The Wedding Countdown

by Ruth Saberton

  I shake my head, suddenly relieved beyond all measure as I realise Nish’s crazy theory simply can’t be true. There’s one elephantine point she’s overlooked.

  ‘Why would Wish be upset if Raza sees me? Wish and I are only friends.’

  Nish looks away.

  ‘We are!’ I insist. ‘You know how my dad feels about mixed-race issues. Wish and I could only ever be friends. He’s always known that, and anyway he doesn’t have any feelings for me.’

  ‘Hmm,’ says Nish sliding off the bed. ‘I’m not so sure. But if you want to see Raza it’s up to you.’

  As she leaves the bedroom the excitement of the afternoon evaporates, leaving me feeling uneasy. Bloody Nish and her paranoia!

  Collapsing onto my bed I attempt to conjure up images of my perfect afternoon. I try to picture Raza laughing as we walked through the woods. But my imagination is capricious and refuses to comply.

  Why is it that all I can see instead are eyes of the deepest rock-pool green?

  Chapter 24

  ‘Shut your eyes and no peeping.’

  I laugh. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Are they shut?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘OK. Don’t move.’

  I feel his hands brush the nape of my neck. Then he scoops my hair up from my neck and there’s a sudden weight just below my breastbone.

  ‘There,’ says Raza, releasing my hair. ‘Perfect. Open your eyes.’

  I do as I’m told and gasp because I’m wearing the most stunning necklace that nestles in the swell of my breasts. An enormous emerald the size of a pigeon’s egg twinkles and glitters in the bright lights of Raza’s office. I touch it tentatively and the stone is icy cold against my fingertips. I don’t think I’ve seen such an over-the-top necklace since the last time that Nish and I blubbed through Titanic.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  I rip my gaze from the jewel and meet Raza’s expectant gaze. His eyes glitter just like the necklace.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ I breathe, because it really is, but do I like it? It’s beautiful and certainly nobody has ever given me anything like it in the whole of my life, but it weighs a bloody tonne – and is it me or does that big emerald seem to glare at me like a disapproving eye?

  I hope to goodness it’s paste.

  ‘It’s stunning, isn’t it?’ he agrees. ‘It’s from Asprey. I knew that you’d do it justice.’

  ‘It’s real?’ Oh Allah-ji! I’ll never sleep again now. I’ll be in a constant state of terror I’ll lose the bloody thing.

  Why couldn’t he go to Claire’s Accessories like all the other guys?

  ‘Of course it’s real! Do I look like the sort of guy who buys costume jewellery?’

  I look at him, lounging against his vast oak desk in his Turnbull & Asser shirt, his bespoke suit and Lobb’s shoes. No, Raza looks every inch the wealthy lawyer. Of course he wouldn’t pop into Claire’s.

  Unfortunately.

  Raza leans forward and adjusts the necklace against my chest. ‘I think far too much of you to buy tat. Only the best for my girl.’

  I’m not totally comfortable with him touching me but I can hardly complain, not when Raza is always so generous. We’ve been seeing each other for three months and I don’t think I’ve ever been so spoiled. From meals out in London’s most exclusive restaurants, trips to the theatre and the constant showering down of gifts, Raza seems to revel in giving me presents, which is every girl’s dream come true.

  Isn’t it?

  ‘I can’t accept this.’ My fingers scrabble to unfasten the clasp. ‘It’s too much, Raza.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Raza says. ‘I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more. Look on this as a token of how I feel about you, if it makes you feel better.’

  Actually this idea makes me feel worse, if anything. I like Raza: a girl would have to be mad not to because he’s perfect partner material – solvent, generous, Pakistani, the list is endless – but things seem to be moving very fast.

  But isn’t that what I wanted?

  ‘Don’t take it off.’ In one fluid movement Raza is behind me, his hands closing over mine. ‘I want you to know how I feel about you, dearest Amelia Ali, I want you to know you’re very important to me.’

  His breath is warm against my skin and I shiver. There’s something about Raza that’s dangerous and that I just can’t put my finger on. Everything he does is very proper but sometimes his fingers stray and brush against my skin or he moves just that little bit too close for comfort. I can’t reproach him though because it is always accidental.

