The Wedding Countdown (29 page)

And I am too, of course. He couldn’t have made it clearer he’s serious about me if he’d stood on the dome of St Paul’s with a megaphone and announced it to the whole of London. I’ve almost forgotten about Caroline Moncrieff.

Almost.

‘He’s lush,’ Fizz had breathed, staring admiringly at Raza as he paid for her shopping. ‘And he’s got a nice bum.’

‘Fizz!’ Roma cried. ‘You can’t say that!’

‘Why not?’ Fizz said. ‘I’m just stating a fact; that’s one seriously nice arse! Isn’t it, Mills
baj
?’

Is it? I hadn’t noticed. I told myself firmly that my relationship with Raza was an adult one, based on common interests and values, not anything as shallow as liking his bum.

‘That’s not an appropriate comment, Fizz,’ I scolded.

Fizz pulled a face. ‘If you don’t appreciate how hot he is then you need your eyes tested!’

I do appreciate Raza, I decide as I wait impatiently for Fizz. I appreciate the many suitable husbandly qualities that he has. On my last visit home I told Mummy-
ji
a little about him and she was over the moon and relieved. Raza’s invited me to dinner next week and hinted that he has something important to talk about. Perhaps soon I’ll actually have something exciting to tell her?

‘Ten seconds, Fizz!’ I shout.

‘OK!’ The bathroom door bursts open and Fizz flies out into the hall. ‘Tra da! What do you think?’

What do I think? If my tongue hadn’t been frozen with shock I’d tell her I think she looks like an absolute slapper.

Fizz pirouettes across the landing, her hands on her swivelling hips, showing off her bare concave stomach and pierced navel. When did she get that done? Mummy-
ji
would have a fit! She’s poured into a tight corset-style top and her legs are encased in jeans so tight they could have been painted on. A pair of spike-heeled knee boots and a face full of Lily Savage-style make-up completes the look.

‘You can’t seriously think you’re going out dressed like that!’

‘Listen to Grandma.’ Fizz’s scarlet top lip curls into a sneer. ‘I could say the same to you.’ Her eyes sweep my body with contempt and suddenly my low-slung combats and long-sleeved tee shirt feel really frumpy. ‘I don’t know why you don’t just get a burka and be done with it.’

‘Fizz,’ gasps Roma. ‘Don’t be a bitch!’

‘Well, she’s such a boring old spinster,’ says Fizz. ‘I don’t know how Raza sticks it. Chill out, the olds are miles away!’

‘But our behaviour reflects on them!’

‘How does it?’ Fizz looks at me as though I’m crazy. ‘They’re in bloody Bradistan. You’re as bad as Roma. We’re here to have some fun!’ and she saunters through the front door, her bum wiggling suggestively in the tight jeans.

‘How long has she been like this?’ I ask Roma. ‘And don’t pretend it’s a recent development. Is she like this at home?’

‘Sometimes. She’s been sneaking out and pretending to be staying with friends. She hides her going-out clothes in her bag and changes once she’s left home.’

‘That old chestnut.’ I close my eyes in despair. ‘Roma, did it not occur to you that it may have been a good idea to let me know about this before you came to stay?’

‘She’s not normally this bad; she’s just really excited about seeing PoppadRUm.’

‘Give me some credit, Roma. She’s planned this, and as usual you’ve covered up for her. This is the last thing I need. I’m supposed to be working tonight.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on her,’ Roma promises. ‘Besides, Raza’s going to be with us. He’ll keep an eye on her too.’

For some reason this doesn’t make me feel much better, but I don’t have much choice, do I? I’m supposed to be interviewing PoppadRUm and unless I want to do some very awkward explaining to Nina Singh I’m going to have to hope Roma can keep Fizz under control until the interview is finished.

But I wouldn’t like to put money on it.

Wembley is heaving. Cars are gridlocked for miles and I’m starting to panic that I’m going to miss my interview slot. Unlike Fizz, who loves lording it over the teenage groupies by arriving in ostentatious fashion in the ridiculous stretch limo Raza’s hired, I’m very tempted to fling open the door and walk. I’m just on the brink of making a break for freedom when our chauffeur draws up at the entrance and we spill out onto the crowded pavement.

The atmosphere’s electric as crowds of excited teenagers press against the barriers and scream the names of their heroes. Cameras flash and a bevy of stars shimmy across the red carpet, stopping to wave at the press.

‘Allah-
ji
,’ I breathe, waving my VIP passes at a security guard. ‘This is crazy.’

