Not that I’ve got anywhere to go if I did have something. I haven’t made any real friends yet, but this girl Laura invited me to go to this place in town – it’s called The Stomping Ground and everyone in my class gets to go there on the first Saturday in the month because they have an under-eighteen night. Now Mum says I can’t go because she doesn’t know what type of people will be there. It’s not fair – no other mother makes a fuss like she does. Can’t you make Mum loosen up a bit? I bet you let her do masses of things when shewas a kid. Someone like you who cycled to Greece and went swimming in the fountainsat Trafalgar Square must have been a really cool mother to have. So why isn’t Mum more like you? In biology Mr Garrett said you got your genes from your parents. What happened with Mum? Was she a changeling? (Joke.)
Please come and stay with us soon – Ireally miss not having someone I can reallytalk to without having to think about whatto say first.
Do write soon,
Loads and loads of luv
Jemma
X
Jemma folded the letter and put it in an envelope. She hoped it would work, because if something didn’t change soon, she was going to have to take drastic action.
Chapter Fourteen
The Mums Come to an Agreement
Why, thought Laura’s mum, does the phone always ring when you least feel like talking to anyone ever again?
‘554266 – RuthTurnbull here.’
‘Oh, Ruth – it’s Claire Farrant, we met outside school last Friday. I’m Jemma’s mother, remember?’
Oh yes, the rather frumpy woman in the duffel coat who was worrying about whether there was sufficient supervision of Year Nine swimming and complaining that she had to fetch her daughter because the school bus was so rowdy. What on earth could she want?
‘I hope you don’t mind my ringing you, only I have a problem,’ said Mrs Farrant.
‘Well, if I can help,’ Ruth said politely. Oh, get on with it woman, she thought.
‘It’s Jemma. She wants to go to this club thing at The Stamping Ground tonight.’
‘Stomping …’ said Ruth without thinking.
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s The Stomping Ground,’ clarified Ruth. ‘But actually …’
‘Yes, she says your little Laura invited her – so sweet, seeing as Jemma’s a bit lonely and doesn’t really know many people yet. But to be honest, I’m a bit dubious – you know, only having been here a few weeks, I don’t know the place at all. So I said no. Just to be on the safe side. Well, we had histrionics, door slamming, the works. She says Laura often goes. Is that right?’
Ruth hesitated. ‘Well yes, from time to time but, actually …’
‘I mean, what sort of reputation has this place got?’ continued Claire. ‘One can’t be too careful, can one?’ Ruth wondered whether getting out of bed in the morning caused Mrs Farrant the same amount of anxiety as everything else seemed to.
‘Well, apart from bursting eardrums at fifty paces and resembling the Black Hole of Calcutta, it’s no worse than any other club.’
Claire sighed. ‘What sort of youngsters go there? I mean, Jemma is very immature, and well, she’s not used …’
‘Well, they don’t all beat up old ladies and set fire to waste bins here in Leehampton, you know!’ Ruth snapped and then gnawed at her lip. It wasn’t Claire’s fault that the last thing Ruth wanted to talk about was the confounded Stomping Ground. She probably wasn’t as neurotic as she sounded. At least there was someone else who was finding that motherhood was not a doddle.
She took a deep breath and determined to be cooperative.
‘I mean, they have people on the door, and everything, and Friday is under-eighteen night so there’s no alcohol around,’ she said.
‘Oh, well then, I suppose … since you’re letting Laura go. And apparently, that other girl from their class – Chelsea, is it? The curly headed one? – she’s going. So I thought – if I did the driving there and back – could they all go together? I mean, I’d feel much happier if
Jemma was with a friend all the time – and if you approve of the place, well, I’m sure it must be OK!’ Mrs Farrant actually sounded as if she wasn’t at all sure that anything was OK.
‘Well, the thing is, I had told Laura …’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t expect them to stay late or anything. I’d have them all home by ten-thirty p.m. Earlier, probably.That’d be all right, wouldn’t it?’
