‘What if they’re married? Or say no? Or are gay now?’ Helen was still stalling.
‘Then choose someone else.’
Oh dear. It was going to be hard enough to find one person, let alone several. Who could she pick? Someone from school? That guy she snogged at an Ocean Colour Scene gig in the first year of university? She couldn’t even remember his name—Andy something? Not Peter, her nice-but-dull main ex, who she’d dated between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-five; he was happily married with four kids and working in Kent as a used-car salesman. And thinking over her other thin-on-the-ground exes, and knowing Ani’s high standards, she just hoped her friend would forgive her.
* * *
Ani.
‘You look so beautiful, dar-link!’
‘Auntie, I look like a drag queen. That’s an insult actually. They’d look much better.’
‘What is drag queen?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. You know what it means. Like Lily Savage.’ (Or Cousin Mehdi, she added to herself.) Her aunt Zhosi still pretended not to speak English properly, even though she’d been in the UK since she was twelve years old, fleeing Uganda with her parents and brother, Ani’s dad. And also with her second cousin, Ani’s mother. Yes, Ani’s parents were second cousins. Not first cousins—though, as she often felt like explaining, that wasn’t illegal in the UK—but still a little odd, something that made people look at her twice. It also meant family parties, where everyone was related to everyone else and with grudges that went all the way back to the turn of the last century, could be rather fraught.
Ani’s mother came in, glowing in a fuchsia sari and gold jewellery. She blinked at Ani. ‘That looks…different.’
‘Beautiful, no?’ Aunt Zhosi swept a hand to indicate Ani’s face.
‘Well, maybe we can tone down this eyeshadow a bit. You look like you’ve been in the boxing ring, Anisha.’
Ani sat glowering as they pawed at her face, her mother removing some of the fifteen layers of foundation, while her aunt defiantly stuck yet more jewels on Ani’s face. She just looked daft in traditional clothes. Her short hair clashed with her extravagant make-up and clothes, and the lime-green sari her aunt had picked out made her skin look washed out. She held herself all wrong, used to suits, so the fabric hung awkwardly and had to be fixed by the tutting hordes of aunties and cousins (often both in the same person).
‘Mum!’ The door flew open and a teenage girl stood there, hands on newly discovered hips, her turquoise sari hanging perfectly. She said breathily, ‘Mum, Manisha is well pissed off! She says they’ve like put the wrong colour flowers on the plates or something.’
Aunty Z threw up her hands and muttered something in Hindi. Ani assumed it translated as, ‘I have had it with this damn bridezilla, why didn’t I get her to elope?’ The girl, Ani’s cousin Pria—thirteen going on thirty—glanced at her. ‘Um, that colour is like, so not good on you?’
‘Who died and made you Gok Wan?’ snapped Ani.
‘Um, that, like, doesn’t even make sense?’
Ani’s mother chased Pria. ‘Go, go, help your mother. And spit out that chewing gum!’ She rested her hand on Ani’s head, on the vast concoction of clips Aunt Zhosi had stuck in. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart? You don’t wish it was you?’
‘What, getting trussed up and delivered to a man like a package? No thanks.’
Her mother reattached a failing-off rhinestone. ‘You know, I felt the same when my parents suggested I marry Daddy. I was a modern girl, at university—I didn’t want to marry my second cousin. How backward. But now look, we have you and your brothers, and we’ve grown closer each year.’ It was true—Ani’s parents were still sickeningly in love, even after thirty-five years.
‘I just don’t want to be someone’s Stepford wife, Mum. I’m too independent, it wouldn’t work.’
In reply, she got a glare. ‘Is that what you think I am?’ Ani’s mother was a cardiothoracic surgeon, head of her department.
‘No! I just… It’s a lot of pressure, you know. Find a man and quick, but make sure it’s the right man, so you don’t end up with a messy divorce or trapped in a horrible marriage. I don’t know how you get it right.’
Her mother watched her in the mirror. ‘Do you feel under pressure, sweetheart?’
‘Um…a bit. Like, Manisha’s three years younger than me and she’s getting hitched, and I don’t even have a boyfriend.’
‘We won’t push you into anything, Anisha. We aren’t going to take you to India and marry you off. As long as you’re happy. But you don’t seem happy. All this dating and meeting all these boys—do you even like any of them?’
‘Some. Now and again.’
‘Do you want to share your life with someone?’
Ani thought of her cousin, the year-long extravaganza of family parties, and the boys she’d seen with her parents for six months before, the frantic planning, the beauty regimes, the diets. Manisha, always Ani’s chubby cousin, beside whom she could stuff herself with sweets with impunity at family gatherings, had lost three stone and was now an irritating size eight who talked about nothing but ‘gluten free, innit’. This was only the engagement party and there were a thousand people coming. Of course, Ani didn’t want that. She sighed and said in a small voice: ‘Yes. But it has to be the right person. I have to be sure.’
Her mother’s hand stroked her forehead. It was cool, and smelled faintly of antiseptic, just like Ani always remembered. ‘Well, if you want, Daddy and I can make some enquiries. That’s all it would be, you know—we can just introduce you to some boys. No pressure.’
She put her hand over her mother’s, stilling it. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’m not saying no. Maybe you’d do a better job—I’m not really managing it myself. But not yet, OK? I have a date, anyway,’ she said, stretching the truth slightly. ‘Not from online. Friend of Helen’s.’ She didn’t know how to explain the Ex Factor. She’d have to find a way to hide Rosa’s paper when the article came out. Her parents always read it, wanting to support Ani’s friends.
‘Oh, good!’ Her mother was visibly cheered. ‘I’m sure he will be lovely. Helen’s such a nice girl. Daddy always calls her when he needs to fix the computer.’
And what kind of exes would she have? Ani hadn’t known Helen to even fancy anyone since that guy Ed, who had somehow ended up dating Marnie. She’d always been mystified as to why Helen wasn’t more annoyed about that. And who would Ani herself choose for Rosa, so vulnerable and broken? Why had she let herself in for such a mad idea? Ani shook her head, dislodging another three rhinestones.
* * *
The engagement party went by, as parties do. All that planning for a few hours of speeches and glitter. Despite herself, Ani enjoyed it, the music, the clapping, the smiles on the faces of her family, Manisha looking so pretty and so genuinely happy. As Ani sat, her feet aching in the gold heels Aunt Zhosi had forced on her, her grandmother (also her great-aunt, confusingly,) toddled over and pinched her cheek. ‘Good and plump! Such a healthy girl.’
Ani winced. ‘Hi, Bubs. Here, sit down.’ She pulled up a seat for the wiry little woman.
Her grandma shook her head. ‘No seats needed, thank you, I’m not dying. How about you, my Anisha? When will it be your turn? When will you meet a nice boy?’
‘Um, I don’t know, when the male population of London stops being such a bunch of useless babies?’ She thought fleetingly of the handsome barrister, Adam Robins. That was the kind of man she needed. Suave. Successful. Not on the rebound. Yet any time she met one she said something