Bindi Babes (10 page)

“Absolutely, Auntie,” Geena said firmly. Jazz and I nodded.

Mrs. Dhaliwal beamed. “Well, here we go.” She opened up the file, and pulled out a photo. “What kind of age range are we looking at? I suppose you don't want anyone too old?”

“I'm not sure.” Auntie stroked her chin. “What do you think, Geena?”

“Well, up to fifty would be all right,” Geena replied. She winked at us. I knew what she was thinking. We needed the widest possible range of husbands to choose from to make sure we found someone.

Auntie raised her eyebrows. She looked a bit shocked, but all she said was “Well, if you're sure …”

“Here's one.” Mrs. Dhaliwal passed the photo to Auntie. “Jagdev Singh. What do you think?”

Auntie looked at the photo without comment, then passed it to Geena.

“What's that big lump on the end of his nose?” Geena asked.

I took a look.

“That
is
his nose,” I said. The poor man was hideous.

Jazz looked at the photo and shrieked with laughter, then had to turn it into a cough.

“He's got a very good job,” Mrs. Dhaliwal said huffily. “He's an accountant.”

“Yes, I'm sure he's very good at sniffing out tax
scams,” Geena said solemnly. I don't know how she managed to keep a straight face.

Mrs. Dhaliwal took out another photo, and handed it to Auntie. “What about this one?”

“Yes, well …” Auntie didn't look impressed. “He's rather
large
, isn't he?”

That was an understatement. This guy was huge.

“Who ate all the samosas?” Jazz whispered in my ear. We both nearly burst, trying not to laugh.

“What do you think, Geena?” Auntie asked.

“Well, if you want my honest opinion, Auntie”— I could tell that Geena was starting to enjoy herself— “I really think that personality is
much
more important than looks.”

“Very true.” Auntie nodded. “So he's a possibility then?”

Geena smiled. “Oh, definitely.”

“Now here's a good one,” Mrs. Dhaliwal said proudly. “He works at the BBC.”

She forgot to mention that he also had no hair on his head, but a lot growing out of his nose. By this time Jazz was in such hysterics, she had to dash to the loo. I was only just managing to hold myself together by biting the inside of my mouth really hard. But Geena was going great guns.

“He's got a kind face,” she remarked.

“Oh, do you think so?” Auntie said doubtfully.

“Personality, not looks, remember, Auntie,” Geena reminded her briskly.

Over the next hour, we saw it all. Acne, warts, jug-ears, strange shapes and sizes. I was beginning to wonder if Mrs. Dhaliwal had any normal-looking people in her file.

“Well, we have a few possibilities here,” Auntie announced, sifting through the photographs again.

“If you're desperate,” I whispered in Jazz's ear. That set the two of us off again.

“I'll have to speak to Geena's father first, before we can go any further,” Auntie went on. “Then we can meet the young man's family and discuss arrangements for the wedding. Of course, we'll have to wait until Geena's sixteen.”

Jazz and I stopped laughing.

“Excuse me?” Geena said faintly.

Auntie looked surprised. “Well, you can't get married before you're sixteen, dear. That's the law here.”

“Who said anything about me getting married?” Geena snarled.

Auntie raised her eyebrows. “Well, isn't that what all this is about?”

“
No
,” Geena said through her teeth. “
I'm
not getting married.”

“Oh.” Auntie looked puzzled. I couldn't tell if it was genuine, or if she was faking it. “I thought that was why we were doing all this.”

“No, of
course
it isn't—” Geena began furiously. I shot her a warning look, and she shut up. I wasn't sure if Auntie was on to us, or if she'd made a genuine mistake. We didn't want to give the game away.

“Well, I'm glad we got that sorted out.” Auntie picked up our empty cups. “More tea, anyone?”

And she went out.

Mrs. Dhaliwal started packing the photos away, looking faintly disgruntled. I had to do something, and fast.

“Did Auntie say anything about looking for a husband herself?” I asked hopefully.

“Don't be silly, Amber.” Mrs. Dhaliwal wagged her finger at me. “How can your auntie get married? She has to look after the three of you. She hasn't got time for a husband at the moment.”

So Auntie had even got Mrs. Dhaliwal on her side. But I wasn't going to give up. One way or another, we'd just have to find her a husband ourselves. And soon.

“L
ook, anyone will do,” Geena said. “Come on, you must know
someone
.”

Chelsea looked doubtful. “Well, there's our neighbor,” she said. “He lives on his own. But he's got a wooden leg.”

“We're not fussy,” Jazz chimed in.

“How old is he?” I asked.

Chelsea screwed up her nose. “About sixty?” she guessed.

“That's too old,” Geena grumbled, tapping her fingers impatiently on her clipboard. “Don't you know anyone else?”

Chelsea shook her head and escaped across the playground, a look of relief on her face. I glanced
round to see where Sharelle had got to. She was sidling off behind the bike sheds.

“What about your uncle Mac, Sharelle?” I reminded her. “You said he wasn't married.”

“Yeah, but he likes living on his own,” Sharelle said apologetically. “And he's a bit strange. He collects bus tickets and files them. Anyway, he's not Indian.”

“At the moment we'd consider a little green man from Mars,” snapped Geena. “Anyone else?”

Sharelle looked blank.

“Oh, this is hopeless,” I said. The campaign to find Auntie a husband had got off to a standing start.

“Hey, you.” Geena collared Ragbir Singh from Year 7. “Do you know anyone who wants to get married?”

Ragbir backed away across the playground, giggling nervously.

“Not to me, you fool,” Geena snapped.

Ragbir giggled even harder. He took to his heels and vanished behind the canteen.

