Bhangra Babes (15 page)

“Me neither,” added Geena. “Not in this case, anyway. Especially since you and Rocky made that deal. He'd do anything to play at Auntie's wedding.”

“Well, I think Amber could be right,” Kim broke in. “I bet Rocky's never met such an interesting girl as Kiran, even if it
was
only because Amber blackmailed

him. I expect most of the females who hang around him are shallow, empty-headed bimbos.”

“I hope you're not referring to anyone in particular,” Jazz said with a glare.

“And don't think we haven't noticed that if it is true, it would get you out of a tricky situation, Amber,” Geena said sternly.

“Would it?” Jazz looked blank. “How?”

Geena cast up her eyes. “It would mean a nice, neat happy ending, and no heartbreak for Kiran.”

“Oh, I see.” Jazz grinned at me. “So Amber's imagining things because she feels desperately guilty?”

“Right,” Geena said. “And I, for one, think it's a complete load of nonsense—”

Kiran dropped one of the CDs. Rocky bent to pick it up. He slid his arm round her waist and gave her a squeeze. Kiran laughed. She pushed him away. They began to mock-wrestle in the way that people who fancy each other (but haven't admitted it) often do.

“Still think I'm making it up?” I asked triumphantly.

Geena and Jazz looked visibly shocked.

“I can't believe it,” Jazz muttered. “I
won't
believe it.”

“I suppose it
might
be true,” said Geena weakly.

“If it is, she'd better let him win the fight,” Jazz whispered. At the moment Kiran had Rocky in an armlock and showed no sign of letting go.

“I thought he said he couldn't fancy anyone whose hands were bigger than his,” Geena said grumpily.

“Obviously he's changed his mind,” I replied. “We'll just have to live with it.”

“I know it's a big blow to your enormous egos,” said Kim kindly, “but you could try to be happy for Kiran.”

Jazz gulped. “I suppose so,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I guess this means our bet is off,” muttered Geena.

“There doesn't seem to be much point to it now, does there?” I agreed sadly.

Kiran had won when she hadn't even known about the bet in the first place… .

While it seemed that romance was brewing between Kiran and Rocky, we also had a love affair closer to home to look forward to. With only a week to go to the wedding, the kurmai, Mr. Arora and Auntie's engagement party, was held on Saturday.

“I think it's about time we stopped calling him Mr. Arora, don't you?” Geena observed sensibly as we fought to get our share of chicken and dhal. We were crammed into the Aroras' living room, along with assorted relatives from both sides of the family, and there was a desperate scrum for food. We were sandwiched between large, chattering aunties and bawling kids, and however hard we shoved, we didn't seem to be getting any closer to the table.

“It seems like tempting fate to start calling him Uncle before they actually get married,” I replied.

“What are we going to call him when we're at school?” Jazz demanded. She ducked under an auntie's elbow and snared a samosa. “He can't be Uncle there.”

“Well,
hello,”
said Geena. “We carry on calling him Mr. Arora, of course.”

“Surely even your tiny brain can cope with him having one name at school and another at home, Jazz,” I scoffed.

Jazz looked affronted and ate the samosa without even offering us a bite. Meanwhile, Auntie, looking very sweet and innocent, was sitting on the sofa with Mr. Arora, receiving the good wishes of all the relatives. All Indian brides have to look sweet and innocent. It's their job. Auntie was very good at it, I thought admiringly. She did sweet and innocent in a very convincing way.

Dad was circulating, being congratulated on marrying his sister off to a catch like Mr. Arora. This was almost too much for Dad, the softie, to bear. His eyes were looking suspiciously moist.

“Girls!” shouted Auntie-ji, who had materialized out of thin air like a plump and cheery genie. “I haven't seen you for ages!” She grabbed us and hugged us one by one.

“How are things at the community center?” asked Geena.

Auntie-ji's face lit up. “Oh, there's so much to do!” she exclaimed joyously. “I've taken over the organization of the mum and baby group, and I help with meals for pensioners, and I drive the minibus, and— oh, all sorts of things!”

