The Wedding Countdown (9 page)

Raj steeples his fingers. ‘Our boss has a bit of a thing about marriage. Have you heard the tragic tale?’

‘No.’

‘It’s a tragic story of broken romance, and the real reason she’s a Ms and not a Mrs.’

‘I assumed she was gay.’

‘Girlfriend, you are so wrong,’ says Raj. ‘When Nina was eighteen her parents arranged her marriage and also for her sister to marry the brother of Nina's fiancé.’

‘That’s not unusual,’ I begin, but he raises his hand to stop me.

‘Nina went along with her parents’ wishes and the wedding festivities started – but a few days before the nuptials, tragedy struck. Unbeknown to the family Nina’s sister was in love with another man, and she ran away with her lover a few nights before the wedding.’

‘Her parents must have been devastated. What happened?’

‘They’d lost their
izzat
for ever,’ continues Raj. ‘People would point fingers at them for the rest of their lives. Nina tried consoling her parents, saying that she would still go on ahead with the marriage, hoping this might put things right in some small way. But no such luck. Her dad believed this was the end for him as a father and a husband, even the end of his life. For what is a man without honour and pride?’

‘Nothing,’ I say sadly, thinking of Granddad
-ji
and Aunt Seema
.

‘Nina had no choice but to be strong. Her mother didn’t stop weeping and her father just sat in silence. One evening she was awoken by a gunshot.

‘There was her father in a pool of blood. That same night her mother keeled over with a heart attack, leaving our Nina penniless, friendless and totally alone in the world.’

‘Poor Nina!’

‘That was the night Nina vowed never to marry and became the charming boss we know and love today,’ concludes Raj.

‘Is that true?’ I ask, hoping not because it’s the most horrific story I’ve ever heard.

‘It sure is,’ says Raj. ‘Our boss dragged herself out of the gutter, scraped her way to college by taking all manner of lowly jobs, and now she has success beyond her wildest dreams.’

‘But Nina’s so secretive! The papers are always speculating about her past and they never come up with anything. How come you know so much?’

‘I’m a shit-hot investigative journalist of course.’

‘It’s ’cos he read Nina’s not so secret autobiography, innit?’ Kareena’s head pops up behind Raj’s shoulder. ‘Nina left a printout on her desk last week and nosey parker ’ere couldn’t resist. Before you could say ‘snooping’ he’d copied it and taken it ’ome for a good read.’

‘It’s still investigative journalism,’ mutters Raj sulkily.

‘Hope I’m there to watch when Nina finds out,’ says Kareena, plonking herself down next to Raj without waiting to be asked.

‘I’m Mills,’ I say, holding out my hand. ‘The new intern.’

Ignoring it, Kareena tosses her hair. ‘Yeah, I know. I saw ya talking to Wish earlier. Fancy him, do ya?’

Her speech is the oddest mixture of gangsta rap, cockney and standard English.

‘We were just talking. He was being friendly.’

‘Whatever,’ she snorts. ‘I’d watch out, darlin’, if I was you. Minty won’t like opposition.’

‘Minty?’

Kareena delves into her bag, pulls out this week’s
OK!
magazine and flicks through until locating an article, which she shoves under my nose.

I gaze at the magazine where an entire page is devoted to a picture of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, all flowing blonde mane, baby-blue eyes and rose-petal skin. Standing next to her, with an arm thrown casually around her shoulders, is none other than Wish, dressed in a tuxedo with the bow tie undone and his hair all ruffled.

They make a stunning couple but I’m taken aback by just how shocked I am to see them together. The shock’s intensified because I recognise her. I’d have to live on the moon not to.

‘That’s Araminta Vane,’ I say. ‘The model.’

‘No shit, Sherlock.’ Kareena snatches the magazine back and flips through to an advert where Minty is modelling the latest Miracle Bra, showing off her flat stomach and her perfect breasts. ‘Everyone’s heard of Minty Vane. She’s the
Boo
! Jeans girl and she was in
Celebrities in the Desert
.’

‘Where she should have stayed,’ mutters Raj.

‘How come a famous model is dating the
GupShup
photographer?’ I ask. I’m chuffed to be working for
GupShup
but we’re hardly in the same league as the mainstream glossies.

‘Like, duh,’ says Kareena. ‘Because of who ’ee is.’

‘A photographer?’

