Dani’s Diary Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About the Author

  Also by Narinder Dhami

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Dani has always kept a diary – and now she uses it to pour out all her frustrations about her awful new stepsister, Lalita. She also moans to her gran, who gives Dani a present to distract her – a copy of the diary she kept as a child, when her family moved from India to England in the 1960s. Reading about her gran’s friendship with the mischievous Milly is fascinating and fun – and soon it becomes clear there’s even more to the story. Dani will have to delve deep to figure out what really happened to Milly. She might even have to turn to unlikely sources of help. But can discovering the past help with her future too?

  A brilliantly funny and totally compelling tale of stepsisters and family secrets from the author of Bindi Babes and Bend It Like Beckham.

  For Robert

  Chapter One

  April 2006

  TODAY I FOUND out what my biggest fear was. The kind of fear that turns you cold all over, makes your heart beat faster and sends your tummy into a spin.

  I had thought it was big fat spiders with long hairy legs that scuttle across my bedroom floor and make me scream. Mum always dashes in and tells me off for making a noise, but she brings the spider-catcher (a kind of long thin plastic gadget with a trap on the end of it), catches the spider, puts it safely out of the window and gives me a hug.

  I was wrong, and the reason I know is because I’ve just found out what my greatest fear really is. But by the time I realized, it was too late.

  I don’t want to write anything about the wedding. I smiled and said all the right things to everyone who spoke to me. I thought I was doing fine too, until the reception.

  ‘I haven’t seen you really smile yet,’ said my cousin Sangita. She was picking at the remains of the wedding feast – chicken curry and rice, and posh fish and chips for anyone who didn’t like Indian food. ‘Give it a go – your face won’t crack, you know.’ She regarded me thoughtfully. ‘Or will it?’

  Around us swirled snatches of conversation in English and Punjabi, and the high-pitched shrieks of kids running riot while their parents gossiped. The hall was a dazzling burst of colour – peacock, emerald, cerise and daffodil-yellow saris stitched with gold and silver embroidery and sequins – contrasting with the men’s blue, grey and black suits. The tables were piled with empty silver dishes, and scents of coriander and masala hung in the air. Garlands of flowers, wilting a bit now, hung on the backs of the chairs and festooned the stage in long, looping chains. It was a typical wedding reception. But, for me, it was the end of my own little world.

  ‘I have been smiling,’ I defended myself. ‘I don’t have to smile all the time, do I? I’m just taking a short break from smiling at the moment. That’s all.’ Even to my own ears, my voice sounded a bit hysterical.

  Sangita shrugged. ‘If you say so,’ she replied, nibbling on the jagged edges of a broken poppadom. At the front of the hall the band were taking to the stage, making a big self-important fuss about tuning their instruments.

  ‘Look, Dani,’ Sangita went on kindly, ‘it’s not an ideal situation. Everyone knows that—’

  ‘You don’t say,’ I snapped, but I regretted it immediately because Sangita wasn’t the problem. Although she’s five years older than me and thinks seventeen is grown up, we’ve always been quite close. But I was afraid that if I started talking about how I really felt, it would all burst out of me in an uncontrollable flood. ‘It’s just—’

  I stopped; I had to because I was horrified to hear a telltale wobble in my voice. I could not speak my biggest fear aloud. Was I going to lose my mum?

  ‘Ow!’ Sangita suddenly shrieked, clapping a hand to her head. A large brazil nut had just bounced off her skull and landed in her lap. She whipped round and glared at the table behind us, where our great-uncle, Hardeep, was sitting with some of his young grandchildren.

  ‘Sorry, Gita,’ giggled Lakhbir, grinning all over his round, cheeky face. ‘Sushila’s trying to throw the nuts into my mouth, and she missed.’

  ‘Bloomin’ kids,’ Sangita muttered, rubbing her head. She turned back to me. ‘Dani, I know how difficult this is for you. No one’s expecting you to be thrilled about it.’

  I glanced at the gaggle of elderly women, wrapped in white saris, sitting at the far end of the room. Their grey heads were bent close together. They hadn’t stopped gossiping to each other since the start of the day, and I could guess what they were talking about.

