Ten minutes later, Anona was sitting, head in hands, riddled with guilt. ‘I forgot all about phoning Ruth,’ she wailed. ‘If that kid on the TV was Laura, she’ll never forgive me. Jon, do you think it could have been someone else?’
Jon didn’t reply. He was heading out to the General Hospital.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Parental Panics
Ginny turned the key in the front door. She was walking on air. The producer had been delighted with the show and booked her to cover for Tessa until she was out of plaster.
‘Chelsea! Barry! I’m home,’ she called.
Bother, she thought. I want to share this with someone. She ran upstairs and knocked on Chelsea’s door. ‘You awake, Chelsea? Can I come in?’
She pushed the door open. The room was empty.
And so was the rest of the house.
Ginny had run the full gamut of emotions, from fury with her daughter for going out without permission when she was grounded to the tearful certainty that she had been abducted, run over by a truck or rushed to hospital with appendicitis.
‘The answerphone!’ she thought and played back the only message recorded.
‘It’s me, Chelsea . . .’
Thank heaven. Ginny waited. There was the sound of stifled sobbing and then an ominous click. And nothing.
‘Oh my God!’ cried Ginny to the empty house and was about to phone the police when Barry arrived home.
‘Ginny – great news! Our troubles are over! You—’
‘Barry – it’s Chelsea; she’s not home and on the answer-phone, she said “It’s me,” and then nothing.’
Barry stopped in mid flow. ‘What do you mean, nothing?’
‘What does nothing usually mean?’ she snapped. ‘She started to leave a message and then it all went dead. Oh God, Barry, suppose someone’s—’
‘Now hang on, love. Let’s think this through. Have you tried her mobile? Phoned Laura’s house? Sumitha’s?’ suggested Barry.
Ginny told him that Chelsea’s phone went straight through to voicemail, then duly phoned around. There was no reply from Laura’s, and the Banerjis assured her that they hadn’t seen Chelsea for weeks.
‘I’ll take the car and go and look for her,’ said Barry. ‘You don’t suppose she might have gone to that Tip place, do you?’
‘Maybe,’ said Ginny, ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you stay here in case she phones,’ said Barry.
But as they opened the front door, a cab pulled up outside. Chelsea tumbled out and flew up the path and straight into her mother’s arms.
‘Chelsea, thank God – are you all right?’ Her mother choked back tears of relief that her daughter was in one piece.
‘I’m sorry. Mum, I . . .’ Chelsea was sobbing too hard to speak.
Barry paid the taxi driver while Ginny led Chelsea into the house.
Ten minutes later, the three of them were seated round the kitchen table, drinking mugs of cocoa.
‘Now tell me, sweetheart, and tell me truthfully, did this Eddie do anything other than try to kiss you? No one will be cross, but you must tell us.’
‘No,’ said Chelsea, shaking her head. ‘I kicked him in the crotch.’
‘Good for you,’ said Barry. ‘And you didn’t take that pill?’
‘Of course not,’ said Chelsea indignantly. ‘Give me some credit.’
‘If I ever get my hands on him . . .’ muttered Barry. ‘Not that you should have been out anyway, you were grounded,’ he added sternly. Frankly he was so relieved to have her home safe and sound that he had almost forgotten to be cross.
‘I know. I’m sorry. I just felt that since no one cared anyway, there was nothing to lose.’
‘But darling, of course we care,’ began Ginny.
‘I know that now – I saw the TV show.’
‘Oh, I forgot – how did it go?’ said Barry.
‘Fine, but we’ll talk about that later,’ said Ginny. ‘What were you saying, darling?’
‘I went to the fish and chip shop and your show was on the TV and when that woman asked about your kids, you said you loved me and didn’t want me to leave home and I thought you hated me and loved Geneva best and couldn’t wait to get rid of me,’ said Chelsea in a rush, tears spilling over once again.
‘Oh, sweetheart – how could you think that?’ cried Ginny. What sort of mother was she? How could she not have made it clear that Chelsea was everything in the world to her?
‘But Dad said he wished Geneva was home,’ said Chelsea.
‘I did?’ said Barry, looking puzzled.
