Unmarriageable(9)
Alys had fought for her sisters’ dreams. But wheezing notwithstanding, Mari was a mediocre cricket player, and, as for Lady, no matter how much Alys argued on her sister’s behalf, their father remained unmoved, for he hoped his estranged brother would reconcile with him and he dared not allow anything to interfere with that. Whatever the case, Alys was adamant that her sisters must end up earning well; now if only they’d listen to her and take their futures seriously.
The school van drove into a lower-middle-class ramshackle neighbourhood with narrow lanes and small homes, where some of the teachers disembarked. Unable to afford much help, they shed their teacher skins and slipped into their housewife skins once they’d entered their houses. They would begin dinner, aid their children with homework, and, when their husbands returned from work, provide them chai as they unwound. They would return to the kitchen and pack the children’s next-day school lunches, after which they would serve a hot dinner, clean up the kitchen, put the children to bed, and then finally shed their housewife skins and wriggle back into the authoritative teacher skins to mark papers well into the night.
Alys and Jena had heard the weariness in the staff room as teachers wondered how long they could keep up this superwoman act. Yet their jobs provided a necessary contribution to the family income – a fact their husbands and in-laws frequently chose to downplay, ignore, or simply not acknowledge – and afforded them a vital modicum of independence. The trick, the teachers sighed, was to marry a man who believed in sharing the housework, kids, and meal preparations without thinking he was doing a great and benevolent favour, but good luck with finding such a man, let alone in-laws who encouraged him to help.
The school van entered the Binats’ more affluent leafy district and stopped at the entrance to the graveyard. The Binat sisters had only to cross the road to enter their wrought-iron gate and walk up the front lawn lined with evergreen bushes to their front door. They’d barely stepped into the foyer when Mrs Binat flew out of the family room: ‘Guess what has happened?’
CHAPTER THREE
Mrs Binat was in the family room, praying the rosary for her daughters’ futures, when the mail was delivered and in it the opportunity. Hearing their voices in the foyer, she rushed to them, asking them to guess what had happened as she waved a pearly lavender envelope like a victory flag.
Alys immediately recognised the invite to the NadirFiede wedding. Lady whooped as Mrs Binat rattled off the names of all the old and new moneyed families who would be attending: Farishta Bank, Rani Raja Steels, the British School Group, Sundiful Fertilisers, Pappu Chemicals, Nangaparbat Textiles.
Mrs Binat was still dropping names as her daughters followed her into the family room, where they settled around the electric fireplace. Alys climbed into the window seat that overlooked the back lawn. She tossed a throw over her legs, making sure to hide her feet before her mother noticed that she wasn’t wearing any nail polish. Qitty and Lady sat on the floor, beside the wall decorated with photos of holidays the Binats had taken once upon a time: Jena and Alys at Disneyland, Mr Binat holding toddler Mari’s hand next to the Acropolis, Qitty nibbling on corn on the cob in front of the Hagia Sophia, the whole family smiling into the camera in front of Harrods, a newborn Lady in a pram.
‘Alys, Jena.’ Mr Binat rose from his armchair. ‘Your mother has been eating my brains ever since that invite arrived. I’m going to the garden to—’
‘Sit down, Barkat,’ Mrs Binat said sharply. ‘We have to discuss the budget for the wedding.’
Alys sighed as her father sat back down. She’d been looking forward to finishing her grading and then reading the risqué religious short story, ‘A Vision of Heaven’ by Sajjad Zaheer from the collection Angaaray, which Sherry had translated for her from Urdu into English.
‘Discuss it with Alys,’ Mr Binat said. ‘She knows the costs of things better than I do.’
‘I’m sure Alys and everyone else knows everything better than you do,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘But you are their father, and instead of worrying whether the succulents are thriving and the ficus is blooming, I need you to take an active interest in your daughters’ futures.’
‘Futures?’ Mr Binat beamed as Hillima brought in chai and keema samosas.
‘I want,’ Mrs Binat announced, ‘the girls to fish for husbands at the NadirFiede wedding.’
Alys gritted her teeth. She could see before her eyes a large aquarium of eligible bachelors dodging hooks cast by every single girl in the country.
‘Aha!’ Mr Binat said, taking a samosa. ‘Nadir Sheh and Fiede Fecker are getting married so that our daughters get married. So kind of them. Very noble! I suggest you also line up, Pinkie, my love, because between you and the girls, you are still the most beautiful one.’
‘I know you are mocking me, Barkat, my love, but a compliment is a compliment! However, once a woman births daughters, her own looks must take a back seat.’
Mrs Binat gazed at each of her daughters. From birth, Jena was near perfect, a cross between an ivory rose and a Chughtai painting, her features delicate yet sharp, good hair, good height, slender, and the disposition of an angel. Lady was a bustier, hippier, pug-nosed version of Jena and towered over her sisters at five feet nine inches (thankfully height had gone from impediment to asset!). Mari was a poor imitation of Lady, with plain features, a smallish chest, and without Lady’s spark. Qitty was exceptionally pretty, except her features were lost amid the double chins. And Alys. Oh, Alys. If only she wouldn’t insist on ruining her complexion by sitting in the sun. If only she wouldn’t butcher her silky curls. If only she’d wear some lipstick to outline those small but lush lips and apply a hint of bronzer to her natural cheekbones. What a waste on Alys those striking almond eyes. And such an argumentative girl that sometimes Mrs Binat would cry with frustration.