I Think I'll Just Curl Up and Die

Piccadilly Press • London

For Niki, Sally and Caroline – as inspiring as ever!

First published in Great Britain in 1995
by Piccadilly Press Ltd,
5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR
www.piccadillypress.co.uk

This edition reissued 2006

Text copyright © Rosie Rushton, 1995

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

The right of Rosie Rushton to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 1 85340 892 1 (trade paperback)

EAN: 9 781853 408922

eISBN: 9781848122253

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Bookmarque Ltd
Cover design by Susan Hellard and Fielding Design
Typeset by M Rules, London
Set in AmbersHand, Bembo, BrettsHand, DereksHand,
Euphorigenic and FarrahsHand

 

 

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Dear Jemma
,

Guess what? I'm in love! He's seventeen, his name is Bilu and we met at my cousin's wedding. He is amazing! He's got these gorgeous eyes and he is really cool. The best bit of all is that even Dad thinks he's wonderful! So I'm allowed to see him. This afternoon we're all going to watch the polo and tonight he wants to take me to the cinema. (I know I said I don't like Indian films, but with him I'd watch them in Ancient Greek!)

No time to write more – I've got to decide what to wear.Tell Laura she's welcome to Jon – I prefer older boys. By the way, I'm growing my hair long again. Bilu likes long hair. See you soon! Isn't love wonderful? Sumitha xxx

Jemma Farrant sighed and tossed the postcard on to the bed. How would she know whether love was wonderful or not? She'd never had a boyfriend – not that she would dare bring one home to meet her mother if she did get lucky. Jemma had only recently persuaded her mother to let her choose her own clothes; if Mrs Farrant had her way she would still be wearing cord pinafores and smocked dresses. As for boys, Jemma's mum insisted that fourteen was far too young to be consorting with males. If Jemma did meet a boy, her mother would probably invite him round for jelly and ice cream and a nice quiet game of Snakes and Ladders.

When Jemma had started at Lee Hill school, she had seen Sumitha as something of a kindred spirit. While Jemma had problems with an overprotective mother with all the fashion sense of a Stone Age hermit, Sumitha was always at odds with her dad. He was really strict and nearly went mental when Sumitha had her hair cut without permission. He even thought that The Stomping Ground, where anyone who wanted to get a life in Leehampton went on a Saturday night, was a den of iniquity to be avoided at all costs. And yet it seemed he had accepted this new boyfriend of Sumitha's with open arms.

She picked up the postcard and re-read it. It can't last, she comforted herself. After all, he's in India and Sumitha lives here. Jemma thought of her other friends. Chelsea had her sights firmly set on Rob Antell, Laura lusted after Jon and now Sumitha was in love. She didn't fancy being the only one left with no one to swoon over.

Jemma was also bored. Her dad had said they couldn't have a family holiday this year because of just having moved house and him starting a new job. He told her that the school trip to Paris would have to do and she should count her blessings. It had been brilliant – seven whole days without her mother clucking around – but it was over
now. What's more, he had just forked out a vast sum of money to join the new Waterline Golf and Leisure Club. This was good in some ways because they had a huge pool and Jacuzzis and a water chute, which the family could use while Mr Farrant was out trying to be the next Tiger Woods. However it had its grim side because Jemma's mum disported herself in the water wearing a ghastly swimsuit with a frilly skirt and shrieking ‘Take care, petals,' at Jemma and her siblings at ten second intervals to the amusement of everyone but Jemma.

She looked at herself critically in her bedroom mirror. She hated her sludge coloured hair and loathed her front teeth which stuck out a bit. She was feeling fat and lumpy. All those croissants and wedges of Camembert cheese had taken their toll, most of it between her boobs and her belly button. And talking of boobs, over the past few months hers appeared to have taken on a life of their own, expanding at an alarming rate. She'd have to get a better bra; her dear mother still bought those awful beginner things that looked like two eggshells on a piece of elastic and had about as much effect.

‘Why can't I look like Chelsea?' she thought, yanking her hair into a pink elastic. ‘I bet she's being chatted up by every Spaniard within a ten mile radius. And what's more, her mum won't care at all. Life just isn't fair.'

This sentiment, it seemed, was shared by Chelsea herself, or so it would seem from the letter which her friend, Laura Turnbull received on Tuesday.

Chez Calypso, Estepona, Spain

Dear Laura
,

I'm sitting on our balcony praying that my mother doesn't find me. You won't believe the day I have just had! I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life
.

This morning, while I was playing volleyball with these cool guys I met at the hotel club, a woman came swanning along the beach with a guy holding a camera and another with one of those furry microphone things they use for street interviews. They were filming for one of those holiday programmes on the television – and who did they home in on? My mother! Of course, you can guess she loved it – all that attention. She acted like Liz Hurley. They filmed her learning to get up on the surfboard, falling off, shrieking with delight – the works. It was awful. Then they said they wanted a shot of her actually surfing over the waves – and she couldn't
do it! She kept falling off. They gave up in the end. You would think that would have been enough to shut her up but no. ‘Come and meet my daughter,' she says. I could have killed her. This gorgeous guy Juan was just beginning to come on strong when up comes my mother and drags me off to be filmed at the barbecue. We had to stand there for ages, munching on sardines and saying why we thought Chez Calypso was the idyllic holiday venue
.

And the hypocrisy of my mother! ‘Oh, there's such a lot to keep Chelsea amused!' she simpers, right into the camera. What with the Teenscene Club' (I've never been to the stupid thing) ‘and the Killer Darts' (I only play when she threatens me with no club if I don't keep Dad happy) ‘and lots of lovely young people.' (And then when I say I am going off to the market on Juan's motorbike, she comes the heavy-handed mother and talks about drugs and date rape
.)

Juan is amazing – he has this gorgeous tan and jet black hair and he says he thinks I am the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. That guy's got taste
!

If they show that film on TV I shall die. It's enough having Mum spouting away on local radio every week – but national television! It doesn't bear thinking about. I wonder if I could refuse consent on the grounds of infringement of privacy … it's worth a try
.

Hope you had a great time in France and got the Bestial Betsy sorted once and for all. See you when I get back – you can tell all then
.

Loads of love
Chelsea

Laura sat in the middle of a pile of dirty washing, reading Chelsea's letter and giggling. She could just imagine how irate Chelsea would be at her mother's antics, although why she got so fazed by it, she couldn't imagine. Laura thought that Mrs Gee was a real laugh – not a bit motherlike. It would be a blast seeing her on the television. She was always doing mad things, and she never seemed to worry about whether Chelsea was getting enough vitamins or whether women her size should really wear bright orange shorts. I suppose that's what comes of being an agony aunt and journalist, thought Laura. You stop caring what everyone else thinks and just do your own thing.

Come to think of it, though, most parents did that, one way or another. Hers certainly had. Her mother obviously didn't care one bit about her reputation when she carried on in public with toyboy Melvyn, and her father showed no regret for having moved in with the Bestial Betsy and her sad kids.

Laura sighed. She had thought that, given time, her mum would see sense and ask her dad to move back in. She had assumed that Dad was just waiting for the chance.
But it hadn't happened. Her mum was still wrapped up in the geek Melvyn and she hadn't even seemed to mind Laura going off camping in France with Dad and the Bestial Betsy. And those two were all over each other; it made you want to throw up.