  ‘At least they’re enjoying themselves,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘Oh, don’t let them worry you,’ Sangita said, patting my arm. ‘It’s not their fault they’re still stuck in the nineteen fifties. Marriage was for life then, even if your husband turned out to be a mad axe murderer. Things are different now, even in India.’

  ‘I know,’ I sighed. ‘But everyone thought it was pretty bad when Mum and Dad got divorced four years ago. And now this …’

  ‘Not all arranged marriages work out,’ said Sangita wisely.

  ‘It was only sort of arranged,’ I told her. ‘Mum met Dad at college, and Nanniji and Nannaji liked him and his family so they said it was OK.’

  Sangita put her head on one side, her loose dark hair swinging like a waterfall of straight, shining silk. ‘And now your mum’s marrying Ravi. He’s very good looking, but what’s he like?’

  I thought about the man my mum had married an hour ago. I tried to be fair, even though I didn’t want to be.

  ‘He seems nice.’ It was lame, I knew. But what else could I say? I didn’t need a new dad. I have a perfectly good relationship with my own dad, thank you very much. It was the Easter holidays: I should have been in France, visiting Dad. Instead I was here, at my mum’s wedding.

  ‘What about Ravi’s daughter?’

  ‘Lalita?’ I shrugged, deliberately keeping my face blank. ‘I don’t know much about her except she’s the same age as me.’ I knew a bit more, but I didn’t want to talk about it. I knew that Lalita hadn’t seen her mum, who was an Englishwoman called Belinda, since she was about two years old, although I didn’t know why her mum had left and never come back. Lalita had been brought up by her dad and his mother. I bet the chattering grannies in the corner loved that one.

  ‘So you’re going to be one big happy family then?’ Sangita asked knowingly. ‘Ow!’ She clutched at her head as another oversized brazil nut clattered to the floor, and swung round. ‘Lakhbir!’

  ‘Er – sorry, putar,’ Great-uncle Hardeep said apologetically, holding his hands up. His round face, remarkably like Lakhbir’s, was pink with embarrassment beneath his festive blue turban. ‘That was me.’

  I glanced at Sangita’s face and had to laugh.

  ‘He’s worse than the kids!’ Sangita said under her breath. ‘Oh, well, at least it made you smile, Dani.’

  But my smile was already fading because I could see my mum coming towards us. I tried to keep it fixed to my face with sheer willpower, and could feel my mouth stretching into a fake grin.

  Mum looked beautiful. She always did, but today she glowed, as if she was lit from inside. She’d debated whether to wear the traditional red sari or not, but as she’d worn that when she married my dad, she decided not to. Instead she’d chosen a turquoise sari embroidered with thousands of tiny crystal beads. Her hair
was swept up and threaded with sweet-smelling, creamy flowers.

  ‘Dani, here you are.’ Her smile was wide but anxious. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘I wasn’t hiding,’ I said, trying not to sound defensive. With great tact, Sangita had turned away to talk to her mum, who was further down the table.

  ‘I know.’ Mum was trying not to sound accusing, and I felt my heart sinking. We’d always been close. Now there was a kind of barrier between us. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Sure.’ My voice was aggressive. Would I never get the balance right? ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  Mum slid her hand into mine and held it tightly. ‘Nothing’s going to change between us, Dani,’ she murmured softly. ‘I’ve told you that so many times.’

  I couldn’t say a word because of the enormous lump which had wedged itself in my throat.

  Everything’s changed. I have to share you with Ravi. We have to move in with him. I have to start a new school. And there’s Lalita. I don’t want a stepsister I hardly know …

  I’d said all these things before, many times. Mum and I had talked and argued and yelled at each other. We’d hugged and cried on each other’s shoulders; we’d slammed doors and made silly threats. It hadn’t made any difference. Here we were, and Mum was married.

  ‘Meeta?’

