I Think I'll Just Curl Up and Die

by Rosie Rushton

  ‘You could throw up in peace!’ said Laura to her mother.

  ‘I’ve stopped all that now,’ said Ruth, laughing.

  ‘Well, next time then,’ said Laura.

  Melvyn and Ruth exchanged glances. Could Laura possibly be accepting things at long last?

  ‘We can have it, can’t we?’ said Laura. ‘Please. And Melvyn does need space for his computer stuff.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got others to look at,’ began Ruth, thinking that Laura had never before cared whether Melvyn was squashed into a shoe box. ‘We’ll have to see!’

  ‘But this is perfect!’ said Laura. ‘When my book is published and I become famous, this house would look great in all the press pictures.’

  She wondered why Melvyn and her mother both burst out laughing.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Tears Before Bedtime

  Sumitha was really excited about the party. Bilu had been very clever - they had gone to the exhibition, which really did exist, and which really was sponsored by friends of his father. They didn’t stay long, simply bought a catalogue as proof to Rajiv of their devotion to Hindu art. Bilu introduced Sumitha to a couple of people. ‘Excellent alibis!’ he muttered - and then they left for the party.

  By the time they got there, Sam’s party was already in full swing.

  ‘I’ll get you a drink,’ shouted Bilu above the noise of the music.

  He came back with a bright blue drink in a tumbler and handed it to Sumitha.

  ‘What’s in it?’ asked Sumitha, tentatively.

  ‘Oh, this and that - go on, it’s innocuous enough. Oh hi, Nigel, Chris …’ and he went across to greet his mates.

  Sumitha sipped the drink. It tasted lovely - ice cold and very refreshing. By the time Bilu bought Nigel and Chris over to meet her, the glass was empty.

  ‘Another?’ said Bilu with a smirk on his face.

  ‘Great - yes, please,’ said Sumitha. She was feeling really good, like she could take on the whole world.

  After two more drinks, Sumitha found she could chat about absolutely anything to absolutely anyone. More and more friends of Sam and Bilu kept turning up and she talked to them all. She found everything funny. And they laughed at everything she said. Sam said she was a real gem which made her feel good, and someone else muttered something about lambs to slaughter which made her giggle even more. Then someone fetched her another drink. Bilu took it from her hands.

  ‘I say, I think maybe you’ve had enough,’ said Bilu. Getting her merry was one thing but he didn’t want her passing out on him. ‘Shall I get you a fruit juice?’

  ‘No way,’ said Sumitha, grabbing the glass from him. ‘I like these.’

  ‘I’m going to get you a Coke,’ said Bilu firmly and pushed his way to the bar.

  ‘What a party pooper!’ said a tall guy with piggy eyes next to her. ‘I’m Giles - and those cocktails taste even better with sugar on the top - want some?’

  Sumitha nodded. He sprinkled some on top for her. It was wonderful. She felt ten feet tall, glamorous and witty. For a while.

  ‘Hi, Sumitha.’

  She turned round and tried to focus her eyes. It was Mandy Fincham.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ said Mandy. ‘Wouldn’t have thought it was your scene at all.’

  ‘Oh, I’m a prate garty poer … I mean, a great cratie …’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘See who’s here, Rob,’ said Mandy. ‘It’s Sumitha.’

  Rob? thought Sumitha. I wonder if Chelsea knows he’s here. And with Mandy Fincham at that.

  What’s Sumitha doing at a party like this? thought Rob. Come to think of it, what am I doing at a party like this? Everyone was at least eighteen or older and there seemed to be mountains of alcohol everywhere and proper bartenders mixing drinks.

  Bilu reappeared carrying a large glass of Coke.

  ‘Drink this,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Sumitha, ‘I wanna dance.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ said Bilu.

  ‘Well, I want to dance so there,’ said Sumitha whose head felt as though she had been on Space Mountain three times.

  ‘I’ll dance, kiddo.’ Giles dragged her on to the floor.

  Normally Sumitha loved dancing. She was good at it and had an inborn sense of rhythm. But tonight her feet kept doing things they shouldn’t and the more Giles spun her round the worse she felt.

  ‘I think I’d like to sit down now,’ she gasped, after a few minutes.

