The Unlikely Adventures of the Shergill Sisters Read online

  “I understand exactly what Davina wants,” Anil was saying. As Rajni tipped the scraps into the bin, she had an uninvited image of her son tumbling around in bed with an experienced woman. Stop it, she ordered her mind. She looked around the kitchen for something, anything, to focus on. There was a leaflet on the counter from the Jehovah’s Witnesses who came by yesterday evening. They were such a bother but she found it impossible to shut the door on their faces—those pallid cheeks and impressively starched shirt collars. “I’m busy at the moment but perhaps you can leave behind some literature,” she had offered as a consolation for not wanting to be saved, even though the leaflet would find its way to the bin within a day or two. ALL SUFFERING IS SOON TO END, declared the header over a painting of a sunny green meadow. How nice to be so certain. The words brought Rajni only a brief shot of relief before she returned to reality.

  “A woman at that stage in her life is looking for a long-term partner,” Kabir was saying to Anil.

  “This isn’t some kinda phrase, Dad.” He meant “phase.” Rajni was too upset to correct him but she kept a mental note to educate him on the difference later.

  “Son, listen for a moment. I’m saying that Davina probably has bigger, more permanent plans.”

  Rajni rushed back into the living room. “Tick-tock!” she cried, startling her family. “That’s what everyone says to a woman in her mid-thirties whether she wants children or not. ‘Have one before it’s too late.’ ” (In her case: “Have another one, you’re not just having one, are you? Finish what you started! Give the poor boy a sibling.” As if she and Kabir didn’t try and try until sex became another routine household task like doing the laundry or paying the water bill.)

  “Yes,” Kabir said. “Societal pressures. They’re bigger than you think, Anil, especially for adults.”

  “Look, the only person pressuring me is you. Davina and me are just fine.”

  “So if she wanted a baby tomorrow it would be okay? You’d give up all that traveling, your nights out with mates?” Kabir asked.

  That ought to give him a fright, Rajni thought, noting the swell of unease on Anil’s face. He’d been plotting his European holiday: skiing in Bulgaria; island-hopping in Greece; God-knows-what in Amsterdam.

  “I would. I am going to give it all up,” Anil said quietly. He gripped the chair.

  The room became still. Anil bit his lower lip and looked at his knuckles, which had turned white.

  Kabir stared at him. “What are you saying?”

  “I am going to give it all up for her,” Anil repeated.

  “Son?”

  “Mum. Dad. It’s not a big deal, all right? You have to promise not to overreact.”

  The edges of the room began to blur and the floor tilted slightly. Rajni heard Kabir gently saying, “Okay, we promise. Now what is it?”

  “Davina’s pregnant,” Anil said.

  And then Rajni fainted.

  The customer had seen a video online about how bronze highlighter could be used to take ten pounds off her face. “The girl just sweeps this brush across her face and suddenly she has cheekbones,” she gushed.

  “Those videos are very helpful,” Jezmeen agreed. “Lots of useful tips.” Especially useful for a person like her, who had no experience doing makeup professionally. After being suspended from her job as a host on DisasterTube, one of the studio makeup artists had given Jezmeen the lead on this job. It was temporary, Jezmeen kept reminding herself. Everything would blow over, and she’d find another role soon. The last time Jezmeen checked online, the number of views on her video had hit 788, which was hardly viral, but her agent, Cameron, still believed they had to be cautious.

  “Lie low. Wait for the dust to settle,” he had urged her. There was no end to his supply of banal encouragements whenever they spoke—“Take some time for yourself,” was another favorite, which roughly translated to: “Take the least humiliating job offer thrown your way and we’ll just have to wait for the anonymous masses on the internet to decide your fate.”

  “Are you going to use highlighter on me, then?” Stella asked.

  “I’ve got other plans for you,” Jezmeen said warmly. Starting with matching a more appropriate foundation to Stella’s skin tone. At the moment, she was less “Youthful Summer Glow” and more “Fell Asleep in the Tanning Bed.”

