, clean and folded neatly. ‘My mum,’ he adds, seeing me look at it. ‘She still likes to take care of me.’

‘Don’t all mums?’

‘They certainly do. You must really be missing your folks. It’s OK to be a bit homesick.’

‘It’s not that. It’s my brother Qas.’ I blot my eyes on the hankie. ‘He’s really upset my dad.’

‘Sounds just like my brother, Jamal,’ says Wish. ‘Arguing are they?’

‘
Nahin
.’ I try not to sniff. ‘Qas is seeing an English girl and Dad’s furious. He’s not keen on the whole mixed marriage thing. It’s a long story. I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.’

Wish looks sympathetic. ‘It can’t be easy starting a new job with that hanging over you. But I totally understand where your parents are coming from. Mixed-race marriages are never easy, especially for Pakistanis.’

‘Are you Pakistani? You don’t look–’ I just stop myself in time. ‘Sorry, that sounded really rude. I was just going to say you don’t look like the average Pakistani guy. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘I’m not offended,’ says Wish. ‘You’re right anyway. I’m not your average Pakistani guy. My mum’s white and British.’

Great. I’ve known this colleague all of ten minutes and already I’ve contracted Foot in Mouth Disease. ‘Please don’t think I have a problem with my brother’s relationship because she’s white. It isn’t that, at all! But he’s their only son
and…’

‘Of course I don’t think that,’ says Wish swiftly. ‘My parents would be the first to point out the situation isn’t ideal. They’ve had a hard time over the years and I don’t think they’d recommend it to anyone. Dad’s parents were vile to Mum. Things weren’t always easy for him either, but the point is they’re still together after almost thirty years and they really love each other. So it can work. True love really does overcome all, if you want it to.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘With all my heart,’ he says.

For the first time since I stepped into the office I start to relax. Wish Rahim surfs on my wavelength.
Insha’Allah
, I’ve made a friend, my first new friend in my new place of work.

And I can’t tell you how much better this makes me feel!

Chapter 9

Wish is about to say more, only Raj fast-forwards to the photocopier and tells him Nina requires his presence.

‘She simply has to know if you got those pictures of Celina Roshan and her mystery man!’ squeals Raj. ‘Did you?’

Wish pats the camera bag beside him.

‘Oh! My! God! You did!’ Raj’s hand flies to his mouth. ‘Is it really Simon Cowell? Or was it Paul McCartney after all?’

But Wish simply taps the side of his nose. ‘As if I’d tell you! I may as well just ring the news desk at
The Sun
.’

‘I’m hurt.’ Raj places his hand on his heart. ‘How can you say such cruel things? I’m as silent as the grave! Well, if you won’t tell me, maybe you’ll tell Adolf Nina!’ Grabbing Wish’s arm Raj drags him towards the big door that marks the entrance to Nina’s lair. Wish mouths, ‘Laters,’ and with a smile I return to my work.

While I finish off the photocopying – don’t worry, I’ll take Raj to task about this the very first opportunity that I get – I ponder about Wish and can’t comprehend why his mixed heritage bothers me so much. It’s been great to talk to someone who has a real-life perspective on the Qas situation. But I can’t help admitting I wish he were one-hundred percent Pakistani.

Not because I’m racist or prejudiced. No way!

I totally believe in equals, harmony and unity.
Nahin
and no bloody way to segregation, divisions or war. But it doesn’t matter what I think because at the end of the day this fact means Wish doesn’t quite fit my parents’ ultimate criteria for a prospective son-in-law, and that’s a man of blue-blooded Pakistani stock, no two ways about it. The family has splintered before and Daddy-
ji
won’t allow that to happen again. I’ve got a difficult enough task ahead trying to convince them that the one-hundred-percent Pakistani I eventually find will be perfect marriage material, and even then my father will make the
bechara
guy go through the heavy Pakistani Parental Inquisition. He’ll only give my hand away if the suitor in question fits all the preset hubbie-to-be criteria.

As Roma said last night, the family honour is resting firmly on my shoulders.

And it weighs a bloody tonne.

