by Naina Gupta
V hit the send button on her phone. Then she scrolled through the sent messages for that day. There was only one unique note, but she’d sent it 520 times. Luckily she had unlimited text messages on her phone plan.
So far, Girish hadn’t responded, but that didn’t deter V. If calling him didn’t work, she’d try Neela’s idea via text.
And if that didn’t work, there was always Neela’s supposedly shocking makeover for the next gathering with the Patels.
One way or another, V was determined not to marry a man who bites his toenails with wild abandon.
*
Unwilling to give up on his chance at instant freedom so easily, Jai agreed to meet Rupali that afternoon to discuss the birthday party disaster of the previous evening. There might be a way to salvage the slag episode, convince Rupali to tell her parents, or something.
He had practised the toenail chewing (without actually putting his foot in his mouth) at home and could just about manage it. He was actually a little surprised at his own flexibility. Must be all that sex. Willing to encourage a breakup as soon as possibly, Jai brought Rupali back to his house, as the whole family were out shopping in Wembley. It was the perfect place to try the cringe-worthy act, showing her just how comfortable he could get in his own home. They sat down in the good room and Jai kicked off his shoes and socks.
‘You should have told me that you were like . . . that,’ she started, the same old stupid, love-sick grin plastered across her beautiful features.
Jai moved to the floor and put an arm under his leg. ‘What? I had a history before you, I’m not gonna hide it.’ He lifted his foot.
‘Well, your parents did.’
His foot slipped out of his grip. Rupali didn’t seem to think there was anything unusual about him gyrating about on the rug.
‘Come on you cannot be that naive, have you never hung out with guys before?’
‘No, not in that way!’ She was defiant, or pretending to be. Jai couldn’t work out whether his fiancée was really smart or a complete moron. He suspected the latter.
‘Whatever.’ Jai managed to get a solid hold of his foot. He inched it towards his mouth. God, if any of his mates found out about this . . .
Rupali still didn’t react. ’You know, I always envisioned my husband would be a bit more loving and understanding. That’s why I chose you. I thought we had some kind of connection.’
Jai grimaced, and not from the smell of his foot. Why hadn’t she said anything yet? He didn’t actually have to chew on the bloody thing to repulse her, did he? ‘Look I lived it up, now I am now trying to do the right thing.’
His toe made contact with his mouth, muscles straining with the effort. This was disgusting – it had better work! He had used his sister’s fruity foot scrub that morning in preparation, to get rid of any smell that would have been there. As he chewed, he cast an eye in Rupali’s direction. Unbelievably, she seemed unperturbed.
‘I know, baby,’ Rupali said, wiping another nonexistent tear from her cheek. She pointed at the toe in his mouth. ‘I could do that for you if you like.’
What? The alarm bells in his head began ringing louder than ever. She can’t mean . . .
‘I don’t have scissors, the nail was cutting in.’
‘Neither do I, silly. Here.’ And with that, in a moment of weakness, seeing his vulnerability the bunny boiler grabbed his foot.
Horrified, Jai pulled his foot away. Guaranteed to make her sick, indeed! That money spent on Neela was totally wasted so far. If she didn’t come up with a workable plan soon, Jai was going to demand a refund. Eating from one plate was one thing, but this was ridiculous.
He pulled on his sock and shoe, deciding to be even blunter with Rupali. ‘Look, if you can’t handle my past, maybe you call this thing off. I don’t want to make you unhappy.’
Rupali sniffed slightly. ‘That was your old life.’ Wiping more fake tears from a clear, unblemished face, her voice hardened. ‘You agreed to this marriage, you must change.’ It was a command not an observation. She cupped hold of his cheeks, ‘How cute you are, when you want forgiveness.’
What! Jai pulled away and stood up. ‘Let’s get back, shall we?’ He had a phone call to make – to that marriage break-up girl.
As they walked out of the house, Jai found his packet of cigarettes, popped one in his mouth and covered his lighter against the slight wind.
‘You smoke too?’ Rupali’s tone was stern.
