Bindi Babes

by Narinder Dhami

  Dad shook his head helplessly.

  “Dad, what did you argue about?” Geena asked.

  He shrugged. “You girls. The way she was interfering. I knew you didn't like it. I knew you found it hard.”

  None of us could speak.

  “I found it hard too,” Dad went on. “I didn't want to be reminded—” He cleared his throat and tried again, took his glasses off and put them back on. “I didn't want to be reminded of what happened to your mum.”

  “Maybe Auntie was right, though,” I said, forcing the words out past the lump stuck in my throat. “Perhaps we should have talked about it.”

  “Maybe we'd feel better if we did,” Geena agreed. Jazz nodded.

  We stood there looking helplessly at each other. It was difficult to know where to start.

  “Right.” Dad squared his shoulders, looking more together than he'd been for a long time. “The first thing I need to do is try to sort things out with your aunt. I'm going out to look for her.”

  “We'll come too,” I began. But Dad shook his head.

  “You three wait here,” he told us. “She might phone. We'll talk when I get back.”

  And I knew that, at last, he meant talk. Then he did something he hadn't done for ages. He hugged each one of us tightly for a long time. It felt as if we were climbing a tall mountain and we were very close to the summit. By leaving, Auntie had finally achieved what she wanted. We were talking.

  The door shut behind Dad. Without a word to the others, I turned away and slipped upstairs. I didn't know why, but I knew where I was going.

  I passed my bedroom and peeked in. The bed had been stripped, and the wardrobe doors stood open. The wardrobe was empty except for coat hangers.

  I went into Mum and Dad's bedroom. I kneeled on the floor and pulled a familiar blue suitcase out from under the bed. It was covered in dust, which I smoothed away with my fingers before unlocking it.

  The perfume that hit me made the tears start in my eyes before I even saw Mum's clothes. Flowery and familiar, it wafted into the bedroom and lingered around me. I put my head down on the gold sari that lay on top of the case and began to cry.

  I cried until my face was raw and aching and my eyes were swollen. It seemed like hours but in reality it was only a few minutes, I think. And when I wiped the tears from my face at last, I felt better. As if I had finally climbed to the top of that mountain.

  I plunged my hands into the pool of saris. Scarlet, royal blue, deep purple, pinks, golds, creams, tangerines and citrus, they flowed around me in silks and satins and chiffons, until I was surrounded by color. Underneath were piles of letters and other bits of paper.

  I picked one of the letters up and idly glanced at it. Instantly I was transfixed. I read the next one and the next. It was a gorgeous and moving love story, like a Bollywood film but real. Letters from years ago, before we were born. Letters between Mum and Dad, Dad and Auntie, Mum and Auntie, Dad and his parents. And as I read them, I began to understand everything that had happened.

  There were other, newer airmail letters. These were even more startling. I was deep in one of them when a noise at the door made me glance up. Geena was standing there looking at me.

  “What—?” she began, but that was as far as she got. Her face was already crumpling as she stared at Mum's saris. She stumbled into the room, sobbing quietly.

  Jazz came up behind her to see what was going on. She didn't even have a chance to say anything before her mouth turned down and she began crying too. That started me off again. We all sat on the floor and sobbed.

  After a few minutes there was silence. Not a strained silence, but a peaceful one.

  “What are you doing?” Geena asked, pointing at the letters in my hand.

  “I've been reading them,” I replied. “Now I know why Auntie and Mum didn't like each other.”

  “You've been reading other people's letters?” Geena asked sternly.

  “Go on, tell us,” Jazz said.

  “Well, if Geena doesn't want me to …”

  Geena thumped my arm. “Go on.”

  I curled up into a ball, hugging my knees. “Dad was going to marry Auntie's best friend. It was all arranged. Then he met Mum and he called it all off and married her instead.”

  Geena and Jazz stared at me. “Dad did?” Geena said. “I didn't think he had it in him.”

  “Well, he did,” I replied. “And that's why Mum and Auntie didn't like each other.” I handed them a couple of letters. “This one's from Dad to Biji and Babaji. It tells them he's going to marry Mum. And how much he loves her.”

  “Go, Dad!” Jazz said. She pulled a hideous face. “I'm glad Auntie's gone then, the miserable old cow. Good riddance.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “There's more.” I picked up a handful of letters. “Mum wrote to Auntie when she knew—what was going to happen to her. She asked her to come and look after us.”

  Geena and Jazz's faces were a study. If I hadn't been so deadly serious, I would have found it funny.

  “You've absolutely got to be kidding,” Geena said at last.

  “No. These are the letters Auntie wrote back to her.” I handed them over. “It's perfectly clear.”

  Geena unfolded the letters with shaking hands and skimmed through them. “Amber's right,” she said at last.

  “Omigod.” Jazz looked stricken. “And we were so mean to her.”