  Ravi appeared beside us, and as he took Mum’s other hand, I tried to fight a wave of resentment. Was this how it would be from now on? Would he always be butting in? I was aware that Sangita was glancing over at me, so I didn’t let what I was thinking show in my face.

  ‘I’ve come to warn you that the band want us to start the dancing off,’ Ravi went on teasingly to my mum. ‘Are you up for it?’

  ‘Of course,’ Mum replied with a special smile just for him. It was easy for me to see how she felt about him, and it was painful. But honestly, I really could understand why she’d fallen for him. He was tall, handsome, generous, kind and cheerful. So why didn’t I like him?

  Ravi was looking at me now. He ran a finger round the inside of his shirt collar as if he was rather uncomfortable. ‘Are you all right, Dani?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I replied, just as politely. This was pretty much how we always talked to each other. Every time we speak, it’s like we’re strangers meeting for the first time. How are we going to cope with living in the same house?

  Ravi swept Mum onto the dance floor, and everyone applauded as the band began murdering a love song from the film Kabhi Kabhie. I turned away to find Sangita watching me sympathetically.

  ‘Dani, if you want to talk—’ she began. Then she gave a great gasp. ‘Oh! There’s someone under the table!’

  We pulled back the tablecloth and there was four-year-old Sushila, another of Great-uncle Hardeep’s grandchildren. Her face flushed with success, she’d grabbed hold of Sangita’s handbag and was crawling off with it.

  ‘Give that back!’ Sangita roared, dropping off the chair onto her knees. ‘It’s designer!’

  ‘Better get a move on,’ I advised as Sushila crawled off at speed towards the next table. ‘She’s got a head start.’

  ‘I’m never having kids,’ Sangita grumbled, hitching up her long pink lengha skirt and preparing to follow. ‘Remind me of that on my wedding day, Dani.’

  ‘That’s what Auntie Disha said,’ I remarked, ‘and now she’s got four.’

  Sangita groaned and crawled off after Sushila. I was grateful to her for being sensitive to my feelings and offering to help. But there was only one person I really wanted to talk to. I went to find her.

  Other people were joining Mum and Ravi on the dance floor. I threaded my way through them, resisting various attempts from relatives to grab my hands and pull me into the dance. As I crossed the room, I saw Lalita, Ravi’s daughter, sitting at a table with her gran.

  Under cover of the dancers moving round me, I studied Lalita more closely. All the times we’ve met – mostly at Pizza Hut and Burger King and on trips to theme parks – and I’ve hardly got to know her at all. None of our outings had been wild sucesses, but they’d been fairly civilized. Flipping back through the pages of my diary, which I’ve been keeping for the last year or so, I’m amazed by how much I didn’t notice. How much I didn’t realize.

  The last time Lalita and I met was when Mum and Ravi told us, a bit fearfully, that they were getting married.

  ‘You cannot be serious!’ Lalita had shouted. ‘You’ve only known each other for five minutes!’

  She said all the things I was thinking too. It wasn’t until later that I found out that Mum had been seeing Ravi for about six months before she introduced me to him. She’d tried to explain that she knew it was going to be serious, but she hadn’t known how to tell me. I was grown up enough to realize that Mum and Ravi didn’t really know how to handle the situation, and were fumbling around helplessly, trying to do the right thing by everybody. But I wasn’t a grown-up. I was still a kid, wasn’t I? And I felt hurt and cheated and frightened of the future. I guess Lalita felt the same, and she wasn’t shy about showing it.

  Now she was slumped sulkily in her chair, kicking at the table leg. She’s taller than me, slimmer, with light brown hair and blue eyes, which I suppose she gets from her mum.

  A stepsister. I still can’t believe it. It’s like a fairy story. Or maybe a horror film. Dani vs the Evil Stepsister. Not that I really thought Lalita was evil, of course. A bit mean and selfish and a loudmouth maybe. Or perhaps she’s just brave enough to say all the things I’m thinking and feeling myself?