‘Well, actually, I told Laura that she …’ Ruth ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. ‘Oh, what the heck – yes, yes that would be fine. Only there’ll be another kid from school, Sumitha Banerji, as well. I’ve got her for the night while her parents go to a dinner dance. Is that OK?’
‘Oh, that’s no problem. Come to think of it, that name rings a bell — we met someone from the hospital, a colleague of Andrew’s, of that name. I wonder if it’s the same family. Anyway, it’ll be nice for Jemma to get to know someone else,’ said Claire, pausing momentarily for breath. ‘Apparently because of the move her social life is at an all time low.’
‘Sure you don’t mind driving?’
‘Not at all. Least I can do. Actually, you’ve saved my bacon with Jemma. She might start speaking to me again. She thinks I’m the pits at the moment.’
‘Join the club. See you later.’
Chapter Fifteen
Laura’s Reprieve
So much for stern discipline, thought Ruth wryly. But what could she do? Laura had obviously taken Jemma under her wing and it wasn’t fair to spoil another kid’s evening just because her own daughter was way out of line. The trouble was, Laura would see it as certain victory. Still, it was the easy way out, and right now Mrs Turnbull didn’t have the energy for another argument. These days all her spare time was taken up writing job applications for jobs she didn’t want, simply because she needed the money. It seemed no one needed her – she had lost count of the number of ‘Dear Mrs Turnbull, Thank you for your application but we regret …’ letters she had received. Apparently, typing and shorthand were no good these days – you had to be able to understand all these weird computer languages, know what e-mail was and preferably be able to fax Hong Kong with one hand, while drawing up a spreadsheet with the other. She felt redundant. Still, one person would be pleased with her.
‘Laura – come down here a moment, please,’ she called.
Laura considered not replying but thought that perhaps that was not the best idea.
‘Whadyawant?’ she muttered, dragging her feet down the stairs.
‘Laura, why are you crying?’ her mother asked.
‘Me? Oh, no reason. After all, why should I cry? Everything is hunky-dory, isn’t it? Banned from seeing my friends on the most important night of the entire year. Living in …’
‘You can go tonight.’
‘Living in a pokey ̷ What did you say?’
‘I said, you can go tonight.’
‘Really?’
Her mother sighed. ‘Really.’
‘Oh Mum, thanks. I love you, I love you. I do honestly. And I’m sorry about the radio thing. I honestly had your best interests at heart. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Oh thanks. What made you change your mind? Can I borrow your cinnamon eye pencil?’
‘Jemma Farrant’s mum and yes.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, you can borrow …’
‘No, what about Jemma’s mum?’
‘She phoned me to say Jemma wanted to go to the club night but because they were new to the town, she was a bit worried. Then she thought that if you and Chelsea were going, Jemma could go with you. Mrs Farrant is doing the driving – so Mr Gee won’t have to bother. All you are supposed to do is look after Jemma.’
‘You mean – you actually agreed for Mrs Farrant to take ME to and from the club?’
Yes – why?’
You mean, she is picking me up? From here?’
‘Well, no dear, actually I said you would nip over to her place in
the helicopter and land on her roof. Of course she is picking you up from here. Where else would she pick you up from?’
‘Anywhere, anywhere but here. Oh, Mum, how could you? What’ll I do – I know, Sumitha and I will have to go over to Chelsea’s and she can pick us both up there. Mum, how could you suggest she came here? Have you no idea?’
Ruth was puzzled. ‘Well, I mean, it’s hardly out of her way and she did offer.’
Laura raised her eyebrows heavenwards at the stupidity of her mother. ‘Listen Mum, the Farrants live on Billing Hill, in a huge house. Jemma asked me back after school – they’ve got one of those kitchens like you see in magazines with things hanging down from the ceiling and two bathrooms and a study and everything. They mustn’t see this house. No way.’
‘For God’s sake, Laura, you would think we lived in a shanty town. This is a perfectly decent semi-detached house in a perfectly decent close. Just because we used to live in a Victorian eyesore of a place with howling draughts and damp in the cellar you think anything smaller than an aircraft hangar is too downmarket for you.’