Jai’s eyes widened. Perhaps this was a way out? ‘Two packs a day,’ he lied. ‘I’m addicted.’
‘I can’t have our kids being passive smokers – that’s if you haven’t damaged your body so much that you can’t get me pregnant in the first place.’
‘Hey,’ Jai said, without thinking, in defence of his manhood, ‘I can get you plenty pregnant.’ Had he just said that? Kids? He didn’t want kids.
The smile on Rupali’s face indicated she was over the moon. She grabbed him and pulled him to her. ‘Don’t worry, we will sort it all out. I’ll buy you some patches when I finish work tomorrow. And I’ll be right by your side as you kick the habit.’
Groaning, Jai decided that silence was the best option for him now. No matter what he did, or said, Rupali seemed to love him more.
As they headed down her street, Rupali chatting happily about the four kids they were going to have, Jai determined there were only two options left to him. Tell his parents that she was a lunatic. Or kill himself.
Unless, of course, that Neela actually managed to do her job.
Chapter Sixteen
NIKHIL AND SEEMA’S RECEPTION was the day after the wedding, because of the long hours involved in Indian nuptials. It also meant they could invite even more friends and family. The Solankis arrived to find the hall buzzing with people ready to embrace the chance to let their hair down on someone else’s pound. Everyone except Neela, that was, who was hoping her luck would hold and Mr Trivedi would remain absent, or in the shadows, as he appeared to have done since the engagement party. Rishi had warned her that should Mr Trivedi show, Neela would be expected to make a profuse apology for her bad behaviour.
‘My bad behaviour? What about him?’ Neela had cried, but Rishi just told her not to embarrass them all for a third time.
Turning her mind from Mr Trivedi, Neela considered the two texts she’d received that morning. The first from Jai, who said she should call urgently, because the toe-chewing had failed, badly. The second from V, which merely said:
Burping. Loudly. At the movies.
But Neela was forced to stop obsessing about business because the next thing she knew, Soorbhi had her arm and was leading her to yet another group of relatives she didn’t recognise and had never met. Neela hoped it wasn’t in another pathetic attempt to induce a match.
The festivities began as soon as the DJ called in the newly married couple. Seema and Nikhil were wearing matching outfits. He in a bright blue sherwani with silver embroidery, she in a blue lengha. After speeches from Nikhil and Seema’s sisters, and all the parents, a gourmet Indian meal was served by waiters, on real china plates.
The couple then had their first dance to another sappy Bollywood tune; a precise routine that Seema seemed to have carefully choreographed for the two of them.
Finally the party started. The parents had requested, much to Nikhil and Seema’s annoyance, a dry reception, so not even a drink of something strong could relax Neela. She sat down heavily on one of the cushioned chairs, cursing the beautiful silver stiletto sandals she had purchased for the occasion. Everyone else seemed unaffected by the drinks’ ban, dancing crazily to Indian classics, and modern Bhangra tunes. How they managed to ‘let loose’ on cola, fizzy orange and water was beyond her.
In an attempt to make time go more quickly, Neela’s mind began to wander to the hot evil cousin Navin in PAL. Now there was a man! Idly she wondered if the actor was married in real life – those actors were paid a fortune. A Bollywood palace would do for her! So long as i
t was in Kensington.
She snapped out of the daydream when she saw Daadi-ji, who was sitting at a nearby table of other over-eighties, pointing at her. God, not another setup! Surely Daadi-ji remembered Kiran.
So far she’d invented about fourteen excuses for why she hadn’t managed to ask Kiran over to the house with his parents.
Pretty soon, they would simply discover the number on their own, and call themselves. At least, that’s what Rishi had threatened.
Meanwhile, Kiran was texting Neela with cryptic notes about soulmates and similar rubbish.
Rubbing her head, Neela felt it might explode.
‘What’s happening?’ Hira plonked herself down next to Neela. ‘It’s a great party.’
‘I’m just not in the mood tonight.’
‘Come on Neela. If you were marrying a doctor like Nikhil, you might not be so grumpy. What does that guy of yours do anyway?’
