‘I hadn’t actually told Mum yet,’ said Jemma.
‘Told me?’ said Claire.
Jemma produced a grubby note from her blazer pocket.
School trip to Les Moulins Centre, Paris
Dear Parent,
During the first week of the school summer holidays, Mr Horage, Miss McConnell and Mrs Sandell will be taking a party of Year Nine and Ten students to Paris.
Accommodation will be in dormitories at Les Moulins Centre, within easy reach of the main sights and in addition to taking part in language activities, students will have the opportunity of sightseeing, shopping and spending time with French families in their own homes.
The cost of the trip will be £227 and a deposit of £30 is required in order to secure a place.
Yours sincerely,
Jeremiah Horage
Head of French
‘Oh, I don’t know, I really don’t,’ murmured Claire. ‘They’re very young to…’
‘Mum, pleeeeese!’
‘I’m sure you and Jemma need to talk it through,’ said Mr Horage tactfully. ‘But do let me assure you that with Jemma’s linguistic talents, it would be so good for her to put them to use in their place of origin, so to speak.’ He tittered a teacher’s titter.
‘I think I will be the judge of what is good for Jemma,
Mr Horage,’ said Claire.
‘Mum!’ hissed Jemma.
* * *
Sumitha sat sandwiched between her mother and father. Since the hair cut incident last week, her father had hardly spoken to her.
Now she was praying hard that the teachers would have something nice to say about her.
‘And how is Sumitha progressing?’ asked Rajiv.
‘Very well,’ said Mr Ellwood. ‘She’s a generally good all-rounder – with, of course, a special talent for drama, dance and singing – but you know that.’
Rajiv nodded.
‘She tells me she wants to go into broadcasting,’ said Mr Ellwood. ‘She’ll make you very proud one day, fronting This Morning!’ He laughed.
‘She has been showing off since birth,’ chuckled Chitrita. Sumitha squirmed.
‘You’ll be auditioning for the school production next term, of course?’ Mr Ellwood asked Sumitha. She nodded eagerly.
‘Production?’ enquired Rajiv.
‘Oliver!’ said Mr Ellwood. ‘We’re hoping that Sumitha might make a very suitable Artful Dodger – and now the hair cut is just the ticket too!’
Rajiv sniffed.
‘But what of her behaviour?’ he enquired. ‘How does she conduct herself?’
Mr Ellwood looked surprised. ‘Behaviour?’he asked. ‘Sumitha is charming, helpful and very determined.’ He smiled, glancing at her.’She knows where she is going in life, and believe me, she will get there. No one is ever going to ride roughshod over Sumitha Banerji, and in the world today that is a big plus point.’
‘I suppose,’ said Rajiv Banerji thoughtfully, ‘that it is.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Progress Is Made
‘Mum, how could you? You made me look a real wimp in there – ”Oh, but she’s so young …!” How could you do it to me?’
‘Oh, Jemma, don’t go on – you don’t understand.You read such dreadful things about students alone in foreign places…’
‘MUM! It’s Paris, not Cambodia.There’ll be hordes of us and everything’s organised. I’m hardly like to be mugged or otherwise interfered with on a trip to Printemps, am I? Please …’
‘Well, perhaps, but even so …’
‘Well, ask Dad, he’ll say it’s OK,’ pleaded Jemma.
Mrs Farrant was quite sure he would – lately he seemed to be positively itching for Jemma to grow up. And all too ready to blame his wife for holding her back. What was it he had said? ‘If you are not careful, you’ll lose her.’ Of course, she didn’t want that, but even so …
‘Mum, please will you …?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Claire, with a sigh. ‘I promise, I’ll think it over.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Jemma, and began praying very hard.
‘Mum, you were amazing,’ said Laura as they drove home.
‘When?’ asked her mother, as if she stood up to ageing spinsters every day of her life.
‘With old Hoppy,’ said Laura. ‘And Mum, did you really mean it?’
‘Mean what? That she’s a stupid…’ began her mother.
‘No, that you love me and Dad loves me.’
‘Of course I did. You know that – how could you doubt it?’ Her mother gave her an affectionate nudge.
‘Does Dad love me even now he’s got those pair of stupid kids living with him?’
