Balli Jaswal - The Unlikely Adventures of the Shergill Sisters

‘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 make-up 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 make-up 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 labelled 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 alright.’ 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 grovelling 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 towards 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 grey 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 heatwaves 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.