I Think I'll Just Curl Up and Die (9 page)

‘God, it's so humiliating. My father a street vendor,' cried Chelsea and stormed out of the kitchen. Straight into her mother. ‘Can't you stop him?' demanded Chelsea.

‘I'm not sure that putting my oar in will do much good,' said her mother.

‘You have been fighting a lot lately, anyway,' said Chelsea.

‘Not fighting,' corrected Ginny, ‘just having a few differences of opinion.'

‘Pretty noisy ones,' commented Chelsea. ‘What about?'

‘Oh, well … ' Ginny sighed. ‘Money and jobs and then I said I envied Ruth having the baby and … ' Ginny stopped and bit her tongue.

‘Mrs Turnbull? She's having a baby? Oh wow,' said Chelsea. ‘Cute.'

‘Yes, well, I'm sworn to secrecy so for heaven's sake don't let on I told you. Come to think of it, you could help there.'

‘What, baby-sit and stuff? But Laura'll do that,' said Chelsea.

‘No, not that. It's just that I get the feeling that Laura is not all that impressed with her mum being pregnant,' said Ginny. ‘In fact, she's pretty cut up about it.'

‘So that's why she was in such a mood last night,' said Chelsea as light dawned. ‘So Mrs T's going to marry the geek – I mean, Melvyn, is she?'

‘Well, I don't know,' admitted Ginny. ‘But I do know he's going to be moving in and I don't think … '

‘Laura will go spare!' said Chelsea.

‘Perhaps you can make her see it's not all bad. Help make Ruth's life easier. But you won't say a word till Laura tells you herself, will you?'

‘OK,' said Chelsea. ‘Hey, why did you say you envied Mrs T?'

‘Oh, nothing,' said her mother. ‘Put the salt and pepper out, will you?' And she made a hasty retreat.

Laura's dad and the Bestial Betsy were enjoying a rare treat – Sunday lunch on their own. Sonia and Daryl were spending the weekend with their grandmother so they'd opened a bottle of sparkling wine to celebrate exchanging contracts on their new house and were discussing the merits of distressed pine kitchen units over marble topped butchers' tables.

‘It's nice to have a bit of peace, isn't it?' said Peter. ‘Oh, I love the kids dearly,' he added hastily, seeing a frown appear on Betsy's face, ‘but still, we deserve a bit of time to ourselves.'

Betsy nodded and moved round to sit on his lap. ‘I was thinking,' she said, ‘now we've got the new house and everything, why don't we get ma–'

Just then the doorbell shrilled. And whoever was outside was not about to take their finger off.

‘Who on earth can that be?' said Peter. ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on, I'm coming.'

Betsy sighed. Just as she had got him in the right mood too. It seemed the Fates were against her.

Peter went to the door, a trifle unsteadily on account of the three glasses of wine.

Standing there looking forlorn was his daughter.

‘Can I come in?' she said.

Oh brilliant, thought Betsy. One day to ourselves and she turns up.

‘Can we talk alone?' said Laura, nodding in Betsy's direction.

‘I'll make some coffee,' said Betsy with a sigh, and retreated into the kitchen.

‘I'll have the proper stuff,' called Peter. Betsy was currently into herbal teas and dandelion coffees, all of which tasted to Peter like a mixture of bath salts and seaweed. ‘How on earth did you get here?' he said, turning to his daughter.

‘I cycled,' said Laura. ‘It's an emergency. You'll have to do something.'

‘But what is it? What have I to do something about?' asked Mr Turnbull.

‘It's Mum,' said Laura, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Mum? Why? What's happened? Is she ill?' said Peter.

Ah – ha, thought Laura. So you do still care.

What's going on? thought Betsy who had pressed her ear up to the serving hatch in order not to miss anything.

‘It's worse than that,' she said dramatically. ‘She's … '

But before she could finish, the telephone shrilled. Peter jumped up to answer it.

‘Hello? … oh, hi there Ruth,' said Peter.

First the daughter, then the poxy ex – wife, thought Betsy irritably, spooning coffee into the cafetière.

‘Pardon? You're what?' Peter sounded astonished.

