Unmarriageable(34)

A little over an hour later, as she neared the polo ground, Alys hoped Jena was having a good time. She wiped sweat off her forehead and stepped into the car park. Where was the car? Her eyes swept over the rows. Ajmer had parked by the turnstile entrance. She was sure of it.

‘Suno, bhai – listen, brother,’ she asked a driver leaning against a Civic, ‘have you seen a black Accord? A driver with a red moustache?’

The man shook his head. He called out to another driver, who informed Alys that the man she was referring to had driven away ages ago. In fact, right after she’d got out.

Alys stared. ‘Did he say where he was going?’

‘Not to me.’

‘Oh my God,’ Alys said to no one in particular. Hadn’t she told Ajmer to remain here? She had. Didn’t he know he was supposed to wait for her to return from her walk? He did. Maybe he went to buy some cigarettes. Or to the toilet. But why would he take the car to drive to a toilet when the park had public toilets?

Alys bit her thumb. Even if she caught a rickshaw and went home, she could hardly leave Jena stranded and frantic when she wouldn’t be able to find the car, or Ajmer. And Alys couldn’t call Jena once she got home, because she didn’t have the polo club’s phone number. She shook her head in frustration as she marched up the dust road towards the polo ground. She knew she looked a sight, with her hair plastered to her face, her sneakers caked with mud, armpit sweat stains, and no dupatta, because she didn’t believe in wearing one – men should avert their eyes from women, rather than women being forced to cover themselves – and oh, she must stink.

Still, Alys was taken aback at the degree of hush that fell over the polo-match spectators when she appeared. A solid block of designer sunglasses looked her up and down, saw she was not one of them, and turned back to the field.

Alys scanned the stand.

‘Excuse me,’ she finally said loudly, ‘I’m looking for Fahad, Humeria, and Sumeria Bingla.’

And who should rise, in culottes and a Swarovski-embellished cardigan, but Mrs Nadir Sheh – aka Fiede Fecker.

‘They’re in the clubhouse,’ Fiede said like a queen addressing a peasant. ‘You may enter from the back, or the front.’

Alys chose the front entrance. If the spectators wanted to gawk at her, then she would give them ample opportunity to do so. Past the stand, past the chairs, past sponsors’ banners, past overdressed youth, past oily uncles and grande dames with facelifts, until she arrived at the front entrance and went down the steps into a hall.

She immediately saw Jena. She was perched on a sofa, her bare foot resting on a stool. Bungles squatted beside her, holding an ice pack to her ankle. Hammy and Sammy hovered over them. Jaans was sipping from his liquor flask. Darsee towered over them all.

‘What happened?’ Alys said, hurrying to her sister.

Everyone turned at her voice. Relief flooded Jena’s face.

‘Alys! Babes! Oh my goodness,’ Hammy said, ‘are you all right? You look like a horse dragged you through a swamp.’

‘I was walking,’ Alys said. ‘In the park.’

‘Walking?’ Sammy said. ‘In the park? Without a dupatta?’

‘Jena,’ Alys said, ignoring them, ‘what happened to your ankle?’

As it turned out, a divot-stomping session and Jena in Qitty’s heels.

‘Her entire ankle turned,’ Bungles said, worry etched on his face. ‘She needs an X-ray. I went out a couple of times to look for your car in the car park but couldn’t find—’

‘Alys, where is our car?’ Jena managed to ask through her pain.

‘I don’t know,’ Alys said, baffled. ‘Ajmer is MIA. I hope he’s okay. Is there a phone here?’

‘I’ve been trying to call Uncle’s,’ Jena said. ‘Busy signal.’

Darsee took a flip phone out of his pocket and held it out to Alys. ‘Use this. Everyone should get one. Very convenient, especially in emergencies.’

Alys had seen a few people carrying them. Mrs Naheed had one. Alys had not used one before and looked at it for a moment.

‘Dial zero-four-two,’ Hammy said, ‘and then your home number.’

‘Hammy doesn’t have one yet,’ Jaans said, ‘but she knows all about it.’

‘You don’t have one either,’ Hammy snapped back.

‘I’m waiting for Sammy to buy me one.’

Sammy said, ‘Why don’t you go to work and earn it yourself?’

‘Oye,’ Jaans said, ‘don’t get too uppity or I’ll spank you.’

‘And I,’ Sammy said, ‘will withhold your pocket money.’

‘Anyone can make money,’ Jaans said. ‘Your company could go down the drain, baby, but my lineage will always remain. In this marriage, I contribute everlasting gains.’

‘You can take your lineage,’ Sammy said, ‘and shove it up your rear end.’

Jaans flushed. ‘You better not get fat. Ever.’

‘Fuck off, Mr Potato,’ Sammy said, jabbing her husband in his spare tyre.

‘If I’d known you were capable of such vulgarity, I would’ve never married you.’

‘You knew,’ Sammy said. ‘You need to stop drinking for two minutes in order to realise how lucky you are I married you.’