  Her gran sat next to her. I didn’t like the look of her much either. She was tall, slim as a twig and elegant in a cream silk sari, but she seemed to have a permanently snooty look on her face. According to Mum, Lalita had been brought up by her gran, who wasn’t very pleased when Ravi and Lalita had moved away from Edinburgh down south so that Ravi could start his new job. (I wasn’t too pleased about it either: that was where Mum and Ravi had met, at the company where they both worked.) I guessed that Lalita’s gran was even more unhappy about Mum taking over as Lalita’s stepmother.

  I had to go past their table, but I kept as far away from them I could. Even with the noise of the music though, I still caught a snatch of conversation.

  ‘Of course I’m not very happy about this marriage.’ Lalita’s gran shrugged her narrow shoulders, her dark eyes flashing. She wasn’t even trying to keep her voice down. ‘But what can I do about it? Ravi’s so stubborn – always has been, ever since he was a little boy …’

  He’s lucky to get my mum. I longed to tell her that, but didn’t. I didn’t want Ravi and Mum to get married, but I did want things to work because of people like Lalita’s gran. I wanted Mum to be happy, but I didn’t want it to be with Ravi. I didn’t like Lalita, but I could understand exactly how she was feeling … I groaned silently. Would I ever manage to sort out the confusion that was doing my head in?

  My nan was talking to some of our relatives. She had her back to me as I approached the table, but with that kind of sixth sense she seems to have, she swung round and saw me coming. She immediately got to her feet.

  ‘All right, putar?’

  ‘Kind of,’ I said in a low voice. ‘Well. Not really.’

  Nan took my arm and led me over to a couple of empty chairs in the corner of the room. She sat me down and studied my face. Even though her black hair’s streaked with silver now, her dark eyes are still sharp and keen.

  ‘So what’s the problem, Dani?’ she asked, but went on without waiting for me to answer. ‘I think my diagnosis would be a severe case of down-in-the-dumps.’

  ‘Have you got a cure, Doctor Chadha?’ I asked glumly. Nan really is a doctor, but there wasn’t any kind of medicine in the world that could make me feel better today.

  Nan nodded. ‘Time, patience and lots of love.’ She gave my hand a squeeze. ‘Things will sort themselves out. I know your mum wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t think it was going to be best for both of you.
’

  ‘How can it be best for me?’ I muttered. ‘I don’t want to move house.’ Now there would be no more popping round every day to see Nan in the next street. I hate the idea of being a long bus ride away from her. I worry about her being on her own, ever since my granddad died a few years ago, although my mum’s sister, Auntie Disha, and her family live close by.

  Nan sighed. ‘I know it’s hard, putar.’ She’s different to Lalita’s gran, rounder, shorter, smilier, just more comfortable. But there was a shadow in her eyes now. She hadn’t tried to talk Mum out of marrying Ravi, but I knew she wasn’t very happy about it either.

  Loud shrieks of laughter made us both look up. On the dance floor Great-uncle Hardeep, like a turbanned Pied Piper, was leading a conga of children clasping each other’s waists. Baby Sushila was right at the end, struggling to keep up on her chubby little legs.

  Nan rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. ‘Why does my brother never grow up?’ she said. ‘He’s always been the same!’

  As we watched, Sushila stumbled and fell. The rest of the line conga’d off without her, and she opened her mouth to roar. But Ravi, who was nearest, quickly scooped her up and presented her with the white carnation from his buttonhole. Sushila’s round, adorable face broke into a dimpled smile.

  ‘Do you like him?’ I asked. I didn’t need to say who.

  ‘Ravi seems nice, but I know absolutely nothing about him.’ Nan shook her head, pursing her lips. ‘When your mum told me she’d met your dad, I found out everything I could about his family. I think I even knew their shoe sizes. Just to make sure he was a good boy.’

  ‘You should have been a detective, Nan,’ I said with a grin.

  ‘Go on with you. I know you’re going to say it didn’t make much difference in the end, anyway,’ Nan replied with a shrug. ‘They still got divorced.’

  ‘But Dad’s great,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just that he and Mum are really different. You know what Dad’s like. He’s chilled out, he doesn’t take life that seriously. Mum needs someone she can rely on. Someone like—’ I stopped.