Bindi Babes by Narinder Dhami

“And we can look after the tape recorder and the overhead projector, too, if you want.”
    “Oh, would you?” Ms. Woods looked pathetically relieved. “I know I can trust
you.”
    “No problem,” the three of us said together.
    “By the way,” Ms. Woods went on with manic desperation, “you don't happen to know any Buddhists, do you?”

    Ever since I could remember, we'd visited relatives on a Sunday, or they'd come to visit us. Last week Auntie had only just arrived so we'd stayed at home, but today we had a lot of calls to make because everyone wanted to see her.
    “Although God knows why,” Geena said. She eyed herself critically in Jazz's mirror. We were all wearing the latest suits from the sari shop, which were long, swirly skirts with a tight, short top and a floaty scarf. Mine was silver, Jazz's was pink and Geena's was lilac. Visiting the family was definitely an Indian clothes day. We could have given some of our elderly relatives a heart attack if we'd turned up in miniskirts.
    “This is our chance,” I said, sticking a silver bindi on my forehead. “We can get our own back.”
    “Ooh, how?” Jazz demanded, looking excited.
    “I don't know,” I said. “But we'll think of something.”
    Auntie and Dad were waiting for us in the car. Auntie looked all right, I suppose. She was wearing a purple sari with silver embroidery, and she had her hair up. I don't know why it annoyed me that she looked pretty, but it did.
    “Where are we going first, Dad?” Jazz asked, as he whizzed us onto the dual carriageway.
    “Uncle Davinder's,” Dad replied.
    We groaned. Uncle Davinder, or Uncle Dave as he liked us to call him, was Dad's cousin or something. No one had ever explained to us exactly who all our relations were because it was far too complicated. It was just possible that we weren't actually related at all. Anyway, Uncle Dave, who was a laugh, was married to Auntie Rita, who was a pain. They had four children—three boys, who were all right, and a girl called Poonam, who was known as Baby. That also annoyed me, because she was fifteen years old. She was a pain too.
    “Is Rita the same as ever?” Auntie asked. We were pulling up outside their six-bedroom detached house with landscaped gardens.
    Dad sighed. “Oh, yes.”
    “Oh dear.” Auntie's face fell as she got out of the car.
    “Rita,
darling
, how are you?” she gushed, as the front door opened. “My God, it's been
years
.”
    Uncle Dave and Auntie Rita rushed out and there was a lot of hugging. Uncle Dave is tall and thin andlikes slobbing around in kurta pajamas, but today Auntie Rita had forced him into a smart suit. He pinched my cheek hard, as usual, even though I tried to hide behind Geena.
    “Hello, Amber, how are you?” he said, beaming.
    “All right, but I might need a doctor,” I said, massaging my throbbing cheek.
    Uncle Dave roared with laughter, and attacked Jazz from the side, when she was least expecting it.
    “It's wonderful to see you.” Auntie Rita was overdressed, as usual. She wore a pink and purple sari, and gold everywhere, and her hair was hoisted into position and armored with about three cans of hair-spray. “Before we go inside, you must have a look at our new Mercedes.” She tucked her arm into Auntie's, and waved at the gleaming silver car sitting in the driveway. “It's got everything. Air-conditioning, a computer, a fridge. Even a mini-TV.”
    We all admired the car. Then we trooped into the house, where Auntie Rita pointed out the new curtains from Harrods and all the furniture they'd bought over the last six months.
    Baby was sitting with Biji, her gran, in the enormous living room. I forgot to say that Biji lives with Uncle Dave and Auntie Rita. I don't need to tell you anything about Biji. You'll see what she's like in about two seconds.
    “You've put on weight,” Biji remarked, giving Auntie a hug.
    “Thank you,” Auntie said dryly.
    “The boys have gone out, but you remember Baby.” Auntie