I Think I'll Just Curl Up and Die

by Rosie Rushton

  ‘Well,’ said Ginny, adopting her Very Together Agony Aunt voice, ‘you can’t put it off any longer. You are going to have to tell them both.’

  ‘I know,’ said Ruth. ‘But, Ginny, – how can I cope with a baby now? I mean, I’m forty-two, for heaven’s sake. All that getting up in the night and stuff. And what if Melvyn runs a mile when he hears? What then?’

  ‘Then you would be well shot of him,’ said Ginny briskly. ‘But my guess is he will be over the moon.’ Ginny surveyed her friend quizzically. ‘How do you feel about it all – really?’

  ‘Well,’ said Ruth, ‘half of me is totally gobsmacked, a quarter is scared silly and the other quarter is quite pleased.’ She took a tentative sip of coffee. She was beginning to feel better. Then she remembered. ‘The hardest bit,’ said Ruth ominously, ‘will be telling Laura. That won’t be easy.’

  Too right, thought Ginny. But she said nothing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stormy Waters

  The first week of the autumn term proved to be more eventful than any of them could have imagined that first morning.

  On Monday evening, Chelsea’s parents had a row. The sort of shouting, slamming doors, stamping up and down stairs sort of row that made any thoughts of memorising the effects of sunlight on plants quite impossible.

  ‘What on earth’s going on?’ shouted Chelsea as her mother chucked a telephone directory at the sitting room door.

  ‘Ask your father!’ snapped Ginny, and flounced into the kitchen.

  ‘Dad?’ queried Chelsea poking her head round the door. ‘Dad? What’s up with you two?’

  ‘Ask your mother!’ muttered her father morosely.

  She shrugged and returned to her room to grapple with photosynthesis. Ten minutes later, the arguing started again.

  ‘What do you mean, you spent it?’ shouted her father.

  ‘Well, I thought …’ she heard her mum say.

  ‘No you didn’t think at all,’ snapped her father. ‘Are you going nuts or something? I suppose it’s your age. At least I’m trying to find a solution to our problems. You just go leaping into Chanel and make them ten times worse.’

  ‘Oh, go and boil your head!’ said Mrs Gee.

  ‘Mum! Dad! Will you just stop it!’ yelled Chelsea. She wasn’t used to her parents arguing like this and she didn’t like it.

  Just then the doorbell rang.

  No one answered it. It rang again.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ sighed Chelsea.

  Rob stood on the doorstep, clutching a sheaf of paper. Chelsea’s stomach performed a perfect double somersault.

  ‘Hi, Chelsea,’ he said, ‘is your mum in?’ Before Chelsea could reply, Ginny came to the door.

  ‘No, I’m not, I’m going out and don’t be surprised if I don’t come back!’ Her mother barged past the two astonished kids, her lips set in a tight line.

  ‘Mu-umm!’ muttered Chelsea as her mother pushed past them, climbed into the car (showing, Chelsea thought, a rather unnecessary amount of thigh), revved the engine and drove off.

  ‘Er, sorry about that,’ Chelsea said, trying a grin. ‘Mental or what?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Rob, ‘my mum does it all the time. Dad says it’s her age - personally I think it’s her brain!’

  Chelsea grinned. ‘Do you want to come in and have a coffee?’ she said.

  Rob remembered how he felt when his mum burst into tears on the top of a number 11 bus in full view of six of his mates.

  ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘We sane guys have got to close ranks.’

  I do love him, thought Chelsea.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Melvyn Takes to Cloud Nine

  On Tuesday, Mrs Turnbull telephoned Melvyn at the office.

  ‘I need to see you. Now,’ said Ruth.

  ‘I’ll be over tonight around seven,’ said Melvyn, peering distractedly at his computer screen.

  ‘No. Now!’ said Ruth. And burst into tears.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ said Melvyn, gently.

  ‘Burst water pipes,’ he muttered to his boss, as he picked up his jacket and headed out of the office. ‘Got to sort a plumber.’

  What shall I say? thought Ruth. How shall I put it? ‘Hi Melvyn, you’re going to be a father?’ No, that’s too blunt. ‘Well, hello darling, I’ve some great news.’ No, that’s wrong. He’ll run a mile, I know he will.

  The bell rang.

