The Wedding Countdown (43 page)

Stop right there,
saheli
!

Subhi, not Wish!

Subhi! You are marrying Subhi!

But this much I do know. Wish would love this dress but I don’t suppose Subhi will even notice. The mere thought of his hands on me is enough to make me heave. All my pleasure in the dress vanishes the instant I end my game of Let’s Pretend. Since pretending is the one thing that has kept me sane for the last few weeks it doesn’t bode well for my
shaadi
.

Is it too late to tell my parents how I really feel?

‘You look beautiful, Mills,’ sniffs Mummy-
ji.
‘Your father and I are so proud of you. Our first born–’

Somewhere I hear a prison door clanging shut.

I peer into the looking glass again. My reflection stares back, sad eyed and haunted. I may not want to marry Subhi but at least I’ll do it looking good and making my parents proud.

I don’t suppose that I can hope for anything better now.

Chapter 36

Life can really suck sometimes. Here I am in one of Pakistan’s most luxurious hotels with gyms and infinity pools and tennis courts galore and I’m too depressed to enjoy any of it.

‘Where shall we eat?’ Eve wonders. ‘Chinese? Thai? It’s your last meal.’

‘Eve, I’m getting married. Not going to my execution.’ I flop backwards onto my nest of white Egyptian cotton pillows. ‘I’m too tired to eat.’

Nish looks up from sorting out my
sohna
. ‘You’ve got to eat something, babes. You’ve only had your dress for a week and we’ve already taken it in twice.’

I close my eyes.

Nish and Eve are driving me
pagal
today. They seem to have lost all their reservations about me marrying Subhi and are really entering into the spirit of the whole thing. They can hardly wait for the
shaadi
.

‘You guys eat without me,’ I say. ‘I’m going to crash out. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

You’ve had a few busy days.’ Nish sits next to me. ‘We’ll call room service. There’s no way we’d leave you alone tonight. Besides, we’ve got our outfits to sort out and face packs to do.’

Nish chats away and wish I could join in but I’m suffering from my worst ever attack of pre-marital syndrome and I’m not so much a wet weekend as an entire monsoon season. The strain of pretending to be happy when every fibre of my being is screaming at me to run away is starting to take its toll. My henna night was Hell. Like a dutiful bride I sat still and let the girls paint my hands with
mehndi
patterns, pure torture because I was longing to gnaw my nails all the way through and had to make do with biting the inside of my cheeks instead. While Subhi’s family danced and sang until late into the night I watched from the sidelines, tasting the taint of blood in my mouth and longing for the evening to be over. Everything sounded muffled and felt very far away, as though it was all happening to someone else.

Oh Allah-
ji
. I wish it was.

The only people who looked more fed up than me were Subhi and the ever-miserable Sana, whose face could curdle milk at twenty paces. At least my parents are happy. Daddy-
ji
hasn’t stopped grinning all day; even the beard tugging has stopped.

But I’m not in the mood to celebrate my pre-
shaadi
evening. I could do without the fact that my bedroom has suddenly become the place for all my female relatives to hang out. My aunt and my mother are sorting out my trousseau, lovingly packing every item between sheets of pink tissue paper before placing them into brand new Louis Vuitton suitcases, a wedding present from the Jamshaids. While they pack, the sisters giggle and chatter away nineteen to the dozen, their faces bright with excitement.

The door opens and Sana slips into the room. 

‘How’s your headache, Sana
beti
?’ asks Auntie Shammi.

‘A little better,’ Sana says, in a voice like the breeze blowing through long grass. ‘I’ve come to wish Mills luck.’

I couldn’t be more surprised if she’d said she was off to join the crew of the Starship Enterprise.

Sana glides over. ‘May I have a word?’

‘Sure,’ I say, patting the bed. ‘Sit down.’

Sana’s attention is fixed on our mothers, who are now hugging. Mummy-
ji
must be getting all sentimental again because Auntie Shammi’s wiping her eyes with her
dupatta
. I wait for Sana to speak. And wait some more because my cousin is so lost in thought that she seems to have forgotten I’m waiting to hear what she has to say. She’s a strange one. She doesn’t seem to talk to anyone much, but it really feels as though she’s singled me out for the extra silent treatment.

‘Sana,’ I say, ‘is something the matter?’

