Tanvi’s house is glowing.
Dozens of candles in tiny clay pots line the driveway and windowsills. A cluster of candles on the front doorstep illuminates stencilled patterns chalked onto the concrete in vibrant shades of pink and blue and red. A foil banner with the words ‘Happy Diwali’ is stuck to the door. The party sounds like it’s already in full swing, belly laughter and traditional Bollywood music leaking through the open living-room window.
A wave of anxiety ripples through my body. I agreed to come so easily, but now I’m here I’m not so sure. Ever since I told Tanvi about Bonnie’s unnamed illness, she’s been remarkably restrained on the subject, occasionally asking how she is but not pushing me for any further details. What if her extended family is a little more probing? That’s not the thing that’s worrying me most though. Tanvi’s dad has insisted on driving me home after the party, and every time I think about us pulling up outside number 56, my stomach turns somersaults.
I check my phone: 6.35 p.m. No one has seen me yet. I could leave now, send Tanvi an apologetic text message complaining of period pains or a migraine. Before I can change my mind, I turn on my heel and head back down the driveway. I’ve almost reached the pavement when the volume from the house increases and a voice calls out my name.
Tanvi.
She’s standing in the open doorway wearing a shimmering turquoise sari.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she calls in a teasing voice.
‘I, er, dropped something,’ I improvise. I bend down and pick up a pebble, slipping it into my pocket before Tanvi can see what it is.
‘You coming in or what?’ she asks.
‘Course,’ I say, hurrying up the driveway.
‘Happy Diwali!’ she says, ushering me through the front door.
It’s only once I’m inside I’m able to take a proper look at her. In her glittering sari, gleaming black hair styled in glossy ringlets and eyes ringed with black kohl, making them look even bigger than usual, she looks like a glamorous stranger.
‘You look totally different,’ I say, slipping off my shoes.
‘I know!’ Tanvi says, fingering one of her curls. ‘My sister-in-law, Prisha, helped me get ready. She’s so ace. I can’t wait for you to meet her, for you to meet everyone actually! Come in, come in.
‘Mum! Ro’s here!’ she yells.
Tanvi’s mum emerges from the kitchen wearing an apron with ‘World’s Best Mum’ on it, over the top of a pink and gold sari. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s smiling broadly.
‘So good to see you again, Ro,’ she says, taking my hands in hers.
‘You too,’ I say. ‘Er, Happy Diwali.’
She beams. ‘Thank you, Ro. Now, let me take your coat.’
‘Yeah, before you boil to death,’ Tanvi adds. ‘Just to warn you, my grandparents are always cold, so when they come round we have to whack the heating up to sub-tropical temperatures to stop them from moaning. Honestly, prepare to sweat.’
‘Tanvi,’ her mum scolds. She’s smiling though.
I feel seriously underdressed in comparison to Tanvi and her mum in their beautiful saris and dramatic make-up – like a pigeon sandwiched between a pair of exotic birds. I kick myself for not asking about the dress code.
‘I’m sorry I’m not wearing something nicer,’ I whisper as Tanvi’s mum hangs my jacket on a peg in the downstairs toilet. I’m wearing my nicest pair of jeans and a black jumper. ‘I didn’t realize it was going to be so fancy.’
‘Don’t be dumb,’ Tanvi says. ‘I don’t care what you wear. I’m just happy you’re here. Unless …’ A mischievous grin spreads across her face.
‘Unless what?’ I ask.
Tanvi doesn’t answer, grabbing my hand and pulling me up the stairs, the gold bangles on her wrists jangling.
‘Prisha? Prisha, you still up here?’ Tanvi calls, pushing open her bedroom door.
A woman with the shiniest hair I have ever seen in real life is kneeling in front of Tanvi’s full-length mirror, applying mascara to her already ridiculously long lashes.
‘Well, hello,’ she says, lowering the mascara wand and sitting back on her heels. ‘You must be the famous Ro. I’m Prisha, Tanvi’s unofficial big sister.’ She twists round and extends an elegant hand for me to shake.
‘Hi,’ I say, trying not to feel intimidated.
Prisha turns her attention to Tanvi. ‘So, what’s up, monkey?’
‘I just wanted to ask you a teensy weensy favour,’ Tanvi says.
‘Here we go,’ Prisha says, laughing. ‘Come on then, what are you after?’
‘I was wondering if you had the time to do Ro’s hair and make-up too?’
