Bollywood Babes (14 page)

“Well, of course she's embarrassed,” Jazz cut in, trying to free herself. “She was standing in front of him with a bright green face. It doesn't get any more embarrassing than that.”

“Thank you, Jasvinder,” said Auntie. “I'm grateful you spelled that out for me.”

“We'll see you there,” I said with bright encouragement. “And we'll wait for you outside. So you don't have to go in on your own.”

Auntie sighed and left.

“Can you please unroll me now?” Jazz demanded. I grabbed the edge of the duvet and yanked it. Jazz tumbled out and landed on the floor with a shriek.

Geena came in. “Shhh,” she said. “Our future stepmother's still in bed.”

“Don't joke,” I snapped. “It's not funny.”

“I thought humor was a good tension reliever,” Geena remarked.

“Well, it's adding to
my
tension,” I muttered. I felt more responsible for the situation than the others. Of course I did. It had been my idea to invite Molly Mahal to stay. It had backfired horribly.

I slipped out of the bedroom and went along the landing to the bathroom. The door was ajar. I could hear the radio. A breathy female voice was singing a sweet love song that had been in the charts for the last few weeks, and Dad was whistling merrily along.

I stopped and looked in. He was standing in front of the mirror, a Santa Claus beard of white shaving foam on his face. I realized with a jolt how well he looked now. He'd been gaunt and thin, hollowcheeked, after Mum. Now he looked fit and relaxed again. Was it because of Molly Mahal?

As all these thoughts passed through my mind, Dad caught my eye in the mirror. “Morning, Amber,” he said cheerfully. “I won't be a minute.”

“All right, Dad.”

I had a lump as big as a football in my throat. As I
waited on the landing, I wondered what I'd done. We'd just had to cope with all the upheaval of Auntie moving in and turning our lives upside down. Surely the same thing couldn't, wouldn't happen all over again.

“No, don't go in yet.” I stopped Geena from pulling open the glass doors that led into the upper school. “I told Auntie we'd wait for her out here so that we can go into the meeting together.”

“I guess she does need some moral support,” Geena agreed. “I mean, she did make an almighty fool of herself in front of the guy she fancies to bits.”

“I think she knows that,” I replied.

“Hasn't today been awful?” Jazz complained, kicking at a Coke can that was rolling its way across the vast, landscaped expanse of the upper-school playground. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about Dad and Molly Mahal. Mademoiselle Véronique went mad at me because I got my French verbs all wrong.”

“You hate French,” Geena pointed out. “You always get your verbs wrong.”

“Well”—Jazz looked aggrieved—“at least I've got a
reason
this time.”

“Mr. Arora could hardly look me in the eye this morning,” I remarked. “I think he feels really bad about yesterday, although he didn't say anything.”

“Look,” remarked Geena, “here's Kim.”

Kim was looking as full of the joys of spring as Dad. She bounded over the crossing, waving cheerily at a lorry driver who stopped for her. Her face changed when she saw us, though. You could almost say it dropped.

“Hello,” she said in an almost normal voice. “It's nearly time for the meeting to start, isn't it?”

“We're waiting for Auntie,” I explained.

“Oh.” Kim frowned. She looked worried. Why, I didn't have a clue.

“Don't let us keep you,” Jazz said kindly. “You go in if you want to.”

“No,” replied Kim, too quickly. “I'll wait with you.”

“Seen Molly recently?” I asked.

“Seen her?” Kim looked flustered. “No. Not
seen
her.”

There was something going on. In another moment the new assertive Kim would be having one of her old panic attacks. I wondered if she really did know anything about Molly's intentions toward Dad, and if that was the reason why she was blushing and shuffling her feet and looking agonized.

I was deciding whether to quiz Kim there and then, when Auntie's VW turned into the car park.

“Oh, here she is.” Kim looked utterly relieved. “I'll see you inside. I've just remembered, I left my science homework behind.”

Without another word she shot off, crossed the road again and disappeared back into the lowerschool playground.

Geena shrugged. “The strain of being permanently assertive must have turned her brain,” she remarked. “What's the matter with the girl?”