  Geena groaned. “Mum would kill us if she knew what we'd done.”

  “Well, Auntie didn't exactly break a leg to get over here, did she?” Jazz pointed out defensively. “I mean, it took her a year to come.”

  “I suppose she did have a life in India she had to sort out first,” Geena replied. “You know, her job and her house and all that.”

  I was ashamed. I'd never given a single thought to what Auntie had had to sacrifice to come to Britain. Job, house, friends, a whole life of her own.

  That's what made up my mind. “Maybe there's still time to stop her,” I said, and jumped to my feet.

  “What do you mean?” Geena looked perplexed. “It must be half an hour since Dad said she'd left.”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It is,” I replied. “But you know what the traffic on the Broadway's like at this time of day. We might just catch her.”

  “Dad told us to stay here—” Jazz began.

  “We've got our mobiles,” I broke in. “We can text him and tell him where we are.”

  “But we don't know where Auntie's gone,” Geena grumbled. “She could be going to the airport or to a hotel or to one of the relatives. She could be anywhere.”

  “Not if she's stuck in the traffic.” I ran over to the door with Jazz at my heels. “Come on, it's worth a go, isn't it? Or do you want to feel guilty for the rest of your life?”

  Geena looked guilty already. “No, of course not.”

  We dashed downstairs and outside. There we came to a halt on the doorstep.

  “If the driver was heading to the Broadway, he'd go that way,” Jazz said, pointing down the street.

  “But if he was taking a shortcut,” I said, “he'd have gone the opposite way.”

  Geena threw her hands in the air. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “If you're looking for your aunt,” said a timid voice behind us, “the taxi went off that way.”

  We turned to find Mrs. Macey blinking at us from behind her glasses. She was pointing with her trowel down the street in the direction of Mr. Attwal's shop.

  “Er—thanks,” I said.

  “I saw your aunt when she left.” Mrs. Macey's eyes behind the thick lenses were very shrewd, and I wondered how much she'd guessed. “She said she was going back to India.”

  We glanced anxiously at each other.

  “Not if we can help it,” Geena said.

  “Good luck,” Mrs. Macey called after us as we dashed down the path. It hardly surprised us because it had been kind of a surprising day all round.

  We ran toward the corner. Mr.
Attwal was sitting outside the shop, deep in his computer manual. He looked up when he heard our footsteps.

  “If you're looking for your aunt, you just missed her,” he called as we raced past him. “She left me about ten minutes ago.”

  We skidded to a halt so fast, it's amazing sparks didn't shoot up from our trainers.

  “She was here?” I panted.

  Mr. Attwal nodded. “She saw me sitting outside so she stopped the cab, and we had a long chat. Shame she's leaving us, isn't it?”

  I turned to Geena and Jazz. “That means we've got a good chance of catching her,” I said, thanking heaven that Mr. Attwal could talk all the legs off a donkey. “Which way did they go?”

  “That way.” Mr. Attwal pointed in the direction of the Broadway.

  We set off again. The traffic was already building up in the back streets. It was stopping and starting but it was still moving. It was hard to tell how far Auntie might have got. We ran along the pavement, looking for taxis.

  “There she is!” Geena yelled triumphantly, darting forward. A black taxi with KRISHNA CABS printed on the door was sitting in a queue of cars. Geena leaned forward through the open passenger window and an old granny in a white sari let out a stream of angry Punjabi. Geena jumped backward as the taxi moved on.

  “It wasn't her,” she mumbled.

  As we ran along the pavement, a boy on a bike drew up alongside, keeping pace with us. It was Leo.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” I responded, not stopping.

  “All right?” Leo added.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Where's your aunt going?”

  I came to a dead stop and Geena and Jazz charged into the back of me. “You've seen Auntie?” I asked as I picked myself up from the pavement.

  Leo nodded. “About five minutes ago in a taxi in Scotland Street. I waved, but she didn't see me.”

  “Did you see which way the taxi went?” I asked.

  “It turned right into Portman Road and then went up King Street,” Leo replied promptly. “It looked like the driver was taking a shortcut to the Broadway.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled and fluttered my eyelashes at him.

  “See you later, yeah?” he called after us as we ran on.

  “My, my,” said Geena. “You are popular, Amber.”

  “Can we please concentrate on finding Auntie?” I said snootily.

  The traffic was queuing up Scotland Street and into Portman Road. Everything had stopped for a red light, although it probably wasn't moving much anyway. From the bottom of the street I could see that a black cab had pulled up next to the curb. A girl was standing on the curb, leaning in through the open window, talking to someone inside.

  “That's Kim!” Jazz and I said together.

  At that very moment Kim moved away from the cab, and it edged its way back into the line of traffic. Kim waved as it shot off round the corner onto the Broadway. Then she walked off in the opposite direction.

  “Quick!” Geena urged. “We have to catch them before the driver turns off the Broadway or we'll lose them.”

