‘How long have you known Jon Joseph, Sumitha?’ asked Mrs Farrant as she went round the roundabout for the second time, having missed her turning.
Sumitha had to think fast. This was tricky. Mrs Farrant obviously knew Jon. Mr Farrant also knew Dad. ‘Oh, he’s a family friend, Mrs Farrant,’ she said. ‘We haven’t seen him in ages – it was nice catching up with him again,’ She crossed her fingers under her jacket.
‘Oh I see,’ said Mrs Farrant doubtfully.
I think I’ve got away with it, thought Sumitha. Prayers do get answered after all.
At last they drew up outside Laura’s house.’I’ll just see you two to the door, Laura,’ said Mrs Farrant.
‘Oh no, please don’t bother,’ said Laura hastily. ‘We’ll be fine.’ There was no way she wanted Mrs Farrant noting the peeling paint on the front porch or the fact that the doorbell was stuck over with sticking plaster because it didn’t work and her mother kept forgetting to buy a new battery.
And then it happened. The front door opened. Mrs Turnbull gave a cheery wave. She was clad in her blue velvet housecoat with the white patch where Laura had knocked the bleach over it. She had bare feet. She had taken her make-up off and her nose was shiny. But worst of all, standing beside her with a stupid grin on his face was the oik Melvyn. Laura cringed. How could she do it? Had she no pride? Standing there in full view of the entire neighbourhood flaunting her boyfriend. Laura couldn’t bear it.
‘Thanks so much, Claire,’ Mrs Turnbull called. ‘I’ll do the same for you next time.’
‘I am not sure that there will be a next time for Jemma,’ said Mrs Farrant, tersely. ‘I think perhaps I was wrong to let her go after all. She seems to have been somewhat led astray. I’ll be in touch.’
And she drove off, hitting the kerb as she went. As she shut the front door, Laura saw Chelsea and Jemma eyeing Melvyn with interest. She thought she would probably just go upstairs, lie down and die.
‘What was all that about?’ asked her mother. She looked weary.
Laura shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘Are you going?’ she said pointedly to Melvyn.
‘Yes,’fraid so – just off, honeybunch.’
Laura gritted her teeth. ‘We’re going to make some hot chocolate, Mum,’ said Laura. Anything to avoid Sumitha seeing her mother slobbering farewell to that slime-bag.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Post-Mortem
‘Mum! How could you? You ruined everything! ‘Jemma was in tears. ‘It had been such a good evening and then you came in and…’
‘Oh, a good evening, was it?’ snapped her mother, slamming the front door. ‘Your idea of a good evening is disporting yourself in cheap and tacky clothes and smearing make-up all over your face. Not to mention stealing my shoes, which are probably ruined. I’ve had those since my wedding day. Of course, I blame your new friends.You’d never have done a thing like that until we moved here. And you told me they were such nice girls.’
‘They ARE nice,’shouted Jemma.’Very nice.’
‘Well, I don’t know what their mothers are thinking of, letting them go out looking like that. I mean it’s …’
‘Their mothers are thinking of them, that’s what!’ sobbed Jemma. You just haven’t got a clue, have you? Their mothers want them to have a good time, to be with their friends. Their mothers don’t spend their whole lives trying to ruin their kids’ chances of ever having a life.’
‘Jemma, please!’ Mrs Farrant put her hand on Jemma’s shoulder. Jemma wrenched it away.
‘Well, it’s true.You never let me grow up.You say you want me to have friends, but then you try and keep me a baby.You’re always finding reasons why not to do things and you won’t even buy me fashionable stuff – even Gran says that my clothes lack imagination,’ cried Jemma.
‘Oh well, she would, she’s always been weird,’ retorted her mother.
‘Well, I’d rather have weird than prehistoric! Just because you go around looking like a country bumpkin, why do I have to suffer? You take me shopping and expect me to have stupid kids’ clothes, you won’t let me wear make-up. If you don’t like what I was wearing, then it’s your own fault. If you bought me decent stuff, I wouldn’t have to go behind your back, would I? So don’t blame me!’
‘Now look here, Jemma, don’t you speak to me like that. I only have your best interests at heart,’ insisted Mrs Farrant.
But Jemma, who had bottled up her feelings for so long, was now in full flood.