  ‘Accept it,’ murmurs Raza, into my neck. ‘I won’t hear of anything else. I’m not a man who takes no for an answer. I always get what I want in the end.’

  I know that. After our lunch date Raza bombarded the GupShup offices with so many flowers that I was soon on first-name terms with the man from Interflora.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ Nina exclaimed on the fourth day of this, after almost breaking her neck on the latest offering. ‘Has Princess Diana died in here?’

  ‘Mills has an admirer!’ Raj trilled, tucking a gerbera behind his ear. ‘He’s sent half of Kew Gardens over to persuade her to go out for dinner.’

  ‘Then bloody go out with him, Amelia,’ barked Nina, trying to brush egg-yellow pollen from her black Armani. ‘And get this lot out of the office!’

  And she’d stalked back into her lair, leaving Raj to cram the flowers into an assortment of pint glasses and milk bottles and me to call Raza and put him out of his misery.

  ‘It worked then?’ Wish had remarked, when I told him over lunch that Raza was taking me to The Ivy.

  ‘What?’ I’d paused, my tuna sandwich hovering dangerously between my plate and my mouth.

  ‘Raza and his flowers?’ said Wish. ‘Don’t tell me, he sent you a bunch every day, getting bigger and more extravagant with each delivery, until you gave in and agreed to go out with him?’ He shook his dark head. ‘Works like a dream, every time he says.’

  I put the sandwich back onto my plate.

  ‘If you must know, he’s agreed to let us feature him in the successful young Asians series. So it’s work.’

  ‘I thought you were a bit smarter than that, Mills. Not the sort of girl who could be bought.’

  I was totally taken aback. In the months I’d worked with Wish I’d never heard him say anything unpleasant. In fact, if pouring oil onto troubled waters featured on anyone’s job description I’d have said it was on his.

  ‘He hasn’t bought me!’ I’d cried. ‘He sent me some flowers! And I had lunch with him. Just lunch!’

  ‘Yeah.’ Wish pushed his plate away and stood up so abruptly that his chair toppled to the floor. ‘That’s what you say now. But I know Raza. I’ve known him nearly all my life and believe me, he’s a guy who always gets what he wants.’

  I was speechless.

  ‘And if he wants you,’ continued Wish, ‘I suppose he’ll get you too. Shame though. I thought you had the sense to see through money and flash cars and all that crap. Seems I was wrong.’

  ‘While we’re talking about being in the wrong,’ I snapped, ‘could you explain exactly how it is that Raza and your drunken buddy Steve know all about my private life?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh come on,’ I said. ‘Don’t pretend you haven’t told them everything about me, about how sorry you feel for me having to find a husband before I’m shipped off to Pakistan.’

  ‘I’ve never discussed you with anyone,’ said Wish, his lips white.

  ‘Really? Because they seem to know how much you pity me and just how desperate I am to find a husband! Great things to hear about yourself at a party, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘I’ve never mentioned any of that stuff to anyone!’ Wish shook his head. ‘I thought you knew me better than that.’

  ‘So did I!’

  ‘But if that’s what you think of me then fine. At least we know where we stand.’

>   ‘And where’s that exactly?’

  ‘As far apart from each other as possible.’ Wish slammed a ten-pound note onto the table. ‘But just ask yourself who else knows your secrets and might have shared them with someone close to her! And when you finally do the maths, Mills, don’t bother apologising because I won’t want to hear it!’

  Wish stormed out of the café leaving me with a horrible sick feeling in my stomach. Nish and Jamal! Of course! Much as I love Nish she’s rubbish at keeping secrets! I’d stared sadly down at my plate and felt mortified at accusing Wish.

  Pretty soon though my guilt was replaced by white-hot fury. How dare Wish speak to me like that? He’d practically implied I was no better than a prostitute being bought by Raza. Talk about pots calling kettles black! I wasn’t the one wearing a Rolex bought for me by my girlfriend, was I? And neither was I the one staying in stately homes and hanging out with celebrities.

