The Bollywood Breakup Agency Page 4

  Now, what did she need? Suddenly, she remembered her cousin’s engagement ceremony, taking place on the weekend. It would be in the usual lavish, over-done style, which meant that Neela needed new jewellery to accompany the new outfit she’d thankfully purchased a whole month before.

  It took a while to find the perfect piece of jewellery. Then she walked into Liberty and saw a beautiful necklace: a beautiful square blue topaz pendant hanging off a thick, white gold chain. It matched her new blue sari perfectly, and would ensure that, as usual, she was one of the best-looking girls at the wedding. She called over the sales assistant and had it bagged it up without trying it on. No point; Neela looked good in anything.

  Then she handed over the tried and tested credit card and smiled.

  A moment later the smile disappeared.

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but your card has been declined.’

  ‘What?’ Neela was too shocked at the news to worry about being addressed as if she was a middle aged woman.

  ‘Do you have another method of payment?’

  ‘Just try it again will you, maybe it didn’t take?’

  Without a word, but sporting an expression that implied Neela was insane, the sales assistant tried again.

  ‘I’m sorry it has been declined,’ she repeated, holding it up in the air. She peered at her till. ‘In fact, it is asking that I retain the card in store.’

  Which she then proceeded to do.

  Neela tried to snatch it from her hand. The girl gave her a look as if Neela was some petty thief. ‘No! Look, I just used it to fill my car up – there is nothing wrong with it.’

  ‘Do you want me to call American Express?’ The woman, a little younger than Neela, flicked a strand of blonde hair from her cute, blue-eyed face. ‘They might tell me to call the cops, though. Your choice.’ She held the card out to Neela.

  Some choice. ‘No, it’s okay.’

  Neela snatched the card away and stalked over to a quiet corner to try to call and find out what was up with the card.

  ‘I’m sorry, but calls from this handset have been barred. Incoming calls are unaffected,’ a monotone voice repeatedly told her.

  Neela felt the anger build. It wasn’t fair, she needed her phone. Why were her parents being so cruel? How on earth could she turn up to her cousin’s wedding without a decent piece of jewellery? How would it look if she wore something she already owned?

  Then a worse realisation dawned: her car was in the car park and having planned to use the Amex to pay the pricey fee, she had no money to get it out.

  There was no choice now, was there? Neela would have to take V’s money now, wouldn’t she?

  Either that, or, God forbid, have her hair cut at Just Cuts.

  Chapter Five

  UNABLE TO CONVINCE THE SURLY CARPARK attendant she would pay the fee that she owed some other time, Neela had to leave her car at Selfridges and go home on the tube. Thankfully, her Oyster card still had some money on it. Later, V might take pity on her and drive her back to get it. And possibly give her an advance on her breakup money to pay the parking charge.

  On the Bakerloo line home from Oxford Circus, Neela saw a poster for none other than lagna.net. It wasn’t the top matrimonial website – probably somewhere near the bottom. Nevertheless, the lowly rank didn’t affect its ability to pay for advertising space on a tube carriage. A woman, too beautiful to have to resort to internet marriage, was dressed in one of the most eye-catching and intricate red and white wedding saris Neela had ever seen. Her makeup was immaculate, her head was covered and she had her head bowed down, and eyes upturned shyly at the camera. No doubt the head was bowed thanks to the weight of the gold jewellery. Next to her were the words: ‘The love of my life was waiting for me on lagna.net’.

  The poster stared her down, as if taunting about the situation with her parents.

  Neela shuddered; imagining getting a lagna.net email message from some desperate nutter: ‘I’m the love of your life, and I am waiting for you here, click to see me’. It was like those spam emails for pharmaceuticals or anatomy enlargements. The beautiful girl’s other half was no doubt someone who looked a lot like Mr Trivedi. Imagine clicking on the link to your supposed soul mate, only to find a revolting man smiling at you, the few remaining teeth he had all a delicious black colour.