‘Of course he does, silly – you are his own child. They will never be that – and he wouldn’t want it any other way.’
‘And you love me too?’ persisted Laura. ‘Even now there’s Melvyn? Even when I’m stroppy and moan about him? Even,’ she added, ‘when I don’t bother with homework because I’m feeling grouchy?’
‘So you admit it?’ Ruth grinned. ‘Laura, we would both love you if you never lifted a pencil again. Mind you that would be a bit of a waste for someone who is going to become the Greatest Living Novelist, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose it would,’ said Laura. ‘I suppose,’ she added, ‘that these traumas in my life will one day make a good blockbuster.’And the thought gave her renewed hope.
Ginny Gee manoeuvred the car out of the parking space.
‘You were amazing. Mum,’ said Chelsea. ‘How on earth did you dare speak to old Hoppy like that?’
‘Easily,’ said her mother. ‘I am sick of people assuming that just because I write for a living, you kids have to be good at English. We had it with Geneva and Warwick, you know, and I got mad then.’
‘I nearly collapsed when you laid into her – she looked so amazed,’ said Chelsea. ‘It’ll be all round the staffroom tomorrow morning, you know.’
‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, love,’ said Ginny.
‘You didn’t,’ said Chelsea. ‘This time,’ she added.
Sumitha was sitting in the car thinking about Oliver! when her father said,’I was very proud of you tonight.’
Sumitha froze. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said. ‘I shall look forward to the school play,’ he continued. ‘You must get me a lot of tickets – I shall bring friends from the hospital. And by the way,’ he added,’you look very smart.’
Sumitha was speechless. And very happy.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Gran-diose plans
The following day, Jemma and her mum were waiting at the station for Jemma’s gran who was coming for the weekend. She’d finally replied to Jemma’s letter, promising to stop off on her way to Scotland to stay with friends. Jemma was in a hopeful frame of mind. If anyone could make Mum see sense over this French trip, then Gran could. When Jemma had told Dad about the trip, he’d murmured, ‘That’s nice, dear,’ and retreated behind The Lancet.
‘Does that mean I can go?’Jemma had asked ‘Sort it out with your mother, love,’ he had muttered, ‘but I don’t see why not.’
And Mum hadn’t actually contradicted him, although she had started nibbling her thumbnail and tidying the cutlery drawer, which was a sure sign that she was agitated. Now all it needed was a final push from Gran.
‘There she is!’ cried Mrs Farrant. ‘Oh my God, what does she look like?’
Jemma’s grandmother never bothered much about clothes. She tended to hurl on whatever garments fell out of her wardrobe first. Today she was wearing a pair of pink cord trousers, a bright red sweatshirt, and a green pork-pie hat. She resembled an oversized radish.
‘Darlings, how wonderful to see you both – and the precious lambs!’ She gestured towards Sam and the twins who were in the back fighting with fixed concentration over a half-chewed Twix.
‘Cooo-eeee!’ she called suddenly, waving her arms frantically across the carpark.
‘Mother! W
hat are you doing?’ muttered Mrs Farrant.
‘Good luck, Geoffrey!’ she shrieked. ‘Sorry, dear – met this darling man on the train. He’s off to an interview at Freshfoods – just wishing him luck.’ She waved again. ‘Sock it to ‘em!’ she shouted across the car park.
‘Mother, for heaven’s sake, people are looking!’ said Mrs Farrant.
That had been the best evening ever, thought Jemma. They’d left the boys with a baby-sitter, the DVD of Snow White and half a shopful of crisps and she and Mum and Dad and Gran had all gone to The Dragon Palace and had fried seaweed and crispy duck and spring rolls and lychees. Mum had had two glasses of wine and got quite normal and stopped saying ‘But Mother, you can’t,’ and Dad had had three glasses of wine and started beaming at everyone and Gran said Jemma was quite old enough for half a glass, so she’d had some too.
It was over the jasmine tea that Jemma, with ever an eye to the main chance, ventured, ‘There’s going to be a school trip to Paris, Gran.’
‘PARIS!’ cried her Gran. ‘Gay Paree! I love Paris – when do you go, darling?’