Then I laugh out loud. Talk about getting carried away!
Sheesh
! I was only talking to the poor guy for a few minutes and already I’m hearing wedding bells. I need to calm down. It must be because time is tick-tocking away and I haven’t made a start on my search. I need to get on with it. A good Pakistani
husband won’t find himself and I’d better apply myself before I start developing crushes on all the single men in the office. When I start to fancy Raj I’ll know I’m really in trouble!

‘Hands off Wish,’ says Raj, materialising with even more photocopying. ‘He’s mine, darling!’

I can’t help chuckling at this.

‘What are you laughing for? It’s only a matter of time before he realises I’m the love of his life,’ says Raj.

‘I’m laughing because you’ll be doing all your copying from now on.’

‘Wish told you. Spoilsport,’ Raj has the grace to look shamefaced. ‘You can’t blame a boy for trying can you, angel?’

‘I blame you for taking advantage of a new girl and I fully intend to lodge a complaint with Ms Singh. Bullying new colleagues is totally unacceptable.’

‘Really?’ Raj’s kohled eyes widen.

‘No, not really, but it would serve you right if I did.’

He exhales. ‘You had me going there, you meanie! If I promise to never give you any photocopying again can we be friends?’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Come for lunch,’ wheedles Raj. ‘I know the most divine noodle bar. I’ll buy. We can call it repayment for all your help today.’

Right on cue my tummy rumbles, reminding me that it hasn’t been fed since yesterday. Nish ate my dinner and I was far too nervous to face breakfast this morning.

‘OK. You buy me lunch and I’ll think about forgiving you.’

‘Fabbie,’ says Raj. ‘Ooh! Here comes the Boss, I’d better fly! I’ll meet you at one,’ and he tears across the office and dives for his desk, his timing perfect because Nina Singh is emerging from her lair and scanning the room like
The Terminator.

‘The new intern. My office,’ she barks.

I gather up my bag and, hoping that my make-up hasn’t slid right off, I charge into the office in a panic, cannoning into Wish on his way out.

‘Easy, tiger,’ he grins, steadying me.

I blush right to the roots of my hair. I can’t believe I’ve accidentally touched him twice today.

‘Deep breath,’ advises Wish. ‘Nina doesn’t bite. Not hard anyway.’

Then he’s gone and I’m left dithering in the doorway.

‘Enter!’ she barks and my legs obey instantly, carrying me in to the dragon’s den.

And what a den it is. The wall facing me is a sheet of glass, which frames perfectly the stunning view of London. Tower Bridge, Big Ben, the London Eye and the plump dome of St Paul’s twinkle in the sunlight while the sluggish Thames winds through like a pewter ribbon. But what really takes my breath away are the acres and acres of sky, all scudding clouds and silent planes stacked neatly above Heathrow, and the sharp clear light which pours into the room. I feel like I’m perched on the top of the world.

‘Wow!’ I gasp. ‘What an amazing view!’

My new boss is seated in a big white leather chair behind the mother of all desks. She draws deeply on a cigarette nestled in a diamante holder and then blows two plumes of smoke through her nostrils. She’s so Cruella de Vil I’m almost surprised she’s wearing a black suit rather than a black and white spotty fur coat. I’m certainly as terrified as any Dalmatian puppy. 

‘It is rather marvellous,’ she agrees, in a voice rendered husky by years of tobacco. ‘One does tend to take it for granted.’

I open my mouth to say if this was my view I’d be looking out that window all day long, but shut it quickly. Daydreaming out of windows doesn’t sound like the behaviour of a keen new journalist and I really want Nina to see how dedicated I am to this job.

Nina flips through some documents on her desk, ‘Amelia Ali?’

‘Everyone calls me Mills.’

‘I’m not everyone.’ The red slash of a mouth sets in a grim line. ‘What’s wrong with Nisha?’

‘Nish has got food poisoning.’

‘Not hung-over or oversleeping then?’

‘No, no! She was really poorly.’

