Free Bollywood Babes by Narinder Dhami

in a very audible whisper to Dad that although she wasn't a patch on how she'd looked before, she wasn't bad at all. Meanwhile, all Auntie Rita wanted to know was if Baby had any potential as a Bollywood star.
    “People have told us that she's so beautiful, we ought to let her take a screen test,” she said with a tinkling laugh as Baby simpered beside her. “Of course, we'd never actually allow her to do it.”
    “Of course not,” Biji growled, tapping her stick sharply on the floor. “Actresses have no morals. No family values. No decent, respectable, clean-living girl would want to enter such a profession.”
    Molly looked Baby up and down. “In that case, I think she'd be perfect,” she said coolly.
    I'd had to leave the room so that I could laugh as noiselessly as possible in the kitchen. Geena and Jazz had joined me, gasping for breath. Even Dad and Auntie had struggled not to look amused.
    From that moment on, though, something about Molly Mahal slowly started to change. She didn't hide behind her scarf when new visitors arrived. Instead, she stared them full in the face, daring them to make comments about how much she'd changed. Once they'd looked into those eyes, many of them were too mesmerized to say a word. Or too scared. By the end of the long, tiring day, I had the feeling that she'd faced up to herself, and to the ordeal of all those curious, staring eyes, and she'd won through. Secretly I felt quite proud of her.
    But now, the next morning, we were back at square one. Molly Mahal was still here. We were no further forward in finding out what she was going to do, when she was planning to leave. She was still our responsibility.
    “You heard what Auntie said, Amber.” Geena nudged me. “Someone's got to talk to her.”
    “She didn't mean me,” I said in a low voice. I hoped she didn't because I had no intention of doing it. I'd never been so glad that Monday morning at school was looming ahead of me, science test and all.
    “She'll have to go
soon
,” said Jazz through a mouthful of toast. “No one could be so thick-skinned as to stay somewhere they're not wanted.”
    “They might if they haven't anywhere else to go,” I said.
    Jazz didn't reply. She looked a little ashamed of herself.
    At this moment, Dad rushed into the kitchen wearing his best pinstriped suit. He had two ties in his hand, one a deep crimson, the other pink with blue chevrons.
    “Which one looks best, do you think?” he asked anxiously, holding the ties up against his white shirt.
    “Dad, what's the matter with you?” Geena asked with amusement. “I thought you usually just put on the first tie you pick up.”
    Dad looked awkward. “I want to look my best for once.”
    “Why?” Jazz asked.
    “Oh, never mind that.” Auntie brandished a butter knife threateningly. “Johnny, we have to talk.”
    “We do?” Dad asked absently, weighing up the ties, one in each hand.
    Auntie sighed loudly. I put down my cereal spoon. This was going to be fun.
    “Of course we do,” said Auntie, looking exasperated. “About—you know.” She rolled her eyes upward. We could hear Molly moving around upstairs.
    Dad looked puzzled. “We have to talk about the ceiling?” he asked.
    “Someone's going to be assaulted with the butter knife very soon,” said Geena in a low voice.
    “Molly Mahal!” Auntie muttered savagely. “What are we going to
do
?”
    “Well”—Dad frowned—“nothing, for the moment.”
    “Nothing!” Auntie gasped in horror. Geena and Jazz groaned theatrically. I was staying out of it.
    “What
can
we do?” Dad pointed out, very reasonably, I thought. “After all, the girls invited her to stay—”
    “That's not quite true,” Geena broke in. She and Jazz eyed me with great bitterness.
    “Well, never mind.” Dad took a piece of toast. “Whatever happened, she's now our guest.”
    “But she can't stay here forever,” said Auntie plaintively.
    “Of course not,” Dad agreed. “But the girls want her