  Now just take it calmly, Laura’s mum told herself. She opened the door.

  ‘What’s wrong, love?’ asked Melvyn taking her arm and leading her through to the sitting room.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ gulped Ruth. So much for tact and diplomacy, she thought.

  Melvyn’s jaw dropped open and he stared at her in wide-eyed amazement.

  ‘You’re what?’

  I knew he’d be furious, thought Ruth miserably.

  ‘I know, I know, I’m sorry, it’s stupid, I …’

  ‘Hang on, hang on. Just say it again. Tell me again.’

  ‘I’m going to have a baby. Your baby,’ said Ruth, just in case he was tempted to think this whole procreation business was purely down to her.

  Melvyn’s face creased into one enormous grin and he flung his arms round Ruth, lifted her off her feet and swung her round.

  ‘That’s wonderful – a baby! Us! Oh, that’s just incredible!’ he cried, clasping his hands to his head.

  Ruth bit her lip. ‘Are you sure it’s wonderful? I mean, we can’t really afford it, can we? And aren’t I too old? What are we going to do?’

  ‘I couldn’t be more thrilled,’ said Melvyn. ‘I’m thirtyfive and I’m dying to be a father – thought it might never happen to me. And yes, we can and we will afford it. As for what we are going to do, I am going to move in with you and start taking proper care of you.’

  Ruth stared at him. She hadn’t thought as far as domestic arrangements. She knew one person who would not approve of that.

  ‘There is just one thing,’ ventured Ruth.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Melvyn.

  ‘Laura,’ said Ruth. ‘I haven’t told her yet.’

  Chapter Twenty

  The Lure of the Footlights

  ‘So I am pleased to announce that Rob Antell will play Bill Sykes, Sumitha Banerji will be the Artful Dodger and …’

  Chelsea held her breath.

  ‘Mandy Fincham has got the part of Nancy.’ Mr Horage beamed round the hall.

  Typical, thought Chelsea.

  ‘Mandy was brilliant, wasn’t she?’ enthused Rob, when they broke for refreshments. ‘She’s going to be great to act with.’

  Chelsea wanted to cry. Just when she thought things were beginning to look good between her and Rob. Perhaps her mum had the right idea after all. Maybe you had to be over the top to get anywhere. Her mum seemed to get noticed wherever she went – she didn’t let silly inhibitions hold her back. Perhaps pushing yourself into the limelight was the only way. She would have to work on it. One thing she was sure of; she was not about to lose Rob to that cow Mandy Fincham.

  While Chelsea was wondering whether she could put cyanide in Mandy Fincham’s crisps, Mr Horage was dishing out understudy parts.

  ‘And Jemma Farrant, I’d like you to understudy the part of Nancy,’ he announced.

  ‘But I can’t,’ she protested. ‘I mean …’

  ‘Jemma, you can,’ he said. ‘You have a lovely voice and an excellent memory for lines. I can’t think why you didn’t go for a major part. Anyway, you’ll be a great asset to the chorus and fill in for Mandy if the need arises.’

  ‘Oh do it, Jemma,’ muttered Mandy Fincham. ‘You won’t be needed because no way am I missing this opportunity – not even if bubonic plague strikes!’

  ‘Oh, all right, then,’ said Jemma. Anything for a quiet life.

  ‘Now then,’ continued Mr Horage, scanning his clipboard. ‘I think that’s most of the roles filled. I need a few more girls for the chorus – street sellers, tavern girls, that
sort of thing. Any volunteers?’

  ‘I will, sir,’ called Chelsea. If she couldn’t star opposite Rob, she’d make damn sure she was on stage with a beady eye on the two of them as often as possible.

  A few others put up their hands. Mr Horage looked pleasantly surprised. ‘Great - well, thank you all for that.’

  ‘And Laura Turnbull has volunteered to be in charge of publicity – posters, programmes, that sort of thing,’ he concluded. ‘Thank you all for coming – first rehearsal next Monday after school.’

  ‘What’s with this publicity lark?’ Chelsea asked Laura as they walked to the bus stop. ‘Sounds like hard work to me having to design posters and stuff and anyway, I thought writing was your thing … hang on a minute. I get it.’ Chelsea turned to her friend and grinned. ‘You’re going toget Jon to help you, aren’t you? Appeal to his male ego? Ask his advice?’

