Superstar Babes

by Narinder Dhami

  What a cheek! I was speechless. This coming from the maharani of all the interfering Indian aunties in the known world!

  ‘You need to chill out and give people some space,’ Auntie went on. ‘Things will work themselves out one way or another.’

  ‘OK,’ I spluttered. ‘Thanks for the advice.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Auntie replied, looking not one bit embarrassed. Can you believe it?

  When I got back home, there was a full-on row between Geena, Jazz and Baby about who was going to use the bathroom first. Auntie heard all the noise and came round to see what was going on. She decided to draw names out of a hat to prevent violence, and Baby, who had returned from the hairdresser’s with a startling up-do of cascading curls, won. I, of course, was last.

  By the time I’d showered and dressed in my chosen outfit (a bright red TopShop dress and long boots – very classy), the news crew had already arrived. I dashed downstairs as fast as my kitten heels could carry me and found three people – two men and a woman – rearranging our living room. Geena and Jazz were hovering around, both of them wearing new outfits, and Baby was standing in the middle of the room, smiling dazzlingly at the news crew whenever any of them caught her eye. She looked completely over the top in her black and white zebra-print mini-dress, leggings, high heels and a kilo of (real) gold jewellery. Auntie, Uncle Jai and Dad were there too, supervising the rearranging of the chairs.

  ‘Is that it?’ I said to Geena, feeling a little disappointed. ‘Just the three of them and one camera?’ I’d expected a bit more, to be honest. Lots of lights, cameras and action. OK, they’d brought a few lights with them but nothing much.

  ‘We’ll have the three girls sitting at the front,’ said the woman, Martha Rigby, who appeared to be in charge. She turned to Baby. ‘Are you one of the sisters who knew Molly Mahal?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Baby lied through her teeth. ‘Shall I sit here?’ And she plonked herself on a chair in the middle of the front row.

  ‘Baby’s staying with us at the moment, but I think Geena, Amber and Jazz are the girls you mean,’ said Auntie, skilfully ushering a sulky Baby from her chair and propelling us forward.

  So we were going to be centre stage. This was great. Quick, Amber, think of some way you could exploit this fantastic opportunity to raise more money for the Mum Fund! But sadly, my mind remained a beautiful blank. We’d got some boxes ready to take a collection, but nothing else.

  Things started to get rather more exciting when everyone else started to arrive. No prizes for guessing who was first to turn up.

  ‘Hey, Amber.’ George Botley dropped a couple of pound coins into the collecting box that Jazz waved under his nose and zoomed straight over to me. ‘Can I sit next to you?’

  ‘Sorry, George,’ I said quickly. ‘Immediate family only in the front row.’

  ‘We could pretend I’m your fiancé,’ George replied with a wolfish grin.

  ‘And give my dad a heart attack live on camera?’ I retorted. ‘I think not.’

  ‘Well, this is all very exciting!’ Mrs Dhaliwal bustled in, elbowing George Botley aside without ceremony. Behind her was Mr Attwal from the local minimarket. Mrs Dhaliwal’s a local busybody – not quite in the same league as Auntie, but not far behind. She also arranges marriages for anyone single she can get her hands on. ‘I hope dear Miss Mahal is going to win, and not that frightful half-naked girl.’

  ‘Oh, you mean Romy Turner,’ said Mr Attwal. ‘Yes, not a nice girl at all. I wonder if she’ll wear that silver bikini tonight.’

  I watched as Mrs Dhaliwal immediately went and sat right at the front. Baby, who’d reluctantly moved to the second row, began complaining loudly, and one of the news crew had to rush and sort it out.

  I turned to Kim, who’d just arrived. ‘Have you had your hair done?’ I asked, looking her over suspiciously.

  ‘Of course,’ Kim said assertively. ‘Why haven’t you?’

  I scowled. I’d barely had time to wash and dry it after being last into the shower.

  Kim took off her coat and I raised my eyebrows. She was wearing one of the T-shirts that Molly Mahal had got printed to publicize the school’s Bollywood party. It had a large photo of Molly’s face on the front.

  ‘What are you wearing that for?’ I snorted.

  ‘To show Molly a bit of support,’ Kim replied. ‘And I’m not the only one either.’

  I glanced round. Chelsea, Sharelle and Geena and Jazz’s mates had already arrived, and now that they’d taken their coats off, I could see that a fair few of them were also wearing the T-shirts. Chelsea and Sharelle had even cut off the bottoms of theirs (the out-of-date bit about meeting Molly at the party) so that they were showing off their bare midriffs.