‘Enjoy it.’ Raza flashes a white-toothed smile at the gathered press. ‘This is one of the perks of your job.’

Is it? My insides feel as though someone has pulled them out and dragged them over barbed wire, which is about as far from a perk as I can imagine. If it wasn’t for the fact that my future at
GupShup
probably depends upon the success of this interview, I’d have asked Irfan to cover it and packed the twins back off to Bradford instead. Even now I’m wondering if I’ve made the right decision. Watching Fizz twirl in front of the bemused photographers, every inch the wannabe Bollywood princess, her bare shoulders like scoops of chocolate ice cream and her rosebud lips pouting seductively, I feel a prickle of unease.

‘Don’t worry,’ murmurs Raza, following my gaze. ‘I won’t let her out of my sight.’

‘My parents will kill me if anything goes wrong.’

‘Relax. What can possibly happen to her if she’s with me? I’m more worried about those PoppadRUm boys not being able to keep their hands off my girl.’

I don’t think he’s got anything to worry about there but it’s sweet that Raza thinks there could be. Although the tabloids love to run scandalous stories about the PoppadRUm boys’ love lives, Fizz’s catty comment has well and truly put me in my place. I’ve piled my hair up with two green clips and accessorised them with a huge aquamarine ring and Raza’s emerald necklace, but unlike the teenaged hordes I’m not showing a taut tummy or half my cleavage.

‘Mills!’ Wish pushes his way through the crowds. ‘What a crush!’

‘I’m the veteran of at least fifty
shaadis
,’ I tell him. ‘Believe me, if you can survive auntie
-jis
stampeding for the buffet you can survive anything!’

Wish laughs and for a moment all hostilities are suspended, and I long to let him know that I want us to be friends again.

Sod it. I’m going to tell him.

‘Wish,’ I begin, but am interrupted by an Auntie-Bee-sized security guard telling us to make our way through to meet the band. My skin sizzles with frustration but Wish snaps instantly into professional mode and swings his camera bag up onto his shoulder. Trying hard to ignore the way his muscles ripple under his white tee shirt I follow, calling over my shoulder at Raza not to let Fizz out of sight, and hand my press pass to the guard. Then I’m through a door and into the interview room, where
PoppadRUm’s security men give us both the once-over and empty out our bags.

Finally we’re left alone to wait for the band. By now I’m so wound up I’m practically screwing myself into the ceiling. This is my first major interview and Nina wants a new take on the band, something fresh and original. I really hope I’m up to the job.

‘Mills,’ Wish says. ‘Chill. Take a deep breath and stop chewing those poor old nails. You’ll be fine.’

‘I hope I’m up to this.’

‘Everyone feels nervous the first time they interview famous people.’

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ he says firmly. ‘I was terrified the first time I had a major shoot. But what you need to remember is that underneath all the hype famous folk are just normal people. Take my parents: Dad’s never happier than when he’s gardening, and if you could only see Mum without her make-up!’

I think of the glamorous Ophelia West, who even in her fifties still has to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. With or without make-up.

‘But PoppadRUm are huge,’ I say. ‘Maybe Nina should have sent someone more experienced?’

‘They’re just normal guys. Under all that showbiz glamour they burp and fart just like the rest of us.’

‘Tell me you don’t have such revolting habits!’

Wish laughs. ‘I’m the one exception to that rule, obviously! But seriously Mills, you’re a great journalist. You have a way of winning people’s trust; they like you and they want to tell you things. Remember Aisha Khan? She told you things she’d never shared with anyone. She even contacted her mum thanks to you.’

I think back to that day, about the musty room and the half-light when the thick curtains were drawn to protect Aisha from prying eyes.

‘You were fantastic that day and you’ll be fantastic tonight,’ says Wish. ‘Have a little more confidence in yourself. Besides, I’ll be right here with you: you’re not on your own.’

I’m touched by his faith in me and I start to feel a bit better.

‘Hello!’ A trendy guy pokes his head around the door. ‘I’m Zak, the band’s publicist. Are you OK to start?’

‘Sure,’ I say, and to my surprise my voice isn’t squeaky with terror. ‘Let’s get going!’

And then it’s as though I’ve somehow meandered into a parallel universe, because the
PoppadRUm boys burst into the room like a testosterone bomb, all rippling muscles, washboard stomachs and such serious amounts of bling that I wish I’d worn shades. After Zak’s introduced us and I’ve got over the weird sensation of meeting in the flesh people that I’m more used to seeing on MTV, I turn on my voice recorder and get down to business.

