The Bollywood Breakup Agency Read online

  The obvious relief on Rishi’s face would have been funny in other circumstances, but it made Neela shiver at what would happen if he knew the truth. Why worry, she admonished herself. It wasn’t like they would go and take her to the doctor to have her checked.

  Suddenly, Daadi-ji and Soorbhi, who, it seemed, had been listening behind the swinging door of the kitchen, burst in wearing dressing gowns.

  ‘Oh God,’ Daadi-ji exclaimed. ‘A boyfriend. What will they say of me?’

  Neela looked over at her mother, whose face was set in a scowl.

  ‘We will call this Kiran up, there will be a marriage. It’s the only way to make it right. Stop worrying, all of you.’

  ‘I’ll do it first thing.’

  Neela noticed her grandmother looking at her. ‘Why is her face red like that?’

  ‘It’s this conversation. You lot are driving me crazy.’ Trust Daadi-ji to notice what her own father didn’t.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ her mother declared, busying herself in the kitchen.

  ‘Good idea,’ said her father.

  ‘It’s one in the morning,’ said Neela, but no one was listening to her. A marriage was on the cards, so food, and not booze, was the celebratory choice of the Solankis. And it didn’t help that she had been smoking, drinking, had stuffed herself with a chicken tikka wrap at the shisha place, and nearly thrown up on the car ride home.

  In an attempt to ignore the smell of frying onions, Neela grabbed the remote control and turned the TV on. Unsurprisingly, PAL was on. It was always on.

  The lookalike Payal was still busy preparing breakfast while the men of the house got ready to go to work. Ishika did not have to help because she was many months pregnant, even though she still had her pre-pregnancy figure.

  The lookalike Payal presented a huge tray of cereals, idli rice cakes, dhal, dosa pancakes, toast and three jugs of tea to the family, who were now all sitting at the table. They looked up at her and smiled, the camera panning over their contented faces. The new daughter-in-law was settling in well with her new family.

  The mother-in-law, Mummy-ji, stood up to help. All of a sudden she appeared faint and became unsteady on her feet. The rest of the family stood and stared in horror at what was happening in front of them. The camera panned and zoomed into each of their horrified faces. Mummy-ji was getting more and more dizzy, she grabbed her forehead and swayed. Then, she dropped carefully, fainting, to the floor. Luckily the chair that she had stood up from was now a little way across the room, so that she did not bang her head as she collapsed.

  Her family continued to stare at her on the floor, unable to comprehend what had happened to the invincible matriarch.

  ‘Boring,’ Neela announced, as a huge curry and rice dish was placed in front of her. Navin was hardly in the episode, so there wasn’t much reason to watch it, in Neela’s opinion.

  ‘You are saying my food is boring?’ Soorbhi looked insulted.

  ‘No, PAL.’

  Daadi-ji was tucking in happily. ‘You get used to it,’ she said, through a full mouth. ‘I have been watching for the whole five years.’

  It didn’t sound like a long time, but five years was an eternity for an Indian soap. Many were cancelled after a year or two because there was only so many times a person can be brought back from the dead; or the story thrown twenty years into the future, without the actors quitting, or ageing. The same actors, once they lost out on that soap, would be put into new shows and the whole charade would begin again.

  Somehow, the fact that Indian women watched the same plot revolving around different characters over a lifetime didn’t surprise Neela. They lived their lives in a similar manner: the same marriage ceremonies, same caterers, same professions, same cars and the same holidays. Neela couldn’t imagine how Daadi-ji didn’t look back and cry at the knowledge that she had wasted her life rotating between about ten activities.

  As they ate, the conversation moved back to Kiran. The plan was working, and Neela tried her best to play the loved up girlfriend as she pushed curry about on her plate.

  Rishi still wasn’t totally convinced. ‘How do I know what kind of man he is, how do I know that he doesn’t want just one thing?’

  ‘Because it’s been two years, Dad. If he wanted just that then he would have given up by now.’

