Buddha Da (10 page)

‘Da, ah was at a rehearsal the night.’

‘That’s nice, hen.’

‘Could you no have brung that washin in? It’s started tae rain.’

‘
Joseph and the Amazin Technicolour Dreamcoat
.’

‘Never noticed.’

‘Or washed a dish?’

‘Sorry, ah was meditatin.’

‘Could you no meditate while yer daein the dishes in future? Anne Marie’s rehearsin her play every week fae noo on and she’s got hamework too. If you’re back first you could at least tidy up a bit.’

‘It’s a musical.’

‘Ah’ve got enough tae dae gaun round tae ma mammy’s every night.’

‘That’s the phone, Ma.’

‘Ah’m sorry.’

‘Easy said.’

‘Ah’ll get it.’

It was Charlene. ‘How was your rehearsal the night?’

‘Fine. Good. We just learned some of the songs.’

‘Who was all there?’

‘Loads of folk. All different years.’

‘Was Keir Simpson there?’

‘Aye. He’s got a good voice.’

‘Has he?’

‘Aye. No shy aboot singin out loud either. Maist of the boys’ll no sing on their ain.’

‘Was that lassie fae third year there?’

‘There were loads a lassies fae third year there.’

‘You know – the wan he’s supposed tae be nippin – Alison McKechnie?’

‘No sure – whit does she look like?’

Her voice grew fainter. ‘Whit does she look like?’

‘Hackit – dead geeky.’

‘Is that Roseanne?’

‘Aye.’

‘Ah don’t know if she was there – ah never seen him wi a lassie. Look, ah’d better go, ah’ll need tae get ma tea.’

‘OK. Want tae come round efter?’

‘Naw, no the night. Ah need tae learn ma part.’

‘See you the morra then.’

‘Aye.’

When ah went intae the kitchen the room was all steamy wi boilin watter fae the pasta and ma daddy was settin the table.

‘Who was it, Anne Marie?’

‘Charlene.’

‘Is she in the show too?’

‘Naw.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Ah don’t think she’s that bothered.’

Everybody was dead quiet all through teatime and ah kept thinkin aboot Charlene. Ah was so mad at her. She only phoned me because she wanted tae find oot aboot that Keir guy. We’d been best pals all through primary except thon time in primary five when she’d went aboot wi Susan Gallagher and fell oot wi me. Then ah tellt ma mammy aboot it and it got sorted oot. And ah wanted tae talk tae her noo but how could ah? Everythin was different. Weird.

Ma broke the silence. ‘Anne Marie, have you got hamework the night?’

‘Maths. And a wee bit of French. And readin for English.’

‘Well, you’d better get a move on if you want tae watch that programme aboot Madonna.’

‘Madonna?’ says ma da. ‘Is she no a bit auld hat noo? She was on the go afore you were born.’

‘Da,’ ah says, ‘Madonna is the best. Ever.’

Next day at break time ah was sittin wi Charlene and Roseanne when ah seen Nisha comin intae the Fuel Zone on her ain.

‘See yous later – ah need tae ask Nisha sumpn.’

Ah went ower and tapped her on the shouder.

‘Hiya.’

‘Oh hi. Ah was in another world there – just oot a maths test.’

‘Who d’you get?’

‘Harkins – she’s OK, just a bit moany. Hey, Anne Marie – d’you like Madonna?’

‘Ah love Madonna. She is so cool.’

‘Isn’t she – ah like the early stuff best though.’

‘Me too.’

‘Did you see the programme last night?’

‘Aye, fantastic.’

‘Ah’ve taped it. If you like, when you come round tae mines we can watch it again.’

‘That’d be great. Ah wanted tae tape it but ma da was tapin sumpn on the other side.’

‘How about Saturday then?’

‘OK.’

‘There’s the bell. Gotta go. Look ah’ll see you in Science the morra and we can arrange a time.’

‘Right. See you.’

Nisha heided aff and ah turned back tae where Charlene
and Roseanne were still sittin at a table, opposite each other. Charlene was leanin ower, haudin Roseane’s chain in her haund, examinin it. It’s wanny they chunky gold necklaces wi her name on it. The bell had already went but there was nae sign of them movin. Ah turned ma back on them and went aff tae ma next class.

On Saturday ah went round tae Nisha’s hoose. Everybody was oot and we watched the Madonna video in her livin room, then went intae Nisha’s room and practised some of wer
Joseph
songs. It was a right laugh. Ah always thought Nisha was dead quiet, and she is maist of the time, but see on her ain, she is so funny.

Once we’d run through all the
Joseph
songs, Nisha said, ‘Why don’t we dae some Madonna songs as well?’

