Bhangra Babes Page 13

  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.

  The 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.”

  “It's not like he's evil or anything,” Geena agreed. “Just a bit dull and self-centered.”

  “What a waste,” Jazz sighed. “I wonder which one of us he did like best, though.”

  “I hereby declare that ridiculous bet null and void as of this very minute,” I announced.

  “We could still ask him,” Jazz began.

  “No!” Geena and I told her firmly.

  Auntie-ji hurried past us, rearranging flowers with one hand, straightening a tablecloth with the other and scolding a waiter at the same time. She screeched to a halt when she spotted us.

  “Amber, where's your friend?” she asked with a frown. “He's very late.”

  “He's not coming,” I said, trying to smother an enormous grin. “Sorry.”

  Auntie-ji looked shocked. “You mean, he's let us down at the last minute?” she exclaimed. “That's terrible!”

  “I know,” I agreed, still trying not to smile. “But we could ask the Bhangra Boyz if they'd like to play a longer set.”

  Auntie-ji nodded. “That's a very good idea, Amber,” she said, sounding relieved. “And I'm sure some of our guests will be able to rustle up a few CDs so we can have some background music.”

  And she bustled off, delighted to have yet another crisis to deal with.

  Now, at last, I could relax and enjoy the wedding. There were cheers and applause as Auntie and Mr. Arora came in, and then it was down to the serious business of eating. Huge pots of chicken, vegetable and paneer curries were placed on the tables along with towers of chapatis and enormous bowls of rice. And a quick whip-round of all the guests produced a pile of CDs from their cars and a portable CD player.

  “There's Mrs. Macey” I pointed my fork at the door. Our neighbor had arrived from Southampton with her family—her daughter and son-in-law and two sweet little grandchildren.

  Kim nudged me. “I've been meaning to ask you,” she whispered. “Who's that?”

  We followed her gaze to a table across the room, where Baby was sitting with her family.

  “Oh, you've never had the pleasure of meeting our cousin Baby, have you?” I said.

  “Baby?” Kim looked disapproving. “She must be at least nineteen.”

  “Fifteen, actually,” Geena replied. “And if she's not careful she's going to burst out of that white suit she's wearing.”

  Baby's wedding outfit consisted of a skin-tight pair of white trousers, skyscraper gold heels and a white halter top decorated with gold sequins. The clothes looked as if they were sprayed on and would have to be surgically removed.

  I pointed beyond Baby's table as someone else

  caught my eye. “Who's that woman over there with all the kids?” I asked. “Do we know her?”

  “Hello,” said a familiar voice in my ear.

  It was Kiran—looking pretty and feminine for once, in a light green suit, with a white flower in her hair.

  We stared at her in disbelief.

  “Wh-What are you doing here?” I stammered.

  Kiran raised an eyebrow at us. “That's nice,” she said with a grin. “I was invited.”

  “By whom?” asked Geena, looking nervous.

  The same thought had occurred to me. Maybe Rocky had asked her along to help with his equipment! I gulped, scanning the room with dread. But there was still no sign of him.

  “Mr. Arora's auntie asked us,” Kiran explained. “My mum and the others are over there.”

  She pointed at the woman I'd just noticed. Now I could see that it was Kiran's mum. But she looked so different—dressed up and made up—that I hadn't recognized her.

  “This is getting more and more confusing,” Jazz grumbled. “How do you know Auntie-ji?”

  “Oh, she's been great” replied Kiran. “We met her at the community center in Shepherd Road. She's really sorted us out. She organized people to do our decorating, and she's helped Mum with the kids. And she babysits so that Mum can get out and make friends. She's made a big difference.”

  “Why didn't you mention this before?” I asked.

  Kiran shrugged. “I didn't find out she was Mr. Arora's auntie until yesterday,” she explained. “I had a feeling I'd seen her before, but I couldn't remember where. Anyway, she's been amazing.”

  “So that's why you've been looking happier over the last few weeks,” I said, feeling mightily relieved that maybe, just maybe, Kiran wasn't in love with Rocky after all.

  Kiran nodded. “Auntie-ji told me yesterday that it was your idea for her to volunteer at the community center,” she said. “I owe you one, Amber. I can't tell you how much she's done for us.”

  “We thought you were happier because you were in love with Rocky,” Jazz blurted out in her usual thoughtful manner.

  Kiran's eyes opened wide. Then she began to roar with laughter.

  “Obviously not,” I said, feeling even more relieved.

  “Are you kidding?” Kiran chuckled. “I mean, he's nice enough and I get on well with him, especially when we're talking about music. But he can be a bit immature. And boy, doesn't he think he's great! He's OK as a mate, but that's as far as it goes.”

  “Have you heard him do his bhangra rap?” asked Jazz.

  Kiran shuddered. “I went round to his house yesterday,” she said. “It nearly killed me. I did actually try to persuade him not to come today.”

  “So you're the reason he didn't turn up!” I threw Kiran a grateful look. “Thanks ever so much.”

  But Kiran was shaking her head. “He wouldn't listen to me,” she said. “He was determined to come, one way or another.”

  “So why isn't he here?” asked Kim.

&nb
sp; “Oh, never mind.” I pushed a chair toward Kiran. “Sit down with us and have something to eat.”

  Rocky's no-show was a mystery, but it wasn't something I was going to worry my head over. No doubt I'd find out the reason behind it at school on Monday.

  But actually, I didn't have to wait that long. I'd left the hall, where the Bhangra Boyz had just started playing, and was on my way down the corridor to the ladies'. The outside doors were open, and as I passed them, a panting and disheveled figure rushed in.

  “Rocky!” I gasped in horror. “What the hell are you doing here? I mean, where have you been?”

  Rocky slapped his forehead, looking totally flustered. “You're not going to believe this!” he groaned. “Dad and I loaded all my gear into the van. Somehow it got locked and we couldn't find the keys, and then Dad didn't know where the spares were.” He stared at me, wild-eyed. “So the van is still sitting on our drive and I haven't got any equipment, but maybe the band will let me do a few songs? They could play for me.”

  “Well, I don't know about that,” I said quickly. “I'll have to go and check. Wait here.”

  “Thanks, Amber.” Looking a little more cheerful, Rocky slid his arm round my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “Listen, I know about that bet you, Geena and Jazz made…”

  “Oh, really?” I muttered, embarrassed.

  “And I want you to know that, of the three of you, I like you best,” Rocky whispered in my ear.

  And now I'd gone and declared the bet null and void. Drat. But apart from losing a couple of slaves for a day, I wasn't at all thrilled, to be honest.

  “You know, maybe we could get together for a slow dance at the end of my set,” Rocky went on, looking more and more pleased with himself.

  “You'll have to get past my dad first,” I replied, easing myself free. “Wait here.”