‘Oh, that’s brilliant,’ said Chelsea, trying to look suitably surprised even though she knew already. ‘Cute. Dinky. Oh, can I get to hold it when it’s born?’
‘You can take it on a one – way ticket to nowhere for all I care,’ said Laura.
‘I don’t know why you’re fed up,’ said Sumitha. ‘Think of all the baby – sitting cash you can earn. I was too young to look after Sandeep when he was born – you’ve got it made.’
That’s a point, thought Laura.
‘You’ll get all the best bits,’ said Jemma. ‘The twins were really adorable when they were tiny but now I have no privacy, get my eyeliner used as crayons and have to sit through eighteen re – runs of Tellytubbies. By the time this baby gets to be the twins’ age, you’ll be away at uni. Do you want it to be a boy or a girl?’
But the moment when Laura accepted her impending sisterhood as something to be endured, if not positively welcomed, came one wet Saturday morning when Jon was at her house showing Laura how to draw silhouettes for the programme covers. They were sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by paper, pens and pastels when Laura’s mum arrived back from the shops.
‘Look what I found for the baby,’ she said holding up a minute lemon sleeping suit with a penguin on the front. ‘Isn’t it sweet?’
Laura glared.
Oh whoops, I’ve put my foot in it again, thought Mrs Turnbull as she made a hasty retreat.
‘You didn’t tell me your mum was having a baby,’ said Jon accusingly. ‘That’s great.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ said Laura. ‘It’s bad enough having a mother who goes around with someone half her age, all luvvy duvvy and holding hands. But a baby? Give me strength.’
‘Think yourself lucky, Laura,’ he said. ‘At least your mum and … er …’
‘Melvyn,’ groaned Laura.
‘Melvyn, are happy. My parents seem to be like strangers living in the same house right now.’
Laura wasn’t sure what to say.
‘My mum and dad were like that before they got divorced,’ she said.
Oh no, that’s not what I meant it to come out like, she thought, cringing.
‘Well, um, maybe they are both working too hard,’ she suggested hurriedly, seeing the miserable look on Jon’s face. ‘Your mum is doing a course, isn’t she?’
Jon nodded glumly.
‘Well, I expect it’s that then – doing that all day, and getting to meet new people and everything. It’s bound to be tiring.’ She hoped she sounded both comforting and mature.
It’s the meeting new people bit that bothers me, thought Jon. But decided to change the subject.
‘Babies are notoriously difficult to draw,’ he said thoughtfully – ‘I don’t suppose your mum would let me try sketching it when it arrives, would she? I mean, if she didn’t mind. It would be a real bonus for my portfolio.’
Mind? I won’t give her the chance to mind, thought Laura, if it means Jon coming round more often. Perhaps this baby will have its uses yet.
Chapter Thirty – Five
Moving News
Laura’s mum had stopped throwing up and started worrying about how to fit a baby into their already overcrowded two bedroom semi.
‘We’ll move,’ said Melvyn, calm as ever.
‘But we can’t afford it,’ protested Ruth. ‘Can we?’ she added hopefully.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a bit put by and with what you would get for this house, we could afford a deposit on something bigger. We need at least three bedrooms, and I reckon four would be good – then I could have one for my computer stuff and there’d still be one for Laura and one for the baby.’
Ruth looked excited. ‘I could pick up some details from the estate agent on my way to the ante – natal clinic tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Laura will be over the moon.’
Chapter Thirty Six
Diet Decoys
As the weeks passed, Jemma dieted more and more intensely but her regime was not without its problems. She wore baggy sweaters to hide what she thought was an obscene amount of flesh, and even went to the expense of buying a school sweater two sizes bigger than her usual one. Breakfast was no problem because her mum was too tied up with the twins and Sammy to see what she ate. On the way to school, she would ditch the peanut butter sandwiches, chocolate biscuits and slices of quiche that her mother insisted on packing for her into the rubbish bin at the bus stop and substitute them with a couple of carrots and an apple pinched from the larder before she left. Supper was a little more tricky. Her mother kept exhorting her to eat up because she needed all her strength, but she had devised a method whereby she ate all the vegetables first, and then kicked Daniel or Luke under the table till they yelled. Then, while her mother was doing the ‘Who’s a poor little lambkin, then?’ routine she removed every fattening item into a plastic bag.