  Just who did Wish think he was?

  ‘Sounds like he’s jealous,’ Eve had suggested, when, still seething, I’d repeated this story. ‘I think the sexy photographer has the hots for you, babes.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ I’d snapped. ‘More like he’s jealous because Raza’s more successful than him.’

  I was very glad I’d accepted Raza’s invitation to lunch. I’d show Wish.

  But as Raza fastens the heavy necklace back around my neck I can’t help recalling Wish’s initial reaction to my announcing that I was seeing his best friend. I apologised later, but things between us have been cooler since and I don’t see nearly as much of him as I once did.

  Anyway, back to the necklace…

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘It’s beautiful, but–’

  ‘Leave it on,’ he orders. ‘I want everyone to know just how much you mean to me.’

  ‘But the expense…’

  ‘Christ!’ Raza says, exasperated. ‘I can afford it. But if it really worries you I’m sure that I can think of a way you can pay me back. A way you can make our relationship even more special.’

  Oh Allah-ji! There’s only one way that Raza can make our relationship more special and that is by marrying me!

  I think he’s just proposed!

  Shaadi! Shaadi!

  Raza wants to marry me! I’ve done it! I’ve found my own husband.

  I thought it would be different to this though. I always had a vision of someone down on his knees gazing at me with big eyes that swim with love and telling me he can’t live without me. And a big diamond ring of course, not a ten-tonne eyeball.

  Raza’s lips graze my temple and his fingers trace the curve of my throat. I close my eyes and wait for the little ripples of desire that I know should follow.

  Except that they don’t. At all.

  Not even the teeniest tremor. What the Hell is wrong with me?

  ‘Would you like that?’ whispers Raza, his breath whispering against my skin.

  I swallow. The hand strays to my collarbone, the thumb skimming across before straying just a little lower. I shouldn’t let him do this. I ought to yell ‘Nahin!’, leap the ginormous desk and cower there modestly.

  That’s what I ought to do. But since when have I ever done what I ought to do? This handsome and totally eligible man is hinting he wants to marry me and I ought to be jumping for joy, mission accomplished and all that. But instead I hold my breath, and I don’t move a muscle. Because, I have to know whether or not Raza can turn my insides to ice cream, whether what I felt for Wish in the vaulted library where the dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight was nothing more than my overactive imagination. Wish just handed me a book, and our fingers only brushed for a nanosecond, but I thought that I would combust with longing.

  I should feel something more now, for the guy that I’m actually seeing?

  Come on, saheli. Put some effort into it. Any girl would die of joy to be in your Uggs right now. Of course you love Raza. He’s the one you’ve been searching for, the one who’s going to save you from the hairy goat-herder.

  ‘Of course I want our relationship to be special,’ I murmur.

  ‘That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say, so no more arguments about the necklace.’

  My hand closes around that big eyeball. When I was a kid I once saw a corny old Sinbad the Sailor movie where the princess wore a necklace just like this one through which the evil sorcerer could watch her every move. In spite of the subtropical heat of Raza’s office I shiver.

  ‘You’re cold,’ Raza says. ‘It’s a filthy day; you should dress more warmly. Why aren’t you wearing the cashmere sweater I bought you?’

  Since Eve chucked it into the tumble drier the only person likely to wear it now is Barbie.

  ‘It’s in the wash,’ I fib. I’m lying to my future hubbie-ji already, not a good sign.

  Luckily I’m saved from further endangering my immortal soul by Raza’s PA buzzing him with a reminder that his appointment has arrived.

  Raza rolls his eyes. ‘This is a difficult client. You’d better go, Mills. You won’t want to hang around for me.’

  Raza insists on wrapping his lamb’s wool scarf around my neck and then helps me into my coat. I’m just descending the steps down to the busy street, flinching as the rain stings my cheeks when I realise I’ve forgotten to remind him that we’re meeting Fizz and Roma at King’s Cross this evening. He’ll have his phone turned off because he’s in with a client, presumably the ravishing redhead that was waiting in the foyer, so I’d better leave a message with his PA. I really need Raza on side if I’m going to cope with the twins.

