Bollywood Babes (21 page)

“Amber?” Kim hurried over, her face pale and concerned. “Where's Molly?”

I shrugged. Into the maelstrom came Mrs. Capstick, the school secretary, with a white envelope in her hand. She carved out a path to Mr. Grimwade and handed the envelope to him.

“Silence!” shouted Mr. Grimwade.

The noise died away to a dissatisfied muttering.

“Now, I can understand that you are all very upset,” Mr. Grimwade blustered, “but I have just been informed that Miss Mahal left a letter with the school secretary earlier today. Hopefully this will explain her absence tonight. Of course, if I'd been given it earlier …” He cast a look of daggers at Mrs. Capstick.

“I've been run off my feet,” she muttered defensively. “I forgot.”

There was not a sound in the hall as Mr. Grimwade opened the envelope.

“
Dear friends
,” Mr. Grimwade read, “
I am so sorry I cannot be with you tonight as promised. But I hope you will be pleased for me. You see, something wonderful has happened. I have been offered a role in a new Bollywood film. The actress who was taking the part has fallen ill, so I am required at very short notice, and must travel to India today. I will be playing the part of the hero's mother, rather
than his girlfriend, as I did in the past, but I expect I will get used to having a son who is only ten years younger than I am.

“I hope you will forgive me, that you will enjoy your party and that you will also enjoy the enclosed gift.

“With all good wishes, Molly.
”

Mr. Grimwade drew something else out of the envelope. “It's a check for the school,” he gasped, his eyes almost popping out of his head. “For one thousand pounds!”

“Postdated,” Auntie whispered as she glanced over Mr. Grimwade's shoulder. “She can't have been paid for the film yet.”

“But she's not here, is she?” said Mrs. Dhaliwal rebelliously. “And that's what we paid for.” Other people began to mutter in agreement.

“I'm sure the school will reimburse anyone who wishes to return their ticket and leave now,” Mr. Arora cut in.

“Oh,” said Mr. Grimwade weakly. “Yes, of course.”

“We should be compensated too,” grumbled a woman I recognized as Mrs. Dhaliwal's sister-inlaw.

“Stop it.”

The voice was raised. It was beside me. It was
Kim's
. I turned to stare at her, as did everyone else.

“We should be pleased for Molly.” Kim was as pink as Mrs. Dhaliwal's sari, but managing to force the words out. “It's about time she had something for
herself. I mean, she helped the school and she helped Leo's brother—”

“Yes, she did,” Leo said firmly. “I'm really happy for her, and I hope her film is a great big success.”

There was silence.

“They're right,” said Mr. Arora. “Molly did her best for us. We should all wish her well.” He glanced around the hall. “Does anyone still want to leave?”

No one moved.

“Well, then,” said Mr. Arora, with an inquiring glance at Auntie, who blushed delicately, “I believe we
are
supposed to be having a party?”

And so we did. What a party it was. All right, I had to spend the first half hour reviving Kim with fruit juice after her astonishing display of assertiveness. But while I was sitting and fanning her with a paper napkin, I overheard Mr. Arora talking to Auntie. Apologizing, actually.

“You've done a magnificent job, organizing all this.” Mr. Arora cleared his throat and fiddled with his purple tie. “I feel like—I—er—didn't help as much as I could have done.” He coughed. “I was a little taken up with Molly. I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” Auntie replied. “If it wasn't for Molly, the party wouldn't have been such a huge success.” Which was pretty generous of her, considering.

Mr. Arora was standing with his back to me, so, unseen, I leaned out and gave Auntie a thumbs-up. She wagged her finger at me, but I don't think she was annoyed. Rather the reverse. However, she did lead Mr. Arora away then, so that I couldn't hear any more. A bit mean, don't you think?

The party couldn't have gone with more of a swing if we'd had a hundred Bollywood stars there. Chapati MC almost blasted the new roof off the hall. I danced with Dad, with Leo and, yes, even with George Botley. I danced with Mr. Arora too, when I could get him away from Auntie. Things were looking very promising again there.

But the highlight of the evening was when Mr. Grimwade attempted to dance with the bhangra group. A sight never to be forgotten, beating even his appearance at the school's
Grease
prom party in a black leather jacket the year before.

There were only two things that troubled me. I couldn't stop wondering whether Molly had been planning for something like this all along. If she'd been using us for her own reasons. After all, it was the Touch the Car competition that had brought her back to everyone's attention. And then I shrugged and repeated to myself what Kim had said. Everyone was happy. Did it really matter?

The other was that she hadn't left us a note to say thank you for having her. But there I was wrong. There
was
a note on the table in the living room, in the very
spot where Jazz had flung her bag down earlier that evening. It was simple, short and to the point.

Inside the envelope was Molly's slim gold bangle. I felt quite overwhelmed and almost tearful, just for a moment. It had been important to her, and she'd left it for me. That had to mean something.

“I've changed my mind,” Jazz said, as the three of us fought for a space in the bathroom late that night. “I don't want to be famous after all.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Geena gravely. “You've seen the heartache behind the smiles for the camera, the tears behind the designer dresses and the limousines and the enormous houses.”

“No.” Jazz shook her head. “It just seems like too much bother.”

Geena and I giggled.

“Oh, well,” said Geena, “I expect the world will survive without Jazz Dhillon, superstar.”

“It's all right for Molly,” Jazz went on, her mouth foaming with toothpaste. “She hasn't got any family.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, can you imagine what would happen if I got
famous?” Jazz pointed her toothbrush accusingly at me and Geena. “You two would tell the newspapers every single embarrassing thing you could think of about me.”

“Oh,” said Geena. “You mean like when Dad took us horse-riding, and you fell off and landed smack in a cowpat?”

“That was funny,” I agreed. “But not as funny as the time she tried to blow out the candles on her birthday cake, overbalanced and ended up with a faceful of cream sponge.”

“See?” Jazz said self-righteously. “That's
exactly
what I mean.”

“You're right.” I grinned at Geena, and then neatly slid a blob of toothpaste down the back of Jazz's pajama jacket. “You can't trust us one bit.”

And during the uproar that followed, I remember thinking that, if it was a choice between fame and family, I knew which one I'd choose.

Every time.