Occasionally, her mother on seeing an empty plate would tell her not to eat so fast, and Jemma would smile sweetly and say, ‘But it’s so delicious,’ and Mrs Farrant would ruffle her hair and say, ‘Thank you petal,’ and the crisis would pass.
The trouble was, there was a limit to how often she could kick Daniel. Some nights she had to eat at least four mouthfuls of fattening stuff and that really bothered her. Every morning she weighed herself, even though the diet books said you should only do it once a week; and every night she measured her thighs, her upper arms, her waist – and her detestable boobs.
What was more, Rupert had telephoned the week after the golf club do and invited her out to the cinema. Then he had phoned a couple of days later to cancel because he said he was ill. She was perfectly sure he wasn’t – it was just that he couldn’t bring himself to take a fat slob out. The worst part was that having told her friends about this great guy who chatted her up and asked her out, she was now going to have to admit to being dumped before she’d even started. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything for a while.
Chapter Thirty – Seven
From Good
Laura was counting the days until half – term. She had acquired a bottle of Raven Raver hair dye from the chemist and intended transforming herself into a thing of beauty. All her visits to Jon’s house – and there had been plenty, because she made sure she never got things quite right – had been purely platonic. She had waited in vain for him to profess his undying love, clasp her to his manly chest and smother her with kisses. But he kept going on about Sumitha’s gorgeous black eyes and her wonderful black hair. Well, Laura couldn’t do much about her eyes but the hair was a different matter. All her hopes were now pinned on the Raven Raver.
For Sumitha, the past few weeks had been the best ever. On two occasions, Bilu had come to stay and taken her out to the most amazing places. Last week they drove thirty miles to Wellingford and went to a night club called The Purple Pig (although they had told her dad they were going to the cinema to see the latest Bollywood extravaganza). Sumitha had had a drink called Nights of Passion that made her head go all fluffy and her legs tingle. When they got in the car to go home, Bilu had leaned across and kissed her and said ‘You’re learning – we’ll make a little raver of you yet’ which made her feel really sophisticated. Then she fell asleep and Bilu had to shake her awake outside her house.
Chapter Thirty Eight
… To Bad
Things weren’t going so well for Chelsea. She had made the grave error of agreeing to go shopping with her mum on Saturday and it was an unmitigated disaster.
They were in Hot Threadz, and Chelsea was browsing through the boleros, when she saw her mother sauntering out of the changing rooms in a pair of capris and a T – shirt which said ‘Little Miss Wonderful’ on it.
‘Mum!’ Chelsea grabbed her arm. ‘You’re not going to buy those, are you?’
‘Why not?’ said her mum, twirling in front of the mirror and causing her cellulite to go into overdrive. ‘I’ve been really miserable lately. Thought I was losing my verve. Silly, isn’t it? So I thought I’d cheer myself up �
�� Dad says we’ve got to cut back on spending, but this lot is cheap.’
‘Very,’ said Chelsea wryly. ‘Mum, you are too old for stuff like that.’
‘Nonsense!’ said her mother brightly, ‘you’re as old as you feel. And besides, it’s no good going through life all bland and colourless. I feel like making a statement.’
‘Mum, the only statement you’re making is that your legs are too big for capris,’ said Chelsea. ‘Get some tracksuit trousers.’
‘Kids!’ chirruped Ginny to the assistant who was watching the charade in some amazement. ‘No sense of flair!’
Mothers! thought Chelsea, walking out of the shop while her mother, unabashed, purchased the ghastly gear. They should carry a government health warning. Then she saw something that stopped her dead in her tracks. Across the concourse, outside See Dees music shop, was Bilu Chakrabarti. And a girl. In an embrace. A very tight embrace. Oh knickers, thought Chelsea. What do I tell Sumitha?
Chapter Thirty – Nine
I Hate Her
Chelsea’s mortification didn’t stop with her mother. Her dad had been to London to record the Superchef programme and her mother had done a piece about it in the Echo.