  As Jezmeen rubbed a wipe across Stella’s cheeks, she had a distinct sense of déjà vu. In another time in her life, Rajni used to apply makeup on her while she struggled to sit still and not turn to the mirror to see her reflection. Jezmeen remembered doing the same for Mum on the morning of Shirina’s wedding. The bridal makeup artist had chosen a deep purple eye shadow and insisted on a crayon-thick line for Mum’s eyelids. Mum was horrified. “I can’t go to the temple like this,” she’d gasped. “People will say . . .” She didn’t finish that sentence; she rarely did. It was bad enough that people would say anything. “Jezmeen, get me some tissues,” Mum had commanded. Helping to clean the makeup off Mum’s skin, Jezmeen had noticed the looseness of her cheeks, and the way her eyelids folded, and she vowed never to let herself grow old.

  Jezmeen’s phone buzzed on the counter. “Excuse me, Stella,” Jezmeen said, leaning over to see the screen. Message from Rajni. She ignored it. Rajni was likely panicking about the trip and asking everyone if they had taken their tetanus shots, or something similarly hysterical.

  “I’m going to use this primer on you,” Jezmeen said. She showed Stella the bottle. “It’s a great base which keeps your makeup on for much longer during the day.” Her phone buzzed again.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jezmeen said. She shot a glare at her phone.

  “No worries, love. Your boyfriend must be anxious about you,” Stella said.

  Ha! If only there were an anxious boyfriend, or a boyfriend at all. Her last relationship had ended more disastrously than Stella could probably imagine.

  “Oh no, that’s my sister,” Jezmeen said. “We’re going on a trip to India on Thursday and she’s probably just reminding me to pack sunscreen or something.”

  “A holiday! Just the two of you?”

  “The three of us. Our youngest sister’s flying there from Australia.”

  “That’s lovely,” Stella said.

  People always said this when Jezmeen mentioned having two sisters. Lovely. Cozy teas and long chats. Some sort of unbreakable bond. Stella’s smile was so bright that Jezmeen didn’t want to tell her how much she was dreading this trip with uppity Rajni and irritatingly perfect Shirina.

  “We’re going there for our mum,” Jezmeen explained. “She passed away last November and we’re doing a pilgrimage in her memory and scattering her ashes there.”

  “Oh, that’s beautiful. What a tribute,” Stella breathed. She reached out and clasped Jezmeen’s hand. Now Stella probably had an image of three dutiful daughters in matching loose white robes solemnly making their way up a misty mountain as they took turns carrying an urn filled with ashes. Again, inaccurate. Pilgrimages weren’t even a requirement of their religion (she had done some quick Googling on Sikhism, and sent all the links to Rajni as part of her continuing campaign to oppose everything her older sister wanted them to do), but after the cancer treatments stopped working, Mum had turned to all kinds of holy remedies. There were rituals she had been too weak to do, places she had been unable to visit for the last time, so her daughters were tasked with completing the journey. Jezmeen noticed that Mum had sneaked in a few itinerary items that involved the sisters simply spending time together, probably because she knew they wouldn’t bother to make the time otherwise. As far as Jezmeen saw it, this trip was less about spirituality and more about Mum forcing them to travel together.

  This time Jezmeen’s phone rang. “For fuck’s sakes,” she muttered.

  “Just answer it, darling. It could be important.”

  “Thank you, Stella.” Jezmeen picked up the phone. “Rajni, I’m in the middle of work.”

  “Did you see my messages? Yo
u’ll have to find your own way to the airport. Something came up at home last night and . . . I just have some things to deal with. Kabir’s driving me there directly.”

  “All right. Is that it?”

  “Yes.” Rajni hesitated. “What time do you plan on leaving?”

  “I’ll be at Heathrow two hours before we fly, Rajni, don’t you worry about it.”

  “You’re still at work?”

  “Yes, and I have to get back to work. Bye now!”

  Rajni had started saying something when Jezmeen hung up. She put the phone on silent and turned back to Stella. “Now, I’ll be using two different concealers because we’re really working with two different shades of irregularities here.”

  “Do I mix these?” Stella asked.