‘Wish isn’t any old photographer, sweetie,’ Raj says. ‘You must have heard of his dad, the cricketer Sher Rahim?’

Of course I have. Daddy-
ji
is cricket mad. My earliest memories are of sitting on his lap watching Imran Khan thrashing the Brits, and what I don’t know about being out for a duck isn’t worth knowing. So, yes, I’ve heard of Sher Rahim, or as he’s better known
The Sher
, which is Urdu for Lion. He’s the cricketing legend who reigned supreme from his debut in the early seventies right through to his retirement in the eighties. I could be a cricket nerd and go on about his undefeated batting record, but I think Kareena and Raj would find watching the noodles congealing more exciting.

‘No way!’

‘Yes, way. His mum’s Ophelia West, the actress.’

‘Wasn’t she a Bond girl?’

Raj nods. ‘She was in
Himalaya Highball
with Roger Moore. She played Fannie Fantasia.’

Sheesh
! I bet Sher’s auntie-
ji
s flipped when those two got it together. At least Qas isn’t dating Pussy Galore.

‘Sher’s parents went spare, know what I mean?’ says Kareena, tucking
OK!
back into her bag. ‘They wanted him to ditch Ophelia or else that was it. Shamed, disowned, ostracised. Nice, innit?’

No wonder Wish was so compassionate about Qas and Lizzie. He’d known somewhere along the line they’d have some really hard choices to make.

‘What about Ophelia’s family?’ I have to know the answer to this because it’s possible Lizzie’s family is equally upset at the thought of their daughter becoming involved with a Pakistani. There’s no point pretending racism doesn’t exist in twenty-first century Britain. 

‘They were delighted,’ grins Raj. ‘Massive cricket fans, apparently. They idolise Sher and idolise Wish even more.’

‘So how did he meet Minty?’

‘They grew up together. Wish’s parents have a country pad next to her folks. They’re childhood sweethearts.’

‘She’s welcome to him,’ Kareena butts in. ‘He’s an arrogant git, always swanning round the office like ’ee owns it. That’s my phone!’ She adds, jumping up because her mobile is booming out R ’n’ B. ‘Can’t stay here talking all day. Some of us have work to do. Laters!’ She totters across the restaurant on her enormous heels, shrilling into her Nokia.

I feel like I’ve been through a wind tunnel. ‘Is she always like that?’

‘God no! She’s normally ten times worse. That was Kareena being nice and sussing out the opposition.’

I laugh. ‘I’m no threat to her job.’

Raj rolls his eyes. ‘Not her job! Her self-appointed role as the office babe. She couldn’t bear seeing Wish talking to you earlier, Mills. You’re the competition and our Kareena believes in knowing what she’s up against.’

‘Me? Competition?’

I think this is highly unlikely. Kareena is one of those perfectly groomed high-maintenance
desi
chicks, with every designer item under the sun. Maybe wearing them all at once isn’t a good idea but you get the picture. Just thinking about trying to compete with that makes me want to keel over with exhaustion.

‘Darling!’ trills Raj. ‘You are simply gorgeous! Have you no idea? When I first saw you I almost wished I wasn’t gay!’

‘Whatever.’ I don’t like discussing my looks. In our family Fizz is the pretty one, Roma’s the brainy one and I’m the one in the middle.

Once the bill’s paid we stroll across the plaza. The air is soupy and the city shimmers before us in a heat haze. Office workers sit on benches and munch sandwiches while fat pigeons watch beadily, hoping for crumbs.

‘Kareena has a grudge against Wish,’ Raj says, swapping his glasses for trendy shades. ‘When he joined
GupShup
she had a humongous crush on the poor guy and did we all know about it!’

I imagine Kareena with a crush would be a very scary prospect indeed.

‘As you’ve probably gathered, Kareena is not known for her subtlety; she doesn’t think twice about going straight for the kill and grabbing the guy there and then, laying claim and letting it be known to the rest of the female population that he’s taken!’

‘What happened?’

‘At the Christmas office party Kareena got a bit squiffy and slurred an indecent proposal into Wish’s unsuspecting ears. He very politely spurned her advances.’

‘Poor Kareena,’ I say, as we enter the Tower and head for the lift. ‘She must have been mortified.’

‘Unsurprisingly she didn’t take too kindly to Wish’s
let’s be friends
suggestion. Instead of bowing out gracefully she launched into a scream fest and made a scene in front of the rest of the staff. She really embarrassed both herself and poor darling Wish. And me too, actually.’