With great effort Sana slides her eyes back to mine, and I’m taken aback by the sadness in them. It’s an expression of pain and resignation that I recognise instantly because it’s the one I see whenever I look in the mirror. Yet with Sana I have the weirdest feeling that her misery is something to do with me personally.

But what and why?

‘Mills, it’s just that…’ Sana bites her lip and looks back at her mother. ‘It’s … it’s...’

My mother and Aunt Shammi are laughing now.

Sana sighs. ‘It’s nothing. I just wanted to wish you luck. I hope everything goes well tomorrow.’

I may be tired but I’m not stupid. Sana might
say
she wishes me luck but everything about her from the clenched fists to the catch in her voice suggests the opposite.

‘Sana! What is it?’

‘I’m fine.’ Sana flinches as though a cockroach has crawled across her flesh. ‘Excuse me. I left the iron on in my room.’

‘That girl is beyond weird,’ remarks Eve. ‘Was she crying?’

I shrug. I have no idea what Sana’s problem is and tonight I have my own demons to battle. Hers will have to wait, but the next time I won’t let her get away without a decent explanation.

‘Wake up, Mills!’

A gentle voice seeps into my dreams. I turn over and snuggle back into the soft feather pillows.

‘Wake up!’ says the voice, only more insistent this time. ‘Come on, there’s lots to do!’

Eve. Since when did she start rising at the crack of dawn?

‘Go. Away.’ I bury myself deeper under my duvet. ‘I’m sleeping.’

‘No time for that.’ Eve yanks the covers off and arctic air conditioning blasts my legs. ‘We’ve a
shaadi
to prepare for.’

The ‘S’ word rouses me far more effectively than any alarm clock and my sleepiness vanishes instantly. ‘It’s your big day!’ cries my mother, kissing me on the cheek. ‘It’s the happiest day of your life, my beautiful Amelia
beti
!’

Never in the history of the world has a mother been so wrong, but who am I to spoil her fun? I crank up my smiling muscles and try to look as though I don’t feel suicidal.

There’s a sumptuous breakfast laid on but I can’t face a spoonful, so instead I sit patiently at the dressing table while the make-up artist gets to work, painting out the black bags under my eyes and transforming me from a hollow-cheeked wreck into a beautiful bride. He’s an expert and thankfully I don’t end up with Fizz’s clown-style slap but beautiful smoky eyes, thickly curled lashes and coral-pink lips. My hair I leave natural, no fussy fiddly bits, extensions or hairpieces
shukriya
very much, and no hairspray either. Instead I have a simple updo with my hair swept from my face and pinned in loose curls on the top of my head.

And that’s it. I’m done.

Apart from painting my long nails with a pale pink polish.

Long? I hear you say.

Yep, long because yesterday Eve dragged me to the spa and I had top-of-the-range falsies glued on to my own revolting stumps.

‘It’s your wedding!’ Eve insisted when I pointed out that I was only marrying Subhi. ‘You’ve got to look stunning, Mills!’

And because I was so tired I gave in, even though I’m not convinced these Minty-style claws are really me, but I’m beyond caring any more. Marrying Subhi isn’t me either but nobody seems bothered about that. Even Nish and Eve are high as kites and ridiculously excited.

If this is supposed to be the happiest day of my life then I dread to think what the rest of them will be like.

Once my make-up’s finished it’s time to arrange my wedding bling, which is the numero uno trousseau buy. A lot of beard pulling went into this lot, believe me, and if I rattle with gold like Mr T nobody is bothered because what I’m actually doing here is advertising just how much my father earns and just what a prize Subhi has won for himself.

I’ve tried to go for less is more and most of my
sohna
is light and modern in design rather that the ten-tonne gold of my nightmare. My headdress is decorated with diamonds and pale pink pearls, with a teardrop-shaped pendant which rests on my forehead. A diamond and gold choker is wrapped around my neck and bell-shaped diamond earrings dangle from my ears. My fingers are crammed with rings and my arms rattle with gold bangles. The only thing I refused was the usual bridal must-have bling item, the
nath
or nose ring with punk-style chain that hooks up in the hair. No way. The Johnny Rotten look is so not me. Instead I’ve plumped for a funky twirly armband on my upper arm and a gold Swarovski crystal anklet. And there you have it. Me in all my blinging bridal glory.