  ‘How stylish,’ I said with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Wow, these T-shirts are super.’ Martha hurried over, staring admiringly at Kim. She glanced at me. ‘Do you girls have these?’

  ‘Well . . . er – yes . . .’ Fool! Why didn’t I lie?

  ‘Thanks a lot, Amber,’ Geena said bitterly as she, Jazz and I trailed upstairs to fulfil Martha’s orders and change out of our über-stylish outfits into Molly T-shirts and jeans.

  By the time we got downstairs again, though, we cheered up a good deal. The atmosphere was getting quite lively and people were enjoying themselves. The news crew spent about half an hour telling us all very seriously to jump up and down and scream a lot if Molly Mahal won. They even made us rehearse a few times, which was rather embarrassing. I could tell that things were going to go very flat if Molly actually lost. Still, Dad had promised takeaways all round from the Tip-Top Tandoori after the programme, so the evening wouldn’t be a total loss.

  To my surprise, Mr Grimwade had turned up, also wearing his too tight and too short Molly T-shirt. Rocky was also there, sitting with Baby. He hadn’t actually met Molly as he’d only started at Coppergate this term, but I suppose the lure of being on TV was just too strong for a would-be rap superstar.

  ‘I’ve written a special rap for Molly, if she wins,’ Rocky said loudly. ‘Do you think that lot will film me doing it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so for a moment,’ Auntie said repressively. Rocky scowled, but he brightened again when Martha announced that they would be interviewing some of us after the winner of the programme was announced.

  We were all really quite excited by the time Who’s in the House? actually started.

  ‘And now – it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!’ Kieron King said breathlessly. ‘Tonight we’re all going to find out who is this year’s celebrity winner of WHO’S IN THE HOUSE?’

  Everyone standing around him went wild – you’d have thought he’d just announced that he’d found a solution to global warming. There were quite a few cheers in our living room as well.

  ‘Oh, here we go,’ Jazz grumbled as a long, long sequence of clips from the previous week’s programmes began. ‘This is going to take hours. Why can’t they just tell us the winner and have done with it?’

  ‘Because that would only take about five minutes,’ I replied, ‘and they want thousands of people to phone in so they can make loads of money.’

  The numbers to vote for the three remaining contestants were being flashed up on the screen right now. Everyone in the room had their mobiles in their hands, including the news crew, and there were loud cheers as Molly’s number came up. Then silence except for the sound of twenty-three people texting their vote. All right, I admit I’d decided to vote for Molly. She deserved it for the best acting role she’d ever played in her life – pretending to be a completely sweet, kind and lovely person.

  ‘Ooh, you pig!’ Baby screeched, trying to grab Rocky’s phone. ‘You’re voting for Romy Turner!’

  ‘So?’ Rocky continued to text away, fending Baby off with his arm. ‘She’s hot. Anyway, you voted for Luke Lee.’

  ‘I hope some of you are voting for Molly Mahal,’ Martha remarked slightly disapprovingly.

  Ex
citement was mounting as various other ‘celebrities’ – some of whom I’d never heard of, so how did that make them celebrities? – were interviewed and told us who they thought should win. The last part of the programme was individual interviews with each of the three remaining contestants – Molly, Romy and Lee. They each talked about what they had learned about themselves living in the house for ten weeks and what they’d do when they got out. Once again Molly came across as a naturally lovely and genuine woman with a sunny personality. I didn’t see how she could lose – although I was sure Romy Turner’s white dress with the plunging halter neck had won her many votes.

  Finally the three contestants gathered at the door of the house to hear the verdict.

  ‘At last!’ Jazz shrieked as Kieron King waved the golden envelope tantalizingly in front of our noses. ‘The suspense is killing me!’

  ‘Get ready, everyone,’ Martha Rigby warned as Kieron ripped open the envelope with a great flourish.

  I don’t know about the others but I barely registered what she said. Somehow, even though I knew this programme was manufactured rubbish, I’d got caught up in it. I’d got involved. I really was thrilled and excited to fever pitch, and I wanted Molly to win.

  ‘The celebrity winner . . . of WHO’S IN THE HOUSE? is . . .’ Kieron King was deliberately and cruelly drawing out the moment. I was on the edge of my seat and so was everyone else. ‘MOLLY MAHAL!’