  About as bad as finding him in your ‘good room’, Neela thought crossly, as an old lady jammed one of those pull-along trolleys into her thigh as she sat down.

  *

  Mortified at the embarrassment she’d suffered, the anger had built up over the crowded journey home. Neela stormed into the kitchen, where her parents and grandmother were having an early dinner.

  ‘You cut me off?!’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Soorbhi asked, after slowly swallowing.

  ‘My credit card? Not working? Ring any bells?’

  ‘Yes Neela,’ Rishi said as he got up, the plastic cover squeaked as he leaned to try and get a grip of the table, ‘The card you supposedly returned to your mother. I knew I should not have trusted you. I made it clear: we have decided that since you no longer need us to find you a husband, you do not need us for anything.’

  ‘That’s not fair! I do need you.’ For money, at least.

  ‘Beti,’ Soorbhi said, calmly. ‘Watch your tone, it’s really not nice to shout at your Bapu-ji.’

  ‘Well it’s not nice to cut me off without warning!’

  ‘Without warning? You stole my credit card,’ Rishi shouted.

  ‘It was MINE! And I was so embarrassed. Plus, my car is stuck in the city.’

  Rishi motioned for his wife to scoop some more curry onto his plate. ‘You should have thought of that, when you took the card.’

  ‘Why are you doing this to me? It’s like you hate me. How can you treat your own daughter in this way? Wait until your crew of cronies find out about this.’

  Rishi’s ears were going red with rage. ‘Don’t you talk to your mother like that!’

  ‘You can’t force me to get married. That’s against the law.’

  ‘Not in my house it isn’t! And besides, asking you to contribute to your own life would never be against any law. I’m your father and I can do whatever I want! Now get out of here before I really start shouting.’

  ‘Has she become one of those chevs?’ Daadi-ji asked, mispronouncing ‘chavs’, then called out to God in her shaky voice: ‘Hai Bhagwan, what will God say when He sees that I allowed you to talk to your daughter like that. How will I explain this to Him?’

  At the first sign of chanting, Neela ran out of the room, grabbing the house phone before her parents had a chance to stop her.

  Once up in her room she locked the door, wanting to weep at the horror of it all. She never thought her parents would do this to her. Especially Mum. Rishi had very particular notions of right and wrong – he was a lawyer, after all - but how come Soorbhi hadn’t talked him out of it yet? Mothers were supposed to be allies for their daughters, not accomplices in marrying them off to weirdoes with fathers who seemed to be missing vital strands of their DNA.

  Downstairs, there was the familiar commotion of visitors arriving. Looking outside, Neela could see the silver Mercedes driven by her aunt and uncle. Her cousin Nikhil, the soon to be married doctor, got out, along with another boy (ugly, teeth like a rabbit) and they slowly walked up the stairs towards the front door, looking solemn. No! God, why wouldn’t they just give up? If they were trying to tag team her into considering some new loser, they were in for a shock. There was no way she was even going to say hello to bunny boy.

  Racing downstairs, Neela tiptoed behind her parents as they welcomed the three relatives and the defective that they obviously planned to foist onto her. Racing through the kitchen, past a startled Daadi-ji, who sat snacking on some crisps, Neela ran across the garden and out the back gate into the street behind.

  If they wanted to match make, they’d have to find her first!

  Walking briskly, she quickly navigated t
he three roads and one dodgy train underpass to V’s house. Please be home. Please be home. V didn’t work far away – and was usually back indoors by 5:00 p.m., tax-time permitting. She knocked wildly on the door and a middle-aged woman, dressed in a plain green Indian outfit and adorned (of course) with gold jewellery, opened the door.

  Since other people’s parents were never referred to by name, Neela spoke to the woman the only way she was knew how. ‘Hello Auntie, is Vidya home?’

  ‘Oh bichari, you poor girl,’ Mrs Patel said. ‘Everyone is talking about your fight with your parents. Yes, she is inside, in her room. Just go upstairs.’