The final step is to get dressed, and my friends and female relatives have to help me because I’m so weighed down by my gold. Once my mother pins the
dupatta
onto my head and Eve hands me my bag I’m finished and there’s nothing left to do but have one last twirl in front of the full-length mirror. My chiffon skirts swirl and the four-foot train swishes across the floor in a shimmer of gold silk and crystals. It’s perfect.

All this effort for Subhi. What a bloody waste.

‘Oh Mills!’ tears spill from Mummy-
ji
’s eyes. ‘You look beautiful!’

‘Babes,’ says Nish, smoothing my veil, ‘have you any idea how amazing you look? Just wait till Wish sees you!’

The mention of his name couldn’t hurt more if she’d stabbed me through the heart. It isn’t like Nish to be tactless and I stare at her aghast.

Nish claps her hand over her mouth. ‘Did I say Wish? I meant Subhi! Sorry!’

Call me paranoid but Nish looks far from sorry and behind the hand she’s grinning like a
pagal
. Is she trying to put a brave face on for me? My brain’s so scrambled that I can’t think straight any more.

Nish and Eve grab my arms. Between them they whisk me out of the room and towards the elevator.

‘I’m not ready!’

‘Babes,’ says Nish. ‘You’ll never be ready; just get it over with, yeah?’

‘Auntie Shammi isn’t here!’ I say desperately. ‘In fact I haven’t seen her or the girls all morning! Where are they? I can’t get married without them!’

If there had been any straws in the lobby, believe me I’d have been clutching them.

‘Where are we going?’ I cry as they bundle me into the lift.

‘Like, duh,’ says Fizz. ‘You’re going to get married.’

The lift whizzes down to the ground floor leaving my stomach several floors above, where I wish I still was.

‘Mills
beti
,’ says my mother, adjusting my
dupatta
, ‘try not to worry, but Subhi’s been delayed. Some Pakistani celebrity has arrived and the hotel manager’s closed the front entrance to stop the press intruding.’

‘The wedding’s delayed?’

‘Don’t worry.’ Roma squeezes my hand. ‘Once everything’s calmed down they’ll open the doors again, let Subhi in and then the
shaadi
can go ahead.’

‘We thought why not go for a drive?’ says Nish. ‘You could do with some air after being cooped up in your room for days.’

The lift door hisses open and sure enough the reception has become a media circus. Security guards throng the entrance, barking orders into walkie-talkies and holding back the excited crowd that swells against the doors.

‘Who is it?’ I ask.

‘No idea,’ says Mummy-
ji,
shoving me out of a concealed back door.

I’m pushed into a car, easier said than done when you’re wearing a massive pink frock, and then we’re zooming through the crowds and out of the hotel grounds. Flashbulbs pop and I blink in the explosion of light. What’s happening? Am I still asleep?

‘Let’s go to the Shalimar Gardens,’ says my mother. ‘I’ve always wanted to go there.’

Me too, but right now? In the middle of my
shaadi
? The Shalimar Gardens are supposed to be stunning, over forty acres of landscaped gardens filled with fabulous flowers and fountains built for the pleasure of the Mughal princes, but they’re situated outside the city. Will we have time?

‘You have to see these gardens!’ says Nish. ‘Shalimar means “Place of Love and Happiness”; perfect on your wedding day!’

‘I’m marrying Subhi, Nish.’ Like, duh, as Fizz would say. What has my
shaadi
got to do with love and happiness? But as usual nobody’s listening to me and the car fills with chatter about romance and marble pavilions and stunning terraced gardens. I grind my teeth and think about ripping off my acrylic nails, think about anything really rather than romance.

How can they be so tactless?

‘We’re here!’ cries Nish. ‘Oh, Mills, it’s perfect for you to–’

Eve gives her a look and Nish says hastily, ‘Perfect for you to have a walk!’

The car stops. Nish and Eve drag me out and start rearranging my dress. Although the sun is a burning gold disk, a light breeze lifts my chiffon skirts and soothes my flushed cheeks. Meanwhile, a fountain plays in the courtyard, the water splashing merrily and sparkling like the crystals on my dress.

Swathes of jasmine and hibiscus nod in the breeze, filling the air with the sweetest perfumes. My mother and the twins sit in the shade of a peepal tree, while Nish and Eve link arms with me to walk through the gardens as the hot morning melts into a hotter afternoon.

‘I want you to know you guys are the best friends ever,’ I say. ‘I know you think I’m mad to marry Subhi but you’ve never once tried to lecture me. You’re the greatest.’