My eyes widen with panic. ‘Don’t be mental,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m fine like this, really.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Prisha says, reaching for a bulging make-up bag. ‘I’m pretty sure I’ve got some colours that would work on you. Plus it means another half an hour without the kids in my face.’
‘Prisha’s studying to be a make-up artist,’ Tanvi says, flopping on the bed. ‘Her make-up collection is epic.’
‘Special effects make-up is what I’m really interested in though,’ Prisha says, removing the lid from a tube of lipstick and peering at it, then at me, one eye closed, then back at the lipstick again. ‘The gory stuff especially. Wounds and burns and lacerated flesh and all that. I might have gone a bit overboard in the realism stakes with the kids at Halloween last year though. No one would go near them, poor sods.’ She stands up. ‘Right, let’s get started.’ She twizzles a make-up brush between her fingers.
I hesitate. Apart from concealer on my spots and a bit of lip balm, I don’t wear make-up. The one time Melanie made me wear some, I looked like a clown.
‘I promise I don’t bite,’ Prisha says. ‘Grab me that headband, would you, Tanvi?’
Tanvi tosses Prisha a black elastic headband. Prisha slips it over my head to hold the hair off my face, by which time it feels too late to protest.
Prisha works quickly, calling out brisk instructions like ‘eyes closed’ and ‘look up’ as she applies various creams and powders and liquids to my face.
It all feels very strange, from the unexpectedly tickly texture of the make-up brushes against my skin, to the alien sensation of my eyebrows being tamed with some sort of gel.
‘They’re great, by the way,’ Prisha says.
‘Sorry?’
‘Your eyebrows. They’re fab. Cara Delevingne, eat your heart out.’
‘Um, thank you,’ I say. Until this moment I’m not sure I’ve ever given my eyebrows a second thought.
‘Just promise me you won’t pluck them,’ Prisha adds. ‘I plucked mine to obscurity when I was a teenager and I still regret it to this day. You OK with eyelash curlers?’
I have no idea but say yes anyway, hiding my alarm as best I can as Prisha clamps my lashes with what looks like a miniature medieval torture device.
From my position on the bed, I can’t see my reflection in the mirror so I have no idea what Prisha is actually doing, only that my face feels strange and almost heavy, like I’m wearing some sort of mask.
The whole time, Tanvi bounces about the room delivering enthusiastic updates on how I’m looking. All I can do is smile weakly.
‘I’m thinking we work with the natural wave in your hair,’ Prisha says, removing my hair from its plait and plugging in a pair of hair straighteners.
She sections up my hair, winding pieces around the barrel of the hair straighteners in turn. The waves feel warm against my neck. Once she’s done my entire head, Prisha sprays them for ages. The smell of hairspray reminds me of Bonnie. Quickly, I push the thought from my mind. I don’t want to think about home. Not tonight.
I hear Prisha set the can back down on Tanvi’s desk and open my eyes.
‘Can I look now?’ I ask, eyeing the mirror.
Prisha and Tanvi stand side by side in front of me, their arms folded, heads cocked to the left. Prisha glances at Tanvi.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ she asks.
A grin spreads across Tanvi’s face. ‘Yes!’ she says.
Prisha dashes out of the room.
‘What? Where has she gone?’ I ask Tanvi, but she just grins and tells me to ‘wait and see’.
Prisha returns about thirty seconds later with a heap of purple material embroidered with gold thread draped over her forearms.
‘Eeeeeeeeee!’ Tanvi cries, clasping her hands together in excitement. ‘It’s perfect! Ro, take your jeans off.’
‘What?’
‘Take your jeans off,’ she repeats. ‘Unless you’re planning to wear this over the top of them, which kind of might ruin the effect.’
The penny finally drops. ‘No way. I’ll look completely silly,’ I say, backing up against Tanvi’s wardrobe.
‘You’ll look amazing,’ Tanvi assures me.
‘But won’t people mind?’ I stammer. ‘What about your grandparents and stuff? I don’t want to offend them? I mean, I’m not a Hindu.’
Tanvi wrinkles her nose. ‘They won’t give a monkey’s. And if Kate Middleton can wear a sari, so can you.’
‘You’ve had your hair and make-up done,’ Prisha adds. ‘You may as well go the whole hog and dress the part too.’ She holds out the sari.
‘Do it, do it!’ Tanvi chants.