“Now it's going to be all round the school that Geena's looking for a husband,” Jazz remarked, trying not to sound gleeful but not trying very hard.

Geena gave us both a penetrating look. “Well, I hope you'll put paid to
that
particular rumor if you hear it flying about.”

“Of course,” I said. “After all, aren't you promised to Jagdev Singh the nosy accountant?”

Jazz and I collapsed in hysterics. Geena glared and waved the clipboard at us threateningly.

“Look, here's Kim,” Jazz gulped through her giggles.

“Oops,” I said. “We forgot to wait for her this morning.”

“You forgot to wait for me this morning,” Kim complained, heaving her rucksack across the playground. She had a large plaster on her right hand, which I deliberately didn't comment on. I didn't want to be bored to death for the next fifteen minutes.

“Sorry,” I said. “We had something important to do.”

“We're trying to find a husband for Auntie,” Geena explained briskly. “Do you know anyone?”

Kim looked glum. “You could have Gary, if you like.”

“Gary?” I had to think for a minute to work out who she meant. “Oh, your mum's boyfriend.”

Kim's eyes shadowed. “I wouldn't mind getting rid of him,” she muttered.

I didn't ask what she meant because I didn't want to know. I had my own problems. And Kim was just so good at making a drama out of nothing.

“Make sure you ask everyone in your classes about husbands,” Geena ordered as the bell went.

“Yes,
mein Führer
.” Jazz goose-stepped into the Year 7 cloakroom.

“Geena,” Sarika Sharma called, “someone says you're looking for a husband. Is that true?”

“Oh God,” Geena moaned.

An interested crowd began to gather, and some of the boys started making very rude jokes, which I couldn't possibly repeat. They were funny, though.

“Of course she's not looking for a husband,” I said. “She's already promised to Jagdev Singh.”

An enraged Geena made a run at me, and I disappeared, laughing, round the corner toward our classroom. Kim trailed along behind me, her eyes like saucers.

“Is Geena
really
getting married?” she asked.

“Kim, keep up, for God's sake,” I snapped. “Of course she isn't.”

“Oh.” Kim looked vaguely disappointed. Then she winced as something hit her on the back of the head. “Help!”

I bent down and retrieved a woolly hat that had been balled up and used as a weapon. A few meters behind us George Botley was grinning like a maniac.

“Ignore him,” I said, dropping the hat into a nearby litter bin. It landed very satisfactorily on a half-eaten ice cream.

I sized up the rest of our class as we went into the room. I had to decide which ones I'd ask about husbands for Auntie. There were some whose relatives you definitely wouldn't want swimming in your gene pool. That was one of the reasons why I wasn't asking George Botley.

“Hurry up, Eight A.” Mr. Arora swept through the classroom door like a whirlwind, his arms full, dropping books and folders as he went. He was looking
pale and tetchy, as all the teachers were, and he was getting paler and tetchier every day as the inspectors' visit approached. “I expected you all to be sitting down five minutes ago. Get your books out. Who left that chewing gum on the bookcase?”

We all rushed smartly to our seats, even people like Darren Bell who thought they were hard (and actually
were
hard). In the mood Sleeping Beauty was in, you could get sent straight to Mr. Grimwade for putting a foot wrong. And the mood Mr. Grimwade was in, you could end up painting the outside of the school or repairing the roof.

Mr. Arora chucked his books and files down on the desk and grimly attacked the register. “George Botley.”

“Here, sir,” Botley called. He followed up with a loud burp, which made the lowlifes in the class snigger.

“Ambajit Dhillon.”

“Here, sir,” I called. And then, absolutely from nowhere, I got this blinding idea.

The solution to our problem was sitting straight in front of me.

I grabbed my rough book and scrawled,
Mr. Arora!
on a clean page. Then I pushed it across to Kim.

She looked at it blankly and wrote,
What about him?

I've found Auntie a husband
, I scribbled triumphantly.
Mr. Arora! What do you think?

Kim looked nervous.
I think I'm having a panic attack.

“Line up for assembly, please,” Mr. Arora called as the bell rang. “And Botley, don't stand behind Amina

Khosla. It took us ten minutes to untie her plaits yesterday morning.”

“You're not serious?” Kim gasped, as we put our books away. “Mr.
Arora?”

“Why not?” I replied. “He's perfect in every way.”

“But you don't know if he's married already” Kim said. “And there's no way you can possibly find out.”

I was amused. “That's what you think.” I went over to Mr. Arora, who was standing by the door on Botleywatch. “Sir, can I ask you something?”

Mr. Arora nodded. “Of course, Amber.”

“Are you married, sir?” So it was a bit cheeky, but I reckoned I was enough of a favorite to get away with it.

Mr. Arora's handsome face crinkled into a smile. “No, I'm not, Amber,” he replied. “Why? Are you offering?”

The rest of the class sniggered and I blushed daintily. George Botley even looked jealous, the fool.

“I'd never have had the nerve to do that,” Kim said weakly as I joined her at the back of the line. “I'd have dropped down dead. I'd have shriveled up and died. I'd have—”

“Yes, well,” I said victoriously. “Now we know.”

“Mr.
Arora?”
Geena shrieked. “You've got to be joking!”

“Why?” I asked. Jazz was pulling faces too. I'd rushed to tell them my idea at break time, and this was the annoying result.

“Because he's
gorgeous
, that's why,” Geena groaned. “He's a boy babe. He's much too good for Auntie.”

“Anyway, isn't he younger than she is?” Jazz asked.

I scowled. “Only a couple of years, I think.”

“He'd never fancy her,” Geena scoffed.