  ‘But what about the family? You haven’t met them, have you? They could be anyone.’

  ‘The son went to university, how bad can they be?’ Neela knew that Rishi couldn’t understand why any person wouldn’t force their offspring into some form of university education.

  ‘Fine. Then you’ll bring him here,’ her father ordered.

  ‘What?’ Neela had rather naively assumed Rishi that would phone Kiran, discover his police cautions, yell, and that would be that.

  ‘And his family. We will see how things go from there.’

  ‘But don’t you want to find out more about him?’

  ‘That is why. If you love him, then we need to see if we can trust your opinion. First we look, then we talk.’

  ‘It is so romantic,’ Daadi-ji declared. ‘Like a Bollywood film.’

  ‘Yes Daadi-ji, but without the dancing, singing and cast of thousands.’ Not yet, that was.

  ‘Don’t be rude, Neela.’ But Soorbhi was smiling as she admonished her daughter.

  Sighing deeply, Neela apologised, kissed everyone goodnight and dragged herself off to bed. So far this breakup agency idea of V’s wasn’t quite panning out as they’d hoped. First, Neela’s great plan to get rid of Girish had backfired spectacularly (although it was hardly her fault Mr Patel’s bowels had previous form, was it?); and now she had actually got herself into a marriage she didn’t want.

  Pulling out her expensive cleanser (it was almost empty, like the shampoo), Neela observed the skin up close. It was looking dull. The stress was showing. Well, the way to deal with stress was to take action. First thing in the morning she was going to start taking it all this marriage stuff seriously. She’d deal with Girish and that Jai’s Rupali, plus somehow betray an incriminating detail about Kiran’s past so that her dad’s antenna for dodgy dealings was alerted. It couldn’t be that difficult to make her business work, could it?

  Neela hoped not, because the way things were going, she was going to have to pay for her own clothes and her car for some time to come.

  And quite possibly her own home, as well.

  Chapter Twelve

  V WAS SITTING AT HER DESK at work, staring at the phone. Come on, she willed herself. Just do it. Ring him and start scaring him! Problem was, V wasn’t exactly sure how to act like she loved anyone, let alone a person whose toenail biting habits now featured heavily in her nightmares. Come on. A few fake words were better than a lifetime trying to avoid looking at her husband in case he had his foot in his mouth. And, Oh God, he would probably want to kiss her with that mouth!

  Snatching up the handset, she quickly dialled Girish’s mobile.

  ‘Hi Girish, how are you?’ she said in her best, whiney voice.

  ‘Just had a huge breakfast, waiting for Dad to get out of the toilet.’

  V felt her own breakfast stir in her stomach. Why did these people have to be so repulsive?

  Carry on. You can do it!

  ‘I just thought I’d ring to say how much I missed you. Do you miss me?’

  There was no answer.

  ‘Girish?’

  Suddenly there was the sound of a slamming door, and the noise of water trickling.

  ‘Girish?’

  ‘Sorry,’ his voice sounded strained. ‘Just had to put the phone down while I undid my trousers. Needed to get into the toilet before Mum. She goes in, never comes out.’

  He was speaking to her . . . whilst in the toilet? V was speechless.

  ‘You there? I can talk for at least ten minutes–‘

  She hung up.

  Then put her head on her desk and waited for it to stop spinning.

  *

  Rupali Vyas cou
ld not wait for her wedding. Jai Sharma was everything she’d ever hoped for in a man. She spent every moment thinking of him, and sent plenty of cheeky messages to him, because she was sure he felt the same. It was wonderful that life had brought Jai to her. An arranged marriage was always on the cards, and the way Rupali looked, she had been able to take her pick of suitors. Not like her friends, who were constantly eyeing guys up in bars and clubs and getting rejected. No, she was an old-fashioned girl, and now that she had found her ideal man, she would do everything in her power to keep him.