‘Well, well. Are you pleased? Well then, that's
wonderful – congratulations! Well, yes, actually, she's just arrived. Oh dear. She is? OK, then, thanks for letting me know. No, no, don't worry, I'll see to it.'

‘That was Mum,' he said, sitting down at the table. ‘She phoned to tell me the news.'

‘Oh, so she finally got round to telling you, did she?' said Laura viciously. She was a bit annoyed that she hadn't had time to be the bearer of ill tidings. ‘God, Dad, you must feel sick to your stomach – I know I do.'

Peter laughed. ‘No Laura, it's the expectant mum that feels that way. And in any case, I think it's great news. I'm very happy for her. Aren't you?'

‘No, I am not!' snapped Laura. ‘How can I be happy when soon the entire world will know that my mother is having an illegitimate kid by some idiot she met a few months ago? The whole thing's obscene. It's humiliating. That's why I'm moving in with you.'

Peter gulped. ‘Pardon?'

‘I'm moving in here – I've brought some clothes. You can fetch the rest of my stuff in the car later.'

‘Well now, look love,' Peter stammered, ‘I don't honestly think that …'

At which point the door opened and in came Betsy, bearing a tray and with two points of very high colour on her cheeks.

‘What's going on?' she asked in a tight voice.

‘That was Ruth on the phone, love,' began Peter. ‘She's going to have a baby.'

‘That's nice,' said Betsy grimly.

‘And Laura is not very happy about it,' said Peter lamely.

‘So I'm coming to live here,' said Laura.

‘Not a good idea really,' said Betsy, dumping the tray on the table. ‘I do recall you once saying that you would never cross the threshold for as long as I was with your father. So actually living here would be terribly tedious for you.'

‘Yes, but that was …' began Laura.

‘Oh, I know that was then when it suited you to make our relationship the subject of your latest fit of dramatics,' said Betsy, ignoring the warning glances that Laura's dad was hurling at her. ‘And of course, this is now, when your nose is out of joint because of the baby. But really, we couldn't let you take a decision that goes against all your moral principles, now could we?'

‘You can't speak to me like that,' stammered Laura. ‘Dad – say something. Tell her to mind her own business.'

‘Well, now love,' began Peter who really only wanted a quiet life, ‘I don't honestly think that it is a very good idea. I mean, when we've moved you can come over and see us and …'

‘Oh great. Terrific. Bloody wonderful,' cried Laura, jumping up and sending a mug of coffee flying. ‘This is all your doing, you big – nosed cow,' she said, jabbing a finger in Betsy's direction. ‘You've turned my own father against me.'

‘Laura, Laura, calm down,' said Peter. ‘I'm not turning against you. I am just wondering whether you living here
would be sensible. I mean, what about school? What about your friends? The new house is eight miles from Leehampton. And what about Mum – she needs you, she loves you.'

‘Oh yes,' snapped Laura through her tears. ‘If she loves me so much, why is she having another baby? I suppose she's got bored with me and wants a replacement model. Besides, she's got that jerk to keep her happy.'

‘Love,' said Betsy sipping her dandelion coffee, ‘doesn't come rationed. Just because your mum has a new man in her life and is having another baby doesn't mean that her love for you will diminish any. But if you walked out now, she would be devastated, and you would probably end up not loving yourself much.'

‘And who do you think you are to preach to me?' cried Laura. ‘You stole my dad, now you're trying to tell me what to do. Well, back off, you … you tart!'

‘Laura!' shouted Peter. ‘Apologise to Betsy!'

‘Why should I? Come to think of it, it's all her fault anyway. If she hadn't seduced you away from Mum, Melvyn wouldn't have turned up and Mum wouldn't be pregnant.'

‘I am waiting for an apology,' said her father through clenched teeth.

‘Well, you've got a blimmin' long wait then,' said Laura. She flounced into the hall, picked up her rucksack and stormed out, slamming the front door behind her.

Peter sank into a chair.

‘So much for a day of rest,' he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Still, at least I am getting practice for when your Sonia gets to that age.'

‘Sonia,' said Betsy, ‘has been properly brought up. Sonia won't behave like that.'

I wouldn't count on it, thought Peter. I wouldn't count on it at all.