PoppadRUm are real pros and to my delight the interview goes more smoothly than I could have ever hoped. The boys are so easy-going that after a few minutes I begin to enjoy myself.
Crap
, here I am with four of the most gorgeous guys imaginable and I’m being paid for it. Life doesn’t get much better than this!

I find myself relaxing as the boys natter away to me. They answer all my questions and although Zak vetoes my question about Wacky’s relationship with Roopa Roy, on the whole they’re surprisingly normal and more than happy to chat about personal stuff. Maybe I didn’t need to know that Pram likes to go commando or that Gorra had a back, sack and crack wax just before the interview, but I think our readers will enjoy these snippets.

Wacky talks the most and I find myself blushing when he starts asking me personal questions. If it wasn’t for the fact he’s an international pop star and I’m a nobody, I’d think he was flirting with me.

‘Never mind
his
love life,’ Wacky interrupts, when I ask Gorra about his split with a girlfriend. ‘I want to know about yours! Are you single?’

‘That’s totally irrelevant!’

‘It’s very relevant to me.’ Wacky leans forward. ‘Are you spoken for?’

Am I? I think about Raza, who’s been so kind to the twins and who is at this very minute minding Fizz for me.

‘Well?’ asks Wacky. ‘Are you?’

‘Come on, Mills,’ says Wish. ‘Put the man out of his misery. Are you?’

There’s ice in his voice that wasn’t there earlier.

‘I’m very much spoken for,’ I tell Wacky firmly. ‘And even if I wasn’t, I would never mix business with pleasure.’

‘Yeah, right,’ mutters Wish.

‘I wouldn’t.’ I glare at him. ‘I’ve got my professional and private
izzat
to think of
,
shukriya
very much.’

‘Maybe you ought to tell Raza that?’ snaps Wish.

‘Err, guys…’ Wacky clears his throat. ‘I hate to interrupt but you’re supposed to be interviewing
us
?’

‘Sorry!’ I must remember to wipe this spat from the  voice recording. ‘Tell me a bit more about the new single.’

But the other three lads are busy teasing Wacky.

‘Roopa Roy has serious competition,’ says Pram, digging Wacky in the ribs. ‘Better be careful mate or the word will get back to Mumbai. She’ll have your balls for earrings.’

Wacky shrugs. ‘It’s over with her, innit? This chick is way hotter.’

Wow! Not only am I rated above Miss India but I’ve also managed to land an exclusive! Wacky is officially single! Teenage girls across the globe will be jumping for joy.

‘You’re single?’

‘Sure am, baby.’ Wacky waggles his eyebrows at me. ‘Want to fill the vacancy?’

‘No she doesn’t,’ snaps Wish.

‘Guys, you’re on in ten!’ warns Zak. ‘Time to wrap this up.’

I nod. ‘Sure. Wish, do you need any more shots?’

Wacky winks at me. ‘It’s been fun. Mills can interview us anytime, can’t she guys?’

The band nod and agree, which makes me buzz with a sense of achievement. I’ve done it! My first ever successful celebrity interview!

‘Guys!’ screeches Zak. ‘You’ve got thousands of screaming fans waiting for you to perform.’

‘Chill man!’ Wacky jumps to his Reeboked feet and flashes a hundred-watt smile in my direction. ‘We’re on it! See you at the after-party, Mills, yeah?’

‘OK,’ I say. Why not?

‘Oh yeah, and you too,’ Wacky adds to Wish as an afterthought.

‘Good luck with the concert!’ I call after him.

‘Yeah,’ mutters Wish. ‘Break a leg. Please.’ And then he stalks out of the room without a backwards glance, leaving me open-mouthed.

Just what is his problem?

Angrily, I stuff my voice recorder into my shoulder bag. I’m through with Wish and his moods. Let him stomp off if he has to. I’ve got a concert to enjoy.

The concert rocks big-time. For two hours we clap and cheer, whoop and whistle and get jiggy with it. I have to restrain Fizz when she gets a tad overexcited and tries some raunchy hip-thrusting and belly-dance moves. Raza insists she behaved perfectly in my absence but I’m not convinced. After all, I know my sister.

Once the concert draws to a close, I find myself setting off for the PoppadRUm after-party with Raza, the excited twins and a reluctant Wish.

‘This is a really bad idea,’ he mutters as we all pile into the limo and head off to Pimlico for the party. ‘The PoppadRUm boys are notorious for partying hard.’

‘Relax,’ I say lightly. ‘We’ll be perfectly safe.’

‘Don’t worry, Wish; I can look after my girl,’ adds Raza.