‘That night at Lorenzo’s,’ she said.
‘Oh – well, that was just because I reckoned it would be much more fun for you. You must miss Geneva – you and she used to be really close.’
Chelsea nodded. ‘I do miss her,’ she said, acknowledging the fact to herself for the first time.
‘What else?’ asked her mother gently.
‘And you were cross about my room, and Dad hated my clothes and none of my friends seem to want me around . . .’
‘Sweetheart, listen,’ said Ginny. ‘We want you, very very much. Sometimes we let our personal worries and disappointments and anxieties spill over into our relationships – I do it with your dad, he does it with me. That’s life. It happens. I look at you and I see this stunning, gorgeous girl and I think – help. Please God, don’t let her go off the rails. Or get hurt. Or be anything other than happy. And then I go too far the other way and come over the heavy-handed mum.
‘We both love you very much,’ said Barry. ‘Come to think of it, I could name the new restaurant after you. Chelsea’s. Nice ring, don’t you think?’
‘What new restaurant?’ chorused Chelsea and her mum.
‘Ah well, that’s my bit of news. I had a call from this guy, Will Zetland, who saw me on Superchef. He’s bought the old Famished Friar restaurant in Bridge Street – you know, the one that closed down last spring – and he wants me to run it. He’ll do all the business side and give me a free hand with the food. And I get a salary,’ he added, winking at Ginny.
‘Fantastic!’ cried Ginny. ‘Oh Barry, I’m so happy for you!’ She jumped up and gave him a big hug.
‘Dad, that’s brilliant!’ said Chelsea. ‘But don’t call it Chelsea’s – please. That would put my mates off me even more.’
‘Oh well, you’ll have to think up another name,’ said Ginny, making a mental note to talk to Chelsea about the whole subject of friendship.
‘What’s this other guy’s name?’ said Chelsea.
‘Will Zetland,’ said Barry.
‘There you are then,’ said Chelsea. ‘Gee Whizz. You’re Gee, and his initials are WZ. Gee Whizz.’
‘Chelsea,’ said her father, enveloping her in a bear hug. ‘You are one amazing kid. Gee Whizz it is.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Jemma Faces the Music
‘But Gran – you can’t get married!’ exclaimed Jemma for the tenth time that day.
‘Oh, I rather think I can, sweetheart,’ said Gran equably. She turned to Tom, who was gazing at her adoringly, and squeezed his hand. ‘I think we shall make out rather well, don’t you, my love?’
‘Quite admirably,’ said Tom, smiling at her. ‘And to think, I shall have a ready-made granddaughter to spoil.’ He grinned at Jemma, who tossed her head and looked away. ‘And Jemma dear,’ continued Gran, ‘I’d like you to be my attendant at the wedding – first Saturday in April.’
‘Oh, sorry, if it’s a Saturday I shan’t be there – I shall be rehearsing,’ said Jemma. ‘Estella is a very important role.’
She was very miffed that her Gran was more concerned about getting married than her granddaughter’s impending fame.
‘I wasn’t aware that you had actually got the part,’ interrupted her mum ‘and if you have we still have to discuss whether you will take it.’
Jemma raised her eyebrows impatiently. ‘Well, I haven’t actually been told I’ve
got it yet,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s pretty obvious – I was easily the best one there.’
After her grandmother and Tom had left, Jemma rounded on her mother.
‘Well, aren’t you pleased?’ she snapped.
‘Delighted, darling – Gran deserves to be happy.’
‘Not about Gran, about me and the part,’ said Jemma irritably.
‘Not really, no.’
Jemma stared at her open-mouthed.
‘Anything that threatens to turn you into a self-opinionated, smug little madam, who is too wrapped up in herself to be happy for anyone else, is not likely to give me pleasure,’ said her mother. ‘And if you do get the part, I am not at all sure that you will be allowed to take it.’
Jemma was so taken aback she forgot to close her mouth. Her mother was looking at Jemma with real distaste. And what was more, she hadn’t once called her petal.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Laura Receives a Tonic
‘I think you can take this young lady home now,’ said the doctor gently, laying a hand on Laura’s shoulder. ‘And steer clear of crowds – we don’t want you taking any more knocks for a few days. Now, if you could just sign this . . .’ He turned his attention to Laura’s mum.