‘No, you haven’t!’ she said, sighing. ‘All you want is to boss us all around – choose our clothes, tell us when to go to bed, iron our knickers. Well, do it for the twins and leave me alone!’
And with that Jemma stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door. Her mother sat down on the kitchen stool and started to think. Jemma had never gone on like this about clothes before. In fact, Jemma had always been a very easy-going child. She did hope that this new school wasn’t having a bad effect on her.
Laura started to boil the milk. Her mother, who had been surprisingly quick at getting rid of Melvyn, came and removed the pan from her hand. ‘Sit,’ she said. ‘And you, Sumitha.’
They sat.
‘Your mother phoned a while back, Sumitha,’ said Ruth.
Both girls winced.
‘She asked to have a word with you, so of course I said you were at the club night.’
Silence.
‘You hadn’t told your parents you were going, had you?’
‘No,’ whispered Sumitha.
‘And now your parents are very put out with me,’ said Mrs Turnbull. ‘Apparently, your father has on more than one occasion expressly forbidden you to go to The Stomping Ground. And now he thinks that I encouraged you to go behind his back.Your father is displeased with me and I, not to put too fine a point on it, am furious with the pair of you. How could you be so deceitful?’
Sumitha looked downcast. ‘I’m sorry Mrs Turnbull,’ she murmoured, sniffing. ‘It’s just that – well, Mum and Dad never let me do half the things my friends do. And they were going to the dance, and I was coming here anyway and it seemed …’
‘It seemed like a good way of doing what you wanted without creating waves,’ finished Mrs Turnbull.
‘Yes,’ said Sumitha.
‘Well, all I can say is that you have made waves for me. Your mother will probably never trust me again.’
‘Why did she have to ring?’ said Sumitha sullenly. ‘She’s always checking up on me.’
‘She rang because when they got to the dinner dance, your mother found your bracelet on the back seat of the car. She thought you would be worrying about having lost it.’
‘Oh.’ In fact, Sumitha hadn’t even noticed that her bracelet was missing.
Mrs Turnbull turned to Laura. ‘I blame you just as much, Laura,’ she said. You knew what was going on.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ said Laura. ‘I can’t tell my friends what to do.’And if I could I’d tell her to lay off Jon or else, she thought to herself.
‘Mrs Turnbull,’ said Sumitha. ‘I – er – I – well, I mean, we are home and everything went fine and I’m OK – and well, couldn’t you tell my mum and dad that clubs aren’t that bad? They seem to think that something terrible is going to happen to me if I go – but perhaps if you… I mean, you let Laura go.’‘Sumitha, I can’t interfere between you and your parents.You must see that – it wouldn’t be fair.They have rules and what they tell you to do is up to them.’ She looked at Sumitha’s woebegone face. ‘But yes, all right, if the opportunity presents itself, I will try and reassure them about the place. It’s not so bad.’
‘Oh, thanks, Mrs Turnbull, I’d really appreciate that,’ said Sumitha.
‘You’re so lucky, Laura, having a mum who understands,’ Sumitha said to Laura later while they were getting ready for bed.
And just for a fleeting moment, Laura felt rather proud. Then she had a mental picture of Sumitha dancing with Jon.
‘I’m going
to have a shower,’ she snapped, and stomped to the bathroom. Sumitha sat on the bed and thought of Jon.
‘Good evening, was it, Chelsea?’ Ginny yawned as she yanked a piece of paper out of her printer and switched off her computer.
‘Yes, it was great and Mum …’ began Chelsea.
‘Oh good, that’s nice. Well, I’m ready for my bed – just done one thousand and five hundred words on “How to Put the Sparkle Back in Your Marriage”, and on Monday I’m interviewing a beekeeper in Hackleton in the morning and a man who breeds piranha fish in the afternoon. No peace for the wicked.’
‘That’s nice. Mum, there was this boy … ’
‘Oh, boys is it? Going to write a poem about him, are you?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I found your little literary outpouring when I was defrosting the fridge earlier,’ said Ginny. ‘It seems you’d rather have a mother who dressed like Claire Farrant than one who tries to keep abreast of trends.’
Chelsea shook her head. ‘No, Mum, of course I wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I mean, most of the time you look great.’ (Well, some of the time, she thought to herself.) ‘It’s just that – well, sometimes it would be nice if you looked more mum-like. Not so sort of noticeable,’ she added.
