Beads, Boys and Bangles (22 page)

From the hotel, we can see a big, orange-coloured building on the horizon. Edie points to it.

‘That’s Agra Fort,’ she says. ‘We should go there at sunset. That’s where Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son so he could see the Taj Mahal and constantly be
reminded of his dead wife, but never visit her.’

What?

This
is the story that we’ve been begging Edie
not
to tell us? No wonder she’s been tearful with frustration that we didn’t want to hear. So we let her get it out of her system and she tells us about Shah Jahan’s beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal, dying while giving birth to their fourteenth child (so not just a teenage romance, then) and his plans for the most beautiful monument in history to house her (big success) and the feud with his son and imprisonment (not so good) and the reputation of the Taj Mahal as the world’s greatest monument to love. The few bits that aren’t marble are amethyst and sapphire and jade and crystal and turquoise. Like it wasn’t wow enough already.

Edie feels much better after that. We all feel weird, though. There’s a lot to think about. It certainly puts sweaty kisses and windy benches in their place.

Early next morning, we set out again. We feel like regular visitors now. This is our second day, after all. We make our way through the gatehouse and watch the familiar outline of the Taj appear through the pale grey haze, like a mirage. Crow has her notebook with her and gets busy sketching at last. Harry and I pause with Edie while the sun rises and the marble turns from blush pink to creamy white.

We imagine Shah Jahan watching it from his prison in
the Fort, still pining for Mumtaz Mahal. Then slowly we approach it, as he was forbidden to do until his son finally buried him there.

It seems different to me now that I know it’s a sort of love poem in marble. I make the mistake of trying to imagine some boy one day feeling about me this way. It’s so NEVER going to happen. Mumtaz Mahal gets a monument. I get frozen-faced, cold-fingered handshakes in Topshop. It’s a karma thing.

Harry has such a tinge of sadness to him today that I can almost hear the Russian folk songs in his head. Edie can’t be thinking about love – she’s never had a boyfriend for longer than four days – but there’s something about this place that appeals to her too. She’s probably working out the cubic capacity of the main onion dome. Or calculating the number of man-hours it took to build the place. Whatever.

Crow is in a world of her own. Several pages of her notebook are already covered in sketches. Yay! Something’s going on in that soul-singer head of hers, I can tell. She doesn’t talk to us but she isn’t ignoring us. She’s just thinking and she’s sort of forgotten we’re there.

B
y the time we get back to Mumbai, Crow has filled up both the notebooks she brought with her and is desperate for more paper. She’s even drawing in the margins of Edie’s Rudyard Kipling.

I’ve tried to get a look at what she’s doing, but for once she won’t show me. When I do eventually manage to get a brief glimpse, all I see is onion domes and filigree marble carving. Please please please may she
not
be thinking about architecture when I really need her to design a doable summer collection so I can keep my job. However, I don’t say anything. There’s no point rushing her. Her brain works at its own pace, in its own way. I just have to cross my fingers and hope.

We have two days left in Mumbai before our flight home. We’ve spent most of our money and couldn’t fit even another hair clip into our bulging suitcases, so serious shopping is out. Over breakfast, we agree that we’ll each
think of a cheap thing to do to fill in the time. Harry makes a list and works out a schedule for the day. He’s a lot more organised than he looks in his frayed tee-shirt, torn jeans and hair that should have been cut a month ago.

Ever since we got here, Edie has been dying to visit the Gateway to India, so that’s top of the list. Outside the hotel, the streets are hot and dusty. I wrap one of my new cotton scarves round my neck, à la Jenny, and clutch my bag close to me. Without Mrs Patil beside us, the city feels big and a bit scary and we realise just how new to it we are.

Immediately, several boys and young men come up to us. Do we need to change dollars for rupees? Do we need a guide? Would we like to be extras in a Bollywood movie? As we move forward, they stay clustered round us, shouting out and waving their arms. I get a brief feeling of what it must be like to be Sigrid Santorini or Joe Yule, if they make the mistake of stepping out without a bodyguard.

Luckily, the Gateway to India isn’t far away. It’s a big, old monument shaped, not surprisingly, like a gateway, and I might be more impressed if I hadn’t just seen the TAJ MAHAL. As it is, we spend about ten minutes looking at it before Harry, thankfully, ticks it off our list.

Now it’s Crow’s turn.

‘It says “beads” on the list,’ says Harry, with a question mark in his voice.

Crow looks apologetic. ‘I know it should be statues and things, but Mrs Patil said there was a bazaar where they sell every kind of bead and crystal you can think of. I’ve been wondering about it for ages. What if they’ve got types that you can’t get in London or Paris?’

Edie gives us her ‘not more shopping’ horrified expression, but Crow sounds so worried at the thought of never seeing this place that we can’t say no. Harry finds a taxi driver who seems to understand where we’re talking about, and after another hair-raising, beep-filled journey, we find ourselves in a part of town that’s the total opposite of the modern shopping malls – ancient and crumbly, dirty and smelly, and completely fascinating.

This isn’t a market for tourists. It’s where local people come to shop and they bustle past us, laden with bags and boxes, pausing just briefly to stare at the tall boy, the white girls in their scarves and the black girl with the pinwheels in her hair.

We wander around for ages in the dust and heat. There are shops everywhere we look, packed with everything from flip-flops to little statues of gods and goddesses. No bead shops, though. And whenever we ask people about them, they just try and guide us into
their
shops, which sell anything you can imagine
except
beads. So we say no to them, and everyone seems shocked and devastated that we’re not interested. I’ve never felt so guilty for
not
shopping before.

