Chapter 5At ten to eight on the morning of the wedding, I phoned home. A certain amount of psyching up was necessary first; I needed to sound like someone cheerfully looking forward to a lovely day, not like a Titanic passenger who's just had a ghastly premonition and is about to embark anyway.
"Morning, Mum. Everything under control?"
"Yes, dear, fine. I'm just about to take Preeti breakfast in bed."
I now began working up to the devious point. "Varun's due any minute"I hope he hasn't overslept"he had some urgent work to do last night."
She played along like a lamb. "I do hope he won't be too tired to drive"men can get so impatient behind a wheel, especially when they're overworked."
"Men don't have a monopoly on impatience, Mum, and in any case he's not driving"I am." Here I managed to insert my porkie. "He wasn't a bit tired last night"we had a lovely seafood dinner before he had to dash. Gorgeous fruits de mer for two"langoustines, oysters, you name it."
"Well, you know what they say about oysters, dear."
I swear I almost saw her wink over the phone. "Yes, Mother"full of essential vitamins and minerals." And salmonella, if required. "Anyway, must go." I made a kissy noise into the phone. "Give my love to Dad and Preeti, see you later..."
With jittery hands, I checked my things. Suit on hanger, shoes, directions, spare tights, spare knickers in case I actually did wet myself, hot-brush, emergency suicide pills...
Quick, the loo.
Twenty minutes later Varun still hadn't shown up and all butterflies had long since flown from my stomach, leaving several dozen earthworms in their place. Huge, squirmy worms, all under instructions to make me puke from nerves.
"Where the hell is he?" I fumed, torn between wanting to a) throw up, and b) kill myself, in roughly equal proportions.
Clad in only a pair of Simpsons boxers, Ace poured himself a bowl of Rice Krispies. Alix was still asleep and therefore not hovering around in her nightie saying, "I told you it'd be a disaster." Although to be quite fair to her, she'd never have actually said it. She'd merely have thought it, while saying soothing things like, "Calm down"it'll be fine."
Ace said, "Don't panic"he'll show up."
That was what I was beginning to be afraid of. Compared to a gut full of worms that I wouldn't even be able to drown in vodka, dodgy-oyster runs suddenly seemed a sweetly restful option. "If he's not here in two minutes, I'm going."
Suddenly beset by craving, I glanced around. "Where are your fags? I could murder one."
"Sorry, Anni"I've run out."
"For God's sake.I can't rely on anybody" I went for another emergency pee, asking myself for the millionth time why I'd ever got into this.
When I emerged, Ace was standing by the living-room window. "A cab just pulled in," he called, with his mouth full. "Looks like Rent-a-Stud's here."
I could hardly bear to look.
Ever since waking at five-thirty, I'd had a male nightmare in my head. To give its full Latin name: Young-fogevus cravaticus, becoming rarer, but may still be seen in country pubs, where it emits distinctive, braying calls.
"Wotcher think?" Ace asked.
On the pavement was a back-view blur of beigey chinos and olivey polo shirt, paying the cabbie. It straightened up, turned around, and looked directly up at the window where Ace and I stood.
No cravat, thank God. "He'll do," I muttered. "And he bloody well ought to"he's costing enough."
With jittery hands, I grabbed my things. "If I get through the day without having to commit hara-kiri, I'll see you later."
"Ta-ta, Ananya. Have fun."
Ha bloody ha. I'd wrenched the door open almost before he'd rung the bell. "Where the hell have you been? I said eight!"
"I'm sorry"I overslept. It's only sixteen minutes past," he added, glancing at his watch.
"That's not the point" Close up, I saw a further reason for wobbly-throwing. "You haven't even shaved!"
"I'm sorry"I was going to give myself a quick electric job in the cab, but I hardly ever use the thing and the batteries were more or less dead. If you can stop for two minutes at a petrol station, I'll buy some." He added a decidedly wary smile and a hand. "Kabir Sharma."
He might well be wary: I was almost too cross to take it. "Not now you're not. You're Varun Raichand, bachelor of this parish. So for God's sake, let's go."
My newish black Clio was freshly washed for once, the inside hoovered, all Mars Bar wrappers removed from door compartments. And, as usual, other residents had parked about three inches from both bumpers.
"You're rather hemmed in," he observed, easing his seat to the long-leg position. "Want me to get out and help?"
"I'm perfectly capable, thank you."
