Bhangra Babes Page 6

  Geena put her head round our bedroom door. “Auntie's in a terrible mood,” she whispered. “She's tearing Mr. Arora to bits downstairs.”

  “How could you possibly know that,” I asked, “unless you were listening at the door?”

  “I was just passing by, and the living room door happened to be ajar,” Geena replied. “Oh, what the hell. Yes, I listened.”

  “Is it about Mr. Arora's auntie?” asked Jazz.

  Geena nodded. “Her latest idea is that they hold the reception in the gardens of a stately home, and have peacocks wandering about. Oh, and she wants Mr. Arora to arrive at the gurdwara riding a white Arab stallion. With maybe a peacock or two there as well.”

  “That'll be fun, trying to ride a horse down the Broadway,” I remarked.

  “So Auntie's really mad,” Jazz giggled. “Ooh, I want to hear.”

  She slid off the bed and headed for the door. Geena followed her downstairs, so I thought I might as well go too. We all felt a bit sorry for Auntie, really, but we couldn't help enjoying the fact that she'd found out what it was like to have an interfering relative. It was karma. Definitely.

  “I'll end up tearing my hair out at this rate,” Auntie sighed as we gathered at the bottom of the stairs to listen. “Is that what you want? A bald bride?”

  “I'm sure you'd still look lovely,” said Mr. Arora placatingly.

  “Seriously, Jai.” Auntie sounded very annoyed. “You're going to have to tell her, as politely as you can, that Johnny and your parents are making the final decision on all the arrangements.”

  “Um …” Mr. Arora, on the other hand, sounded depressed. “It's not quite as easy as that, Susie. She means well, you know.”

  “I know,” Auntie agreed. “Unfortunately, that doesn't really help.”

  “It's just that she hasn't got any family of her own to fuss over,” Mr. Arora said apologetically. “My uncle died a few years ago, and her son moved to the USA.”

  “Presumably because there aren't any direct flights to the moon yet,” Auntie muttered.

  “He didn't do it to get away from her.” Mr. Arora sounded a little annoyed himself now. “He got a very good job with IBM.”

  “So, are you saying you're not going to do anything about it?” Auntie demanded. “She rang me at

  six o'clock this morning to tell me she'd booked the caterers.”

  “That was good of her—” Mr. Arora began.

  “Johnny booked a different set of caterers two days ago!” Auntie was beginning to raise her voice now, which was never a good sign. “There's a cancellation fee if we pull out! And talking of food, I need one of you girls to go to the supermarket on the Broadway for me.”

  Her change of tone floored us for a minute. Then, sheepishly, I pushed the door open.

  “Hello,” said Geena cheerfully. “Is everything OK?”

  “Fine,” Auntie snapped.

  We turned inquiring eyes on Mr. Arora.

  “Fine,” he replied tightly.

  The telephone rang, and Auntie shuddered.

  “You answer it,” she said to Mr. Arora through gritted teeth. “She's your aunt.”

  Mr. Arora looked cross. “You can't possibly know it's my aunt,” he said coldly.

  Auntie stomped across the room and grabbed the receiver. “Oh, hello, Auntie-ji,” she said, rolling her eyes. Mr. Arora wilted visibly. “Yes,” said Auntie. “No. But—”

  She seethed in silence as we heard a stream of excited chatter from the other end of the line.

  “But… but… yes. No. Goodbye.”

  Auntie put the receiver down very carefully. “Now she's thinking of booking a river cruiser for the reception,” she said in a deceptively calm voice. “She's just checking that we don't all have to wear life jackets.”

  “That's not a good idea.” Mr. Arora sounded

  alarmed. “My dad's cousin's wife has a phobia about ducks. If she lays eyes on one, she gets hysterical.”

  “Well, this will be a wedding to remember, won't it?” Auntie said lightly. “The bride wore a life jacket over her posh sari, while the guests flew into hysterics at the sight of a duck.”

  “I didn't say all the guests,” Mr. Arora muttered. “Just one.”

  “So.” Auntie put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to tell her the river cruiser's off, or shall I?”

  Mr. Arora squirmed like a worm on a hook. We goggled at both of them. Things were getting heated.