‘Let’s dae “Into The Groove”. That’s ma favourite.’

‘D’you fancy daein it on the karaoke?’

‘You got a karaoke machine in the hoose?’

‘It’s ma brother’s – he does it tae make money tae help him through college. He gets loads a gigs for Indian weddins. But he does DJin tae – that’s what he really likes – Kamaljit calls him Sikh Boy Slim.’

‘Ah love the karaoke but ah’ve only ever done it at parties.’

‘He’d murder us if he knew were usin it but he’ll no be back for ages yet.’

Her brother’s room was full of eletrical stuff, speakers and wires and CDs all ower the place and the walls were covered in posters of hauf-naked women.

‘Close your eyes – ah keep tellin him he’s a sexist pig. My mother won’t even come in this room tae clean it – she gets me tae dae it.’

‘Can he no clean it hisself?’

‘Come on – he’s a male – incapable of lifting a duster. Oh and they can work all sorts of complicated recording equipment but switching on a hoover is beyond them.’

‘Sounds just like ma da.’

Nisha switched on the karaoke machine and the intro belted oot. ‘Better turn it doon a wee bit – if the neighbours complain ma ma will go hairless – cannae have that – a baldy Sikh!’

She rewound it, handed me the mic and ah managed tae get in just in time tae say, ‘You can dance,’ in ma best American accent. Then the two of us started, a wee bit shaky at first and no quite thegether but then gettin right intae it, beltin it oot, dancin round the room daein Madonna impersonations. It was a pure laugh.

Efter that Saturday at Nisha’s hoose, we started tae wait for wan another at lunchtimes and at breaktime, hang aboot thegether. Sometimes we’d sit wi Charlene and Roseanne or ah’d join the lassies Nisha knew fae her primary school but it wasnae the same. When we were wi Charlene and Roseanne ah never felt right. If we talked aboot the school show all Charlene wanted tae know aboot was Keir Simpson. And Nisha was dead quiet wi them, just like she was in class. And wi her pals ah didnae know whit tae say. They’d known each other at primary. Some of them seen each other at Temple as well so they were talkin aboot folk ah didnae know or things ah didnae unnerstaund. Ah knew Nisha’d explain things tae me but ah didnae like tae ask in front of them.

It was always a relief when we said cheerio and went aff on wer ain. We never spoke aboot it but ah think we baith felt the same. Maist folk used tae hang aboot the Fuel Zone
at lunchtime or go alang tae the chippy in Great Western Road, so the two of us started tae heid ower tae the park and sit on a bench there eatin wer pieces. It was Nisha’s idea. And it was nice, quiet away fae the crowds of folk.

It had been a dead mild autumn but as November came it started tae get chillier.

‘We’ll need tae find somewhere else tae go. We’ll no be able tae sit ootside much longer,’ ah said. ‘Ma pieces are like ice poles.’

‘Hey, Anne Marie, how would you feel about coming back to mines for lunch? It’s really close. Ah used tae go hame at lunchtime when ah was at primary and my mum’s always on at me. “Need to get a hot meal inside you.”’

‘Would she no mind you bringin me back?’

‘She wouldnae mind me bringing back the entire class if she thought she’d get a chance tae stuff me with home cooking. And she’s always moaning about nobody eating at home any more. Gurpreet’s always out and Kamaljit’s away. Naw, it’ll be cool.’

And it was cool gaun round tae Nisha’s. Though cool isnae a very good word tae describe it. Her hoose was always roastin. Her ma kept askin me if ah was warm enough when the sweat was pourin aff me.

‘It’s always like this,’ Nisha said. ‘You’ve heard of global warming, haven’t you? Well this is where it started. My mother can use up 50% of the earth’s fossil fuels in an afternoon.’

And the food was great. Spicy, but no the way food in Indian restaurants is. Always straight off the stove or oot the oven. It was great tae leave the school on a wet day and go round tae Nisha’s hoose, sit at the kitchen table wi
her while her ma served up wer dinner, the radio on in the background or a tape of Indian music. It was like when ah was wee and me and Charlene used tae go round tae ma granny’s for wer dinner, dead cosy, though the calendar on Nisha’s wall was of Sikh temples, no scenes of Donegal.

‘Is it no a lot of bother for your ma though, Nisha?’

‘Don’t be daft, she loves it. There’s nothing she likes better than feeding people.’

‘Aye but the food she’s givin us. When you said come round for lunch ah thought we’d mibbe be gettin a bowl of soup and a cuppa tea.’

‘D’you no like the food?’

‘Are you kiddin – ah love it. It’s just it’s so much work for her every day.’