As I turned my head for reversing purposes, I caught his eye. "Oh God. Your eyes are wrong. I swear I told my mother they were blue."
"Not much I can do about that, I'm afraid."
Eye color notwithstanding, a trickle of relief began to drown my worms. Once he'd had a shave he'd definitely do; mother-pleasing potential was certainly present. And Shreya-pissing-off potential, which was even more important. As Julia had said, he wasn't pinup stuff, exactly; there was something vaguely crooked about his nose and mouth, but not enough to make you think, My God, haven't you ever thought about plastic surgery?
The eyes were sort of browny green and went with his hair, which was indeed mid-brown and still damp from the wash. "She probably won't remember," I said, inching out of my space. "If she does, I'll just say I was ratso the first time we met." (Which I was, in a manner of speaking. I couldn't for the life of me remember what color the original Varun's eyes were.)
He made no comment, which instantly made me wonder whether he was thinking a) that I got ratso on a regular and dangerous basis, and b) that he might therefore end the day in a body bag. Or (perhaps more likely) whether he was recalling agency warnings, e.g.:
"... and she did seem a trifle neurotic"well, I daresay she must be if she's invented an other half, poor thing, so I do hope it won't be too much of a trial"I think I should warn you that some of them can turn into raging nymphos after three vodkas"they need very tactful handling. The trick is to appear sincerely flattered but terribly regretful that it's strictly against agency rules."
Just in case, I went on, very crisply, "Not that I'll be getting remotely ratso today. Quite apart from the driving, I'm going to need all my wits about me." After oozing out into the traffic, I headed round the corner to the Pop-In. "They should have your batteries. Would you get me a packet of, erm, wine gums?"
"Will do."
Damn it. What I'd actually meant to say was, "A packet of Silk Cut," but had chickened out.
While waiting, I tried to ignore my desiccated mouth and fed myself soothing platitudes instead: so far so good, could be worse, etc. In one respect he was exactly what I'd have chosen. I'd had to specify "tall""if you're five-ten-and-a-half in your heels you need an absolute minimum of six-foot. What I hadn't specified was "hefty enough to make me feel delicately slim by comparison." I mean, I really can't do with men whose thighs are thinner than my own.
In his absence I gave myself a quick facial check. Not too gruesome. Considering the amount of sleep I'd had, even my eyes didn't look too bad. My hair was a mess, but since I was going to shove it up later, I didn't care.
However, what amazed me for about the zillionth time was the fact that I looked like any reasonably together, grown-up type of person. People did think I was reasonably grown up and together. I'd often wondered how long I could keep the act up and what'd happen when I finally got found out.
I put the mirror away and watched "Varun" return. "Happy little bunny" was not how I'd describe his expression. It bore all the marks of a man wishing to God he were anywhere else, doing anything else, but nobly determined to grit his teeth and suffer.
That acid snapping had been a mistake; I needed him on my side. I sort-of smiled as he handed me the wine gums. "It's good of you to do this at such short notice. I hope you didn't have to come too far."
"Only about twenty minutes in the cab."
Nice voice, too: nothing nasal or irritating.
As I headed for the North Circular he finished his shave. "Not perfect," he observed, running a hand over the result. "If we have time to stop at the services, I'll buy a wet razor and do it properly."
"If we have time. The M6 can be a nightmare." Despite what I'd told Alix, I felt I had to say something. "I expect you're wondering what on earth makes a relatively sane woman invent a relationship."
"They told me you had to fob off a relentlessly questioning mother."
Now, Mum might get on my nerves now and then, but I didn't want him thinking she was a complete pain in the bum. "She was just concerned. I'm only doing this to keep her end up with the neighbors."
I told him about Shreya. I couldn't exactly see his face; I was just aware of it out of the corner of my eye. A certain little smile seemed to be busying itself around the side of his mouth.
Laughing, the bas***d.
Still, I couldn't altogether blame him. To somebody detached, the situation had all the makings of a first-class theatrical farce.
"If she's really that bad, why is your mother inviting her today?" he asked.
"Because they're supposed to be friends. Haven't you got any friends you can't stand?"
"They wouldn't be friends if I couldn't stand them. They'd be acquaintances."
Trust a man to apply irritating logic. "You know what I mean. She had to be invited, anyway. We were all invited to her daughter's wedding." Which was absolutely perfect, of course. Mum had valiantly smiled through it all, praying for a chance to do it even better, preferably in St. Paul's Cathedral with a heavenly choir thrown in.