‘I suppose you think I got what I deserved?’ Laura said to Melvyn as her mother signed the doctor’s forms. ‘You never wanted me to protest in the first place, did you?’
‘It’s not the protesting that worries me, love,’ said Melvyn. ‘I admire you for having principles and feeling strongly enough to do something about them. What I cannot stand is the way some people seem to think that violence is the answer to everything – if someone doesn’t agree with you, hit them first and think afterwards. That’s the philosophy that sickens me.’
Laura smiled wanly. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to stick to writing books from now on,’ she said. ‘Do you know what happened to Daniel?’ she asked, as they walked through the waiting area to the main entrance.
‘Apparently he was taken to the police station,’ said Melvyn grimly. ‘I’ll be having words with that lad later on.’
‘Oh, don’t go and make a scene!’ pleaded Laura. ‘It’ll go all round the school if Alexa hears about it. It was as much my fault as his – if I hadn’t tried to stop him . . .’
‘You tried to stop him making a complete idiot of himself,’ said Melvyn. ‘He’s older than you; he should have known better.’
Laura sighed. She hadn’t really expected Daniel to be such an idiot. Protesting was one thing but Melvyn was right; getting violent and abusive was something else altogether.
‘Laura! Laura!’ She turned round, wincing slightly at the pain in her head. And blinked. Twice. Perhaps the bang on her head had been worse than they thought. She could swear that was Jon, leaning on the nurse’s desk.
‘Well, Jon, fancy seeing you here!’ said her mother as he came towards them. So she wasn’t dreaming. It really was Jon. ‘Oh, dear, is it your mother? Was she hurt too?’
Jon shook his head. ‘She’s got the flu, so she didn’t go,’ he said. Ruth was about to say something pointed about irresponsibility and bit her tongue. After all, it wasn’t Jon’s fault.
‘Are you all right?’ he said, glancing anxiously at Laura’s white face and plastered forehead. ‘Did you break anything? I came as soon as I heard.’
Laura shook her head, and winced again. ‘No, I just got cut on the head – I’m fine,’ she assured him. ‘But how did you know I was here?’
‘I saw it on the TV,’ he said.
‘I was on television?’ asked Laura, perking up.
‘On the local news,’ said Jon. ‘It really panicked me – you looked, well, I thought you were . . . so I came.’ He blushed and fidgeted with his scarf.
‘Well, we must get Laura home,’ said Ruth briskly, noticing that her daughter was looking rather bright-eyed and flushed and thinking she might be running a fever.
‘Er, would it be all right if I came round tomorrow?’ said Jon. ‘Just to see how you are?’
‘Well, she’s supposed to rest,’ began Ruth.
‘Yes,’ replied Laura firmly. ‘That would be great.’
She was feeling better already.
Chapter Fifty
Love for Laura
‘I bought you these,’ said Jon when he arrived at Laura’s house on Sunday afternoon. He handed her a box of Quality Street.
‘Thanks ever so much,’ said Laura. Her stomach was turning over and she didn’t think it was an after-effect of the accident. ‘And thanks for coming yesterday,’ she added. ‘That was really nice of you.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Jon. ‘I did this too.’ He handed her a sheet of paper, covered with cartoons. ‘It’s a sort of history of the times we’ve met. It struck me that there always seems to be some sort of crisis when I see you,’ he added with a grin.
There was Laura hurtling down the hill on her bike months before, Laura lying in a heap at Jon’s feet, Laura trying miserably to draw pictures, and Laura, head bandaged, looking battered and bruised.
‘It’s brilliant!’ she said. ‘We do seem to get together in odd circumstances, don’t we?’ she added, thinking silently that it was worth having an aching head if it meant getting Jon to herself for a while.
‘Yes, well,’ said Jon, taking a deep breath. ‘I mean, we could change that. I mean, I was thinking – well, I kind of think you are really cute and – will you go out with me?’
Damn, he thought. That sounded so naff. How uncool can you get? Laura was staring at him, open-mouthed. He’d blown it. He knew it. He should have been more laid back.