  “Before your eyes fall out,” Auntie said quite rudely to us, “which one of you is going to the supermarket for me?”

  This was perfect! But I couldn't volunteer straightaway. It would look too suspicious.

  “I've got homework to do,” Geena said, edging toward the door.

  “Me too,” Jazz said hastily.

  “I promised Kim I'd go over,” I added. That was to have been my excuse to get away, but if I'd played my cards just right, Auntie would now say—

  “Well, you can go on the way to Kim's, can't you, Amber?”

  Yes!

  “I suppose so,” I mumbled, injecting just the right touch of sulky reluctance.

  “The list is on the kitchen table.” Auntie ushered me over to the door and closed it firmly behind me.

  “They're going to have a big row now,” Geena whispered.

  “What I want to know is how Auntie always guesses we're listening at the door,” Jazz grumbled. “Someday I'm going to ask her.”

  “See you two later,” I said airily, sauntering into the kitchen. I collected the list and went out into the hall. Raised voices could be heard behind the living room door.

  Outside, I strolled to the corner, just in case Geena or Jazz was watching me from the bedroom window. Once out of sight, I ran like a cheetah down the next street, remembering to avoid Mr. Attwal's minimarket. He got terribly upset if he thought we were going to the supermarket instead of his shop.

  I wanted to run all the way to the Broadway, so worried was I about missing Rocky. But then my face would have been as red as one of the tomatoes outside Mr. Attwal's shop—it would clash with my Pink Poodle lip gloss. So I forced myself to slow down and walk briskly instead. It was now one-thirty Rocky had said he'd be at Shanti's after lunch. But what time did he eat? I fretted. Was he someone who liked to eat early, or did he prefer a late lunch?

  My heart was pitter-pattering loudly and unpleasantly when I finally managed to negotiate the manic Saturday traffic and got to Shanti's. It's a tiny place, so when I peered eagerly through the window, I could see at a glance that Rocky wasn't there yet.

  “Looking for someone?”

  I almost jumped out of my skin. I spun round to see Geena and Jazz smiling quizzically at me.

  “Y-You!” I spluttered. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Now, should we ask you the same question?” Geena said thoughtfully.

  “You know what I'm doing,” I retorted, rallying a little. “I'm getting some shopping for Auntie.”

  “Oh,” said Jazz, staring into Shanti's window. “Did she want Bollywood Beats—the Sixties Collection?”

  I shrugged. “Is it a crime to do a bit of window-shopping on the way to the supermarket? Now, lovely as it is to run into you so unexpectedly, I must go to the supermarket.”

  And off I marched. I was determined to get them both away from Shanti's in case Rocky turned up. I didn't know why they'd followed me, but there was still a chance they hadn't found out why I was really there.

  “We'll come with you.” Geena hurried after me. “We can take the shopping home while you go and do whatever you're going to do next.”

  “I told you before,” I said, struggling to keep my cool, “I promised Kim I'd go over.”

  “Oh, really.” Jazz raised her eyebrows at me. “That's rather strange. Because Kim doesn't seem to know anything about it.”

  “Of course she does,” I bluffed.

  “She phoned about a minute after you left.” Geena put her hands on her hips and stared trium
phantly at me. “Give it up, Amber. We know this is something to do with Rocky.”

  “Oh, all right!” I said with very bad grace, flouncing into the supermarket. “I'm meeting him at Shanti's anytime now. So I'd be obliged if you two could just shove off.”

  Geena and Jazz laughed.

  “I think not,” Geena scoffed.

  “You're very sneaky, Amber,” Jazz said reprovingly as I picked up a wire basket.

  “Oh, please,” I said. “Like you wouldn't stab me in the back too if it meant you could win this bet.”

  “Don't tempt me,” Geena warned, picking up a cucumber.

  Scowling, I dragged Auntie's list out of my pocket. “Two grapefruits. You get those, Jazz.”

  “I'm not your slave yet,” Jazz retorted.

  I began filling a plastic bag with apples. “Has it ever occurred to you that if Rocky arranged to see me and not you, it actually means that he prefers me?”

  “What nonsense,” said Geena, who was selecting a honeydew melon. “All it means is that you somehow forced him into it.”