  When she got home that day, finishing work at the boutique early because it was a special night, the house was in darkness. Undaunted, Rupali began preparing the nightly meal, sure that her parents, younger sister and elder brother were on their way home. They wouldn’t miss this evening for anything. It was the night Jai and his family would come over, and take one last look at the wedding invitations, before they went out and distributed them.

  As the curry bubbled, all Rupali could think about was the handsome, wealthy Jai, and what life would be like after she was married. Her parents had been together for over 40 years, happily sharing every part of their life together, and Rupali envisaged a similar existence for her and Jai. Night after night cuddled up on the sofa; holidays spent with family in India, and others in a beautiful exotic location on anniversaries; Saturday nights with her parents and cousins. It would all be wonderful.

  As she prepared the dhal mixture, some niggling doubts poked at her, but she chose to ignore them. The way that he had spoken to her the other night, that was probably just stress. The girls she had heard in the background, just loose females trying their luck. Why would Jai want anyone knowing that he had Rupali? He’d told her parents she was the best looking girl he’d ever seen, hadn’t he? Why would he be searching for something more?

  No, everyone has bad days. Sometimes even people unbelievably in love can say cross words. It doesn’t mean anything.

  So Rupali stirred, chopped and kneaded dough, and finally, her sister and mother arrived and helped her finish off the feast.

  Her father appeared with the huge stack of invitations. Rupali was the first of her cousins to get married, so a huge affair was planned, with every ceremony available to them initiated on with little regard as to cost.

  There were so many gold envelopes that Rupali was worried she wouldn’t remember the names. She picked the first off the top of the pile.

  ‘I don’t even know who that is,’ Rupali protested.

  ‘They invited us to their son’s wedding before you were born,’ her father said. ‘We have to invite them.’

  ‘But I’ve never even met them.’

  ‘This isn’t about you.’

  ‘Of course it is. It’s my wedding.’

  ‘Rupali,’ her mum said gently. ‘Weddings are more about family of the couple than the bride and groom. We have to invite everyone who has ever invited us to their weddings – otherwise it will make us look bad. And it’s not like they will all come anyway.’

  ‘So why waste paper on them?’

  ‘It’s the fact that we invited them that is important.’

  Rupali realised this was just Lesson One in the etiquette of the Indian wedding. Sending out 500 invitations was not actually inviting people to the wedding. It was more like sending a community newsletter to boast that your child was getting married.

  Still stirring, Rupali smiled. What did it matter if there were five or 500 watching the nuptials? She was marrying the man of her dreams. That was all that mattered. Pulling her mobile phone out of the pocket of her apron, Rupali decided to tell Jai that, immediately, before she forgot. He loved hearing all her thoughts on the subject of marriage. He’d never said as much, but he was so thoughtful and quiet after she spoke, she knew that he appreciated every syllable.

  *

  Jai hung up the phone and longed to throw it against the wall, but was worried it would hit the professional photograph of himself in an ornate frame, which he’d had done in some over-priced studio for his twenty-fifth birthday. In a way, at least that would put a stop to the calls until he was forced to buy a new phone, but he couldn’t ruin his picture. This time Rupali was talking some rubbish about the number of people at their wedding – she wasn’t even making sense anymore. And couldn’t it wait? He was due to see her in less than an hour.

  Staring at his younger self, looking the business in a pinstripe suit, sunglasses, folded arms and straight face, Jai knew that he simply couldn’t take it much longer. At the time that photo was taken, he had the world at his feet and wouldn’t have contemplated sharing it with anyone. He felt the same again, now.

  Throwing down the phone in disgust, Jai wondered at the fact that Rupali was getting worse and worse. How was it possible to be so completely adoring of another human being? If he didn’t text back within 30 seconds, she would send another message. Then she would call. If he didn’t answer she would ring over and over again until, finally, he had to stop the noise and speak to her, if only to tell her to stop calling.

  He dialled Neela, the girl he had handed over 500 quid to, in order to de-arrange his disastrous union with Rupali. He hoped she wasn’t a scam merchant, but figured it was worth the risk. Rupali was turning up the heat, he was desperate and didn’t know what else to do.