‘Well, no one is throwing a hot doctor my way. And he’s an accountant.’ God, why was Neela fuelling her gossip train?
Hira looked at her strangely. ‘What about Mr Trivedi’s son? We were all jealous, you know. My best friend’s cousin says she saw him once, and that he is a total honey.’
Hira was hilarious. ‘Ha, I bet you were. After all, what girl wouldn’t want someone like Mr Trivedi? A grease-ball with legs. And with genes like that, it would be a miracle the son could sit on chairs.’
A shocked gasp from behind her made the girls turn.
Rishi and Mr Trivedi were right there – the former appalled, and the latter visibly aghast and trembling. Mr Trivedi looked at Neela’s father, shook his head, said something that sounded like a swear word in Gujarati, and stalked off.
Hira leapt up and ran away, leaving Rishi to look at his daughter as if he could cheerfully strangle her.
How? Why? There was no God, Neela decided. And if there was, he was probably related to Mr Trivedi.
Her BlackBerry buzzed. Jai again. And he wasn’t happy.
‘Listen, I paid you good money to get rid of her, and so far all your ideas have her more in love with me than ever. That toe-sucking thing – she tried to chew the nail for me. Made me sick. If you don’t get onto this I want a refund. Time is running out.’
Could this day get any worse? Neela had spent the money Jai had given her on some nice stuff from the designer stores in the Westfield’s at Shepherd’s Bush. She couldn’t return it. Actually, she didn’t want to.
Flicking crumbs idly across the table, Neela pondered the problem. It might be time to stop trying to turn Rupali off Jai, and instead, turn Jai’s family off Rupali. It wasn’t ideal, but if the crime was severe enough, it might still be possible for them to hand Rupali back without shame being cast on both families.
Now, all Neela had to do was think of a way how.
And given that she still hadn’t sorted V, the ideas had better start coming thick and fast.
The party ended at around one in the morning, after speeches from the family thanking everyone for coming and a cake cutting. Finally, there was another slow dance featuring Nikhil and Seema, over which silver confetti burst out of a receptacle attached to the ceiling and littered the dance floor.
Throwing herself onto the king-sized bed, into the hotel room while Daadi-ji was showering in the bathroom, Neela realised that ever since she’d seen Mr Trivedi’s battered Fiat Punto in front of her house, things had gone from bad to worse. Just ten minutes ago, after breakfast, Rishi had reminded Neela that she had exactly one month to get a job and get out of his house, or agree to marriage. Either way, she had to stop shaming the family. Immediately.
It didn’t help that Mr Trivedi was like some despotic ghost who was everywhere.
And Neela was fairly sure that not even an exorcism could get rid of him.
Needing some comic relief, Neela turned on the TV in her room and saw the latest episode of PAL was on. Again. Oh well, bring on hot Navin. He was the perfect distraction from her woes.
That afternoon, nearly everyone was sitting down at the table. The lookalike Payal and her new husband Lohit had gone out and the family were awaiting their return before eating the meal Payal had cooked that morning. Mummy-ji left the table to check where they were. Staring fatefully out of the floor to ceiling window, she finally saw them arrive.
Walking back towards the table as her twenty five-year-old son and his new wife entered the family mansion, Mummy-ji suddenly looked unsteady on her feet. A strange look crossed her perfectly made-up forty-year old face. ‘Oh God!’ she cried. ‘What has happened?’ Her family, still seated, looked on in horror. The camera zoomed frantically across the shocked faces. This was the second day in a row that the same events had occurred. Everyone continued to stare as Mummy-ji began to feel even more faint. She had turned pale and her face was contorted in extreme discomfort. No-one seemed able to react in time, and Mummy-ji collapsed in a controlled fall to the floor once again. The camera closed in on her face. She appeared to be asleep, except for the flickering closed eyes.