‘Oh, Mum, you don’t …’
‘Understand. I know. Apparently I understand nothing. Well, one thing I do understand is that you set far too much store by outward appearances. Just because, for the time being, we are living in a smaller house than we’ve been used to, doesn’t make us lesser mortals, you know. I have a horrible feeling that you are turning into a little snob. Always worrying about what people will think.’
‘Well, that’s better than being like you and not caring two hoots about the impression you make or the way you carry on!’ shouted Laura.
Don’t rise to the bait, MrsTurnbull instructed herself.
Just count to ten. It didn’t do any good so she did it again in French.
‘Anyway, you’re happy enough to have Sumitha here to stay,’ she said.
‘That’s different – her house is small too. Except that her parents are house-hunting for a bigger house in the country,’ she added with the air of one who knows that the whole world is better off than her.
‘Oh for pity’s sake, girl … Now do you want to go to this wretched club or don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes – thanks Mum. I’ll go and ring Chelsea and say I’ll wait there for Mrs Farrant. By the time she brings us home it will be pitch dark, thank goodness.’
Chapter Sixteen
Jemma’s Change of Luck
Jemma was just sealing the envelope when her mother walked in.
‘OK, you win, you can go tonight.’ Her mother was gnawing her bottom lip, a sure sign that she was not totally happy.
Jemma’s mouth dropped open.
‘Well, are you going to say something or just stare at me like a goldfish?’ asked her mother.
‘Thanks, Mum, that’s brilliant.’Jemma jumped up and gave her mum a bear-like hug. ‘But what made you suddenly change your mind?’
‘Well, I phoned Laura Turnbull’s mother to find out what sort of people went to this Stomping Ground place, and to ask if Laura and Chelsea would go along with you and keep an eye on you so that…’
‘You did what?’Jemma whispered.
‘I asked MrsTurnbull if she approved of the place and when she said it was all right, I said that I would take you and Laura and then she and Chelsea would keep an eye on you.’
Oh, that’s great, that is, thought Jemma. Thanks Mum. Thanks a million. Make me look a complete baby, why don’t you?
She wanted to yell at her mum and ask her how she thought it looked, having her ring up and check whether somewhere was OK for her to go. She wanted to shout and tell her that by asking them to ‘look after’ her, she was simply making her a laughing stock.
But she said nothing. She bit her tongue and kept quiet. Jemma hated arguments and went out of her way to avoid them. Only it was getting harder. When they had lived in Brighton, Jemma used to go round the corner to Gran’s when her parents had an argument – or rather, when Jemma’s mum told her dad that no, they were not going to do things that way and if he didn’t very much mind, she was the one who would say what was what as far as the kids were concerned – and Gran, who was the most sensible person in the entire universe used to give her carrot wine and saffron cake and say it would sort itself out. And it usually did, because Gran would take Mum out for coffee and for a few days after that things would be OK.
Jemma didn’t know why her mum made such a baby of her. After all, she had Sam, who if not a baby was after all only six, and she had the twins who were totally babyish at three.
Jemma took a deep breath.’I wish you hadn’t said that bit about keeping an eye on me, Mum,’ she ventured.
Her mother immediately tossed her head, shrugged and looked injured. ‘Well, really, Jemma, I thought you’d be grateful to me for letting you go. The fact remains, I’m not over the moon about the idea but I decided to meet you halfway. And this is all the thanks I get. If you don’t like my conditions, you don’t have to go.’
‘Sorry – thanks. It’s really nice of you,’Jemma thought fast.At least she was going.‘I haven’t got anything to wear.’
‘Oh don’t be silly, darling,’ said her mother, obviously relieved that the confrontation was past. ‘There’s that nice little blue dress with the white collar or your cord skirt and …’
‘Don’t worry, Mum – I’ll find something.’And it won’t be floral or have a white collar, thought Jemma to herself.
Chapter Seventeen
Chelsea’s Mum Explodes
Dear Ginny
Gone to corner shop for raisins for lunch.
Chelsea upstairs with Laura, Warwick gone to Garden Centre.