“There's something going on,” I said with grim certainty. “And I, for one, intend to find out what it is.”

“Thank you for waiting, girls,” Auntie said as she joined us. She looked pretty in a stylish black trouser suit and white shirt, but she seemed nervous. “Let's get this over with.”

The “volunteers” were milling around in the hall, waiting for Mr. Grimwade to show. There was a buzz of excited chatter. A rumor was going round that Mr. Morgan had been called before the local education authority to explain his “budget,” and everyone was talking about it.

Mr. Arora was on the watch for us. As soon as we entered the hall, he rushed toward us. His face was pink and his tie was askew. He seemed very embarrassed.

“Oh, hello,” he said breathlessly to Auntie. “Thank you for coming. I was hoping you would.”

“Did you think I wouldn't?” Auntie inquired coolly.

“No. Yes.” Mr. Arora looked quite wretched. “Er— I'm sorry about yesterday.”

We all looked expectantly at Auntie.

She shrugged. “Forget it,” she said. “Well. Thank you.” Mr. Arora seemed more embarrassed, not less. “You—er—look very nice today.”

“Better than yesterday, you mean?” said Auntie. “That's not difficult.” But she smiled. Mr. Arora smiled too. We all smiled.

We could quite possibly have stood there smiling for some time. At that moment, though, Mr. Grimwade appeared, looking rather bad-tempered.

“Sir,” said Jack Freeman, a rather stupid boy who's in Geena's year, “is it true that Mr. Morgan's going to prison for spending all the school's money?”

“Don't be ridiculous, boy,” boomed Mr. Grimwade. “The school has plenty of money. Plenty, I say.”

“There's at least five pounds in the teachers' biscuit fund,” offered Mr. Hernandez.

Mr. Grimwade glared at him and made a great show of bustling to his seat. Everybody did likewise.

“Shall we sit together?” Mr. Arora took Auntie's arm. “There are some details I need to discuss with you.”

I looked sideways at Geena and Jazz. It seemed as if the romance between Auntie and Mr. Arora was back on track. Just at that very millisecond they were hovering on the brink of a new understanding, a new relationship, perhaps even a new future.

This was before Molly Mahal walked in.

The door was flung open. Molly swept into the hall, a stunning vision in an aquamarine
lengha
stitched with gold. At the moment she appeared, the sun finally burst out from behind the gray clouds, where it had been hiding all day, and sent a brilliant shaft of light through the huge glass windows. It lit Molly Mahal with a radiant sunburst so that she glittered and shone all over.

Everyone was struck dumb. Always one with an eye to the main chance, Molly paused in the doorway. Then she nodded regally at the assembled throng, and moved gracefully toward Mr. Arora. I noticed Kim behind her.

“It's Molly,” Jazz spluttered, somewhat unnecessarily.

“Good afternoon,” Molly said graciously, holding out her hand to Mr. Arora. Beside him Auntie had turned to stone like a character in a fairy tale. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“No, no, no.” At first, Mr. Arora seemed incapable of stringing a sentence together. Then he rallied. “We're very pleased to see you.” He turned to Mr. Grimwade, who was goggle-eyed, along with the rest of us. “
This
is Molly Mahal.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, which visibly gratified Molly.

“What
is
she doing here?” whispered Geena.

“I have no idea,” I replied. “But I think we're about to find out.”

I had the strangest feeling that we were all extras in a movie, directed by and starring Molly Mahal. So far,
she hadn't told the rest of us what the plot was all about. She was the only one who knew.

“Miss Mahal …” Mr. Grimwade took her hand and held it for about a minute longer than was necessary. “A great honor.”

“Thank you,” Molly said graciously. She smiled dazzlingly. “I'm sorry it's taken me so long to make up my mind. But now I'm here to tell you that”—she paused for theatrical effect—“I would
so
love to be the guest of honor at your party.”

There was a gasp of delight, followed by a ripple of applause. I stared at Molly, wondering why she'd reached this decision all of a sudden. Maybe she'd always intended to do it and had just enjoyed keeping everyone hanging on and being the center of attention. Or maybe it was part of some other great plan. As ever with her, it was hard to know.