  Our living room erupted like an overheating volcano. There were screams and cheers and applause, and I think every single person in the room was jumping up and down, making the floor shake. We were all genuinely thrilled.

  ‘She did it!’ Geena gasped.

  ‘I knew she would!’ Jazz added.

  I was so busy celebrating along with everyone else that I’d completely forgotten about the film crew. Until a microphone was suddenly shoved right under my nose.

  ‘Amber, we’ve just seen Molly Mahal announced as the winner of Who’s in the House?,’ Martha said briskly. ‘You’re obviously pleased?’

  I blinked a bit, then remembered that they had told us they were going to do a few interviews. The noise in the room had quietened down slightly now and I heard Kieron King proclaim that Molly Mahal had polled over one hundred thousand votes from viewers to win. The programme had been so popular. It must have made thousands of pounds for the TV company . . .

  And that was when a bold, a brave, a most audacious fund-raising idea popped into my head.

  ‘Of course I’m thrilled!’ I said, smiling widely. ‘Big congratulations to Molly. But I’m even more pleased because Coppergate School is going to be holding its very own Who’s in the House? contest during the next few weeks. Or should that be Who’s in the School?!’ I laughed brightly.

  Martha was looking very interested. ‘Really?’ she asked eagerly.

  I nodded. The TV was still blaring out, but in the rest of the room you could have heard a pin drop.

  ‘My two sisters and I are raising money to have the Coppergate School library named after our mum. And just like Who’s in the House?, ten contestants, including myself and my sisters, will be locked up inside Coppergate School!’ I declared.

  I glanced at Geena and Jazz. They were goggle-eyed.

  ‘And just like Who’s in the House?’ – I paused dramatically – ‘there can only be one winner!’

  Chapter Eight

  THERE WAS A stunned silence which lasted for about four seconds.

  So, thinking on my feet, I quickly added, ‘If Mr Morgan, our headteacher, agrees, of course.’

  Then – uproar.

  ‘Cut! Cut!’ Mr Grimwade bellowed, bouncing to the front of the room and waving his arms around like a demented movie director. ‘I insist that you stop filming! Mr Morgan will certainly not approve of this so-called fund-raising event!’

  My knees sagged and I felt slightly sick as Mr Grimwade launched into a full-scale argument with the news crew. Everyone else in the room seemed to be yelling their heads off too. But I also felt exhilarated. I was convinced that at last I’d found the really huge fund-raising event we’d been looking for.

  ‘Amber, are you insane?’ Geena yelled in my ear, looking quite disapproving.

  ‘She’s finally flipped,’ Kim said, also frowning. ‘I always knew it was going to happen some day.’

  ‘I just can’t see how this would work.’ Jazz eyed me thoughtfully. ‘But it’s actually not a bad idea.’

  ‘Thanks, Jazz,’ I said, grateful for some support, however tiny.

  ‘Don’t thank me.’ Jazz shrugged. ‘It’s Dad, Auntie and Uncle Jai you have to convince.’

  I turned slightly to see Dad, Auntie and Uncle Jai staring very sternly at me. I smiled tentatively at them, but did not get a flicker in return.

  Mr Grimwade was still arguing heatedly with the news crew. ‘I demand that you cut that part of the film out!’ he blustered.

  ‘Who are you, then?’ Martha asked coolly, signalling to the crew to pack their equipment away.

  ‘I am the deputy head at Coppergate School, and I am speaking on behalf of the headteacher, Mr Morgan,’ Mr Grimwade replied pompously.

  Martha looked unimpressed. ‘Well, get Mr Morgan to ring me at the studios, and we can discuss this,’ she replied, and turned away.

  Mr Grimwade scowled and directed a fierce look at me that made me gulp.

  ‘I think it’s a great idea, Amber,’ George Botley called from the back row. ‘Go for it.’

  ‘Be quiet, Botley,’ Mr Grimwade snapped.

  ‘I’ll write a new rap for the contest,’ Rocky proclaimed, ‘and it’ll be a lot better than that Who’s in the House? rubbish.’

  ‘Can we be contestants, Amber?’ Chelsea asked eagerly.

  ‘Ooh, me too,’ Sharelle muscled in. ‘I’d pay to be in that!’

  ‘And me.’

  ‘Me too.’