The pretty little village church where Sarah had got hitched had been booked solid for ages but the Inn by the Beck was the next best thing, so everyone said. Quaintly pretty, it had a restaurant that got reasonable write-ups in the papers.
I nipped out past one of those dithery little old men whose head just reaches a position where he can peer over the wheel. He always wears a hat that makes his ears stick out and he always takes his little old wife to the shops on a Saturday morning, even though he's got the rest of the week to do it.
"Where did we meet?" he asked.
"At a party."
"How very conventional."
"I'm terribly sorry." I couldn't keep back a trace of acid here. "I'd prefer to have crash-landed my clapped-out old Cessna in your back garden and had you pull me from the wreckage, but unfortunately you were an impulse invention."
Since I hadn't intended this to be funny"I was far too wound up to be thinking of jokes"I was a tad taken aback when he laughed.
"Whose party was it?" he asked.
"Jess from work, but it wasn't the most scintillating do in the world." (Sorry, Jess.) "We escaped as soon as decently possible and went for a Thai dinner."
"It was instant sparks, then?"
"No, we were just starving"she'd only allowed four M&S nibbles per head."
He was quietly laughing again, but I didn't mind; some miserable bugger with zero sense of humor was the last thing I needed just now. "By the way, you were working last night," I told him. "Just in case my mother says she hopes you weren't too terribly late to bed. We had a seafood dinner first and you pigged out on oysters. It had to be something potentially dodgy in case you turned out to be a total creep and I had to send you home."
"I'm relieved to know I 'passed.' I wouldn't have liked to spend the entire weekend suffering from dodgy-oyster gut."
"You very nearly did. I was just about to go when you showed up."
"What sort of guy am I?" he asked. "Laid-back? Possessive? Any dark skeletons in the closet?"
"You're a Mr. Poppins among men," I told him. "Practically Perfect in Every Way." As we passed Ealing Common, the sun pushed the sullen clouds aside and cast a May-morning sparkle on everything.
Including me.
Maybe it had the makings of a reasonable day, after all. Preeti was going to look like a dream, Shreya's nose was going to be seriously out of joint, and Mum's cup was therefore going to run right over into the saucer, and probably onto the carpet, too.
Nothing could possibly go wrong.
At least that's what I was still telling myself for the next thirty seconds.
"I gather I'm a merchant banker," he went on. "Which outfit, and exactly what do I do in it?"
I'd been shoving this uncomfortable question to the back of the cupboard, so to speak, with everything else I preferred not to tackle, like coming-down hems. "I've never been specific, so maybe you'd better not be, either. If you say, 'Oh, I'm a fattish cat at Megabucks Inc.,' and one of the bridegroom's lot happen to be on the board, we're going to look just a bit silly. Maybe you'd better just look pained, say you never talk shop, and change the subject."
The glance he shot me might have said, "For crying out loud"if she's thought this through, I'm the Archangel Gabriel."
But he didn't say it, which was just as well, as it wouldn't have taken much for me to opt for dodgy-oyster gut, after all. He could nip out at the next set of lights, get a cab home, and congratulate himself on getting a sizable fee for doing sweet FA.
While I was dithering, he said, "Is it nerves, or do you always grip the steering wheel as if you'd like to kill it?"
"I'm just a bit wound up." I was also making a decision, if you could call throwing the ball into Fate's court a "decision." Another set of lights was coming up. If it turned red by the time I reached it, he had oyster gut. If not, the farce continued even unto Act III, when the drunken prat would appear, Shreya would smirk, and that cake-cutting knife would come in handy after all. I could even see the headline: wedding guest skewered to buffet table. "The bitch had it coming," says defiant killer Anita Kashyap.
The wretched light turned amber just as I was going through. I would have stopped, but some idiot was right behind me. Trust Fate to mess up something so simple; now I didn't know whether I should have stopped and slung him out or not. If Mum got life for Shreyacide, it wouldn't be my fault.
"If you don't mind my saying so," he said as I overtook a milk float, "I don't quite understand your strategy."
Could he really be that thick? He didn't look thick, but they could be brilliant at covering up. "If you told me what you didn't understand, maybe I'd be able to put you straight."
"Put it this way. If everything goes to plan and your mother gushes approval of Varun Raichand-Poppins, she might put even more pressure on you to bring him home."