‘Well, Mum isn’t totally sure that she wants me to,’ said Jemma.
‘Why on earth not, Claire?’ exclaimed Jemma’s gran. ‘Marvellous place – all that glamour and glitz and then the food – and those museums – and the Champs-Elysées …’
‘Well, the point is…’ began Claire.
‘Darling, how tactless of me – of course, the cash. Silly me. Now look, Jemma darling, I shall pay for the trip – it shall be your birthday and Christmas present combined. Of course Mum was worried about you going, she’s got the twins starting school any minute, and all those shoes and uniform and things. And your father is NHS – I keep telling him private is where the money is, but he’s socially aware, aren’t you, Andrew dear? But worry not, I shall pay. Oh, and darling, you must try the frogs’ legs in garlic butter – oh, and those dear little pains au chocolats you get for breakfast.’
‘But Mother, it wasn’t the money, it was …’ began Claire, nudging her husband who made no move to enter the conversation but gazed sadly at the now-empty wine bottle.
‘Don’t thank me – I’d love to do it. Now, who’s for more tea?’
Chapter Forty
The End of All My Hopes and the End of All My Dreams
Laura was over the moon. Her dad had just phoned to say that the Bestial Betsy was taking her snotty kids to visit her mother in Eastbourne and would Laura like to spend the weekend with him?
‘Oh brilliant, Dad,’ Laura enthused.
‘I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock,’ he said. ‘We’ll go for lunch at The Coach and Horses if you like. I’ve something exciting to tell you.’
Laura’s heart leapt. Perhaps he was coming home.
‘Is Mum there?’ he asked.
This was it, thought Laura. He is coming home.
‘No, she’s gone for an interview for a job – school secretary somewhere or other,’ said Laura, the disapproval showing in her voice.
‘Well, good for her – tell her I asked after her. And that I’ve got something for her. See you Saturday then.’
Laura hung up and gave herself a hug. Two days with Dad and no BB. And Dad had asked after Mum – so he must still love her. And he’d got something for her.
Laura heard her mum’s car pull into the drive. Well, judder into the drive actually, its rapidly dying parts groaning and creaking. Mum said she was putting off having it serviced till her ship came in. Apparently it hadn’t left port yet.
‘Hi, Mum,’ said Laura. ‘How did you get on? Would you like a cup of coffee?’ Laura’s good news was making her feel charitably disposed to the world.
Laura’s mother looked fed up. ‘A coffee would be bliss,’ she said, slumping into a chair. ‘I didn’t get the job.’
‘Bad luck,’ said Laura sympathetically. ‘What went wrong?’
‘Oh, the usual – “Well, Mrs Turnbull, you haven’t worked for twelve years and your keyboard skills are rather weak and…”on and on.’ She sighed. ‘I thought that a primary school would be just right, but it seems they are all computerised now. I’ll just have to take a course, I suppose.’
‘Dad phoned.’ Laura waited for her mother’s joyous response.
‘Oh yeah.’
‘He sent his love.’ Laura felt it politic to adapt her father’s actual words in order to give them more impact.
‘Well, it’s a pity he didn’t send a cheque instead, that would have been a damn sight more use to me.’ Laura’s mum looked suspiciously near to tears.
‘He’s invited me for the weekend,’ said Laura, not really knowing what to do. ‘He said he’ll take me to The Coach and Horses for lunch. We haven’t been there for ages.’
‘Oh, that’s right, ram it down my throat that I can’t afford to take you out to lunch,’ said Laura’s mum. ‘Well, I hope you have fun, but then of course you will. You’ll be getting away from me, won’t you?’
‘Mum, I didn’t mean that, I just meant…’
But her mother had rushed upstairs.
‘Dad’s here!’ Laura called to her mother on Saturday
morning.
Ruth came downstairs and said,’Hi Peter,’ and looked
uncomfortable.
‘Hi there,’ he said. ‘Er, by the way, I’ve got this for you.’ This is it, thought Laura. It’ll be a romantic card or a
pressie. She decided to make herself scarce so that the great reunion could take place in private.
Ten minutes later, she went downstairs. Her mum was sitting on the settee chatting happily. Her dad was laughing.