  It was clear that Auntie was anything but sorry for Neela. Her words might be comforting but her eyes said: You nasty little ingrate. How dare you go against your parents and shame them. Thank goodness it is not my daughter who is behaving like this.

  Neela took off her shoes, ran upstairs, and threw her friend’s bedroom door wide open. She quickly caught it again, preventing it from denting the wall. V was at her dressing table, sorting through some loose change.

  ‘Your mother just called me. I said you weren’t here.’

  ‘That was fast. Can you believe they’ve marshalled another foul creature to introduce me to? This one looks like he should be hopping about in a field, digging holes.’

  Walking over, Neela grabbed her friend’s hands. ‘I’ve decided to do it. I’ll help you, and if you want to pay me, then wonderful. I’ll be very grateful.’

  And then Neela collapsed onto her friend’s bed and began sobbing.

  ‘Oh my God, what the hell happened to you?’

  ‘My parents really have cut me off,’ Neela cried, burrowing her face in the duvet. ‘Mid-spending spree in London. I was humiliated at the Liberty jewellery counter – it was awful. You should have seen the way the assistant looked at me. Like I’d stolen the stupid piece of metal or something.’

  ‘Well that explains you running all the way here instead of calling me like a normal person. You know that railway underpass isn’t safe when it gets dark.’

  But Neela wasn’t listening. ‘So I’ll do it. Usually I wouldn’t dream of taking money from you, and if you want I promise to pay you back when I earn some money of my own but–’

  ‘Don’t worry about paying me back, but keep your voice down; I don’t want Mum to hear you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Neela whispered.

  ‘We can talk about this later. Maybe get some shisha?’

  ‘No, no. I want to help you. Starting now. Christ, what the hell am I going to do if they have really cut me off?

  ‘Work, like the rest of us?’

  Neela looked at her friend. ‘Yes, right. Work, let’s do it. Girish is history.’ The pitch of her voice was fluctuating wildly, and her stomach was heaving.

  V held her face. ‘Okay, look, just calm down. Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind, then?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what to do, but I need more information.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About what you and he are planning to do.’

  Pulling a face, V said, ‘Apart from get married, you mean?’

  ‘Yes? Like, when are you seeing him next?’

  ‘Well then, we need to get to this quick,’ V said, ‘because my parents are meeting with his parents officially this Friday. Once that happens, they will start planning the engagement.’

  ‘Okay. Friday. I’ll work on something for then.’

  Taking the purse from her bag on the dressing table, V handed over some cash. ‘That’s only one hundred. I need to get the rest later.’

  Looking at the notes reminded Neela of something.

  ‘There’s just one more thing?’

  V rolled her eyes. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Could you drive me to Selfridges?’

  Her friend, being true, didn’t even ask why. Grabbing her keys and coat, the only retort was: ‘Fine, but you pay for shisha on the way home.’

  Sorry was not a spoken word in the Solanki household. Whenever there was a disagreement in the house, it was assumed that everyone would just cool down and carry on being civil to one another. In times past, any argument was just a distant memory less than 12 hours later.

  Now, however, Neela wasn’t sure what to expect when she returned home, car extracted from the carpark after paying the maximum daily rate. The relatives and bunny boy were gone, and Soorbhi and Daadi-ji were sitting in the kitchen watching PAL, while Rishi snored away in his chair by the French doors. The soap action, as usual, was alarmingly ridiculous. Looking at the faces of her mother and grandmother, Neela couldn’t believe how they lapped the stuff up. They were so entrenched in the plot they didn’t even notice Neela come in and stand behind them.

  While the wedding was taking place, another couple were arguing in the empty reception hall. Lohit’s cousin and his wife were discussing in loud voices how to get their hands on the inheritance, which would no longer be theirs because of the vows being exchanged nearby. The cousin, Navin, looked dramatically at his wife Ishika with a raised eyebrow, to accentuate the predicament they were in. A long speech followed, about how they needed to get rid of Lohit, how they were entitled to the family fortunes, and the deep painful past that the two of them had endured over the years. Ishika suddenly grabbed his arm and told him, with contorted facial expressions, that she had a plan.

