Bindi Babes by Narinder Dhami Read Free Book Online

there's barely anything in there at all. Do you girls live on takeaways?”
    “No, of course not,” I said, lying with ease.
    “Auntie, isn't it a bit sexist to expect us to cook, just because we're girls?” Geena said politely through her teeth. “There's more to life than making meals.”
    Auntie raised her eyebrows. “We can discuss football or cars while we're cooking, if that makes you feel any better,” she said, rather sarcastically. “Or what about computers? I'm doing a correspondence course in computer maintenance at the moment. Or cricket. I love watching cricket. What do you think of India's chances in the Test Match?”
    That shut us up.
    “One of you can chop the potatoes for the samosas, while the other two make the pastry,” she went on. “Everything's laid out ready on the worktop.”
    Auntie passed me a knife and handed Geena and Jazz a large bowl. Sullenly I began chopping the boiled potatoes, while Geena and Jazz sulkily added butter and jeera seeds to the flour. We were speechless with fury. What a waste of a Saturday morning.
    “How's school?” Auntie asked.
    “All right,” Geena muttered.
    “Are you behaving yourselves?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “And are you working hard?”
    We let Jazz answer that. “Yes.”
    There was silence.
    “I'm sure your mum would be very proud of you.”
    My heart stumbled and missed a beat.
Shut up
, I thought. I mixed the diced potatoes savagely with the peas, and Geena and Jazz kept their heads down over the flour. Auntie sighed and turned back to the frying pan.
    The large drum of chili pepper on the worktop caught my eye. I put down my wooden spoon, reached for it and poured a huge stream of pepper into the bowl. Then I mixed it quickly into the potatoes and peas. Any visitors we had were in for a red-hot surprise. They wouldn't be coming back for more of Auntie's cooking in a hurry.
    “That'll teach her,” I muttered.
    “What did you say, Amber?” Auntie turned to me.
    “Nothing.”
    Geena, Jazz and I made eight samosas, while Auntie finished cooking the pakoras. I kept nodding and winking at Geena and Amber, but they didn't get it. Sisterly telepathy does not exist. I found that out when we'd tidied up and Auntie looked at the clock.
    “It's just about lunchtime,” she said. “We'll have some of the samosas.” She picked up the ones she'd just finished frying. “These are still nice and hot,” she said, carrying them over to the table.
    “But …,” I began.
    “What?”
    “Nothing,” I said.
    Geena and Jazz sat down at the table, while Auntie chopped salad. I sat down too, although I wasn't planning to eat anything.
    “Don't eat the samosas,” I said under my breath.
    “What did you say?” asked Geena.
    “Don't mutter, Amber.” Auntie brought a bowl of salad over to the table. “It's rude.”
    There was nothing I could do, honest. Geena and Jazz helped themselves to samosas. I ate a tomato and waited.
    “Be careful,” Auntie warned, “they're still quite hot.”
    You don't know how hot
, I thought.
    Jazz and Geena took a big bite at the same moment. Jazz screamed and spat hers out across the table, just missing my eye. Geena spluttered, and spat hers onto her plate. They both grabbed the water jug and started fighting over it.
    “Oh dear.” Auntie sat down at the table. “I did warn you that they were hot.”
    “
Hot!”
Geena roared, between gulps of water. “They're scorching!”
    “Too—
gulp
—much—
gulp
—pepper,” Jazz mumbled, fixing Auntie with a glare.
    “Oh dear.” Auntie turned to look at me. She smiled widely, and I knew she knew. “Aren't they the ones
you
made, Amber?”
    “Oh, I don't think so,” I said airily, trying to bluff it out. “All samosas look the same to me.”
    Auntie bent over and picked a nail transfer out of the remains of Geena's samosa. “Oh, really,” she said.
    I looked down at my nails. I hadn't had time to varnish the transfers on properly. One was missing from my little