“Babe, I need you. My bed is so cold without you.”
From the corner of her eye, Jas saw Krishnan, arms folded, brow like thunder. Fuck. He wasn’t stupid. She swallowed and made no reply.
Ajay put his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently, his thumb snagging the neckline of her dress. The almost-imperceptible gesture sent shivers through her, straight downwards, but she tried hard to ignore them.
Ajay waved the fans back, laughingly telling them he had come to Goose Fair to relax, not to play superstar. The majority respected his wishes and moved on, while a hardcore of screamers trailed along in his wake.
“I’m taking my star performers for candyfloss,” he told the newspaper reporters. “Thank you for your attention, but I’d appreciate some space now.”
They didn’t exactly retire, but they trailed Ajay at a distance, following him, Jas, Anjali and Krishnan around the fairground.
Ajay handed each girl a stick of pink and white candyfloss, once more consigning Krishnan to the neglected fringes of the group.
“Do you like the waltzers?” Ajay asked, looking over to where teenagers in tin-can cars whirled around and around, screaming ecstatically.
“I love them,” said Anjali.
“No,” said Jas.
“Hey, come on, Jas. I’ll take care of you.” He took her hand, leading her to the slowing ride, intending to jump on for the next revolution. “Anjali, you can go on with that guy. Who is he?”
“I’m Jas’ brother,” said Krishnan, stepping between Ajay and the waltzer. “And she doesn’t go on rides with strange men. Only with me.”
Ajay raised an eyebrow. “You’re calling me a strange man? Don’t you know who I am?”
“Krish, you know who this is…” said Jas, though she didn’t want to go on the waltzer, with or without Ajay.
“Some Bollywood film star. Big deal. Means nothing to me.”
Jas found Krishnan’s belligerence oddly alluring.
“My sister doesn’t cosy up with guys like you.”
“Oh? Doesn’t she?” said Ajay smoothly, putting an arm around Jas’ shoulder.
Alarmed, she tried to shrug it off, but Anjali was already staring and jabbing a finger at them like an old crone in a fairytale.
“Is this your mystery man? Ajay Amir? No way, Jas, that’s so totally against the rules. I’m going to complain to the producers. You can’t date a judge!”
“Hey, hey, relax.” Ajay tried to pour oil on the troubled waters, but Anjali’s bulldoggish expression didn’t alter. “There’s nothing going on, right? Nothing at all.”
“Good,” said Krishnan. “Then you won’t mind if I take these two home now, will you?”
Ajay shrugged, pretending indifference, but Jas could tell by the way he pushed her forward, away from him, that he wasn’t happy. What the hell he thought he was playing at, though, was too far beyond her to contemplate.
“Come on, Anjali, I’ll show you to your front door, then Jas and I are heading back to Leicester.” Krish held out a hand to the still-indignant Anjali.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to walk me home. I only live five minutes away from here.”
“I’m walking you home.”
Krishnan’s tone brooked no refusal. Anjali tossed her head, looking vaguely annoyed, and followed him and Jasmine out of the fairground.
They climbed the hilly terrace in brooding silence, which was only broken when they arrived at Anjali’s front door.
“I swear, Jas, you’d better be telling the truth about you and Ajay. I’m not losing my shot at Bollywood because you’re warming his bed.”
“Oh stop it,” said Jas. “There’s nothing between us.”