  Besides, her business model could make her lots of cash. Two of his mates were waiting to see how effective she was in making Rupali vanish – if successful they would be signing up to get out of their own arranged marriages. Jai wondered idly if he should charge Neela a commission for referrals.

  The phone answered on the third ring.

  ‘Neela?’

  ‘Yes, who’s this?’

  ‘Jai, remember? From Bazaar.’

  ‘Oh hi. I’ve been working on a few ideas for you.’

  ‘Thank God, because if I don’t get rid of her, I won’t so much break up the marriage but break something over her head.’

  There was a pause. ‘What’s her family like?’

  ‘Rupali’s? Idealistic, like her. They believe everyone is intrinsically good.’ Jai smirked. How could people manage to survive with views like that?

  ‘We might be able to use that.’ Neela told him it might be worth capitalising on the fact that Brit-Asia was a small world. ‘There’s a good chance we can show Rupali what a player you are, simply by letting the gossip mill do its worst.’

  ‘I don’t get it?’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me Rupali’s birthday is coming up?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is she doing something for it.’

  ‘Yeah, she is going out with her friends, and she wants me to come along too. She wants to show me off, apparently.’ Jai shivered at the thought.

  ‘So you ask if you can invite some friends to it.’

  ‘My friends will be coming. Well, my best mates, my cousins. That’s what I told her.‘

  ‘No, I am talking about female friends.’

  ‘I don’t have many of those. The only women I know, apart from family, are girls that I’ve, well, you know–‘

  ‘Used and abused?’

  Jai wasn’t comfortable with the term, true as it was. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Invite them. Not directly. Get a mate to do it. Distance yourself.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your special friends, invite them to Rupali’s party.’

  ‘But they’ll tell everyone about me. There are a lot of slaggy one-night stands out there. I can think of a couple who are known to want my blood.’

  ‘Perfect. Once poor little Rupali sees what kind of scumbag she is hooking up with, the parents might think again. It’s one thing to have a past. It’s another to revel in it.’

  Jai didn’t appreciate being called a scumbag, but he couldn’t disagree that the idea wasn’t solid.

  ‘You think it will work?’

  ‘Depends on whether Rupali and her family want you, or a decent husband, doesn’t it?’

 
Agreeing to get right onto rounding up women who hated him, Jai hung up. If she wasn’t working for him, Jai might have thought more about the fair degree of distain in Neela’s tone towards him. As it was, he just figured she was being professional.

  *

  Neela had to admit that the off-the-cuff suggestion she’d made to Jai was genius. No woman likes to hear the love of their life has slept his way around London and quite a few of the surrounding counties, but Indian women – well, they were another matter entirely. It wasn’t so much about the guy. No Indian woman would tolerate the community talking about her, and marrying an indiscriminate shagger would get you talked about. Once the family came face to face with Jai’s past, his position as single and slutty should be restored within days, if not hours.

  Neela would have loved to see Jai’s exes slap him silly in front of family and friends, but unfortunately, for her, Rupali turned 27 on the same weekend as Seema and Nikhil’s wedding.

  God, how was Neela going to face that?

  The memory of what happened was still fresh in her parents’ minds – and like Jai hoped to be, she was the talk of the town. Better to stay at home in hiding, but the reality was that Neela would have the pleasure of bumping into the black teethed, fat oily freak again.

  But Nikhil and his entire family would never speak to her again, and in truth not turning up might yield more gossip mongering than not.

  Sighing, and throwing the empty cleanser bottle into the nearby bin, Neela wondered if the credit card might be released for her good behaviour in revealing a boyfriend she was willing to marry. Finding her mother watching yet another repeat of PAL – the woman was addicted – Neela asked if she could buy some toiletries.

  ‘With my credit card,’ she said, pointedly.

  ‘Of course, beti.’ All sweetness now, Soorbhi indicated the drawer in a bureau by the doors to the garden. ‘I’ll get your father to call the bank about it, after we’ve met Kiran and his family.’