  Bilu appeared at her elbow. ‘Giles, stop it - I reckon she’s smashed.’

  ‘I need to sit down,’ she said. ‘Stop please.’

  But the words came out all funny. Everyone laughed and the sound echoed in her ears as if she was in a long tunnel.

  ‘Stop it, for heaven’s sake!’ she heard Rob shout. ‘She’s had too much to drink - stop it - leave her alone!’

  Her head felt as if it was floating away from her body. And then she was horribly sick.

  Sumitha staggered into the bathroom with Bilu following. She felt awful. And right now, she didn’t want Bilu. She wanted her mum.

  ‘You were sick all over my shoes,’ said Bilu in disgust. ‘They cost over two hundred pounds.’

  ‘I feel awful,’ she said.

  ‘You’d better get her home, Bilu,’ said Nigel who had come to see what was going on.

  ‘You’ve made a right mess on my parents’ carpet,’ said Sam. ‘It’s Chinese and cost a fortune.’

  ‘That’ll teach you to consort with kids,’ said Giles. ‘Anyway, where’s Natalie?’

  Natalie? thought Sumitha. That was the girl … but before she could think anything else she was sick again.

  ‘Oh great,’ said Bilu. ‘One decent party in a boring half-term and you have to go and spoil everything. You’re pathetic, you know that?’

  All the way home in the car Sumitha wanted to die. Her head was swimming and funny colours kept flashing before her eyes. Once she thought she saw a big green bird on the bonnet of the car and another time she saw two of everything. It was horrible.

  Bilu was driving really fast, grumbling about his ruined evening, and slamming the gears, apparently not at all worried that her stomach felt as if she had spent all afternoon at Alton Towers and her eyes refused to focus. She wished she had never gone to the stupid party.

  Bilu wished he’d never bothered with her. In the seat beside him, Sumitha groaned. She did look awfully pale and pinched. He guessed he shouldn’t have given her those drinks in the first place, but they weren’t that strong, and how was he to know she would go on slurping them indefinitely? And it wasn’t as if anyone had given her anything else. Unless … Bilu took a deep breath. Now if that had happened, he was going to have to do some pretty quick thinking before confronting Mr Banerji. And they were practically home.

  ‘I’m stopping for petrol,’ he said to Sumitha as they pulled in to the service station. ‘It’s only a few miles, but I don’t think I have enough.’

  He leaned across and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘No,’ she said. His breath smelled foul. He jumped out of the car and lurched a little unsteadily towards the pumps. Sumitha, who up until now had felt too out of it to think straight, realised he shouldn’t be driving.

  ‘I’m going to the loo,’ she muttered as Bilu unhooked the pump.

  But she didn’t. She walked into the service station, took out her mobile and phoned home. She swayed from side to side as she waited for an answer and had to hang on to the wall because everything round her appeared to be moving … she just prayed it would be her mother.

  ‘Yes?’ said her mum’s worried voice.

  ‘Mum? Mum, it’s me. Oh Mum,’ she sobbed, ‘please come and get me.’

  Sumitha sat huddled at a corner table in The Country Kitchen café at the service station.

  When Bilu had come searching for her, she had told him about her phone call home and he had flipped.
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  ‘You stupid kid!’ he shouted. ‘If you had done what I said, we’d have got away with it. Well, you can stay and take all that’s coming to you, but I’m off.’

  ‘Bilu, you can’t!’ cried Sumitha. ‘Don’t leave me - and don’t drive. Please.’

  But Bilu had gone.

  Tears ran down Sumitha’s cheeks.

  When Rajiv and Chitrita hurried into the café, Sumitha leaped up and hurled herself into her mother’s arms.

  ‘Oh Mum, I feel so awful - I keep being sick and I wanted you and I can’t see properly and …’

  Chitrita hugged her.

  ‘It’s all right, we’re here now. We’ll sort it all out.’

  ‘Where is Bilu?’ asked Rajiv grimly.

  ‘Gone,’ said Sumitha.

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’ asked Rajiv.

  ‘When I said you were coming, he just shouted at me and left,’ said Sumitha tearfully.

  ‘I see,’ said Mrs Banerji. ‘So as well as being irresponsible, he is also a coward.’

