The Wedding Countdown (31 page)

‘Her phone’s switched off.’

I take a deep breath. The thought of Fizz loose in London in her hipster jeans and corset top makes me feel ill. Bradford may be a big place but it’s a whole world away from the capital.

‘Don’t worry,’ I say with a certainty I don’t feel. ‘We’ll find her.’

Locating my bra beneath yesterday’s clothes I snap it on, shrug myself into a fleece and pull my hair into a ponytail. There’s no time for make-up. I’ll just have to hope I don’t scare any small children when I venture outside.

‘Go and find Nish,’ I tell Roma. ‘She might have seen her.’

Roma starts to cry. ‘I’ve tried that. Nish didn’t see her.’

‘I’ll give Raza a call. He can drive us around to see if we can find her.’

I speed-dial Raza, only to be put through to the Orange answerphone service. I try again. And again. And again.

This is ridiculous. At this rate I’ll be on the Orange Answerphone Woman’s Christmas card list. I leave Raza a quick message explaining the situation and flip the phone shut in annoyance. What’s the point of having an almost fiancé if he isn’t around when you need him?

I glance at my alarm clock. It’s almost midday and the twins’ train’s due to leave at two o’clock. What if Fizz gets mugged and can’t reach the station? Or what if she loses her Oyster Card and hasn’t got enough money to get to King’s Cross? Or what if–

Stop it,
saheli
!

‘Is everything OK?’ asks Nish, popping her head around the door.

‘Not really,’ I tell her. ‘Bloody Fizz has gone exploring. I bet she’s gone to PoppadRUm’s hotel to look for that idiot Wacky.’

‘Bollocks,’ says Nish.

‘Exactly. I need to look for her but I can’t get hold of Raza. Is Eve up yet? I thought she could drive me over to the hotel.’

‘Eve went into work this morning.’ Nish plops herself onto my bed, drawing her knees up under her chin and crinkling her forehead thoughtfully. ‘For the fifth Sunday in a row.’

‘Really?’ I’m shocked out of my Fizz-induced panic. Eve and work have always been polar opposites. If she put as much effort into her job as she normally does evading it, she’d be MD by now. ‘That Damien Oxley’s a real slave driver.’

‘Yeah,’ says Nish. ‘Or something like that. But she took her car.’

I scroll through my mobile’s phone book. Looks like I’m stuck.

‘What about Wish?’ Roma suggests.

‘I don’t think so. I’m not one of his favourite people at the moment.’

Nish snorts.

‘I’m not! He’s been really weird lately, Nish. He had a massive row with Raza last night too.’

‘Sod Raza. Where’s he when you need him? Call Wish.’

‘Please,
baj
,’ pleads Roma. ‘We’ve got to find her.’

I’m about to argue the toss but I’m so worried I put my issues with Wish aside and call him. Just as I expected he’s less than delighted to hear from me – my ear almost gets frostbite his voice is so cold – but when I explain what’s happened and that Raza’s phone’s off he thaws instantly and promises he’ll be over as quickly as he can.

‘He’ll be ten minutes,’ I say, ending the call and putting the phone on my dressing table. I pick up my make-up bag and pull out my favourite
Benefit
lip gloss. ‘He says Raza’s out so he’ll whiz me over to PoppadRUm’s hotel and if she’s not there we’ll head back to Oxford Street. Nish, would you be able to take Roma to King’s Cross? We’ll meet you there.’

‘Sure,’ says Nish. ‘But can I ask you something?’

Our eyes meet in the mirror. Nish’s are twinkling.

‘Why are you suddenly putting on make-up?’

Wish stands on the doorstep holding a motorcycle helmet. ‘Are you ready?’

Outside the sun is bright but the air is tart with chill. Although I’m wrapped up in my woollies I can’t help but shiver and wish that, like him, I was clad from head to toes in leathers.

‘Where’s the car?’ I peer across the square but there’s no sign of the Fiesta that Wish sometimes uses. Instead his motorbike is parked beneath one of the plane trees.

‘I came on the bike; it’s much quicker, especially if we’re going to beat the traffic.’

‘Oh,’ I’ve never been on a motorbike in my life.

‘So you’d better put this on.’ Wish hands me the helmet, which weighs a tonne. ‘Then we can get going.’

‘I’m not sure this is a good idea.’

‘Is that because of yesterday?’ Wish runs a hand through his hair. ‘Look, Mills, I should explain. Raza–’

‘Never mind that!’ I really can’t be bothered to start discussing the ins and outs of what is going on between them, not when my sister’s missing. ‘I’m not sure I can ride a motorbike.’