  “No, we’re using this one for under your eyes and this one for those blemishes on your chin.” Jezmeen held up each bottle. While Stella inspected them, Jezmeen glanced at her phone. She had a funny feeling. Why did it matter to Rajni that she was still at work now if she was only flying out on Thursday?

  “I might need to write these down,” Stella said, rummaging through her purse. “Otherwise, I’ll forget which one goes where.”

  “Here you go,” Jezmeen said, handing her a pencil and a card with a face drawn on it. “Just draw an arrow to the eye area and write ‘Nude Secret 19.’ ”

  Stella had careful penmanship. “Darling, you have such a lovely manner, has anyone ever told you that?”

  Jezmeen smiled, surprised. “Thank you.”

  “I must take your name card. Do you do private sessions as well? My daughter’s looking for a good makeup artist for her wedding. It’s only next spring, but good services get booked up so quickly.”

  Jezmeen’s smile faltered. Next spring! Her stomach contracted at the thought of still working at a makeup counter. No, no, it wasn’t possible. She was lying low and taking time for herself while the dust settled. People would move on. But Cameron said it wasn’t necessarily about her. “There’s a lack of roles for Indian actresses to begin with,” he’d explained. “And directors can’t really afford any bad PR if they’re taking a chance on somebody new. So there’s just a lot working against you at the moment.” What he avoided saying was that there was one Polly Mishra already. He knew that Jezmeen balked at the frequent comparisons between herself and that actress, who had overshadowed Jezmeen’s career as soon as she arrived on the scene.

  While Stella labeled her card, Jezmeen stole a look at her phone. Three missed calls from Rajni in the last two minutes and a message:

  “You DO realize that we’re flying out tonight right?”

  Jezmeen’s heart stopped. She nearly dropped her phone. She texted Rajni back:

  “YES of course I know. Just finishing up and leaving straight from work.”

  How the hell had this happened? It was Thursday they were supposed to leave, not Tuesday. She had a vague memory of a conversation with Rajni about finding a cheaper flight for Thursday. “It’s at two A.M. though,” Rajni had said. “I guess that’s all right.” And something in her tone annoyed Jezmeen, so she had said, “Not all of us have school holidays, you know.” Rajni had booked the Tuesday flight, then.

  Or had Jezmeen just imagined Rajni giving in? Sometimes she had entire conversations with Rajni in her mind. She used to do this with Mum too—it was easier than fighting out loud. In the fantasy arguments, Jezmeen always emerged the winner, with the other person apologizing and sometimes even groveling for forgiveness. They were leaving tonight, then. They were leaving tonight! She would have to call the manager and tell her something had come up—this could count for a family emergency.

  “What’s the primer called?” Stella asked.

  “It’s just primer,” Jezmeen replied. Shit, shit, shit. She didn’t even know where her suitcase was.

  “Oh dear,” Stella murmured as the pointy end of her pencil punctured the card.

  Oh dear indeed.

  At Melbourne Airport, an elderly Indian couple were being seen off by their extended family. Shirina watched them move like a swarm of bees to the departure gate. “Do you think they’re returning home? Or going back to visit?” Shirina asked.

  Sehaj shrugged. “Doesn’t make a difference. They all have to go through the same gate.” He was busy scrolling through his phone. Shirina glanced at his screen. Numbers and graphs. Work stuff, he’d mutter if she asked what was keeping him so busy.

  “They look like they’re going to visit. What do you think?” Shirina asked, focusing on the family.

  “Don’t know,” Sehaj muttered.

  “I’m just trying to make conversation,” Shirina said. Sehaj seemed to remember himself then. He put the phone aside and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Sorry,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple.

  Shirina let her head sink into his chest. Finally, in this bustling international airport terminal, a small chance at intimacy before she left. The past couple of days had been filled with tense silences. She shut her eyes. Sehaj’s shirt smelled like a mix of cologne and that fabric softener his mother had recommended. Her life as a married woman smelled like pressed linens; it was the first thing she had noticed when she moved into the joint family home three years ago. His fingers stroked her hair. She thought she might start to cry, so she twisted away from him and then she felt a heavy weight rolling over her foot.