‘You?’

‘Oh yes. She started screaming ridiculous accusations, along the lines of, “Maybe you don’t try it on with any of the girls in the office because you’re not as hetero as you make out? It’s so obvious you prefer Raj’s company to any of the females. Maybe you guys are embroiled in a secret love affair?”’ He pauses. ‘We’re not. Sadly. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Kareena apologised to Wish a few days later and he accepted the apology, promising that her accusations were already forgotten and that it would be wise to put it all behind them and continue as good colleagues.’

‘That was nice of him.’

‘Wish
is
nice. And sadly not gay, hence the uberbitch Minty. But that’s another story for another lunchtime.’ The lift doors hiss open and we’re back in the world of
GupShup
where phones ring and the buzz of excited chatter fills the air. Kareena is busy photocopying, her pretty features twisted into a sulky expression.

‘She still holds a grudge against Wish for rejecting her,’ whispers Raj. ‘And she does tend to get mouthy when she’s drunk.’

‘You won’t have that problem with me,’ I tell him. ‘Muslims are forbidden to drink.’

‘Poor them,’ says Raj with feeling. ‘Still all the more for the rest of us, I suppose. Seriously though, girlfriend, try and avoid sounding out your daily confessionals within Kareena’s radar range because she’s not well known for her discretion.’

And with this warning Mr Indiscretion himself air kisses me and shimmies over to his desk, allegedly to work but more likely to surf the net until his next coffee break.

My head’s spinning more than my mum’s washing machine when Qas comes home. I knew I was working for a gossip magazine but I hadn’t realised the gossip would begin with the staff. I look around just in case Wish is in the office but he seems to have vanished. If it wasn’t for my lunch with Raj and Kareena I might even think I dreamed him.

But I didn’t dream my meeting with Nina Singh and as I begin the riveting task of envelope stuffing I hold the hope of an assignment close to my heart. There’s nothing I want more than the chance to prove myself at
GupShup
.

I can hardly wait!

Chapter 11

‘Cool office,’ says Nish.

It’s Tuesday morning and we’re standing in Nina’s office like two schoolgirls called to see the head teacher. I’m awash with adrenaline, but not Nish. Nothing ever ruffles her; hence she can just sling on jeans for her first day at work, scrape her hair into a ponytail and tell our intimidating boss that her office is ‘cool’.

Nina inclines her silver head graciously. ‘Thank you, Nisha. Please, sit down girls.’

We sit and wait expectantly. Nish knows we have an assignment on the cards and all the way to work she was speculating as to what it may be. I think I’ve managed to convince her it isn’t an all expenses paid trip to Goa to check out yoga holidays.

Nina places both elbows on her glass table and gets down to the nitty-gritty, telling us the purpose of our privileged office visit. It’s all about an idea that Raj and Kareena unwittingly cooked up in the photocopying queue (presumably on a day when they were talking). Unbeknown to them a senior reporter overheard their conversation, which was all about trying to find an eligible
desi
partner.

‘You’re both single,’ Nina says. ‘Not to mention talented, which is why I’ve decided to give you a chance to put together a series of features.’

We stare at her.

‘The Asian dating scene,’ continues Nina. ‘Where do young Asians go to find love?’

Believe me, if I knew I’d be there.

‘The traumas, the excitement, the family pressures.’ Nina is into her stride and gathering momentum. ‘I want the inside story. I want to know about people it’s worked for, people who’ve had bad experiences, what you discover, everything. I want the full story about how young Asians in the twenty-first century are arranging their own marriages.’

Thinking about the awful story Raj told me yesterday I scrutinise Nina’s face for any emotion but she may as well have been carved from granite.

‘Any ideas? Any questions?’ She leans back in her chair. ‘You are allowed to ask, you know.’

‘I’m trying to find a Muslim partner so I’ve been thinking about speed dating and Internet sites,’ I blurt.

‘Excellent, the personal angle is always good.’

No it isn’t. Although I’m elated Nina is giving us such a great opportunity I can’t help feeling uneasy. My
becharay
parents will not be pleased to learn their
beti
is writing about love rather than politics or current affairs. And they’d die of shame if they knew I was even thinking of dating, let alone writing about it in the national press.

‘Supermarkets are the new places to find love,’ pipes up Nish.