‘Oh well, that’s me, I’m afraid.Take me or leave me, as they say. Oh, did I tell you, I’m going to do a four page supplement on Ghosts of Leehampton. Haunted houses, headless highwaymen, that sort of stuff. Good, eh?’
Chelsea gave up. She couldn’t compete with the features pages of the Echo. It was pointless trying. Her mother was more interested in phantoms and piranhas than her own daughter. And tomorrow Rob would be round and Chelsea really wanted him to like her. But she was scared too. She’d never had a proper boyfriend and she did so want to make a good impression. She didn’t want to come on too strong but on the other hand, she wanted him to know she liked him. Her mum spent her life telling other people how to handle their relationships, so why couldn’t she take the time to help her own daughter?
There was one other niggling little worry on Chelsea’s mind. Rob had seemed pretty impressed by Mum’s job. If he came round and Mum started gushing and exclaiming and thrusting her bosoms around, she would frighten Rob away. And there was no way Chelsea wanted that to happen.
‘So you went to the club night, I see.’Jon’s father was at the front door when Rob’s dad dropped him off. ‘I trust you will do some revision tomorrow – mock exams are not that far off.’
‘Dad, I’ve already done loads,’ said Jon, sighing. ‘And anyway, the subject I like best you can’t revise for. I’m sick of swotting up about the Civil War and continental shelves and French verbs. I hate all that stuff. I …’
‘Ah, but “that stuff” as you call it is just what you need on your CV for university’, began his father. ‘I’ve heard that they set great store …’
‘I AM NOT GOING TO UNIVERSITY!’ shouted Jon.
‘Oh don’t let’s start all that again, son,’ said his father. ‘With a brain like yours, where else would you go?’
‘To art college, actually,’ said Jon. I’ve done it, he thought. I’ve said it.
His father stared at him. He opened his mouth but nothing happened.
‘I want to study art and design. Dad,’ said Jon. ‘I’m good at it, I enjoy it and I know I can make a living from it. And the best place to learn more is at art college.’
‘Art college? ART COLLEGE?’Jon’s father blustered. Jon might as well have announced that he wanted to retire to a cardboard box under Waterloo Bridge.
‘Yes – I want to be a political cartoonist,’ said Jon. That’s done it, he thought.
A spluttering noise came out of his father’s throat. His cheeks took on a livid purple hue.
‘I’ve never heard such … it’s preposterous … what are you thinking of, lad?’
‘My future,’ said Jon. And went to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Confessions in the Night
Sumitha was puzzled. Laura was in a very strange mood. She had come back from the shower, jumped into bed, muttered ‘good night’ and turned off the light.
Normally when Sumitha stayed over, they lay awake talking about everything – clothes, school, boys, parties, the top ten, boys, ambitions, boys . . .
‘It was good tonight, wasn’t it?’ventured Sumitha.
Silence.
‘Well, I thought it was really great,’ continued Sumitha.
The duvet was flung off Laura’s bed and she sat up. ‘Oh yes, well you would think it was great, wouldn’t you?’ Laura snapped.
Sumitha was taken aback. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Oh don’t play little miss innocent with me – you know full well what I mean!’ shouted Laura. And then to Sumitha’s horror, she burst into tears.
Sumitha jumped out of her bed and went to sit by Laura. ‘Hey, Laura – what’s wrong? What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘You’re what’s wrong, if you must know! You spent nearly all evening with Jon and it’s not fair!’ Laura said, sobbing. ‘He’s my friend, not yours. One minute you say your dad doesn’t let you have boyfriends and the next you are running around stealing everyone else’s!’
Sumitha stared at her. ‘But I didn’t know he was your boyfriend – honest I didn’t,’ said Sumitha. ‘You never said – how long have you been going out?’
Laura sniffed. ‘Well, we aren’t going out exactly’, she said.
‘So what’s the score?’ asked Sumitha. She needed to know just where she stood – she really liked Jon, and he hadn’t seemed that interested in Laura. Come to think of it, Sumitha couldn’t recall having seen them together at all. Was this another case of Laura’s imagination running riot?
Laura related the saga of the bike smash and Jon’s legs and his crooked smile and how she really wanted him to like her.