She looked completely fulfilled, and her round face

radiated contentment and goodwill. I felt extraordinarily pleased with myself.

There was a kerfuffle at the door, which was Uncle Dave, Auntie Rita and our cousins, Jaggi, Sukhvinder, Bobby and Baby, arriving with Biji, their gran.

“Where's Susie?” Auntie Rita bellowed at top volume. “I can't wait to meet this supposedly gorgeous young man she's marrying! Oh!” She caught sight of Mr. Arora sitting next to Auntie, and her mouth fell open. “Is
that
him?” She dropped her voice slightly but we could still hear her on the other side of the room. “How on earth did Susie manage to get her claws into
him?”

“No good ever came of marrying a handsome man,” Biji muttered darkly. “Ugly men are much more reliable.” She banged her stick on the floor, just missing Dad's big toe. “Doesn't anyone here have a cup of tea for a thirsty old lady?”

Baby, who had always been one of our bitterest enemies, was causing quite a stir. She was poured into a long, silky pink skirt that sat low on her hips, and a matching top that knotted under her bosom, pushing it up and out quite a long way.

Jazz eyed her with dislike, and Auntie-ji was also looking very disapproving.

“Hello,” I said as Baby walked across the room, showing off her wiggle. “That's a nice top you're almost wearing.”

“Miaow,” Baby purred. “Can I help the way I look?”

“Yes,” said Auntie-ji, very unexpectedly. “You could stop putting all the goods in the shop window for a start. Men may like to rummage in the bargain basement, but in the end they always prefer to go for something a bit more upmarket.”

Then she marched off, leaving Baby looking disgusted and me, Geena and Jazz giggling helplessly.

“Who's that rude old bag?” Baby snarled.

“Mr. Arora's auntie,” I replied, “and don't talk about her like that.”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Arora,” Baby went on. “Tell me, how did Auntie manage to land a gorgeous babe like
him?”

“Auntie may be lucky to get Mr. Arora,” I said sharply, “but he's just as lucky to be getting
her.”

Baby tittered. “Oh, come off it. She's hardly Miss World. I mean, she could do with losing a few pounds for a start—”

The three of us stepped forward as one.

“Why don't you leave our auntie alone and shove off before we dunk your head in the chicken curry?” Geena suggested.

Baby sniffed. “I don't know why you're so fond of her all of a sudden,” she snapped. “I remember a time not so long ago when you didn't like her much yourself.”

And off she tottered on her five-inch stiletto heels.

“Do you think that's true?” asked Jazz.
“Are
we fond of Auntie now?”

“I think so,” I replied. We'd been so preoccupied with Rocky, the bet and Kiran that we'd almost forgotten that Auntie would be moving out soon. Next

week, in fact. “It's going to be strange not having her at home, isn't it?”

Geena and Jazz looked glum. A space had cleared at the table, but chicken curry and rice had suddenly lost its appeal.

“Dad hasn't said anything more about getting a housekeeper,” Geena said hopefully. “Maybe he's going to see how we get along.”

“I expect Auntie will pop round quite a bit,” I pointed out. “They'll only be a twenty-minute drive away if they're living here. And you can't expect her to give up interfering in our lives completely. It would be unnatural.”

“But when she and Mr. Arora buy their own house, they could be miles away,” Jazz replied.

“Oh, why don't we just admit it,” I said. “We're going to miss her. It'll be nice not to have her interfering and being one step ahead of our every move. But we're still going to miss her.”

Geena and Jazz nodded. And so it happened that Dad was no longer the only person in the room with suspiciously damp eyes.

Y
ou're looking good,” I told Kiran very innocently. It was Monday morning, the bell had just rung for morning break time and we were packing away our books after history with Mr. Lucas. “Has anything happened?”

I know. I wasn't going to say anything to Kiran. But my curiosity about her and Rocky was getting the better of me. Beside me Kim cleared her throat very noisily. I ignored her.

