Unmarriageable(21)

Jena shook her head. ‘No designer. My tailor, Shawkat. He has a small shop in Dilipabad Bazaar.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The girl’s face fell for a second. ‘I’m Humeria Bingla – Hammy.’

‘And I’m Sumeria Bingla – Sammy,’ said the other girl. ‘Actually, Sumeria Bingla Riyasat. I’m married. Happily married.’

‘Jena Binat,’ Jena said. She proceeded to introduce Alys, Mari, and Sherry. Hammy turned to Sherry with a huge smile.

‘Are you Sherry Pupels from the Peshawar Pupels clan?’ she asked. ‘The politician’s wife?’

‘No,’ Sherry said. ‘I am Sherry Looclus from Dilipabad, born and bred.’

Alys would swear Hammy-Sammy’s noses curled once they realised that Sherry was not the VIP they’d mistaken her for.

‘Hi.’ It was the sweet-looking sandy-haired fellow.

‘And this,’ Hammy said, turning as if the interruption was preplanned, ‘is our baby brother, Bungles.’

‘Fahad Bingla,’ he said.

‘Bungles,’ Hammy said firmly. ‘Because, when we were children, he kept bungling up every game we’d play, right, Sammy?’

‘Right, Hammy,’ Sammy said.

‘And,’ Hammy said, ‘he’d still keep bungling up if Sammy and I didn’t keep him in check.’

Bungles laughed and shook his head. He held his hand out to Jena. Jena shook it and Bungles held on for a second too long. Jena blushed. Bungles shook hands with Alys and Sherry, but Mari wouldn’t shake his hand, because, she said, Islam forbade men and women touching.

‘Are you all very Islamic?’ Hammy said.

‘Clearly not,’ Alys said, a little annoyed, though she wasn’t sure whether it was at Mari’s self-righteous piety or Hammy’s supercilious tone. ‘Anyway, this is Pakistan. You’ve got very religious, religious, not so religious, and non-religious, though no one will admit the last out loud, since atheism is a crime punishable by death.’

‘What a font of knowledge you are, babes!’ Hammy said. ‘Isn’t she, Sammy?’

‘She is,’ Sammy said, as she turned to a stocky man lumbering towards her with a cup of chai. ‘All, this is my husband, Sultan “Jaans” Riyasat. He’s thinking about entering politics. Jaans, all.’

Jaans gave a short wave before plopping into a nearby chair, his stiff shalwar puffing up around him. He patted the empty seat beside him. Sammy glided over, perching prettily, ignored the fact that Jaans was taking huge swigs from a pocket liquor flask. She proceeded to take elegant sips of her chai.

The out-of-town guests had come to Dilipabad to attend the mehndi ceremony tonight and the nikah ceremony the next day and were staying at the gymkhana.

‘So basically, babes, we’re bored,’ Hammy said. ‘We got into Dilipabad two days ago, because Nadir wanted to make sure everyone was here, but there’s literally nothing to do. We went to that thing this town calls a zoo, with its goat, sheep, camel, and peacock. And we went to the alligator farm and stared at alligators, who stared back at us, and I told them you can’t eat me but I’ll see you in Birkin. And Nadir and Fiede arranged for a hot-air-balloon tour over what amounted to villages and fields.’

‘The hot-air balloon sounds like fun,’ Alys said. ‘A bit of Oz in Dilipabad. You know, The Wizard of Oz?’

‘Babes, for real, it was all green and boring,’ Hammy said. ‘What do you locals do for fun in D-bad?’

‘We have three restaurants,’ Jena said. ‘And a recently opened bakery-cafe, High Chai.’

‘Oh dear God!’ Sammy said. ‘Fiede took us there yesterday.’

‘There was a hair in my cappuccino,’ Hammy said. ‘A long, disgusting hair.’

‘And the place smelt like wet dog,’ Sammy said.

‘We’ve been multiple times and everything was quite lovely,’ Jena said. ‘Nothing but the scent of freshly baked banana bread. And the staff wore hairnets and gloves.’

‘Oh my goodness, Jena!’ Hammy took Jena’s hand and stroked it as if she was speaking to a child. ‘The hair was bad enough, but the Muzak was some crackly throwback tape that played “Conga” and “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” on repeat. Get with it, D-bad. It’s the year 2000.’

Alys was suddenly offended on behalf of ‘D-bad’.

‘I’m sure the hair was an aberration,’ she said. ‘And you should have asked them to change the songs.’

‘Oh,’ Hammy said. ‘We abhor being a bother!’

‘Yes,’ Sammy said. ‘We’re guests. Passers-through. If you locals are happy with the state of things, why should we try to change anything? We can live without fun for a few days. Right, Hammy?’

‘Right, Sammy,’ Hammy said. ‘Boredom is a bore, not a killer.’

‘And what,’ Alys asked, ‘according to you constitutes fun?’

Before Hammy-Sammy could answer, Lady, Qitty, and the fine-eyed guy on the dance floor descended upon the group at the same time. Alys glanced at him. His eyes were intensely black, with thick lashes their mother always claimed were wasted on men, as was his jet-black hair, which fell neatly in a thick wave just below his ears. He was taller than Bungles and had broader shoulders. He frowned and glanced at his expensive watch, and Alys noted that he had sturdy forearms and nice strong hands. Lovely hands.