LOCAL MAN COOKS UP A STORM!
Barry Gee, husband of our very own columnist, Ginny Gee, last week took part in the first round of ITV’s popular Superchef contest. Barry (50), a catering consultant from Leehampton, prepared a selection of what he calls ‘country cooking from the regions’ and …
‘Catering consultant?’ queried Chelsea.
‘Well, I wasn’t going to have them say he drove a van round town,’ muttered her mother.
‘But Dad, did you win?’ asked Chelsea. She certainly wasn’t having her friends watch if he made a complete prat of himself.
‘Watch and see,’ he said, his expression giving nothing away. ‘Anyway, we are not allowed to disclose the results until after transmission.’
As if all this were not enough, Mandy Fincham was really getting up Chelsea’s nose. At last week’s rehearsal, Mr Horage had said, ‘You make an excellent Nancy, Mandy,’ and Chelsea had muttered under her breath, ‘That’s because playing a slut comes naturally.’ Only Miss McConnell had been standing right behind her and heard, and sent her to the Head who gave her a detention and a diatribe on the evils of malicious gossip and slanderous talk. What was even worse was that Rob thought the sun shone out of Mandy’s – well, left ear.
The real crunch came a few days later. Chelsea, who had been collecting the papier mâché bowls which the art department had made for the workhouse dining room scene, wandered into the school hall to find Sumitha after the rehearsal had finished. There was no sign of her friend but, partly concealed by the curtains, she caught sight of Rob. And Mandy Fincham. Kissing.
So great was the shock that she fell over a chair, dropped the pile of bowls and at the clatter Rob and Mandy sprang guiltily apart.
‘Oh, it’s OK, it’s only Chelsea,’ said Mandy, draping her arm over Rob’s shoulder. ‘I thought it was the Horrific Horage.’
‘Rob … what are you doing?’ stammered Chelsea.
‘Oh, er, well, we were just rehearsing the kissing scene bit,’ he said dropping his eyes and turning a bright shade of cerise.
‘Well it didn’t look much like a rehearsal to me!’ shouted Chelsea. ‘But then, if you want to consort with a slag, you go right ahead. Don’t mind me!’
Mandy laughed, a high pitched brittle laugh. ‘We won’t, don’t worry!’ she sneered. ‘Why should we?’
Chelsea ran out of the hall, straight into Laura.
‘I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!’ she cried and burst into tears.
‘I think,’ said Laura, ‘we should go to a coffee shop on the way home.’
After two hot chocolates and a large blueberry muffin, Chelsea felt marginally better.
‘If you really want Rob that much,’ said Laura, ‘you’ll have to make him see that you’re much better than Mandy. Win him over with your charm.’
Which is just what my mother would say, thought Chelsea.
‘God, boys are so fickle!’ she said. ‘How could he?’
‘Well, look,’ said Laura, reasonably. ‘You can’t really call him fickle. I mean, you’re not exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, are you? If you were going out properly, then you’d have every right to have a showdown.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said Chelsea, and told Laura about seeing Bilu with an unknown girl.
‘So do I tell Sumitha or not?’ she asked.
‘Better not – not yet, anyway,’ Laura said. ‘She’d be so upset and besides, perhaps he was breaking up with this girl because he’d met Sumitha and it was just a farewell kiss.’
‘Some farewell,’ said Chelsea.
Chapter Forty
Jon Steps In
Jon was getting seriously worried. The week before, while he was cycling to the library, he had seen his mother and that man going into Finch’s Antique Gallery, laughing and giggling like a couple of kids. And yesterday, his mum had been late home from college again.
‘Where have you been?’ his father asked grumpily. ‘Oh, it was Vernon’s birthday, so a group of us went to Liam’s Tavern for a quick one on the way home.’
‘Oh,’ said Henry, meekly. ‘Meet anyone interesting, did you? Potential clients?’ Jon wanted to shake him. Can’t you see what is happening, Dad? he said silently. Do something. Now. Before it’s too late.