‘You don’t have to, silly!’ Wish smiles, the dimple playing hide-and-seek in his chin. ‘You’ll just sit pillion and hold onto me.’

Exactly. My parents would flip if they knew their eldest daughter was even thinking about getting on a motorbike, never mind wrapping her arms round the young man driving it.

‘I don’t know,’ I say nervously. ‘It isn’t appropriate.’

‘Mills,’ says Wish, ‘I don’t think they make halal motorbikes! We’re in broad daylight in the middle of London. There’s nothing improper about it, I promise. We need to find Fizz as quickly as we can.’

He’s right. What’s the worst of the two evils? Riding on a motorbike with Wish or abandoning my sister to the mean streets of London? And anyway, we’ll be going far too fast for Auntie Bee’s spies to catch us.

‘OK.’

‘Excellent!’ Wish’s mouth curls into a grin. ‘You’ll love it. There’s nothing better than the freedom of a bike.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ I say, ramming the helmet onto my head.

Wish puts on his own helmet and straddles the bike. ‘Hop on behind me and hold on to my waist.’

I clamber on and gingerly pluck at his leather jacket with my fingertips. Surely this won’t count?

‘Mills,’ says Wish from under his helmet, ‘I’m not trying to seduce you, I promise, but if you don’t hold on properly you’ll fall off. Put your arms around my waist, hold on tight and when we go round a corner make sure that you stay close to my body and lean over with me.’

‘Why?’ I’ve secretly decided I’ll keep a discreet gap between our bodies once we start to move. How hard can it be?

‘Because,’ says Wish patiently, ‘we’ll tip over otherwise.’

Oh. Maybe not then.

Wish turns a key and the bike roars beneath me like some angry beast that’s come to life. I cry out, flinging my arms around him as though my life depends upon it, all thoughts of
izzat
and auntie-
jis
forgotten. Wish opens up the throttle and the bike tears around the square before turning left onto the main road.

Oh. My. God. It feels like flying! I can’t believe how close I am to the road or how dangerously, exhilaratingly out of control I feel as Wish steers the bike through the lunchtime traffic, weaving in and out of the cars and then accelerating forwards. Once I get over the stomach-lurching sensation of leaning into corners and the sharp air slicing against my body I start to enjoy myself. I wrap my arms right around Wish’s waist and rest my head against his back. When we pull up outside the impressive hotel containing the penthouse suite Wacky was so keen to show me, I’m almost sorry to stop.

Wish kills the engine. ‘The Reynard Hotel. This is where all the movers and shakers like to stay.’

I stare at the imposing façade, the gleaming glass doors and the flags that ripple in the breeze, and feel anxious. Even the doorman looks intimidating.

‘It’s a bit quiet,’ Wish says. ‘I’d have expected scores of teenage fans outside waiting to see the band.’

My heart sinks. I don’t know what I was hoping for; Fizz outside waving at me, I guess, but it wasn’t this empty scenario complete with a grim-faced doorman heading straight for us.

‘Hey!’ says the doorman. ‘You can’t stop here. This is a designated area for hotel guests only.’

I take off my helmet so that I can talk to him without looking like Neil Armstrong. ‘We’re looking for somebody who might be with PoppadRUm. Is the band here?’

He fixes me with a steely gaze. ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that, Miss.’

Wish pulls off his helmet and shakes out his dark hair. ‘Come on, Sam! We’re desperate to find a young girl who may have run away to see the band.’

‘Mr Rahim!’ The doorman’s stony expression vanishes and is replaced by the most obsequious smile I’ve ever seen. ‘I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t recognise you. How are you? And your family? And Miss Vane, of course.’

‘Very well, thanks,’ Wish says. ‘Now, I know you shouldn’t really tell me, Sam, but is the band, PoppadRUm, still here? It’s really important.’

Sam looks over his shoulder. ‘I’m not really supposed to say but since it’s you, Mr Rahim, I don’t see it’s a problem. Friends of yours, are they?’

‘Something like that,’ says Wish.

Sam lowers his voice. ‘I hate to disappoint you, Sir, but they left at seven this morning. Apparently they had a private jet to catch from Northolt. The state of them too, they must have been up partying all night long.’

‘No fans?’ asks Wish. ‘No girls with them?’

Sam shakes his head. ‘It was just the band and their management. The fans left shortly afterwards. I can’t say I’m sorry to see them go, Mr Rahim; the noise was atrocious. And as for their language!’

‘I can imagine,’ Wish says sympathetically. ‘Thanks, Sam, you’ve been really helpful.’