  We dashed down the street. A carload of young Indian boys in a BMW started hitting the horn and whistling at us, and we lost a few seconds when Geena slowed down to check them out. By the time we got to the corner, the traffic had started moving up the Broadway toward the underpass at the end.

  I groaned. “If we don't catch it before the underpass, we're done for.”

  The Broadway was an obstacle course. Many of the shopkeepers had tables outside their shops selling everything from fruit and vegetables to saris. And it was full of people. We skipped from one side of the pavement to the other like boxers in training.

  “Oof!” Jazz panted as she bumped into a large lady in a pink sari. “Sorry.”

  “They're nearly at the underpass,” I said, shading my eyes. We were close behind now, but would we make it in time? I didn't think so.

  Then, suddenly, the cab swerved to the left. There was a barrage of angry hoots and shouts from the drivers behind it as the brakes screeched and it pulled up onto the curb.

  The door opened and Auntie got out. She stood on the pavement with people milling around her, watching us as we hurried toward her.

  “You took your time,” she said with a faint smile. “Lucky I spotted you in the driver's mirror.”

  I bent over, trying to relieve the stitch in my side. “You mean—you were expecting us to come after you?” I wheezed.

  Auntie shrugged. “I hoped you might. But I wasn't sure at all.”

  “What if we hadn't?” I asked.

  “I don't know,” Auntie replied.

  We stood there awkwardly while people milled around us. Even Auntie looked embarrassed. We weren't going to throw our arms around each other and forgive and forget. But we had to start somewhere.

  “We know about Mum asking you to come and look after us,” Jazz blurted out. “Why didn't you tell us?”

  Auntie looked surprised. “I was going to,” she replied. “But then when you made it clear you didn't want me here, I thought you wouldn't believe me.”

  “But you have to see things from our point of view,” Geena said carefully. “We didn't want you because we thought we were doing all right and then you came and started interfering.”

  “Oh, yes, I do realize that,” Auntie agreed. “But when I saw how spoilt you all were—”

  “Spoilt?” I echoed, shocked.

  “Spoilt,” Auntie repeated coolly. “I thought you needed a firm hand. I didn't realize at first that things weren't right. I went in with both feet flying. That's always been my problem.” She smiled ruefully. “Mess things up first, regret it later.”

  “That's just like Amber,” Geena remarked. “It must run in the family.”

  “Can we leave the personal insults for now?” I said.

  Auntie looked faintly amused. “And then things got worse, when you started trying to marry me off… .”

  We all blushed as one. “You mean, you know about that?” Geena asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Auntie said. “Isn't that why you wanted me to meet your teacher, Amber?”

  “Yes, but it didn't do much good, did it?” I shot back. I thought she'd had enough of the upper hand for the moment. “You had a row with him.”

  Auntie turned a delicate pink, which made me just a bit suspicious. “Well, he annoyed me.”

  “What did you argue about?” Jazz wanted to know.

  “You three.” Auntie began to play with one of the gold bangles on her wrist. “He wanted to help, but I was feeling touchy because I simply couldn't seem to get through to you.” She cleared her throat. “It—er— just got out of hand.”

  “He is very good-looking,” I said innocently. “Maybe you should meet him again and apologize.”

  Auntie gave me a sharp glance, but all she said was “Well, perhaps I will. I was thinking that maybe I could get involved in your school PTA.”

  Geena, Jazz and I flicked gleeful sideways glances at each other.

  “That's a great idea,” I remarked. “The PTA are always looking for parents who like interfer— I mean, helping out.”

  The taxi driver wound down the passenger window. “Hey, lady,” he called in a bored voice. “Do you want this cab or don't you?”

  Auntie regarded us thoughtfully. “Well? Do I want it or not?”

  “No, you don't,” said Geena. “I think you should come back and we should start over again.”

  “Yes, I think we should,” Auntie agreed. “We can see how we get on, at least.”

  She got her suitcase out of the cab and paid the driver, who scorched off, doing a U-turn right across the middle of the crowded Broadway and earning himself more beeps and catcalls.

  “I have to tell you,” Auntie went on, wheeling her suitcase along, “that I do find it hard not to interfere. So I can't promise anything for the future.”

  “That's all right,” I replied. “We're not promising to be perfect ei
ther.”

  “Oh no,” said Geena, sounding horrified.

  “Definitely not,” Jazz agreed. “We've had enough of that.”

  Auntie smiled. “Life should be very interesting, then, shouldn't it?”

  “Oh, yes, I think so,” I said. “Maybe now, while we're being all mature and adult, we can discuss my new trainers?”

  Published by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children's Books

  a division of Random House, Inc., New York

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  Copyright © 2003 by Narinder Dhami

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  eISBN: 978-0-307-51443-1

  Reprinted by arrangement with Delacorte Press

  November 2005

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