  “That's rubbish,” I retorted. “It was his id—”

  I stopped, a Pink Lady apple suspended in one hand. Rocky was strolling down the Broadway toward Shanti's.

  You would have been proud of me. I did not hesitate. I dropped the basket, hurdled it, and exited the supermarket at speed. Behind me I heard Geena mumble an apology as she dropped the melon on another shopper's toe before she raced after me.

  “Wait!” Jazz wailed.

  Geena and I charged back down the Broadway. We were neck and neck by the time we reached Shanti's, with Jazz only a meter or two behind.

  “Stop!” Geena yelled, raising her hand.

  We skidded to a halt a short distance from the shop doorway.

  “Now,” Geena went on sternly, “we don't want Rocky thinking we've been chasing him, do we?”

  Jazz and I shook our heads.

  “So let's compose ourselves before we go in, all right?”

  Jazz and I nodded. While we were tidying our hair and taking a few deep breaths, Geena, the two-faced little skunk, took advantage and sneaked into the shop first.

  “Hey there.” Rocky looked up from the rack of bhangra CDs he was studying as we jostled and elbowed our way across the shop toward him. “You made it, Amber. And you brought your sisters too.”

  “Unfortunately,” I muttered.

  A determined battle then took place to see who was going to get to stand on either side of Rocky. Jazz lost, and she hovered around at his shoulder, looking disgruntled.

  “Who are your favorite bands?” Geena asked, trying to look intelligent. Although we all liked bhangra, Geena and I preferred Coldplay and Eminem, while Jazz was into whichever boy band took her fickle fancy at the time.

  “KMB, Khushboo and Ricky Singh,” Rocky replied. “And the Punjabi Punks are the business. I'm into the hardcore stuff.”

  He was right. I'd hadn't heard of any of them.

  “You'll have to come over to my place when my studio's set up,” Rocky went on. “Then I can play you some of my own stuff.”

  “I'd love to,” all three of us said, glaring at each other.

  “What I really want is to get some gigs around here.” Rocky picked up a CD and studied the tracks. “My dad's trying to get some clubs interested, because I do a bit of DJ-ing too.”

  We all sighed happily. Good looks! Glamour! Money! Excitement! This boy had everything.

  The door opened and a few more customers came in. One of them was Kiran Kohli.

  I was so surprised, I took a step backward, and Jazz dived in and pinched my place next to Rocky. I nudged Geena and nodded at Kiran, who looked a down-at-heel mess in a black T-shirt and scruffy black combats.

  “Do you think we ought to go and say hello?” I whispered.

  “Hey, look.” Rocky glanced up from the CD. “It's that awful girl from school. She's in a right state, isn't she?” He grinned. “Oops! Maybe I shouldn't have said that. She's a mate of yours, isn't she?”

  “No!” I gasped.

  “Not at all,” Jazz spluttered.

  “What makes you think that?” asked Geena nervously.

  Kiran had seen us too, but she wasn't going to say hello. Looking straight through us, she marched over

  to the other side of the bhangra rack and began flipping through the CDs in silence.

  Well, really! I was disgusted. She could have said hi. Not that I wanted to speak to her either. But it was a bit rude.

  “I think I'll buy this one.” Rocky tapped the CD he was holding. “Shall we go and grab something to eat? Someone told me there's a place at the other end of the Broadway that does a great curry burger.”

  “You mean Baldev's Burgers,” I said.

  “That's the one.” Suddenly Rocky's eyes narrowed. “It's not, is it? It can't be! I've been looking for that for ages!”

  We all looked confused because we didn't have a clue what Rocky was talking about. He bent right over the rack to pick out one of the CDs on the opposite side. But when he lifted it out, Kiran's hand was holding the other side of it.

  “Excuse me,” Kiran said in what was, for her, quite a polite tone, “but I picked that up first.”

  “I don't think so,” Rocky said coolly. “I got to it before you did.”

  “No,” Kiran replied. “I was picking it up, and then you grabbed it.”

  “That's rubbish.” Rocky turned to us. “You saw me get this first, didn't you, girls?”

  “Er …,” I said. It had been my fleeting impression that Kiran had it first, but I couldn't be sure. “Um, it all happened so fast.”