Without sexy Navin making a meaningful appearance, the stupid show was barely worth watching. V called just as they were about to check out of the hotel. Neela, ignoring her parents grumbling at her being on the phone to her friend all the time, agreed to use the precious little petrol in her Mini to meet tomorrow after work for crisis talks, and then come home with V to prepare her for the date with Girish and his extended family.
Chapter S eventeen
MONDAY MORNING, KIRAN ACHARYA stood in front of the offices of Solanki Solicitors, and wondered if this was really the right thing to do.
He had loved Neela, and was sure, in her strange way, she loved him too. The best way to move things forward was to get straight to the point, and the best way to do that was to ask Neela’s father for her hand in marriage.
Standing in front of the square, 70s box of a building, Kiran prayed that Neela hadn’t told her parents the full nature of their relationship.
It was quite possible he would leave with a few broken limbs if she had.
*
Grabbing a couple of jars of goop and some old makeup she’d put aside especially for the purpose, Neela was ready as soon as V honked the horn of her Ka.
Their usual shisha bar was full, so they ended up in a tiny cafe that seemed to be doubling as a dating agency for the undateable. Settling into a sticky booth and frowning in unison at being presented with ice tea that appeared to have been home brewed in the mid 1900s, V immediately told Neela that the impending get-together was the final option. After the wedding was fully planned, she might as well start calling herself Mrs Girish Patel.
‘And the texts aren’t working?’
‘Either he asks if my phone is broken, when I send too many, or talks to me on the toilet when I call too much. Nothing works. He is one of those enigmas.’
‘Nothing too enigmatic about toenail biting, is there?’ Neela said. ‘Although, you know I asked Jai to try it to get rid of Rupali . . .’
‘And?’
‘Apparently she asked to do it for him.’
The thought, being even more disgusting that the tea they were not drinking, was quickly put aside without further comment.
‘Don’t worry, V. We’ll make you look as if you are the lowest of the low. Get the parents to abandon all notions of marriage to you.’
‘I don’t know, Neela. My parents are pretty adamant that they are a good family, the son and his disgusting habits just don’t seem that important. How likely is it that a makeover stops them?’
‘That’s your parents. What about Girish’s? They like you because you are a good girl, right?’
‘Right?’ Her friend didn’t appear to have much faith in Neela’s logic.
‘So, imagine if you morphed into a huge loser. Who’d spent the last week sleeping in a gutter?’
‘Loser? That brings back memories of secondary school. What exactly are you going to do to me?’ V asked.
Neela pulled out a pac
kage from her handbag. Fake tan.
‘Um, just in case you hadn’t realised, I’m brown already.’
‘Not brown enough,’ Neela said, not needing to remind her friend how many Asians out there preferred a light skin tone. V’s pale skin will definitely be one of the aspects of her that the Patels loved.
‘And we’ll use this,’ Neela brandished an eyebrow pencil, ‘so that it looks as if you’ve never heard of eyebrow threading.’
‘You do know they’ve already seen me, don’t you?’
Neela grinned. ‘Yes, but the idea is, now you’ve got your man, you’ve let yourself go. The Patels need to think that by the time you walk down the aisle, you will look so shameful the guest list will be reduced to a mere 100.’
Her friend was beginning to look worried now. Neela happily continued. ‘I’ve got some old stage makeup from uni: there must be a way to give you acne scars. And olive oil will be perfect for making it look as if you haven’t washed your hair for weeks.’
That finally did it. ‘How the hell am I supposed to pull this off, Neela? I saw my parents this morning, and tonight I’m supposed to look like I got tanned by working out in rice fields?’
‘Calm down. Just whisper to your mum you tried a new blusher or something and it went wrong. Say you felt a bit pale, or some other rubbish. Tell her you felt sick and wanted to look healthy, that will make sure they leave you alone.’
‘And the acne scars?’
Putting a finger to her mouth, Neela bit it thoughtfully. ‘You’re right, might be more difficult to explain. Maybe just pimples, then. The stress of the wedding is making you break out?’
Suddenly Neela’s phone buzzed. Jai. Again. Wondering where the hell she was and whether she was planning to show her face anytime soon after her stupid plan failed miserably.
