Free Bindi Babes by Narinder Dhami Page A

stunned.
    “I don't believe it,” I muttered. “Now she's interfering in the neighbors' lives as well as ours.”
    “She's so
nosy
,” Jazz said. “Why can't she mind her own business?”
    “Because she just has to interfere, wherever she goes,” Geena snapped. “She's a professional nosy parker.”
    We were furious. None of us wanted to point out that maybe it was a good thing for Mr. Attwal and his customers that Auntie had interfered. She shouldn't have interfered
at all
.
    “She's obviously not satisfied with running
our
lives,” I said moodily. I walked along the gutter, kicking an empty Coke can. “She's branching out into the whole community.”
    “Amber, look out!” Geena grabbed my arm and hauled me onto the pavement. A millisecond later the paperboy cycled past like a demon. He was grinning all over his face.
    “I'm going to
kill
him,” I said through my teeth. I was totally fed up, and someone was going to suffer. The paperboy seemed like the perfect victim.
    I threw my bag at Geena and raced after him. He hurled the evening newspaper first into our porch, and then into Mrs. Macey's. But before I could even get near him, he stood up on the pedals and cycled off.
    Suddenly, Mrs. Macey's front door flew open. She stood there, red in the face, and she shook her fist at the paperboy's back. I've never actually
seen
anyone do that before.
    Then she noticed me panting at our gate. She glared at me, muttered something about us all being the same, went back in and slammed the door.
    “Miserable old bag,” I muttered. It was obvious what she meant, about us all being the same. Obvious, because the paperboy was black.
    Geena and Jazz joined me.
    “What is her problem?” Jazz asked.
    I shrugged. It wasn't worth worrying about. We'd always suspected Mrs. Macey didn't like us because we were Indian. Now we knew for certain.
    When we let ourselves into the house, we could hear voices from the living room. Auntie and Mrs. Dhaliwal. Already. We hadn't expected things to move quite so fast.
    Mrs. Dhaliwal was sitting comfortably on the sofa. She had a cup of tea in one hand, and a biscuit in the other. Her file of marriage partners lay on her knees.
    “We've been waiting for you, girls,” Auntie declared easily. She didn't look cross or upset. If anything, she looked pink-cheeked and pleased. My heart lifted. Maybe she really did want to get married after all. Oh, this was going to be so easy.
    We each got a cup of tea and sat down. I wasn't quite sure how to bring up the subject of husbands. But as it turned out, I didn't need to.
    “Right, shall we get started then?” Mrs. Dhaliwal asked eagerly.
    “Yes, let's,” Auntie agreed, looking just as enthusiastic.
    I grinned at Geena and Jazz. None of us could believe it was going so well.
    “What about your brother, though?” Mrs. Dhaliwal frowned at Auntie. “Shouldn't we wait until he comes home?”
    I pulled a face at Geena and Jazz.
    “Oh, I don't think so.” Auntie glanced at us, as if she was looking for our support. “We're all modern, liberated women here. I'm sure my brother will back any decision we make.”
    “Absolutely, Auntie,” Geena said firmly. Jazz and I nodded.
    Mrs. Dhaliwal beamed. “Well, here we go.” She opened up the file, and pulled out a photo. “What kind of age range are we looking at? I suppose you don't want anyone too old?”
    “I'm not sure.” Auntie stroked her chin. “What do you think, Geena?”
    “Well, up to fifty would be all right,” Geena replied. She winked at us. I knew what she was thinking. We needed the widest possible range of husbands to choose from to make sure we found someone.
    Auntie raised her eyebrows. She looked a bit shocked, but all she said was “Well, if you're sure …”
    “Here's one.” Mrs. Dhaliwal passed the photo to Auntie. “Jagdev Singh. What do you think?”
    Auntie looked at the photo without comment, then passed it to Geena.
    “What's that big lump on the end of his