‘Honestly, Anne Marie, she enjoys it. And if ah was going home by masel she’d be making just as much and trying tae stuff it all into me. So you’re doing me a favour.’

‘OK.’

We turned the corner and heided towards the school gate.

‘What are you doing on Friday, Anne Marie?’

The Friday was an extra holiday, an in-service day for the teachers.

‘Nothin really. Ma and Da are workin. Wha aboot you?’

‘Nope. That’s why ah was askin. Wondered if you’d like tae come round tae mines and use the karaoke when Gurpreet’s at college.’

‘Aye, that’d be great.’

Nisha’s livin room was filled wi photies of her faimly; weddins, birthdays, her sister’s graduation. ‘You cannae go tae the shops without my mother takin oot her camera.’

‘It’s ma da that takes the photies in our hoose.’

Then ah shut up, embarrrassed. Nisha’d never spoken aboot her da. In the centre of the unit was a big framed picture; Nisha’s ma, maybe five year younger, a man wi a turban and a beard, a young woman, a skinny boy and a wee lassie. When ah looked closer ah could see the wee lassie was Nisha. Same big brown eyes, same expression, as if she was aboot tae burst oot laughin but was haudin it in. She lifted the photo, held it so ah could see. ‘It was only a couple of weeks after it was taken that he died. Heart attack.’

Ah didnae know whit tae say.

‘Ah’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK. Ah mean, it’s not OK, but ah’m OK with it.’

‘Ah cannae imagine ma daddy no bein around. It was terrible when ma grandpa died last year but he was ma da’s da. He was auld.’

‘Bet your parents are a lot younger than mines though.’

‘Mammy’s thirty-three and ma da’s thirty-seven gaun on twelve.’

‘My da was fifty-five when he died. He was forty-eight when he had me, and my ma was forty-three – can you imagine!’

She put the photo back with the others. ‘Let’s get on with the karaoke.’

It felt kind of weird bein in Gurpreet’s room when ah’d never met him. The place was a complete tip, clothes all mixed up wi his CDs, all spread across the bed, stuff dumped in corners. Wan side of the room was completely taken up wi shelves and shelves of records.

‘Ah thought it was just ma da that still had records – he’s still got all his auld punk rock wans.’

‘Don’t tell Gurpreet that – he’ll be round tae your house like a shot tryin tae get yer da tae sell them.’

‘How?’

‘He likes tae mix tracks – sample bits and pieces fae different bands. Ah tellt you – he thinks he’s Fat Boy Slim.’

‘Aye but ah thought it was dance music he did – no punk rock.’

‘Gurpreet samples everything – he puts in Indian music, Bollywood songs, pop, hiphop, bhangra, everything.’

‘Is it any good?’

‘Ah don’t really know – ah’ve never been at his gigs – ma wouldnae let me go, of course – but some folk like it. And he’s determined he’s gonnae be the next big thing – spends nearly all his time on it. He only does the karaoke tae get money for the equipment – this is his mixing desk.’

There was a big black box thing on a desk under the windae covered in switches and knobs and wires comin oot all ower the place.

‘But now he’s got a computer program that seems tae dae everything so … oh oh.’

Nisha stopped. Ah could hear the door slam and before we could move in came Gurpreet, a tall skinny guy, wearin baggy combats wi loads a pockets in them and a scarf tied round his heid like a bandana.

‘What the hell?’ He looked at me and Nisha.

For a moment there was silence then Nisha said, ‘We never touched anythin – ah was just showin Anne Marie your stuff.’

He nodded at me then walked past and stood close tae Nisha. He looked mad but spoke quietly. ‘How many times have ah tellt you no tae come in here?’

‘Ah’ve said ah’m sorry, right?’

Ah started tae edge oot towards the door. Ah kind of wanted tae say ah was sorry too but didnae want tae interrupt. Then he started speakin even lower, in a language ah didnae unnerstaund but mixed up wi English words and Nisha was answerin him in the same way. Ah stood just outside the room till Nisha came oot and shut the door behind her. She never said a word, just made a face, crossin her eyes and stickin her tongue oot at me. Ah managed tae haud in the laughter till we went through tae Nisha’s room, then the two of us collapsed on the bed, gigglin.

‘Ah don’t believe it – he’s never home at this time. Just ma luck.’

‘Was he really mad? What were yous sayin? Do yous speak Punjabi in the hoose then?’

‘No really. When ma da was alive we used tae – he wanted us tae speak the mother tongue – but Kamaljit and me just speak English maist of the time. Even my ma doesnae really speak it tae us a lot. But Gurpreet likes tae mix it in, especially when he’s DJin. Thinks it makes him a bit different fae the others.’