Laura cycled furiously out of the village on to the Leehampton Road, tears blurring her vision and causing her to wobble precariously. She was determined not to go home, well not yet anyway. Let them all worry about her, let them realise what they were doing to her.

The trouble was, where should she go? Then she had a bright idea. She'd call in on Jemma – she was always sympathetic. And she'd tell Jemma about the baby and see what reaction she got.

But there was no one in at 49 Billing Hill. She rang the bell several times, and even peered through the front window. Nothing. Now even her friends were deserting her in her hour of need.

‘You won't get an answer, they've gone out for the day.' Jon was leaning over the hedge, grinning at her, his hands covered in cycle grease.

‘Oh, hi,' she said as her heart did a double back somersault and pike into her mouth. Oh, no, my face, she thought. I know I look all red – eyed and puffy; why do I always look so awful when Jon's around?

‘I wanted Jemma,' she mumbled, trying to keep her face averted. But I'd rather have you, she added silently.

‘I guessed,' said Jon, flicking hair out of his eyes with his wrist and succeeding in smudging oil on his cheeks. ‘Any message?'

Yes, I think you are the most gorgeous guy in the world.

‘No, no it's OK, thanks,' she said.

‘See you, then,' Jon turned to go back into the house.

On the other hand, thought Laura.

‘I was going to ask your advice,' she called.

Jon turned, looking puzzled.

‘Well, I've got to do all the publicity stuff for our school musical. You know, posters and programmes and things. We're doing … '

‘Oliver!
I know, lucky things,' said Jon. ‘I can't wait to get to Lee Hill, then I can get involved in designing stage drops and things. Bellborough's a bit thin on the theatricals.'

‘Well, what I was going to say was,' said Laura. ‘I mean, would you mind having a look at my ideas and seeing
whether you think they'd work. I mean, being brilliant at art and stuff, you'd know.'

‘Yes, OK then,' said Jon, trying not to look too pleased at being asked. ‘Do you want to come in now and show me what you've got? Mum and Dad are both out, so we've got the place to ourselves.'

Cool. She got to spend an hour or so with Jon and everyone else could worry themselves sick about her. Serve them all right.

Jon's bedroom was amazing. You couldn't see one scrap of wall because of all the posters and pictures and cartoons pinned to huge cork pinboards all round the room. There were portraits of cats and dogs, caricatures of politicians, the royal family, film stars – even one of her favourite band, Bag Handlers. And dominating the wall over his bed was a pastel sketch of a young girl. The subject was unmistakable. It was Sumitha.

Jon caught Laura eyeing it.

‘I'm not sure I've caught her expression quite right,' he mused, ‘I had to do it all from memory. I don't suppose you've got a photograph of her, have you – I mean, a group school photo or anything?'

‘No I haven't,' said Laura shortly. ‘But you could always ask Bilu,' she added maliciously.

Jon glowered.

Laura relented. ‘Now about these posters … '

‘Oh yes, right,' said Jon. ‘I'll just grab some paper.'

He stretched over to his bedside table and picked up a sheaf of paper and dumped it on the bed. On top was the sketch he'd done at summer school.

‘That's me!' said Laura in surprise.

‘Oh, yes, well – just doodling,' he said hastily, shoving it to the bottom of the pile. How embarrassing! He hadn't even realised he had kept the thing.

He drew me, thought Laura. And he had it by his bed.

‘When did you do that?' said Laura.

‘Oh, ages ago,' said Jon. ‘I don't even remember doing

So it came from your deep subconscious, thought Laura, who had read her
Psychology Part One
from cover to cover. I am the object of your affections but you are not ready to acknowledge that, she thought silently. I can wait.

‘The hair is amazing, isn't it?' said Jon.

‘What, this ginger mess?' said Laura in surprise. ‘I loathe

‘Not
your
hair, silly – Sumitha's,' he said. ‘Black hair is so – so striking. But very difficult to get right in a portrait. Anyway, let's get on – what sort of ideas had you got for the posters?'

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Laura, who was brilliant with words, had some great ideas for poster catchphrases –
Do you want some more? Come and see Lee Hill School's production of
Oliver! –
and consider yourself one of us! –
and Jon sketched out some great designs for programme covers and flysheets.