  See? I knew it! All our friends wanted to be involved. This was going to be a real money-spinner for an absolutely brilliant cause. So why couldn’t Dad, Auntie, Uncle Jai and Mr Grimwade see it?

  ‘I think that perhaps it’s time you all went home now,’ Auntie said calmly. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘But what about our takeaway from the Tip-Top Tandoori?’ Jazz asked in a disappointed voice.

  ‘Honestly, Jazz,’ Geena said. ‘Amber has just opened her big mouth and dropped herself right in it for about the next twenty years, and all you can think of is food.’

  ‘But I’m hungry,’ Jazz complained.

  The atmosphere had oh-so-definitely gone a bit flat now. Mr Grimwade muttered something to Uncle Jai and then stomped out. George winked at me and followed, but not before whispering in my ear, ‘I’ll be a contestant, if you like.’

  I didn’t answer. The thought of being locked up with George Botley for any length of time, while scary, wasn’t my major problem at the moment. My first task was to make sure that this event went ahead at all.

  ‘Just make sure your competition is very tasteful, Amber,’ Mrs Dhaliwal warned me as she left with Mr Attwal. ‘None of this bad language and half-naked girls.’

  ‘You could ask some local businesses to sponsor you,’ Mr Attwal suggested. ‘I’ll provide the food for the contestants if I can have a banner outside the school: ATTWAL’S MARVELLOUS MINIMARKET! THE FRESHEST, THE BEST, THE CHEAPEST—’

  ‘Goodnight,’ Uncle Jai said firmly, ushering them out.

  Finally just Dad, Auntie, Uncle Jai, Geena, Jazz and Baby were left. And me. Baby was lolling in her chair with a look of enjoyment on her face, obviously anticipating a tremendous scene.

  ‘Sorry for just coming out with it like that,’ I said. (I wasn’t, but I figured lying was surely the best policy here.) ‘I should have asked first.’

  ‘I don’t think this is a good time to talk at the moment,’ Dad replied quietly. ‘We’re all tired and emotional. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.’

  Geena and Jazz looked at me sympathetically.

  ‘You are so de
ad, Amber,’ Baby said with glee, and strolled out.

  Maybe I was. But if I could convince Dad, Auntie and Uncle Jai that my mad, my crazy, my downright lunatic idea might just work, then maybe Mr Morgan (gulp) would take me seriously too.

  It was my only chance.

  ‘Time to have that talk, Amber,’ said Dad in a deadly serious voice.

  He, Auntie and Uncle Jai had just marched into the living room, looking as doom-laden as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. OK, so there were only three of them, but you know what I mean.

  I tried not to panic. I hadn’t got a lot of sleep last night because I’d been planning and re-planning what I was going to say. And how I was going to convince them that this ridiculous idea would work.

  I was still panicking even now as Dad, Auntie and Uncle Jai sat down in a grim-faced row on the sofa. Dad didn’t usually need reinforcements when it came to telling us off, but I guessed that Uncle Jai was present because it involved the school. Auntie was there because she could never keep her nose out of anything.

  ‘You two had better leave,’ Dad told Geena and Jazz, who were sprawled on the sofa in their jimjams. Thankfully, Baby was still snoring away upstairs.

  ‘Can we just see the local news?’ asked Jazz. ‘It’s on in two minutes.’

  The atmosphere in the room, already chilly, became decidedly frosty. We sat in tense silence, watching a string of stupid ads, waiting for the news. Two minutes felt like two hours. I wondered how I’d feel if they decided not to show my interview after all. It would probably slightly reduce the amount of trouble I was in, but on the other hand, I wanted the publicity. It might help me to convince Mr Morgan to go for it.

  Finally the local news began, with newsreader Preeti Desai. Without speaking, we watched boring reports about a robbery in the Broadway shopping centre, people protesting about the site of a new housing estate and the visit of an MP.

  Then we came to the really interesting news.

  ‘Local residents were celebrating last night as Bollywood star Molly Mahal won the reality TV show Who’s in the House?,’ Preeti declared. ‘Martha Rigby reports.’

  ‘Molly Mahal was once a major Bollywood star,’ Martha began. She was standing against a very familiar background which I eventually realized was our front garden. ‘Earlier this year, when she was down on her luck, she spent several months in the area, staying with her friends, the Dhillon family. Now, of course, her career is back on track, and last night’s win was the icing on the cake. And the Dhillons and their friends were only too happy to celebrate Molly’s victory.’