  She then walked away again and she began to explain loudly that the only way to get their hands on the family fortune was to poison the mother of the groom. Then they would throw the blame for the situation on the newest addition to the family, Payal. She raised one of her eyebrows, both of which had been threaded so carefully that they curved into pointed arches (the true sign of a villain in an Indian soap).

  If he can’t choose a decent wife, it will make people think Lohit couldn’t handle the responsibilities of money, Ishika said pointedly. Husband and wife looked at each other while dramatic music played. Taken by the brilliance of the plan, and an unknown urge, they quickly came together, held hands and smiled, then immediately parted, deep in thought.

  Navin discussed in vague terms how they would get rid of Lohit and his new bride, while walking away again to the other side of the room. Looking at him while he faced the opposite way, his wife reminded him that this was the only way to secure the future of their unborn child. Nodding, her husband agreed.

  An entire conversation had taken place without either of them looking each other in the eye for more than two seconds.

  This evil cousin – who was he? This was the first time Neela had seen this Navin character, and boy was he hot. Even though many a housewife had no doubt fallen for Lohit – the handsome, clean-cut, good guy – there was just something about that evil cousin Navin that made Neela want to hop on the first plane to India.

  Then Soorbhi saw her and put a stop to the daydreaming.

  ‘What happened to you? Someone came here with your cousin. To meet you. Very good looking, and a dental technician.’

  Dental technician? With those teeth? The irony was too much for Neela and she started to laugh.

  ‘Has she gone crazy?’ Daadi-ji asked.

  ‘Well, crazed or not, tomorrow, you will do some jobs around the house tomorrow.’

  That got Neela’s attention. She hated housework. ‘You know I can’t touch that cleaning stuff, with my dermatitis.’ There hadn’t been a flare-up since she was four, but the memory of it usually scared her mother into paying the cleaner for another few hours, rather than risk Neela’s precious hands.

  ‘Okay, I need some shopping at Wembley. You can do that instead.’

  Even worse. It made her want to scream. Everything about shopping at Wembley was torture: the locals, the numerous relatives, the parking. Even though Harrow town centre was closer, Soorbhi still preferred the food from Wembley, and that explained the unnecessarily long expedition to gather stock every other day.

  ‘Can’t you do it?’

  ‘I have to take Daadi-j
i for her foot appointment. You know she needs her nails cutting by professionals. And her corn needs treating.’

  ‘I’ll need money for petrol,’ Neela said, realising there was no way out and that if she complained further, she might be pressed into taking Daadi-ji to the podiatrist and watching a procedure that would put her off eating for life.

  Soorbhi opened her purse and shoved a fiver in Neela’s hand. ‘There, that should do it. Enough for home and back.’

  ‘Thanks Mum,’ said Neela sarcastically, but PAL was back from the commercial break and no one was listening to her anymore.

  Sighing loudly, Neela dragged herself out into the hall, and upstairs to watch something decent on her own TV.

  Chapter Six

  THE NEXT DAY, NEELA DRESSED carefully in a pair of tight jeans, some shiny boots and a trendy maroon top. She might only be going to Wembley town centre to buy food for her mum, but looking less than perfect in such a place could ruin her social standing for months. Finally, she added a light jacket for modesty in case any elderly aunties looked down on her for not dressing properly. The place was frequented by insidious gossips, and it wouldn’t do to give cause for some story about a downturn in her father’s business, or worse, Neela letting herself go because she couldn’t find a man.

  ‘What do you need all this for, anyway?’ The shopping list her mother handed her was practically a novel.

  ‘Your cousin is coming again.’

  Oh no. ‘Not with that bunny boy, I hope?’

  ‘What? You mean the dentist. No, he is planning a trip to India. Apparently there is a girl there who will stay in when he comes to call.’

  Somehow, the technician had morphed into a dentist. Typical. If she was marrying him, he’d be a heart surgeon by the end of the week.