“Happened?” Kiran slid her books into her bag. I wondered if she was avoiding looking at me on purpose. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just noticed that you seem a lot happier,” I replied.

Kim elbowed me in the ribs. I elbowed her back, harder.

“Things are easier at home,” Kiran replied,

swinging her bag onto her shoulder. “We've had the house decorated, and we've unpacked and settled in.” She grinned. “And the baby's sleeping through the night now, which helps.”

“Sure.” I followed her outside. Kim was poking me in the back, which was rather painful. “And?”

“And me and my mum have got more time to talk about Dad,” Kiran went on. “You were right. It's better to talk than keep it all inside.”

“I'm glad,” I said, and meant it. “Is that all?”

Kiran frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well …
owl”
Kim had just poked me particularly viciously in the spine. “Oh, nothing.”

“I'll see you outside in a minute, then.” And Kiran disappeared into the girls' toilets.

“There was no need for that,” I snapped, turning on Kim.

“I was trying to stop you from making a fool of yourself,” Kim said in a saintly manner.
“And
from annoying Kiran. If she wants to talk about her feelings for Rocky, she will.”

“I only wanted to help,” I muttered sulkily.

“No, you were just sticking your nose in because you want to know what's going on,” Kim said with deadly accuracy (I wasn't about to admit it, though).

I sighed as we went out into the playground. “I can't believe you think
that
of me after knowing me for eight years, Kim,” I said.

“It's
because
I've known you for eight years that I can tell exactly what you're up to,” Kim replied.

I really felt that this might have developed into a full-blown argument if we hadn't walked straight into a bust-up between, of all people, Rocky Gill and George Botley

What happened was this. George was playing football with a gang of boys from our year. As Kim and I walked out of school, George was running backward to head a high ball. He crashed straight into Rocky, who wasn't looking where he was going either, and didn't hear anything because he had his headphones on.

“You idiot!” yelled Rocky. Those were not his
exact
words, you understand. They were a good deal ruder. “Get out of my way!”

He gave George a hefty shove. George staggered and went flying, landing in a large, deep puddle. Dirty water splashed everywhere, soaking his sweatshirt and trousers.

“Right!” George scrambled to his feet, his face bright red, fists clenched. “I've had enough of you!”

“Fight, fight, fight!”

Testosterone levels soared as all the males who were watching began baying for blood.

“I think not,” I said briskly, stepping between the two of them. “George, come into school with me, and I'll help you clean up.”

George looked reluctant, but I grabbed his soaking wet arm and dragged him away. The crowd of boys looked disappointed.

“Amber's just saved you from getting a pasting,

Botley,” Rocky yelled as George and I went into school. “Stay away from me, you moron.”

George turned a darker red. He tried to pull away from me, but I hung on with both hands. Kim, who was bringing up the rear, hurriedly closed the outside door behind us.

“That guy's a complete and total prat,” George ranted as Kim and I escorted him down the corridor to our classroom. There was a washbasin in the corner, and while I filled it with warm water, Kim handed George some paper towels. “I just don't know what you see in him, Amber.”

“Who said I see anything in him?” I muttered.

But George was so worked up, he wasn't listening. “Someone said he's going to play at your auntie's wedding,” he went on. “You must be crazy!”

That did annoy me. “Why?” I said sharply. “Rocky's into bhangra and hip-hop, he writes his own stuff and he DJs too. He's got his own studio at home. He wants to do it professionally when he's older.”

“Have you heard him?” George snapped.

“Well—no,” I admitted. “Have you?”

“No.” George stared crossly at me. “But just because he's handsome, it doesn't mean he's any
good.”

“That's true,” Kim agreed.

“Oh, be quiet,” I said.

George's remarks had worried me slightly. Oh, it wasn't that I didn't have faith in Rocky's ability. But maybe it
would
be better to get some idea of what he

was actually planning to do at the wedding. Some hip-hop lyrics could be a bit—well—near the bone. I didn't want elderly aunties fainting away and ruining the reception. I was 99 percent sure I could trust Rocky. But still … It would be better to find out exactly what he was going to do.