  “Ow,” she said, drawing her foot back. It was a suitcase. The woman dragging it didn’t notice. She trotted off toward the gate in stilettos that looked like they were stabbing the ground with each step she took.

  “I’d say they live here and they’re going back for a holiday,” Sehaj said, nodding at the elderly couple. “The family’s too cheerful.”

  “Why would all their kids and grandkids be seeing them off, then?” Shirina wondered aloud.

  “Long trip, maybe?” Sehaj asked. “They might have a home there where they spend a few months out of the year.”

  These were a few good months to spend away from Melbourne. Every day, boulders of gray cloud rolled across the skies and showered the city with icy rain. Nobody in England thought it got cold in Australia; even Shirina refused to believe it until she married Sehaj and came here. Now, whenever the news reported heat waves in July in Europe, Shirina looked out the window at the slick wet roads and the tree branches bowing under the force of heavy wind and she thought, How is that possible?

  “How about them?” Sehaj asked. He nodded at two young men. “Brothers? Best friends?”

  “Best friends,” Shirina said, delighted that they were playing this game again. On their honeymoon, stranded in the airport due to a snowstorm in Istanbul (another city Shirina did not expect to have winter, let alone snowstorms), they had passed the time making up stories about strangers. Two and a half years wasn’t such a long time ago, but Shirina felt she needed to remind Sehaj of that carefree period in their lives.

  “Do you remember finally getting on that flight from Istanbul and sitting behind the Hollywood Spy Couple?” Shirina asked.

  Sehaj’s eyes lit up with recognition. “The ones who looked like movie stars and couldn’t keep their hands off each other?” They had kissed and snuggled the entire flight—honeymooners, Shirina and Sehaj decided, although those two put other newlyweds to shame with their public caresses and sighs. Then, just before the plane landed, they moved to two empty seats on opposite rows and they disembarked separately. Shirina and Sehaj watched them step into different lines at Customs and then part ways without even acknowledging each other, the woman heading to the Underground, the man staying behind at Baggage Claim.

  “Definitely spies,” Sehaj said. He liked his Cold War–era thrillers.

  Shirina checked the time. She needed to go soon. New destinations and boarding times winked on the Departures screen. There were flights going to Berlin and Jakarta, Pretoria and Chicago—from where Shirina was standing, it was possible to go anywhere. This thought electrified her. It was like sitting in front
of the laptop screen again, scrolling through profiles of eligible men, each one a window to a new future.

  Sehaj’s body went tense, and her own stomach tightened. He looked like he was ready to say something.

  “I’d better get in there,” Shirina said. “I told Jezmeen I’d get her some duty-free stuff.” It was a small, imperfect lie—when was the last time she and Jezmeen spoke? If Jezmeen needed something, she probably wouldn’t tell her.

  “Okay then,” Sehaj said. He seemed distracted by his thoughts. They stood up and he took her bag. The Indian family was still hovering at the departure gate and the elderly couple weren’t within view from here. “Excuse us,” Sehaj said. The Indians didn’t budge. “Excuse us,” he said again, this time with more force. They shifted a little bit, their conversation too engrossing to follow any orders.

  “Come on, people, it’s an airport. Get out of the way,” Sehaj said. This caught their attention. Shirina took his hand but he pulled away and elbowed through the crowd. “Sorry,” she murmured, her head down, but she was annoyed at the family as well. Now her pleasant moment with Sehaj was gone.

  Shirina hugged her husband, hoping that this would dissolve his anger. His body was still stiff. “I’m sorry, Sej,” Shirina said. How do some married couples fight all the time? she wondered. It was hard enough trying to get through this one conflict. Apologizing made her feel better. Even though she hadn’t done anything wrong, she was sorry for the situation.

  Then Sehaj took something from his pocket. Shirina recognized the stationery—that stiff cream-colored card, premier quality—and his mother’s handwriting. Shirina took in the name and address and stared at Sehaj.

  “You can’t come back unless you do this,” Sehaj said, pressing the card into Shirina’s hand. He didn’t give her any time to respond before he walked off and disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter Two