There was nothing for it – he would have to get his father on his own, to have a heart to heart with him before it was too late. And he thought he had an idea that Dad would not be able to resist.
‘Dad,’ he said that morning, ‘I don’t suppose you’d take me round a golf course one day. Just for a practice.’
Henry positively beamed. ‘Of course, of course, if you’d enjoy it – I didn’t think you were interested.’
‘Well, I’d like to see just what it is that fires you up, Dad,’ lied Jon.
‘Terrific, super – we’ll go next week.’ And for the first time in a long while, Henry looked exceedingly happy.
Chapter Forty-One
The Mums Have a Heart-to-Heart
It had been weeks since the mums had met up for a chat and Claire Farrant missed it. There seemed so little to occupy her these days with the twins at nursery and Sam at school.
Still, it would be half-term in a couple of days, which would mean all the little ones would be home. I’d better start baking cakes and making Jemma’s favourite lasagne, bread and butter pudding and those sticky caramel flapjacks, she thought. She’s been off her food lately and needs tempting with lots of nice goodies.
It was while she was in the supermarket stocking up with ingredients that she bumped into Ruth and Ginny. Ruth was in a mild state of shock, having just surveyed the cost of baby buggies, nappies and towelling sleepsuits, and was compensating by buying copious quantities of chocolate spread, bananas and red cabbage to assuage her latest cravings, and Ginny was looking for ‘Two for the Price of One’ offers on blusher and nail polish in pursuit of her new economy drive.
‘Why don’t you come back and have lunch with me?’ suggested Claire, and neither of them missed the faint note of pleading in her voice. ‘It’s been so long.’
‘I’d love to, but I said I’d call in on Chitrita,’ said Ginny. ‘She sounded a bit down. And then I’ve got two features to research.’
‘We’ll ring her and invite her round too. It won’t take long. There’s some white wine in the fridge,’ she added.
‘You’re on!’ said Ginny.
Since only Ginny had seen Ruth since she discovered she was pregnant, the first ten minutes of lunch were taken up with congratulations, and a ‘Rather you than me’ from Jon’s mum, who had popped in to borrow some of the twins’ tracing paper and decided to abandon making an Art Deco lampshade and eat lunch instead, and a ‘Oh, I do envy you’ from Jemma’s mum.
‘And is Laura thrilled?’ asked Claire, tossin
g Thousand Island dressing into the salad bowl.
‘Not so as you would notice,’ said Ruth wryly. ‘Apparently I have brought shame and ignominy upon our house. Melvyn, on the other hand, is another story - you’d think he was the first male in the history of evolution to father a child. He goes around with a permanent grin on his face.’ She grimaced.
‘Although I guess that will be wiped off his face when he realises how much we’ll have to spend on a cot and buggy and nappies and …’
‘Oh, don’t worry about all that,’ said Claire airily. ‘I can lend you loads of stuff - we had to double up when I had the twins, you see. Oh, but they are so lovely when they are tiny, aren’t they?’ she added, going all dreamy.
‘Chelsea tells me Sumitha has a boyfriend,’ said Ginny, turning to Chitrita. ‘I thought,’ she added sweetly, ‘that Rajiv would not permit friendships with the opposite sex.’
Mrs Banerji sighed.
‘Rajiv seems to think that Bilu is the ideal boy. Oh, he is distantly related to some aunt or cousin of Rajiv’s and that is supposed to be recommendation enough. Me, I am not so sure. I feel uneasy about the whole thing.’
The others waited expectantly.
‘The other day, they went out supposedly to the cinema to see that new sci-fi film they are all on about - but when they returned, Sumitha was obviously suffering from the effects of drink,’ sighed Chitrita.
‘No!’ they chorused.
‘I am sure of it,’ said Chitrita. ‘She said it was travel sickness but that child has never been car sick in her life. And besides, her breath smelled most strange.’
‘Did you ask her?’ asked Ginny.
Chitrita shook her head. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Bilu sounded so convincing and - well, he was a guest.’
‘And as such should not be putting your daughter at risk,’ insisted Ginny sternly. ‘And Sumitha?’
I Think I'll Just Curl Up and Die Page 8
