Free Bindi Babes by Narinder Dhami Page B

nose?” Geena asked.
    I took a look.
    “That
is
his nose,” I said. The poor man was hideous.
    Jazz looked at the photo and shrieked with laughter, then had to turn it into a cough.
    “He's got a very good job,” Mrs. Dhaliwal said huffily. “He's an accountant.”
    “Yes, I'm sure he's very good at sniffing out taxscams,” Geena said solemnly. I don't know how she managed to keep a straight face.
    Mrs. Dhaliwal took out another photo, and handed it to Auntie. “What about this one?”
    “Yes, well …” Auntie didn't look impressed. “He's rather
large
, isn't he?”
    That was an understatement. This guy was huge.
    “Who ate all the samosas?” Jazz whispered in my ear. We both nearly burst, trying not to laugh.
    “What do you think, Geena?” Auntie asked.
    “Well, if you want my honest opinion, Auntie”— I could tell that Geena was starting to enjoy herself— “I really think that personality is
much
more important than looks.”
    “Very true.” Auntie nodded. “So he's a possibility then?”
    Geena smiled. “Oh, definitely.”
    “Now here's a good one,” Mrs. Dhaliwal said proudly. “He works at the BBC.”
    She forgot to mention that he also had no hair on his head, but a lot growing out of his nose. By this time Jazz was in such hysterics, she had to dash to the loo. I was only just managing to hold myself together by biting the inside of my mouth really hard. But Geena was going great guns.
    “He's got a kind face,” she remarked.
    “Oh, do you think so?” Auntie said doubtfully.
    “Personality, not looks, remember, Auntie,” Geena reminded her briskly.
    Over the next hour, we saw it all. Acne, warts, jug-ears, strange shapes and sizes. I was beginning to wonder if Mrs. Dhaliwal had any normal-looking people in her file.
    “Well, we have a few possibilities here,” Auntie announced, sifting through the photographs again.
    “If you're desperate,” I whispered in Jazz's ear. That set the two of us off again.
    “I'll have to speak to Geena's father first, before we can go any further,” Auntie went on. “Then we can meet the young man's family and discuss arrangements for the wedding. Of course, we'll have to wait until Geena's sixteen.”
    Jazz and I stopped laughing.
    “Excuse me?” Geena said faintly.
    Auntie looked surprised. “Well, you can't get married before you're sixteen, dear. That's the law here.”
    “Who said anything about me getting married?” Geena snarled.
    Auntie raised her eyebrows. “Well, isn't that what all this is about?”
    “
No
,” Geena said through her teeth. “
I'm
not getting married.”
    “Oh.” Auntie looked puzzled. I couldn't tell if it was genuine, or if she was faking it. “I thought that was why we were doing all this.”
    “No, of
course
it isn't—” Geena began furiously. I shot her a warning look, and she shut up. I wasn't sure if Auntie was on to us, or if she'd made a genuine mistake. We didn't want to give the game away.
    “Well, I'm glad we got that sorted out.” Auntie picked up our empty cups. “More tea, anyone?”
    And she went out.
    Mrs. Dhaliwal started packing the photos away, looking faintly disgruntled. I had to do something, and fast.
    “Did Auntie say anything about looking for a husband herself?” I asked hopefully.
    “Don't be silly, Amber.” Mrs. Dhaliwal wagged her finger at me. “How can your auntie get married? She has to look after the three of you. She hasn't got time for a husband at the moment.”
    So Auntie had even got Mrs. Dhaliwal on her side. But I wasn't going to give up. One way or another, we'd just have to find her a husband ourselves. And soon.

“L ook, anyone will do,” Geena said. “Come on, you must know
someone
.”
    Chelsea looked doubtful. “Well, there's our neighbor,” she said. “He lives on his own. But he's got a wooden leg.”
    “We're not fussy,” Jazz chimed in.
    “How old is he?” I asked.
    Chelsea screwed up her nose. “About sixty?” she guessed.
    “That's