It’s going to be OK, hoped Laura. He’ll be coming home any day.
‘Right, are you set?’ asked her dad.
They want it to be a surprise, thought Laura. I won’t say a word.
‘Yes, Dad,’ she said. She thought her mum might be coming too, seeing as how they were getting on so well, and was a bit surprised when she stayed put. Still, thought Laura, I expect Dad will want to tell me the news on his own. And she prepared to be amazed.
‘That was great, Dad.’ Laura had just polished off a dish of garlic mushrooms, scampi and chips, and a double fudge chocolate nut sundae.
‘Good, glad to see your appetite is still intact. And now, I’ve a surprise for you.’
Here it comes, thought Laura.
‘We’re going on holiday and we want you to come too,’ said her father, spooning the sugar into his coffee.
Wonderful, thought Laura. A family holiday again. Just the three of them. Everything was going to be all right.
‘Oh, Dad, that’s terrific,’ said Laura, and for one minute she thought she was going to cry.
‘Only we decided to make it somewhere a bit special,’ said her dad. ‘I know you love Cornwall, but we wanted further afield. So we thought we’d go to Brittany.’
‘Brittany?’ gasped Laura. ‘As in France?’
Her father laughed. ‘Well, last time I checked it was in France, yes,’ he said.
‘Oh wow!’ cried Laura.
‘I take it that is a yes, is it?’ queried her father.
‘Oh yes, yes yes,’ said Laura.
‘I’m glad,’ he said, taking her hand across the table. ‘And Betsy will be too. She has been so anxious to get to know you better.’
Laura felt sick.
‘Betsy?’ she said, her voice a mere whisper.
‘Yes, she’s been complaining that she doesn’t see enough of you to get to know you,’ he added. ‘Two whole weeks will give you both plenty of time.’
‘But I thought – you mean, you want me to come on holiday with you and – her?’
‘Of course – I wouldn’t go and leave her behind now, would I?’ Her father laughed nervously.
Suddenly it was all too much. All the hoping and believing that everything was going to be all right and now this. Laura jumped up from the table.
‘Well, you jolly well should,’ she shouted. ‘You shoul
d come with me and Mum because we’re your family, not that big-nosed cow and her horrid dimwit kids.’ She started to cry. ‘Mum said you loved me but you don’t love me because if you did, you would come home where you belong. I HATE YOU!’And she ran out of the restaurant. Her father stood up slowly and tried to ignore the sixteen pairs of eyes fixed on him from various comer of the dining room. He had never felt so embarrassed in all his life.
‘I think I had better come in,’ said Peter ruefully when he landed on Ruth’s doorstep with a tear-stained Laura and chronic indigestion.
Half an hour later, after her father had assured her that love doesn’t come in rations and that just because you love one person doesn’t mean you can’t love another; and her mother had repeated dozens of times that she wanted Laura and her dad to be friends and that just because they couldn’t manage to live together any more did not mean they were deadly enemies; and Peter had said he was sorry that Laura’s mum had been on edge lately and that it was partly his fault because he had been waiting to sell the house so he could give Laura’s mum more money (which he had now done); Laura decided that perhaps, just possibly, life wasn’t totally black.
And that if Dad really wanted her to go to France, and if Mum didn’t mind (which apparently she didn’t because she was planning to spend the time with her friend Pat in Plymouth and have a ball and would be most upset if Laura didn’t give her the chance), she’d give it a go. Of course, she wouldn’t share with Sonia, that had to be understood. And she wouldn’t get on with Betsy, no matter what Dad thought. But she’d go. After all, she added, France would make an excellent setting for a novel.
Chapter Forty-One
We’re All Going On a Summer Holiday
The end of term was in sight. Jon was on a high – he was leaving Bellborough as soon as he had done his GCSEs! He had gone along to Lee Hill with his parents and they had arranged for him to take his A-levels there – and Dad had even said that the place didn’t seem so bad and he had told Mr Leadsom, the head of art, to pay special attention to his son who was undoubtedly going to be a leading light of the art world. Jon had cringed at that but at least this time his father was being embarrassing for a good cause.
Just Don't Make a Scene, Mum! Page 12