Prisha joins in and even though I’m terrified, I can’t help but laugh at their animated faces.
‘OK, OK!’ I say before I can change my mind.
Tanvi lets out a whoop, hands me the underskirt and matching blouse for the sari and ushers me to the bathroom to change, remembering just in time to duck in there ahead of me to cover the mirror with a towel.
‘No peeking!’ she says with a stern wag of the finger before leaving the room.
I shiver as I step out of my jeans and top and change into the underskirt and blouse. What am I doing? I’m supposed to be keeping my head down tonight, not playing dress-up. And yet, there’s something oddly thrilling about the swish of unfamiliar material against my legs and the weight of mascara on my lashes. I swallow my doubt and head back to the bedroom.
I’m surprised by just how long the sari itself takes to put on. Prisha’s brow is furrowed with deep concentration as she makes her way around my body, tucking and pleating and pinning, the expanse of material gradually getting shorter and shorter. My attempts at checking my reflection in the mirror are thwarted by Tanvi’s insistence that we do a ‘grand reveal’ at the very last moment.
‘Tanvi!’ a voice yells up the stairs.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she says, bolting out of the room and thundering down the stairs.
Prisha shakes her head and laughs. ‘That girl has enough energy to power an entire village, I swear.’
I nod in agreement. I swear I wouldn’t be surprised to discover Tanvi is half-human, half-Duracell bunny.
‘She talks about you loads, you know,’ Prisha says, as she continues to work on the sari.
‘She does?’ I ask doubtfully. I’m still baffled by why Tanvi seems to like me so much. We’re like chalk and cheese in almost every possible way.
‘Oh yeah,’ Prisha says. ‘It’s all Ro this and Ro that.’
‘Wow, sorry. That must be so boring for you.’
‘Not at all! It’s nice she’s found someone she gets on with so well. Especially after the few years she’s had. She’s still quite fragile under that cheerful facade of hers.’
My eyes fall on the picture of Tanvi in hospital looking frail but happy. They drift to the numerous photos of her and the girl with the nose piercing. I notice details I hadn’t registered the first time round – the dimple in the girl’s left cheek, the fact she has blue eyes, the mole next to her right eyebrow. The whole time, I’m asking myself the same question, over and over. Why isn’t she here tonight instead of me?
I glance down at Prisha. She must know who the girl in the photos is. I want to ask her about her, but I feel too shy and by the time I’ve plucked up the courage, Tanvi returns.
Five minutes later, I’m standing in the centre of the room with my eyes closed.
In unison, Tanvi and Prisha count down from three. I peel my eyes open one by one and look in the mirror.
I blink, my cheeks growing hot as I study my reflection.
Instead of its usual frizzy plait, my hair falls in smooth, glossy waves, and my complexion appears clear and even under the expertly applied layers of make-up. It’s the sari that makes the biggest difference though. My wardrobe consists almost entirely of black, grey and navy, clothes carefully selected to help me fade as far into the background as possible. The rich purple sari does the exact opposite and I have no idea how I feel about it.
‘Say something then!’ Tanvi says, shaking my arm. ‘Do you love it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say truthfully, still trying to get my head around the idea that the girl in the mirror is actually me. ‘I don’t usually wear make-up and stuff. And are you sure I don’t just look like a massive bar of Dairy Milk?’
‘No!’ Prisha and Tanvi cry, laughing.
‘You look fab-u-lous,’ Prisha says. ‘And I’m not just being biased.’
‘You look awesome,’ Tanvi adds. ‘And should basically wear nothing but purple from this day forward.’
In all the excitement, I realize I haven’t thanked Prisha.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘That was a lot of work.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ Prisha replies, patting me on the shoulder. ‘And no work at all. I have to say, you’re a much easier subject than this one’ – she jerks her head in Tanvi’s direction – ‘who’s a right fidgeter.’
‘Oi!’ Tanvi says.
Prisha blows her a kiss.
The doorbell downstairs rings and Tanvi lets out an excited squeal. ‘C’mon, I want to introduce you to everyone,’ she says, taking my hand. ‘Coming, Prisha?’
‘In a minute. I’m milking this downtime all I can get right now. Just don’t tell your brother.’ She winks and lies down on Tanvi’s bed, crossing her legs at the ankle, resting her hands on her stomach and closing her eyes.
‘Ready?’ Tanvi asks, tugging on my arm.
I’m not entirely sure, but I nod and follow anyway.