On we go, further in to the maze of alleyways, trying
not to admit to ourselves how lost we feel. Suddenly, we’re in a big sort-of courtyard with a concrete floor and a roof, and the most incredible smell my nose has ever encountered. Not in a good way. More of a thousand-mile loo sort of way, crossed with the kitchen bins at school. The place is full of animals, mostly in cages, not all of them alive. I’m not sure if they’re supposed to be pets or dinner. Or maybe both. Underneath our feet, the floor is wet. I keep trying not to look down, because I don’t think I want to know what I’m standing in. The animals are bleating and cheeping, barking and clucking. Edie, who can’t bear it if Jenny forgets to feed her cat, is looking distinctly queasy. Harry spots this and tries to get us out of here as quickly as possible.

And next thing we know, we’re in a quiet alley, feeling shocked and dizzy, and there’s a bead shop, right ahead of us, and another, and another. A whole lane of them. With another one leading off it. We’re in Bead Central. A man comes forward, beckoning us into his bead emporium. Finally, we can say yes and go inside. However, it’s been quite a journey to get here. For the first time in my life, I’m surrounded by trays of beautiful, colourful, irresistible beads and crystals and stones and I don’t want to buy the lot and make a thousand necklaces. I just want to sit down. So does Edie.

Crow is made of stronger stuff. She darts from tray to tray, choosing exactly what she wants and getting Harry to hold it all for her, piled high in baskets. Tiny red ones.

Huge gold ones. Multicoloured ones the size and shape of jelly beans. Sparkly blue-green ones the colour of peacock feathers.

Edie and I clutch each other for support, like the arches of the Taj Mahal. It’s the middle of the day and totally hot. We’re dusty, hungry and a bit overwhelmed. The owner notices how droopy we are and offers us tea. They don’t do
that
in Miss Teen. Edie’s about to say no, but I point out that the water is boiled, and she’s so tired and desperate that she finally gives in.

It’s the most delicious tea we’ve ever tasted. The owner magics us cushions to sit on from somewhere and we could probably stay there all day. Except that at this precise moment, Crow suddenly darts out of the shop without warning.

What happened?

Harry dumps the trays and chases after her. And we have to dump our cups in a hurry and follow them both before it’s too late.

We run fast down the alleyway, dodging cars, bikes, animals and people. We spot Harry going off to the right (lucky he’s so tall) and run fast after him. Edie’s much quicker than me. She hasn’t done five years of running club for nothing. I’m worried I’m never going to see any of them again. Then the stitch that started in my side about ten seconds after I set off finally feels like it’s cutting me in half and I have to stop.

I crouch down, panting and wondering what to do.

People step over and round me, as if I’m not there. I’m alone in the middle of a maze of shops, with no clue where to go or how to get there. I feel like I’m in one of my DS games, but without the option of quitting. Actually, I’d really like to quit just now. Instead, I have to stay where I am, telling myself it will all work out OK.

After a few minutes, Edie appears back round the corner. I’ve never been so glad to see her. She looks relieved too, and very dusty. She flops down beside me, panting, and offers me a drink of bottled water. For once, I’m grateful.

Then Harry and Crow return together, looking hot, tired and disappointed.

‘What was that about?’ I ask.

‘I saw something,’ Crow says. She grabs the water off us and takes a long drink.

‘What?’

‘The Svetlana dress.’

‘Seriously?’

Edie looks at us, bemused.

‘The Svetlana dress,’ I explain. ‘The gold embroidered dress Svetlana wore at the Miss Teen launch. It was the best piece of the collection. I mean, if you saw it at a party in New York you’d think, yeah, sure, she found it on eBay. But here? Who would wear it here?’

‘I saw it on a boy,’ Crow says, between sips of water. ‘He was in the bead shop, picking up a package. I only saw him for a moment. He was wearing the dress under an
old shirt, but I recognised it straight away. I had to follow him.’

See? Crow has super-vision. The boy could probably have worn it under a spacesuit and she would have spotted it. But why was he wearing it at all? How did he get hold of it?

‘Did you find him?’

Crow shrugs and Harry shakes his head.

‘There are so many alleyways here,’ Harry says. ‘He just disappeared.’

We spend half an hour wandering through the lanes, getting vaguely lost again and looking out for a boy in a dress. No joy.

In the taxi on the way back to the hotel, Edie says, ‘You know the pictures Alisha showed us of all the clothes being made in the factory?’

‘Ye-es,’ I say.

‘Do you remember seeing the Svetlana dress then?’

Come to think of it, I don’t. And it’s odd, because it was the star piece. The embroidery on it was incredible. The closest you can get to the sort of thing they’ve got on show at the V&A, but at a Miss Teen price point.

‘We could ask Mr Patil about it,’ I suggest.

Edie thinks for a minute, then shakes her head.

‘I should really talk to Phil first,’ she says.

I groan. She always needs to talk to Phil these days.

‘Phil?’ asks Harry.

‘He’s her internet friend,’ Crow explains. Then she and Harry exchange glances and Edie goes pink and nobody says anything for the rest of the journey back to the hotel.

‘
W
hat does he say?’

It’s late. Edie is back on her laptop, updating her blog about Culturally Significant Sites in Mumbai and messaging Phil about the boy in the dress.