  ‘Mum, I feel …’ and with that Sumitha fainted at her mother’s feet.

  Chapter Fifty–Five

  A Day of Reckoning

  24 Wellington Road,

  Leehampton

  LE3 INS

  Dear Bilu,

  I am writing to say that sadly you will not be welcome in our home in future. And while you may consider that my decision is a direct result of the foolish and irresponsible way in which you caused Sumitha to become drunk when at the party that is only a part of the story.

  To make a mistake is part of growing up. To run away from your mistakes and expect someone else not only to take the blame but to face the music alone, is despicable.

  You lied to my wife and myself; you abused our trust. You put Sumitha’s life, and your own, at risk by driving when you had been drinking. Sumitha naturally admired you and envied your rather questionable lifestyle. It seems that even she has realised that there is more to life than fast cars and stylish nightclubs, that things like trust and caring for the well–being of others are what make a man.

  I can only hope that one day you discover this for yourself.

  Your cousin,

  Rajiv Banerji

  At ten the following morning there was a tap on Sumitha’s door. It was her mother.

  ‘Come downstairs, please. Your father and I want to talk to you.’

  Oh no, thought Sumitha. Here it comes.

  ‘I’ve got a bad headache,’ she ventured.

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said her mother.

  Sumitha pulled on her dressing gown and padded downstairs. At least this morning the staircase was stationary.

  In the dining room, her father was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. Her mother sat down opposite him, and coughed.

  He looked up.

  ‘Sumitha,’ he said.

  Sumitha took a deep breath and waited for the diatribe.

  ‘I am sorry,’ said her father.

  Sumitha looked puzzled. ‘Pardon?’ she said.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he repeated. ‘I have been misguided and although you acted very foolishly last night, and I am very angry about your deception, I feel partly to blame for what happened.’

  ‘But Dad …’ began Sumitha.

  ‘No,’ he said, holding up his hand, ‘just listen. This is not easy for me. For many years, I have believed that everything that comes out of India is good. Superior to England. Bilu was Indian; I assumed he upheld all that was best in our culture.’

  He sighed. ‘And I suppose, I have been suspicious of many aspects of Western life. Because of that, I have always tried to keep you and Sandeep close to our old traditions. Now I realise that there is good and bad in everything – and that not everything Indian is good.’

  ‘What your father is trying to say, Sumitha,’ interjected her mother, ‘is that, although what you did yesterday was wrong and misguided, he feels that if he had let you do more of the things your friends do, you might not have been quite so bedazzled by Bilu. He is, after all, a personable boy and you wanted to be grown up and have a boyfriend like the rest. Am I right?’

  Sumitha nodded.

  ‘Now Sumitha,’ said her father, ‘I want you to answer my next question truthfully. Did you take any drugs last night?’

  Sumitha gasped. ‘No, no honestly. Bilu just kept getting me these drinks – they were blue and tasted nice, really nice. I truly didn’t realise they were alcoholic. It wasn’t until I stood up that I felt odd.’

  ‘But Sumitha,’ said her father, ‘your mother tells me that the doctor who saw you in Casualty last night thinks you must have had some illegal substance in that drink. If you know anything at all you owe it to us to tell us.’

  ‘No, Dad, really –’ she paused. ‘Except …’

  ‘Yes?’ encouraged her mother. ‘Go on, you will not be punished for telling the truth.’

  ‘Well, now I come to think of it, one of Bilu’s friends said that the drink would taste even better with a sprinkling of sugar on the top.’

  ‘Oh Sumitha,’ began Chitrita, ‘Don’t you see? That was probably some awful drug or other.’

  Sumitha began to cry. ‘I didn’t realise, honestly I didn’t. I’m not going to die, am I?’

  ‘No,’ said her mother. ‘They said you only had a small amount and because you were so sick, most of it has cleared out of your system. Let it be a lesson to you.’

  ‘Oh and Sumitha,’ said her father. ‘Bilu will not be welcome in this house any more. I’m sorry – I know you were fond of him but …’

  ‘It’s all right, Dad,’ said Sumitha. ‘At least you care. Which is more than he did. But I did love him so.’ And she ran out of the room before they could see her crying.