‘I’d like that,’ said Laura.
‘You would?’ asked Jon.
‘Very much,’ said Laura, smiling.
Chapter Fifty-One
Birth Pangs
‘You sound very cheerful,’ remarked her mother on Monday morning, interrupting Laura’s rendition of Madonna.
‘I am,’ said Laura.
‘Would this have anything to do with Jon’s visit yesterday afternoon?’ asked her mother, smiling.
‘It might,’ admitted Laura.
‘Well, it’s good to see you happy,’ said her mother, giving her a hug. ‘But I really don’t think you should go to school today – you still look a bit pale and that cut hasn’t had a chance to start healing.’
‘Oh Mum, I’ll be fine, honestly. Don’t fuss,’ said Laura. She had to go to school to tell everyone – including Sumitha – about her and Jon. She felt like she was walking on air. It was true what they said: being in love was the most wonderful thing in the whole world.
She was gathering up her kit when she heard a scream from the kitchen.
‘Laura! Lau–raaaah!’
She rushed downstairs to find her mother hanging on to the door handle, clutching her stomach. The floor was rather wet.
‘Laura – it’s the baby. It’s coming!’ Ruth gasped.
‘But it can’t be – you said it wasn’t due till March the twelfth,’ protested Laura.
‘Well, it obviously doesn’t have a calendar in there,’ snapped Ruth. ‘Sorry love. Look, can you ring Melvyn’s office and . . . aaah!’
‘Sit down, Mum,’ said Laura firmly, leading her mother into the sitting room. Heart pounding, she phoned Melvyn’s office.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Crouch has gone over to our Kettleborough office,’ said the telephonist. ‘Can our Mr Leadsom help you?’
‘Not unless he has a diploma in midwifery,’ said Laura acerbically. ‘Can you phone him and tell him my mum is in labour?’
‘Oh, my goodness – oh well, yes of course,’ said the girl. ‘At once.’
Laura went back into the sitting room.
‘This isn’t meant to be happening,’ gasped Ruth. ‘The contractions – they’re coming really close together.’
‘I’ll phone for an ambulance,’ said Laura. ‘Just don’t give birth on the floor. Please.’
Chapter Fifty-Two
No
w We Are Four
‘He’s so little,’ breathed Laura, leaning over the cot in the Special Care Baby Unit. ‘He is going to be all right, isn’t he?’ she added.
‘The nurse said he’s doing really well,’ said Melvyn reassuringly. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’ he added, turning to the nurse who was adjusting one of the tiny tubes attached to the baby.
‘He’s doing brilliantly,’ she said. ‘You were just a bit too impatient to come into the world, weren’t you, little one?’ she said to the baby.
‘The mother had had some sort of shock, I understand,’ said another nurse who was attending to a tiny baby in the next cot. ‘That probably induced premature labour.’
It was my fault, thought Laura. If I hadn’t gone to the demonstration and ended up in Casualty, Mum would never have had the baby early. If the baby dies, it’ll be because of me.
‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and see your mum,’ said Melvyn.
‘Have you seen him? Isn’t he adorable?’ Ruth asked as Laura gave her a kiss.
Laura nodded. And burst into tears.
‘Laura, love, what is it?’ asked her mother anxiously. ‘You’ll get used to having the baby around.’
‘Mum, I didn’t mean to make this happen,’ she said. ‘He looks so little, and he’s got tubes and things in him and—’
‘Laura, love, listen,’ said Melvyn quickly. ‘He’s going to be fine. Honestly. The nurse explained. With premature babies they take precautions. He’s only four weeks early and that’s no big deal. And there’s this new drug they use which helps their breathing. He really will be just fine. It’s wonderful what modern medicine can do.’
Laura wiped her eyes. ‘I’m so glad that Charlie’s going to be OK.’
‘Charlie?’ chorused Ruth and Melvyn.
‘Well,’ said Laura, pulling herself together, ‘you didn’t seriously believe I was going to let you call him Tarquin, did you? Besides, I’ve always thought of it – him – as Charlie. Charles for a boy. Charlotte for a girl. Charlie.’
How Could You Do This To Me, Mum? Page 12
