The Wedding Countdown Read Online Free PDF Page B

ji fixes me with a steely gaze. ‘Until now we have been very patient. Some family members feel we have been too patient and have allowed you to have your way far too much.’ He shrugs. ‘Maybe they are right? We postponed your marriage until the age of eighteen, then we allowed you to go to university and again we told Mutti that Subhi would have to wait. Everyone has been most accommodating, most understanding. Haven’t they?’
    ‘Yes, but–’
    ‘There are no buts, Amelia. Your mother and I have been very patient and very considerate. Don’t you think it is time you repaid us? That you took some responsibility and took a step towards the future?’
    I totally agree. Only my step was to London, not to Paki-flipping-stan and some random doctor husband.
    ‘Ahmed,’ my mother says softly. ‘This is a lot for Mills to take in. Slow down a little, eh? Give her some time to think about it.’
    Dad tugs at his beard, a gesture that speaks volumes about how tense he feels. If I had a beard believe me I’d be tugging it too. ‘It’s the best decision and besides, I’ve already spoken to Mutti.’
    I feel giddy with horror. If Daddy- ji has given his word then I’ve had it. Once a Pakistani man gives his shaadi word it’s a done deal.
    ‘Let Mills and I speak together, Ahmed,’ Mum suggests, sensing my terror and squeezing my hand. ‘We need to have a girl talk.’
    At the mention of emotional female chat, Daddy- ji , like males the world over, can’t get away quickly enough. Making an excuse about needing to check his emails he slopes off to his office, where Mummy- ji and I know he’ll spend the next couple of hours watching Pakistan thrash England in the cricket. While I sit and try to fight rising hysteria Mummy- ji proves she’s well integrated into British culture by making more chai to smooth the crisis. Tea? That’s like using a Band Aid to close open-heart surgery. I gnaw at my nails and consider my options.
    They appear to be limited:
1. Conform and do what they ask. Not very appealing.
2. Run away to a different planet.
3. Threaten suicide – making certain that I replace the paracetamols with Smints in case the olds call my bluff.
4. Plead insanity and gain lifetime membership to the local loony bin.
5. Simply say no and wait for World War Three to break out.
    There’s nothing for it but to call upon my marvellous late-night plan of action, which I must admit doesn’t look quite so marvellous in the cold light of day. But desperate times call for (very) desperate measures. I know my dad is stubborn and won’t take too kindly to his very single daughter postponing marriage yet again and moving to London, but that’s what I am going to do. Daddy- ji isn’t the only one in this family who can be bloody-minded.
    Project Mummy- ji it is.
     

Chapter 4
    When I was younger it was always the case that if Daddy- ji turned us down for something, like cash or an extension to curfew time, we would rarely ask him again upfront. No way. We Ali kids soon learned a more cunning and subtle approach could have the desired effect. Leaving our dad blissfully ignorant in his study, we would go and find Mummy- ji . After our OTT display of histrionics/begging/pleading she would eventually crack. Fizz figured out this was a particularly effective technique if applied at the time that Mummy- ji's favourite Indian drama was about to start. Before long she’d promise faithfully to have a word with our father, who, nine times out of ten, would relent.
    When I was a kid I used to wonder quite how my mum’s secret powers of persuasion worked, but I’m too scared to ask now. Put it this way, they’re the only elderly couple in our large extended family that still have a double bed!
    Anyway, the point is what worked five years ago must surely still work now? All I have to do is get Mum on my side.
    OK. I said my marvellous midnight plan may not be quite as marvellous as I first thought; it’s all I have. If Daddy- ji