‘It’s a pleasure to be of service, Sir,’ says Sam, touching the brim of his cap. ‘Will we be seeing you here anytime soon? Gordon Ramsay’s supposed to be opening a restaurant here next month.’

‘I don’t doubt it for a minute,’ smiles Wish. ‘My mother adores this Gordon. See you soon.’

Sometimes I forget Wish isn’t just a normal guy who eats noodles, rides a motorbike and works for
GupShup
. It comes as a shock to remember he comes from A-list aristocracy and was born with an entire canteen of silver spoons in his mouth. How many normal people are known to the staff of a top London hotel or have parents who are on close terms with celebrity chefs? The nearest Mummy-
ji
has ever come to that is when she cheats by using a Loyd Grossman cook-in sauce.

‘
Mr
Rahim,’ I say. ‘Aren’t you the dark horse?’

Wish flushes. ‘My parents go there a lot and I had my twenty-first there too, so lots of the staff know me, which was pretty lucky today.’

I had my twenty-first in our local Indian. It’s very good actually and one of Bradford’s best-kept secrets, but it doesn’t exactly compare to a top London hotel.

‘So,’ continues Wish, ‘we know Fizz isn’t with the band and never was, so that rules out one line of enquiry. Where else could she have gone?’

I was so relieved that Wacky hadn’t got his sticky paws on my sister that for a few blessed minutes my panic had subsided. But she’s still missing in a city, which suddenly seems full of murderers and rapists and muggers.

‘She was on about the new collection in Topshop.’

Wish starts the bike. ‘We’re only a few minutes away from Oxford Street.’

But after we’ve driven up and down Oxford Street for twenty minutes something happens that I never thought possible – I start to get sick of the sight of shops.

While Wish threads in and out of the red buses and the cars I cling on to him, all thoughts of propriety long gone, and crane my neck to scan the faces in the crowd. Once I think I see Fizz, her arms full of shopping, and I yell at Wish to stop, only to discover that I’m mistaken. The disappointment is horrible and I find I’m crying inside my helmet. I hope it doesn’t fill up. I’ll drown.

Actually I don't know what's worse, death by drowning or facing my parents’ wrath if Fizz remains AWOL.

After another fifteen or so minutes I’m crying so hard my nose and eyelids are in danger of sealing themselves shut. I hardly notice when Wish turns off Oxford Street and stops the bike.

He removes his helmet and twists around to pull mine off.

‘Oh Mills,’ Wish sighs. ‘I thought you were crying; I could feel you shaking. Please don’t. She’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.’

‘What if something awful has happened to her?’ I’m beyond caring he’ll see me with smeared mascara and a swollen nose. ‘I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘This isn’t your fault! This is Fizz’s doing. She’s seventeen, for Heaven’s sake.’

‘But she’s led such a sheltered life! She’s really innocent even though she pretends otherwise. She could really get herself into trouble.’

‘Please don’t cry.’ Wish gently wipes my tears away with a gloved thumb. ‘I can’t bear seeing you so upset. Look, it’s nearly half one and she’s clearly not here. Let’s head to the station and see if she’s there. I’m sure she will be.’

‘Are you?’ I stare into his eyes, seeing a small reflection of myself swimming in the inky pupils.

‘I’m sure,’ says Wish softly.

His gloved hand is still on my cheek. It’s tender and comforting. I ought to tell him not to but this is a friendly gesture and I feel totally at ease. It’s nothing like when Raza sometimes gets too close.

But then Wish and I are just friends, whereas Raza and I are moving towards marriage.

‘Right, helmet on.’ Wish breaks the spell and his hand leaves my cheek. I can still feel the place where his leather glove touched my skin. It’s all tingly and glowy. My fingers touch the same spot because I almost expect the skin to be hot and it’s quite a surprise to discover that, just like the rest of me, my face is icy.

Wish revs up the bike and I ram my helmet on again. As we race towards the station I hold him tightly, telling myself firmly that it’s only for safety’s sake. But there’s something comforting about being close to Wish. It’s as though I’m absorbing through osmosis his calm certainty that Fizz will appear safe and sound, and I hold him close all the way to King’s Cross, hoping and praying with every fibre of my being that my errant sister will turn up safe and sound.

‘No sign of her.’ Nish looks grim when we meet up with her. ‘We’ve circled the concourse at least twenty times and she’s not here.’

I have a horrible sensation all the blood is draining from my limbs. By the time Wish and I parked the motorbike and raced across the busy main road and into the station I’d convinced myself that Fizz would already be there, all defensive comments and teenage sulks.