  Chapter Fifty–Six

  Food for Thought

  CHIC

  The Parade

  Leehampton

  RECEIPT

  Silver slip dress – size 10 £29.99

  Strap sandals – size 4 £25.99

  Silver Hoop earrings £4.99

  Total £50.97

  ‘You looked amazing in that dress,’ said Chelsea to Jemma as they walked home from town. ‘I cannot believe how much weight you’ve lost, Jemma. Jemma?’

  ‘I don’t feel very …’ began Jemma and fell in a dead weight at Chelsea’s feet.

  ‘It’s lovely having you here, Mum,’ said Mrs Farrant to Jemma’s gran over coffee.

  ‘Mmm, it’s great being here and seeing you all again,’ murmured Gran. ‘But I must say I am worried about Jemma.’

  ‘Jemma? Why? She’s doing awfully well at school, and having fun with the musical and …’

  ‘Oh it’s not that – what I’m worried about is the fact that she seems to be …’

  Just then the bell rang. Mrs Farrant opened the door to find an exceedingly white Jemma being held up by Chelsea.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Farrant,’ gasped Chelsea, ‘but I had to get a taxi to bring Jemma home and I haven’t enough cash to pay for it.’

  ‘Leave this to me!’ bustled Jemma’s gran. ‘Take Jemma inside, dear, and I’ll sort the fare. No better still, you hop back in the taxi and I’ll get the driver to take you home. It was so good of you to look after Jemma.’

  Mrs Farrant took Jemma’s arm.

  ‘Petal, what is it? Have you got a bug? Do you feel sick? Oh, dear, dear – before you go, tell me what happened, Chelsea?’

  ‘Well, we’d finished shopping and were waiting for the bus and Jemma just sort of fainted. I’ll ring you later, Jemma, to see if you’re all right,’ said Chelsea.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll be fine now,’ said Jemma weakly.

  Mrs Farrant bustled into the kitchen and poured Jemma a glass of water.

  ‘Oh, in the name of heaven, Claire,’ snapped Jemma’s gran, coming back into the kitchen. ‘She needs more than water. It’s as plain as the nose on your face – the child’s been crash–dieting. Haven’t you, Jemma?’

  Jemma nodde
d and sipped the glass of water. She still felt really weird.

  ‘What do you mean, dieting?’ asked Claire, injured that her mother appeared to be taking over.

  ‘Not eating enough,’ said her mother succinctly. ‘I noticed it within hours of getting here. Jemma, just what have you eaten today?’

  ‘I had an apple for breakfast,’ said Jemma.

  ‘And yesterday at supper?’

  ‘Oh, yesterday we had fish pie, and carrots and peas and then I made this lovely syrup tart and …’ interrupted Mrs Farrant.

  ‘Jemma – what did you eat yesterday?’ repeated her gran.

  ‘I had the vegetables,’ said Jemma.

  ‘But darling, I served you myself.’

  ‘I gave half to Sam and put the rest in a poly bag when you went to answer the phone,’ admitted Jemma. ‘But Mum, I’ve got to get really slim for this party. And besides, boys like thin girls.’

  ‘Rubbish, fiddlesticks and total nonsense,’ said her gran. ‘Boys like girls with sass and a sense of fun – and you can’t be lively on an apple and the odd carrot.’

  ‘Rupert keeps staring at me – I know it’s because I’m so fat,’ whispered Jemma. And she burst into tears.

  ‘Now listen, Jemma,’ said her gran, putting an arm round her shoulders. ‘In my experience – and yes, I do have a little, old though I may be now – the usual reason why boys stare at girls is because they are besotted by bosoms. And because their testosterone levels are whizzing through the roof,’ she added wryly.

  ‘Mother!’ gasped Mrs Farrant.

  ‘Well, it’s true, Claire. Oh, stop looking so shocked – don’t forget, I remember you and Jeremy Bayliss–Smith!’

  Jemma perked up.

  ‘What, Mum and a boyfriend?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, when she was fifteen this lad at the church had a crush on her. She used to read the lesson and he almost fell out of his pew in adoration. She had a wonderful bust, as I recall. I was quite envious, seeing as all I was endowed with was two undersized thimbles.’