The Unlikely Adventures of the Shergill Sisters

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. Cosy 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? You’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.’

‘Alright. 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 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.