Bollywood Babes Read Online Free PDF

from behind us.
    “Oh, shut up!” Auntie muttered, shoving the car into first gear and bumping over onto the curb.
    I wound the window down just as Baby came alongside. “Hello,” I said.
    Baby almost jumped out of both her skins. “Oh!” she gasped, sliding her leather jacket off her shoulder and clutching it to her exposed chest. “H-h-hi.”
    “Hello,
beti
.” Auntie turned to face me, looking sheepish. “I'll see you three later,” she mumbled. “Shall I come and pick you up?”
    “No, we'll get the train,” I said sternly, daring her to disagree. She didn't.
    Baby was looking puzzled. “Are you going to see Mum?” she asked Auntie. “Because she's not in. She's gone to the
gurdwara
.”
    I scrambled out of the car as fast as I could. I couldn't trust Baby not to open her big mouth and give the game away. And even if she found out she was our alibi, I still didn't trust her. She'd enjoy making fools of us.
    “No, Auntie's going home.” I stared hard at Baby. “And
we're
going shopping.”
    Baby stared at me in amazement. Then a sly, knowing smile spread across her pointy little face. “Oh,
I
get it!”
    “Bye, Auntie,” Geena and Jazz said, climbing out of the car. We all surrounded Baby, silently daring her to say a word.
    “See you later,” Auntie said. “Mind you don't catch a cold, Poonam.” And she drove off.
    Baby was smirking triumphantly in a way that made my hand itch to give her that good slap. She was going to get every bit of pleasure she could out of this situation.
    “You told Auntie you were going shopping with me, didn't you?” she chortled. “You owe me one, now. Boy, you
so
owe me.”
    We looked depressed. Baby would never let us forget this. She'd twist the knife until it hurt.
    “I bet you're going to meet
boys
,” she went on with glee.
    “We're not, actually,” I said with dignity.
    “We're not all boy mad,” Geena pointed out, tossing her hair around for the benefit of a good-looking guy loitering outside the Gap.
    “Anyway, why didn't Auntie Rita make you go to the
gurdwara
with her?” Jazz asked suspiciously.
    Baby suddenly didn't look quite so smug. “I wanted to go shopping instead,” she blustered.
    “On your own?” I said. Auntie Rita and Uncle Dave are just as strict as Auntie. Then it came to me. I grinned. “You told her you were meeting us, didn't you?”
    Baby looked shifty. “Don't be stupid.”
    Jazz, Geena and I started to laugh.
    “So now we're even,” Geena said.
    Red-faced, Baby flounced off down the street without even saying goodbye.
    “That's sorted her out,” I said with satisfaction. “Let's go. Geena, you must stop flinging your head around like that. You'll get whiplash.”
    I had found and printed a street map of Reading off the Internet the evening before. The street where we thought Molly Mahal lived was just about walkable from the town center. We set off, stopping every so often to check the street names.
    “I think we're close by,” I said after twenty-five minutes. We had stopped outside the Star of India. “I recognize this bit. Didn't Uncle Dave bring us to this restaurant a couple of times?”
    “Round the next corner,” Geena said, studying the map. “Then turn left and keep going.”
    The streets were getting dirtier and more depressing as we followed the map toward Rosamund Road.But strangely, the street names were becoming more and more exotic. We passed Jasmine Street, Carolina Street, Anastasia Close and Isabella Grove. Then we turned into Rosamund Road.
    “This is it,” I said. I pulled the copy of
Masala Express
from my bag and studied the picture. “There's the shop on the corner.”
    Geena and Jazz looked around doubtfully. The street was crammed with terraced houses, the kind where you step off the street straight through the front door. Some had huge satellite dishes fixed to the walls. There was litter blowing up and down the gutters, and rusty old cars double-parked all the way down both