  ‘So what if I am?’ asked Laura defensively, annoyed at her brilliant plan being sussed so quickly. ‘He’s very good at that sort of thing.’

  I’m sure that’s not the only thing you’d like him to be good at, thought Chelsea.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Schemes and Dreams

  Mrs Banerji was delighted when her daughter announced that she had a major part in the school musical. It would, she thought, give her something other than Bilu to think about. She knew Rajiv thought that Bilu would be an influence for good on his daughter, but Chitrita wasn’t so sure. He had delightful manners, good social graces and of course, his family were very well respected. But there was something that made her uneasy.

  Sumitha was bending over backwards to be charming. She helped her mother dish up supper and asked her father whether he had had a good day at the hospital. She even helped her young brother, Sandeep, make a mask from the back of his cereal packet and managed to refrain from yelling at him when he put lilac felt tip on her shirt collar.

  ‘What time tomorrow does Bilu arrive?’ asked Mr Banerji.

  ‘Six o’clock,’ said Sumitha at once. ‘He’s collecting his car from the headmaster’s house and coming straight over.’

  ‘Such a personable boy,’ murmured Rajiv.

  Strike while the iron is hot, thought Sumitha.

  ‘Dad, would you mind if I took Bilu along to The Stomping Ground on Saturday night?’ She held her breath.

  Ah, thought Sumitha’s mother – so that was what all this helpfulness has been about.

  ‘That club place?’ queried her father with a frown. ‘The one you went to without my permission?’

  ‘Yes, but I wouldn’t do that again, I’ve learned my lesson,’ said Sumitha quickly, putting on what she hoped was a penitent expression. ‘That’s why I’m asking. It’ll be fine – Bilu will look after me,’ she added.

  ‘Well,’ said her father doubtfully, ‘I am not sure what his family would think of my allowing my daughter in such a place. Bilu has been brought up with high ideals, you know.’

  ‘Which is why I would be fine with him,’ ventured Sumitha. ‘We could ask him.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed her father ‘But I think you will find he will be against it. And if he is, that is the end of the matter.’

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ said Sumitha meekly. She was pretty sure she was home and dry.

  While Sumitha was busy buttering up her father, Jemma was being buttered up by her mum.

  ‘Your father’s playing in the Golf Club One Day Tournament on Sunday and I thought it would be a lovely idea if we all went along,’ said Mrs Farrant. ‘They’re having a family day with the pool open, and games for the little ones – won’t that be fun?’

  ‘Hilarious,’ muttered Jemma, flicking through her new Yell! magazine. ‘Oh Mum, do I have to?’

  ‘Well, of course, darling. We’ve only just joined the club and it will be a good opportunity for you to make some nice friends. There are some very important people at that club,’ she added proudly, as if she had personally placed them all there.

  Jemma sighed. ‘It’ll be sooo boring – and I’ve got loads of homework,’ she said in a sudden flash of inspiration.

  ‘Well, then, you had better do that on Saturday evening instead of going to the club, hadn’t you?’ said her mother, with a smile.

  ‘OK, I’ll come.’ Jemma sighed. ‘If I must.’

  ‘That’s it, petal – you’ll enjoy it once you’re there. Shall I iron that pretty little skirt with the seagulls on it?’

  ‘NO!’ cried Jemma. ‘I’ll choose something – OK?’

  Claire Farrant sighed as Jemma retreated to her room.

  Jemma was growing up and even she couldn’t deny it any longer. She didn’t want her mother fussing over her – indeed, sometimes Claire felt as though no one wanted her any more. Sam was almost eight and interested only in football and Xbox and now that the twins were at fulltime nursery, the days seemed very long.

  It had been great at the crèche. Surrounded by all those little ones, doing finger painting and playing in the sand had reminded her of the days when Jemma was little. And lovable. And biddable. But Ellie, the regular girl, had got over her bug and was back in full swing. Where do I go from here? thought Claire.

  Similar thoughts were weighing heavily on Henry Joseph’s mind that morning. He had just shown a couple barely out of their teens round one of the new starter homes on the Ibstock estate, and become increasingly depressed as he listened to their excited chatter. It reminded him of when he and Anona got married, and lived in that poky little flat at the top of an old Victorian house. But they had thought it was paradise.