  “It's mine,” Rocky said crossly, yanking at the CD and trying to pull it across the rack. “Hand it over.”

  “No chance,” Kiran retorted, hanging on tightly. “I've been looking for this forever.”

  “Give it to me!” Rocky snapped, sounding a bit like a spoilt little brat. Well, he would have done if he hadn't been so remarkably good-looking. “Let go!”

  A tug-of-war began, with Rocky pulling one way and Kiran the other. The rack of CDs began to rock dangerously from side to side.

  “Stop it!” Geena gasped. “You're going to—”

  I think what she was going to say was that they were about to knock the rack over. They did. It overturned, and all the CDs spilled out all over the floor.

  “Hey, what's going on?” The shop assistant, who had been bending down under the desk, shot upright and glared furiously at us.

  “Now see what you've done,” Rocky snarled at Kiran, who'd ended up clutching the CD after all. She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Sorry.” Kiran turned to the shop assistant. “We'll help tidy up.”

  “I'm not helping,” Rocky said coldly. “It was nothing to do with me.”

  “Oh, come on, Rocky,” I urged. “It won't take long.”

  In frosty silence, we helped the shop assistant replace the CDs in alphabetical order. When we'd finished, Rocky turned and walked out of the shop without a word. We followed him, leaving Kiran to pay for

  the CD. I didn't much like the sarcastic look on her face as she watched us go.

  “Who the hell does that girl think she is?” Rocky fumed as we hurried to catch him up. “And how did she get to be so strong? It's not natural.”

  “Look, it was just an accident,” I soothed.

  “It was all her fault,” Rocky grumbled. He stared suspiciously at us. “Are you sure she's not a friend of yours?”

  “No way!” we chorused in a very heartfelt manner.

  “Good,” Rocky snapped, “because I'm on to her now, and she's as good as dead. See you.” He strode off, still fuming.

  “What about our curry burger?” Jazz called plaintively after him.

  Geena slumped against a nearby shop window. “That was awful. I'm exhausted.”

  “Wherever Kiran goes, trouble seems to follow,” I agreed, although I was uneasily aware that wasn't quite true in this case.


  Geena's conscience seemed to be troubling her too. “She did apologize to the shop assistant,” she muttered. “Rocky didn't.”

  “Well, he obviously didn't think it was his fault,” I said, leaping to defend my hero.

  “He did pick that CD up first,” Jazz remarked.

  “I thought Kiran did,” I said.

  “You do realize that we can't possibly even pretend to be friends with Kiran now,” Jazz went on, “or we won't stand a chance with Rocky.”

  “Who's going to tell Mr. Arora the good news?” Geena asked.

  “Well, he can just find someone else to babysit Kiran,” I said bitterly. “After all, there are eight hundred and fifty-seven other pupils at the school. There must be at least one who can be friends with her.”

  Geena and Jazz looked very doubtful but let it go.

  We went back to the supermarket to collect Auntie's shopping, and then trailed home. I felt a bit out of sorts, but I couldn't figure out why. Rocky was as gorgeous as ever, and we were going to put our foot down about Kiran. But something still didn't feel right.

  “I hope Auntie and Mr. Arora aren't fighting,” Geena said wearily as she unlocked the front door. “I don't think I could stand any more drama today.”

  Auntie and Mr. Arora were very far from fighting. They'd been making up. In fact, I had the distinct impression that as we entered the living room, Auntie jumped up off Mr. Arora's lap.

  “You've been a tong lime,” Auntie said. “I mean, a long time.” She giggled.

  “It doesn't seem like you missed us much,” Geena said sternly. A nearly empty bottle of wine and two glasses stood on the coffee table.

  “Is that the time?” Mr. Arora began smoothing his creased shirt and flattening his ruffled hair. “I must be going.” He staggered a little as he got to his feet.

  “Actually, we wanted to talk to you about Kiran,” Geena said quickly, elbowing me in the ribs. “Amber's got something to say.”

  “Why me?” I whispered. But I guessed it was as good a time as any, now that Mr. Arora and Auntie were a little merry. “Well, yes. About Kiran …”

  “Yes.” Mr. Arora shook his head. “Very sad. Very, very sad.”