  Twins? OK, what I really mean is I’m going to need an extra pair of eyes if I’m going to cope with Fizz.

  I’m in two minds about this visit. Part of me is really excited. After months of pleading/nagging/moaning Mummy-ji has finally cracked and agreed that the twins can be trusted to catch the train from Bradford and make the dangerous journey all the way south to the big city. We’ve hardly talked about anything else for the last week: all our conversations consist of what sights to visit (Roma) and when we can hit the West End (Fizz). I can hardly wait to see the girls again and showing them the sights will be so much fun.

  On the other hand the thought of the trouble Fizz could get herself into is terrifying. Although she’s under strict instructions not to wander off on her own or talk to strangers I’m not going to have any peace until she’s safely back on that train and heading up north once more. My unease is exacerbated because I haven’t been entirely truthful with Mummy-ji about what the twins will be up to during their stay with me. Fizz is a firm believer in mushrooming our parents (‘keep them in the dark, Mills, and feed them shit’), and against my better judgment she’s persuaded me to subscribe to this school of thought.

  It’s my own fault. I should never have opened my big mouth. But I was so excited…

  Last week Nina assigned me my first ever celebrity interview, and not any old interview either but possibly the biggest one we’ve done since Aishwarya Rai. This weekend I’m going to be meeting PoppadRUm, the latest R ’n’ B export from India.

  PoppadRUm are in London for a one-concert-only stopover hot on the heels of their world tour. So far they have covered the Far East, Asia and Europe, and after the gig in London they are bound for the US of A. This really is a one-off opportunity and I can’t wait. These guys are the hottest things in the music industry right now. Even Wish has perked up a bit at the idea of coming along and taking some shots.

  Fizz has a huge crush on the lead singer, Wacky, but alas she lives in Bradford, far away from India where PoppadRUm hail from. Besides, Wacky is off limits because he is engaged to the gorgeous Bollywood actress Roopa Roy. Not that this would ever put Fizz off. She'd give Kareena a run for her money when it comes to going straight for the kill. I’m starting to wish I’d had my mouth removed at birth. What had I been thinking when I’d mentioned to Fizz that I was going to be attending the concert of the year, and meeting her heroes to boot?

  ‘Arrrah!’ she�
�d screeched down the phone. ‘You have to get me into that concert! I’ll never forgive you otherwise!’

  And so had gone the way of every conversation we’d had since I’d opened my big gob until I’d managed to wangle more tickets from PoppadRUM’s PR people and persuaded my parents that the girls should come and visit. So my parents have packed their two youngest children onto the intercity, believing that they are off for a bit of sightseeing and blissfully unaware of the real reason for their sudden interest in all things London.

  As I retrace my steps to Raza’s office I reflect that my mum would pop a blood vessel if she knew the truth. The older Muslim Pakistani community particularly frowns upon idolising anything. But as for idols of the male heterosexual variety… Well let’s just say that Auntie Bee would have a field day if she knew the truth.

  So, I really need Raza on board to help me keep an eye on Fizz. I’ve told him all about her, how crazy and rebellious she is and about how worried I am. But Raza just laughed and said Fizz sounded like a lot of fun.

  Which she is of course, but I have a very bad feeling...

  I try my hardest to put my fears out of my mind. The girls will have a lovely few days with me and everything will be perfect. I’m worrying about nothing. As long as Raza and I meet their train on time and sweep them off to Planet Hollywood we’ll be off to a flying start.

  As quickly as I can I walk back through the plush corridors of Raza’s firm, smiling at the faces I recognise and telling myself over and over again how lucky I am to have such a successful sort of fiancé.

  Raza’s PA is absent from her desk but his office door is open so, assuming he’s free, I walk on in. I’m about to call out a hello but the word shrivels on my tongue because Raza isn’t alone.

  Raza has his back to the door, his hands on his hips. The redhead is in floods of tears.

  ‘I’ve told you before about visiting the office,’ he hisses. ‘You’ve no business coming here.’

  ‘But Raz,’ the girl chokes. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’