  He had had such hopes, such aspirations. Oh, he knew that by many people’s standards he had done well – senior member of a respected firm of estate agents, nice house on Billing Hill, son at private school. But what was it all for? What did it mean? And if he died tomorrow, what mark would he have left on the world?

  Even the hopes he had cherished for Jon seemed to be coming to nothing. Once Henry realised that his own career was never going to hit the heights, he’d hung all his hopes on being the father of Jon Joseph, renowned barrister. This art school idea of his was, Henry feared, no mere flash in the pan. The lad spent all his spare time sketching and painting and designing and now his mother was launching herself into this design lark, they would probably both be in huddles talking about Rembrandt and Andy Warhol and he’d feel left out.

  He couldn’t bear the thought of being shut out of Jon’s life. He had always assumed he and Anona would have a whole brood of kids but it hadn’t worked out like that. He had to hang on to Jon. He had to think of some way of strengthening the bond, of remaining a big part of his life.

  As it turned out, fate was due to give him a helping hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In at the Deep End

  By Saturday afternoon, Mrs Turnbull knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. Laura was going out to The Stomping Ground for the evening and Melvyn was coming for Sunday lunch the following day. If she didn’t tell her the news now, she wouldn’t get a chance and Melvyn was in such a state of excitement that he would be bound to let something slip and that would be a recipe for disaster.

  She tapped on Laura’s bedroom door.

  ‘Can I come in, love?’ she asked.

  A muffled grunt emitted from the other side.

  Laura, her ginger hair scooped back in a hair band, was sitting in front of her dressing table mirror, frowning, open-mouthed, and wielding an eyeliner pencil.

  ‘Are you OK now?’ Laura enquired. Her mother had been sick again that morning – but then, she’d been out with Mrs Gee the evening before, so they had probably been drinking vast quantities of wine. She couldn’t be properly ill because she was always fine by the time Laura got home from school.

  ‘Well, not really, that is …’ Oh gosh, this isn’t going to be easy, thought Mrs Turnbull, flopping down on Laura’s bed and running her fingers through her hair. Where do I begin?

  ‘What is it? You’re not still ill, are you?’ said Laura
accusingly.

  ‘No. Yes. Well, sort of,’ began her mother, ‘the thing is …’

  ‘Oh my God,’ interrupted Laura, dropping her eyeliner pencil on the floor and turning to her mother. ‘You’ve got one of those awful diseases, haven’t you? That’s why you keep throwing up. You’ve been given weeks to live, and I’m going to be an orphan – oh my … ’

  ‘NO! No, of course I haven’t. Don’t be daft – there’s nothing wrong with me. Well, not like that anyway,’ said Mrs Turnbull. ‘The thing is – well, actually -’ she took a deep breath, ‘I’m pregnant.’

  Laura stared at her mother in disbelief.

  ‘You’re – WHAT?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I’m going to have a baby,’ said her mother, smiling in what she hoped was a confident and relaxed manner. ‘Sometime early March, I guess.’

  ‘A baby – YOU? But you can’t – I mean – that’s disgusting!’ shouted Laura, knocking over a pot of foundation in her fury. ‘You – at your age – having a baby! Oh Mum, how could you?’ Laura’s eyes filled with angry tears. ‘I suppose that jerk Melvyn is responsible?’

  ‘Well, yes, he did have something to do with it,’ said Ruth wryly. ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘But – that’s disgusting!’ she cried. ‘You’ll have to get rid of it!’

  ‘LAURA!’ Ruth exploded. ‘That’s a terrible, terrible thing to say. I want – we want – this baby.’ Yes, she thought in surprise. Yes, I really do. She took a deep breath. ‘I admit, it took me by surprise at first, but now I’m delighted. And when you get used to the idea, you’ll be thrilled too. Just think, a little brother or sister.’

  ‘But what do you want a baby for?’ asked Laura. ‘You’ve got me.’

  Her mother pulled Laura to her. ‘Look, love, it won’t make a single difference to the way I feel about you, if that’s what’s worrying you. I love you to bits and I always will – no baby in the world is going to alter that.’

  ‘God, what will my friends say?’ cried Laura, wriggling free of her mother’s embrace. ‘What will your friends say – Chelsea’s mum will be disgusted.’