I gave him a pitying look. "Do you really imagine I hadn't thought of that? She probably will."
"And then you'll be stuck in this situation all over again."
"No, I won't. I'll just tell her I've dumped you."
"On what grounds?"
"I'll think of something."
"I could save you the trouble. If I were"say"to get mildly drunk, flirt with the bridesmaids, and refer to one of your aged aunts as an old trout, your mother will tell you firmly that I'm not quite the thing and it's high time you got shot of me."
Not thick, just suffering from the usual male complaint of thinking he knew best. Of course it had always been a vain hope that any man likely to impress both Mum and Shreya Malhotra would just take the money, sit back meekly, and not imagine he could organize everything better himself.
I'm afraid I lapsed into sarcasm here. "Now why didn't I think of that? Perhaps you could pick your nose as well and offer my granny a spliff. Weren't you listening? The whole object of the exercise is for my mother to approve of you. Wildly. The second object is to brown off Shreya Malhotra."
"Ah, yes"I was forgetting the Malhotra factor."
"Besides which, there won't be any bridesmaids. So could you possibly just do as I ask and stop making 'helpful' suggestions?"
"What do you want me to call you?"
"Ananya will do. And it's Ananya with a YA, not an IA."
"Well, Ananya with a YA, if we've been an item for any length of time"how long is it, precisely?"
"Months. Long enough for me to start going right off you by next Tuesday lunchtime."
"Point taken, but if it's 'months,' I guess the odd term of endearment is in order. Love, sweetheart, darling"which do you prefer?"
Asking a total stranger to call you "darling" was positively embarrassing. "None of them sound right."
"Honey-pie, then? Piglet?"
The wretch had evidently taken a good look at my amply-filled Gap jeans and thought of the one endearment most likely to make me cringe. The thought of him calling me "Piglet" in front of assorted friends and relatives was almost enough to make me do a U-turn in the middle of the North Circular.
I eyed him with a modicum of resentment. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You think it's hilarious."
"I've spent more boring Saturdays, I have to admit."
If he put it like that, so had I.
"I'll stick to the odd 'darling,' if that's all right with you," he went on. "Safe and inoffensive."
As we approached the Hanger Lane Gyratory in fast-thickening traffic, I began to wonder whether I should "darling" him, too, or stick to "Varun."
I practiced in my head. "Darling, would you get me... ?" "Varun, be a love and get me another double V&T, would you?"
If only. It'd have to be straight tonic. Or Perrier. God, what a nightmare.
Needing a fix, I scrabbled in the door compartment for the wine gums. "Could you open them and pass me one? And help yourself, if you want."
"It's a bit early in the day for me."
Well, of course. Normal people don't stuff wine gums at barely nine o'clock. Even I wouldn't normally fancy them much before half-past. I held out my hand, to save him having to put it directly in my mouth. There's something distinctly intimate about a man putting sweets directly into your mouth and I didn't want him thinking I was contriving such intimacies.
Despite the worms, you see, my bloke-sussing antennae were still functioning. "Excuse us," they were saying roughly, "but he's actually rather fanciable, in case you hadn't noticed."
I didn't want to notice, so I switched my antennae off. Fancying a bloke I was paying was out of the question; he'd sense it and think I was desperate, after all. On the other hand, a fanciable man had his advantages. If this act was going to convince anybody there would have to be the odd arm around my waist, the odd little pat. If we kept a stiff, no-touch zone constantly between us, Mum would think we'd had a row.
At least I wouldn't have to steel myself.
He put a black wine gum into my hand. "Thank you," I said very nicely. "I'll have another one in ten minutes, if you don't mind."
There was a holdup already; we'd ground to a crawl. "You should be telling me all about Varun," he said. "Are my folks still alive, for a start?"
Trying to remember lies was a nightmare. "I think I said they'd retired to the Scottish Borders. You hardly ever see them, anyway."
Here I thought a little confession was in order. "To be honest, you've become such an incubus round my neck, I've gone right off you. All I can see, when I picture you, is a thrilled-with-himself, self-important prat who irritates the daylights out of me."
"No wonder you're going to dump me, then."
"It'll be a relief, I can tell you."
click it ...then you'll see chapter 1 will be on the skinny box ...Then you highlight chapter 1 and... paste the link top of "Chapter 1 " then just remove https:// but keep https://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=4622061&TPN=2 on the skinny box ...after that click OK.