‘And now, thanks to you, my entire life is in ruins,’ cried Laura.
Sumitha sighed. ‘Oh come on, Laura, spare me the dramatics,’ she said. ‘First you tell me that Jon is your boyfriend – then it turns out you’ve known him for one day. Anyway, if he’d wanted to dance with you, he only had to ask, didn’t he? Or didn’t that occur to you?’
Laura said nothing.
‘And anyway, I didn’t ask him to dance. He just grabbed me and said ‘Let’s dance,’ and then we got talking about parents and life and what we wanted to do and stuff. He danced with Chelsea, too – and Jemma and that girl Melanie from Year Ten,’ she added, not wishing to carry the full force of Laura’s wrath single-handed.
‘So why didn’t he dance with me, then?’ asked Laura, wiping her eyes on the corner of her duvet. ‘Because you wouldn’t let him, probably’.
‘Oh don’t be so melodramatic – why would I do that?’ argued Sumitha. ‘Were you nice to him this morning?’
‘Course I was,’ said Laura ‘Well, eventually. We had a few words at first about idiots who couldn’t apply their brakes and stuff but then he was really nice. And tonight he just ignored me.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Sumitha, thinking quickly, ‘perhaps he’s so madly in love with you that he can’t bring himself to speak to you – that happened in Hollyoaks once,’ she added, to give authenticity to her idea.
‘Really?’ said Laura, perking up.
‘Oh yes,’ said Sumitha, ‘it’s a known fact that boys get so overcome by their emotions because they are less able to cope with things than girls are – my Growing Up book said – and so they pretend to be all macho and offhand and stuff when really they are burning with passion.’
Laura looked considerably more cheerful. ‘Maybe I’ll get to see him again when I go to Jemma’s,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you promise to leave him alone in future, don’t you?’
Sumitha sighed. She liked Jon, she really did. And she thought he liked her – in fact, she didn’t think he liked Laura as much as Laura wanted to believe. Sumitha had never had a proper boyfriend and probably never would if h
er father had anything to do with it. But she liked Laura, too. She said nothing.
‘Sumitha – you promise, don’t you? Cross your heart and hope to die?’
‘I can’t,’ said Sumitha, honestly. ‘Why should I? If he likes you, he’ll pluck up the courage to tell you soon enough. And if he likes me more, I can’t help it, can I?’
‘You’re evil!’shouted Laura.’You’re just like that awful Betsy – you’re a man stealer; you go around wrecking other people’s lives. I hate you!’And with that she pulled the duvet over her head, hurled herself against the wall and refused to say another word.
Sumitha felt awful. She hated making promises she couldn’t keep, and she knew that if Jon wanted to be her boyfriend she wouldn’t say no. She also knew that Laura was very upset about her dad moving out and seemed to be getting in a state about everything these days. Perhaps she’d be friends again in the morning. Meanwhile, she would just go to sleep and dream of Jon.
Laura lay awake, hating Sumitha, hating the world, and most of all hating herself. How could Jon like her, with her ghastly ginger hair and freckles when he could have Sumitha, with her pixie face and gorgeous black eyes? Perhaps, she thought, she could win him over with her intellect. But somehow she doubted it. Boys, she had already discovered, rank intellect fairly low on the agenda.
She began working out the plot for her next novel about a girl whose lover was stolen away by an evil temptress. She had just got to the bit where the girl wreaked revenge with a poisoned pizza when she fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Morning After the Night Before
Dawn broke grey, overcast and threatening in Leehampton, and in at least three households, the mood mirrored the weather. Laura and Sumitha sat silently at the breakfast table, which was unusual, because normally
when Sumitha stayed over, Mrs Turnbull couldn’t hear herself think for chattering and giggling. This morning, they had the appearance of two doomed souls. She assumed Sumitha was worrying about her forthcoming meeting with her irate father, and Laura was suffering from guilt pangs about her behaviour. Not that Mrs Turnbull spent much time worrying about it – she was still bothered about her conversation with Peter. Had he implied that it was she who was making Laura miserable? Doubtless Laura would have a field day when she saw her father next weekend, recounting her mother’s imagined exploits with Melvyn. Compared with motherhood, splitting the atom must have been a doddle, she thought.
Just Don't Make a Scene, Mum! Page 8