‘Hmm.’ Nina doesn’t look convinced. ‘Take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’ I perch onto a teeny weeny chair. I just about manage to squeeze one buttock on, and arrange my features in what is hopefully an intelligent and not too sucky-uppy expression. I feel like a specimen in a lab.

‘You don’t need me to tell you how well you’ve done to get this internship,’ says Nina. ‘We had over five hundred applicants, all of whom came highly recommended. Some,’ she pauses dramatically, ‘even came from Oxford.’

‘Wow,’ I say, because this is clearly expected.

‘Indeed,’ she agrees. ‘However, I like to evaluate each applicant on their own merits, not just by looking at what university they attended. I was especially impressed with how passionate you were about the magazine in your letter of application. You really share our vision.’

This wasn’t hard. I’ve been a devoted reader for years.

‘But what really made your application stand out,’ continues Nina, ‘was the superb project you and Nisha did on Muslim–Hindu friendships. It was fresh, original and very funny. I was also most impressed that it was published in the
Bradford Echo
.’

‘Thanks.’ I feel all warm and fuzzy. Nina Singh is impressed with my writing. How cool is that?

‘It isn’t our usual policy to take on two interns but I was intrigued. Interfaith friendship is a fundamental ideology of
GupShup
and you two embodied that. You are also aware that we intend to launch a
desi
lad mag,
Kya Yaar
, next year and that we’ll be looking for well-trained and talented young writers?’

I nod.

‘So there are excellent opportunities for young people who share our values, which is why I decided to offer internships to you both.’

Excitement ripples through me. This is it! My career really is beginning!

Nina describes the responsibilities that will now be mine. I’ll be assigned to general office work necessary to create the magazine. Running errands, sorting mail, photocopying (but I won’t tell Raj), and on the publishing side I’ll assist the staff with advertising, editing, copyediting, proofreading and circulation.

I’m starting to feel quite exhausted just thinking about all this.

‘To gain editorial experience you’ll also be given an opportunity to carry out research projects for the magazine,’ continues Nina. ‘Will you be up for that?’

‘That’s what I’m dying to do! I can hardly wait to go out and start looking for stories.’

Nina considers me thoughtfully. ‘Amelia, are you engaged?’

I’m taken aback. ‘No.’

‘What about Nisha?’

I shake my head.

‘Good.’ Nina’s lips twitch upwards. I guess that in a face full of Botox this passes as a smile. ‘I want both of you reporting to me first thing tomorrow. There may be an assignment for you.’

‘Really?’ I can hardly believe it. I’ve not even been here a day and already I’m being offered an assignment. ‘What is it?’

‘First thing tomorrow,’ Nina repeats. ‘Don’t be late.’

Sheesh!
How frustrating! I hate having to wait to find things out. I’m a nightmare at Eid. Mummy-
ji
has to think of really ingenious places to hide my presents. I’ll never last until tomorrow.

As I leave the office, with Nina’s back to me as she turns to face her stunning view, I’m grinning. I’m going to be given my very first proper assignment as a journalist. I feel like I’m going to explode with excitement. What a day.

And it’s only lunchtime!

Chapter 10

‘Was I right about these noodles?’ Raj looks smug as I fork up my food like there’s about to be a world noodle shortage. ‘Aren’t they divine?’

I nod, unable to speak because my mouth is full of the scrummiest noodles I’ve ever tasted. Tossed in sesame oil and coated with just a splash of soy sauce, they are exactly what I needed. Throw in the crunchiest mange touts and there you have it: noodle Heaven.

‘Am I forgiven?’

I decide to put him out of his misery. Apart from buying me such great food Raj has proved to be a very entertaining companion.

I’ll let him off the hook.

‘Phew,’ says Raj, when I tell him so. ‘Nina would so have gone crazy if you’d told her.’ He stares at me hard from behind the trendy specs. ‘You were in there simply ages! What
were
you talking about?’

‘Just the internship.’ I’m not going to tell Raj anything about a potential assignment. Wish had a good point: when it comes to spreading news Raj could give Reuters a run for their money. ‘She asked me a weird question though. She wanted to know whether I was engaged.’