I reminded him about his jabs and he went pale and left.
Barry
Ginny staggered to the larder with two carrier bags of groceries and a pained expression. What on earth did he want raisins for? They were having spaghetti bolognese and cheese.
Then she caught sight of the dish on the hob. She sniffed. Obviously another one of Barry’s creations. He was a good cook, there was no disputing that; it was just that he never remembered that Chelsea and Warwick had very conservative tastes.
Then it hit her. What did the note say? She re-read it. ‘Chelsea and Laura upstairs.’ Right, young ladies, she thought, and was about to charge upstairs when her husband ambled through the back door clutching a brown paper bag.
‘Good programme, dear?’ he asked affably.
‘It had its moments,’Ginny replied. ‘What’s this about Chelsea and Laura? I thought Chelsea was supposed to help you this morning.’
‘Help is possibly a slight overstatement. She appeared in the kitchen briefly, moaned about your job for three minutes and disappeared. She spent most of the morning upstairs with Laura, gassing on the telephone.’
‘Laura was here this morning?’
‘Yes – looked like a demented scarecrow to my mind. They closeted themselves upstairs and yakked as usual.’ He emptied the raisins on to the work top. ‘But Laura’s gone now – I passed her on my way back.’
‘Right.’ Ginny marched to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Chelsea! Down here! NOW!’
‘What’s up?’ muttered her husband, opening the oven door and putting his gourmet creation on the top shelf.
‘I shall kill her,’ muttered Ginny. Barry withdrew to the garage. He had made his contribution to the smooth running of the household and if Ginny was in a mood, he deemed it safer to be out of the way. He overlooked the small matter of the six dirty saucepans and four plates stacked in the sink.
Chelsea shuffled into the kitchen. She had a nasty feeling that she knew what was wrong.
‘Chelsea,’ said her mother, taking a deep breath, and trying to remember all those words of wisdom from Helena Hopfield, life coach and supernanny of Living TV, about temper being a sign of weakness,’was Laura in this house this morning when she phoned me on Moan Line? I want a straight answer, yes or no.’
‘Yes,’ said Chelsea.
>
‘How COULD you do such a thing?’ screeched Ginny, all thoughts of Helena Hopfield vanishing in an instant. ‘Have you any idea how embarrassing that was for me?’
‘It wasn’t my idea …’ Chelsea said.
‘I don’t give a damn whose IDEA it was.You let her use the phone. She obviously came here with the express purpose of phoning the programme. Without you egging her on, she’d probably have dropped the whole stupid scheme. And what about Laura’s mother – how do you think she’s feeling right now?’
‘Oh, don’t worry, Laura’s mum never listens to things like On Your Marks,’ said Chelsea reassuringly.
‘Well, that is where you are wrong, Little Miss Know It All. Ruth told me yesterday that she’d be tuning in because she wanted to hear me. She does happen to be one of my best friends, you know. Or was, until this morning. She probably isn’t speaking to me by now.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Sorry? Sorry? That’s it, is it? You put me in a most embarrassing position, and then all you can say is sorry. I’ll have to go and ring Ruth – what she must be thinking, heaven knows. She’s got enough on her plate just now without you adding insult to injury. This is just a horrible mess.’ Ginny ran her fingers through her hair. This didn’t cause much trouble as her locks were rigid with fast hold hairspray.
‘Well, I didn’t ask you to go on the stupid programme, did I?’ shouted Chelsea. ‘You embarrass me every week, writing all that garbage in the paper and wearing stupid clothes that show your knobbly knees and talking about periods on the radio. You go on and on about being “The Listening Mum with the Ear of the Young” and then you do a meltdown when one of my friends actually wants you to listen. I don’t get you at all.’
‘Listen, it’s not … Oh blast it, there’s the phone. I haven’t finished with you yet, young lady.’
Ginny snatched up the receiver.’554 …’
‘Hello? Ginny? It’s Ruth.’ Mrs Turnbull didn’t sound very happy.
Just Don't Make a Scene, Mum! Page 5
