Bindi Babes Read Online Free

He
couldn't
talk about Mum. We didn't, because that was the only way everything was bearable.
    “So, I think it's time there were a few changes around here,” Dad went on.
    “Changes?” I repeated suspiciously. “What kind of changes?”
    I could tell that Geena and Jazz were thinking exactly the same as I was. Why did we need changes? Everything was as good as it could be, under the circumstances.
    Dad cleared his throat. “You remember your aunt in India,” he said hopefully.
    Aunt?
    “What aunt?” Jazz asked, opening her eyes wide. “We haven't got an aunt in India.”
    “Yes, we have, no-brain,” I said across the table.
    “Oh,
that
aunt,” Jazz said. “The one who doesn't like us.”
    “Oh, Jazz,
really.
” Dad looked nervous. “That's not true.”
    It was. She was my dad's sister, but we didn't know her at all. She'd visited us in England once, years ago, but she and our mum didn't get on, so she'd never come back.
    “Auntie's very fond of you,” Dad went on.
    We didn't say anything. I couldn't even remember what Auntie looked like. I was five the last time I saw her.
    “Auntie's coming over from India to live with us,” Dad said. “She's going to look after us. Won't that be nice?” He stared intently at his plate.
    “
What?
” Geena said.
    “When?” I demanded.
    “Now I'm
really
discombobulated,” Jazz announced sulkily.
    There was no answer to that.

W e didn't want her, of course. Why would we? We had everything going for us. Dad gave us anything we wanted, eventually. Everyone at school thought we were the best. The teachers loved us. Nearly all the boys fancied us. We could do pretty much what we liked as long as we behaved ourselves and did our homework on time. Life was good.
    Of course we didn't want her. We didn't
need
her.
    “I can't believe Dad would do this to us,” Geena said for the seventh or eighth time. It was the following morning. Dad had escaped to the office before we got up, so there was no chance tohave another go at him. “This is going to ruin
everything
.”
    “So what are we going to do about it?” I asked. “Jazz, if you've nicked my only clean shirt, I'm going to kill you very slowly.”
    “I haven't,” Jazz retorted, putting her school sweatshirt on quickly.
    “It
looks
like mine.”
    “They're all exactly the same,” Jazz said smugly. “They're uniform. That's what it means. Uniform means all the same— Urgh!”
    I'd grabbed her round the neck. “Give me that shirt.”
    “Geena, help me!” Jazz croaked, as I tightened my grip.
    “Oh, for God's sake.” Geena took a clean shirt out of her wardrobe, and handed it to me. “We've got more important things to talk about.”
    She was right. Jazz and I slapped each other around a bit, and then declared a truce.
    “Maybe we can stop Auntie from coming,” Jazz suggested, as we clattered downstairs.
    “How?” I asked. “Hijack the plane?”
    “We could ring the Foreign Office, and tell them she's an international criminal,” Jazz said. “We could say she's smuggling drugs under her sari.”
    “Pity she isn't married,” I grumbled. “If she had her own family to look after, then she wouldn't have to come and interfere with ours.”
    “I heard Mum say once that nobody would be daft enough to marry her,” Geena blurted out. Then she stopped, looking horrified. Jazz and I immediately leaped in to cover for her.
    “How old is Auntie anyway?” Jazz asked.
    And at exactly the same moment, I said, “Didn't she have to look after Biji and Babaji?” Our grandparents had been quite old when they'd married and had Dad and Auntie, and they'd died only six months apart two years ago. They'd never come to England and I'd only seen them once, when Mum and Dad had taken Geena, me and baby Jazz to India years ago. My memories of Biji and Babaji were even more hazy than my memories of Auntie.
    Geena cleared her throat, still looking a bit pale. “She's a bit younger than Dad,” she mumbled. “About