There was a big fat fuss going on now. Mr. Arora had abandoned Auntie to find a “suitable” chair for Molly Mahal, and had left the hall in a great rush. Mr. Hernandez gave up the cushion he'd brought along for his bad back to Molly. Everyone crowded round her introducing themselves. Meanwhile Auntie stood to one side, looking—well, poleaxed, I think would just about describe it.

“What's Molly up to?” I whispered to Geena and Jazz. “Why's she doing this?”

“Who knows?” Geena shrugged. “One thing's for sure. I don't suppose she's doing it out of the goodness
of her heart. There'll be another motive in there somewhere.”

“Well, of course there is,” Jazz said in an exasperated voice. “Don't you see? She's doing it to impress
Dad
.”

That actually did sound horribly plausible.

“And what's Kim's role in all of this?” Geena demanded.

“That's precisely what I'm going to ask her,” I replied. But I thought I already knew.

I dodged my way round the crowd toward Kim. She saw me coming and made a determined effort to melt into the excited throng around Molly Mahal. But I cut off her escape route with some swift footwork.

“Hello, Amber,” she said. But assertively speaking, it was a very weak attempt.

“All right,” I said, “I'll save your blushes. You've been Molly Mahal's spy in the camp, haven't you?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Kim began. “Well. Yes. I suppose you could look at it that way.”

“Is there another way to look at it?”

“No,” Kim mumbled.

“That's why you volunteered to help with the party, wasn't it?” I went on ruthlessly. “So you could tell her exactly what was going on.”

Kim gave me a hangdog look. “She asked me to. I'm sorry, Amber.”

“And what else has she got you doing, Secret Agent Henderson?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Kim said earnestly. “Really. I just felt
sorry for her. I wanted to help her …” Her voice tailed away.

“I know,” I said, taking pity on her. “How do you think I got us into this mess in the first place?”

I returned to Geena and Jazz. “Kim's been keeping her up to date with all the party details,” I told them. “Molly must have been planning this.”

“Of course she has,” Geena remarked. “She could have got a lift here with Auntie, couldn't she? She didn't. She wanted to make a big entrance.”

“She's so melodramatic,” Jazz complained, rather enviously, I thought.

Mr. Arora hurried in, dragging an armchair. He must have brought it down from the staff room on the second floor because he was sweating and panting like a marathon runner. He placed it reverently within the circle of plastic chairs, which were deemed suitable for those of us who didn't have film-star bottoms, and led Molly Mahal over to it. Mr. Hernandez's cushion was settled ceremoniously at her back, and at last we were ready to begin.

“Well!” Mr. Grimwade shuffled his papers and blinked with excitement. “Firstly, can I say how thrilled we are that Miss Mahal has agreed to be our guest.”

People actually started cheering. Auntie, who had somehow ended up sitting between Jazz and Geena instead of next to Mr. Arora, folded her hands tightly in her lap. I wondered how it was all going to end. In
tears, probably. I had a feeling it wouldn't be Molly Mahal crying.

“Hear, hear,” said Mr. Arora robustly. “I'm sure we'll sell many more tickets when everyone hears the wonderful news.”

“Oh, yes.” Mr. Grimwade rubbed his hands, Scrooge-like, thinking about all those lovely profits.

“Haven't the posters already been done?” Auntie inquired coldly.

“They haven't been photocopied yet,” Mr. Arora retorted. “They can easily be amended.”

Auntie lapsed into a silence one might almost call sulky.

“So perhaps one of you could give us an update on the preparations?” Mr. Grimwade asked with a cheerful smile, looking from grim-faced Auntie to defiant Mr. Arora.

“Hasn't Grimwade realized that there's something going on yet?” Geena whispered. “All this raw emotion seething around the hall, right in front of him. He'd have to be blind not to notice.”

“I don't think he's the sensitive type,” I said.

But Mr. Grimwade had finally begun to pick up on some sort of atmosphere. Looking puzzled, he turned to Mr. Arora and raised his eyebrows.