Chapter Thirty
Chelsea Rebels
‘So are you coming to The Tip on Saturday?’ Bex asked Chelsea as they shared a packet of crisps. ‘It’s a blast – much better than The Stomping Ground. And it’s a special Valentine’s Day set.’
‘I’m grounded,’ said Chelsea morosely.
‘What do you mean, grounded?’ asked Bex,
‘Not allowed out, incarcerated,’ moaned Chelsea. ‘My parents flipped when they got the letter about us going down the mall.’
Bex pulled a face. ‘But they can’t make you – I mean, if you go out, you go out. Short of chaining you to the bedpost, what can they actually do?’
Chelsea thought about it. Bex was right. They couldn’t dictate to her, she was fifteen and entitled to a life. Anyway, Dad would be sure to be out in the van so she’d only have her mother to worry about.
‘OK, you’re on,’ she said, grinning at Bex. ‘Why should they stop me having fun?’
Chapter Thirty-One
Money Worries
‘Hurry up, Sumitha. Sandeep! Time you were off!’ Chitrita called up the stairs and wondered for the umpteenth time that term why it was that getting two children off to school was more exhausting than teaching twenty women English grammar.
‘Can I have some money for lunch?’ asked Sumitha. ‘And I need the money for the science trip.’
Chitrita grabbed her purse and frowned. She was sure she had put five one pound coins in there yesterday and now there were only two. She scrabbled around in the bottom of her bag, but couldn’t find them.
‘You’ll have to make do with this for lunch and I’ll give you the rest tonight,’ she told Sumitha. I must have spent more than I imagined, she thought.
‘All right, you two – go!’ she said, kissing the top of Sandeep’s head and shoving them towards the door.
For once, Sandeep looked quite cheerful, thought Sumitha. It must be his love life.
‘So how is Victoria?’ she asked wickedly as they turned the corner.
Sandeep looked at her and said nothing.
‘Go on, I know all about Victoria,’ said Sumitha, ‘Fancy her, do you?’
‘She’s OK,’ he muttered. How did Sumitha know about Victoria? She couldn’t have said anything, could she? She wouldn’t – she’d promised.
‘Dear me, only OK, and there was me thinking she was the love of your life,’ teased his sister.
‘Shut up,’ said Sandeep.
He closed his fist over the three coins in his pocket. Perhaps with those, today would be a better day.
My brother is one strange kid, thought Sumitha.
While Sandeep was putting his faith in money, Barry was staking his on his now-perfected hazelnut and cappuccino roulade.
‘That’s the ace up my sleeve,’ he told Ginny as he prepared to leave for London. ‘I just hope that, with all those studio lights, it holds its shape.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ said Ginny. ‘The best of luck. We’ll be rooting for you, won’t we, Chelsea?’
‘Yeah,’ mumbled Chelsea. And then had an idea. ‘Dad,’ she said, ‘I’m not really grounded for two weeks, am I?’
‘Yes,’ said her father. ‘You are.’
‘I hope your flipping roulade chokes you,’ snarled Chelsea.
Victoria Morrant was waiting at the school gates for her best friend, Alexa Browning, and reading Catcher in the Rye. Victoria had her nose permanently in a book and when she wasn’t reading, she wrote jokey limericks and made cool cards for her friends. She and Alexa had been friends since they were in nursery school together and their respective mothers said they were good for each other. Victoria thought it a strange comment – carrots are good for you, early nights are good for you, Alexa is good for you. Apparently, Alexa was supposed to be a calming influence on the volatile and fiesty Victoria (who was inclined to leap head first into situations and worry about the consequences later) – and Victoria was supposed to help Alexa ‘come out of herself’. Parents did say some stupid things at times. Everyone knew Alexa could come out of herself any time she liked. She was a born actress who could turn on real tears to get herself out of PE and could even go pale and do a proper-looking faint in assembly if the bribe was good enough. Victoria admired that in a friend.
Victoria was also a great champion of the underdog. Which was probably why she liked Sandeep Banerji. She got very angry with people who called him wet because he wasn’t. Not at all. He was brilliant at English, top in French and very funny. Or at least he had been. Lately he had gone all quiet and solemn and hardly said a word to anyone. Then last week, she had found him crying in the cloakroom.
‘What’s wrong?’ she had said.
‘Nothing,’ he had grunted.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ she had replied, not being one to beat about the bush. ‘You’re crying in the cloakroom at half past eleven in the morning, so of course something’s wrong. Are you ill?’
Sandeep had shaken his head.
‘Well, then, what?’ she had insisted.
‘I mustn’t – can’t tell you,’ he had said, and something in his eyes had stopped her asking any more.
‘OK,’ she’d said. ‘Here – have a tissue.’ He had grabbed it, rubbed at his face and headed off towards the classroom. Then he’d stopped and turned to face her.
Victoria?’ he had said. ‘You won’t . . . ?’
‘No,’ she’d said, instinctively knowing what he meant. ‘No, I won’t tell anyone.’
As if conjured up by her thoughts, Sandeep crossed the driveway and passed her.
‘Hi, Sandeep,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You OK?’
Sandeep nodded. ‘Hi, Victoria – I’m fine today, thanks.’
Great, thought Victoria. Perhaps it was just a flash in the pan then. I hope so for his sake.
Sandeep liked Victoria. Everyone did. He wished he was like her. She was always cracking jokes and being funny but she never made you feel bad. Not like Kevin and Matthew, who kept saying he was a puny little runt – even Sumitha called him a wimp. He hated fighting with people and he could never think of the right thing to say until it was too late. Now Kevin and Matthew were on at him all the time, calling him names and teasing him because he hated sport. But today it wouldn’t be so bad.
Kevin was waiting by his locker. ‘Well, little Paki boy, have you got it, then?’ He was a good four inches taller than Sandeep and towered over him threateningly.
‘Yes,’ said Sandeep, his mouth going dry. He put his hand in his pocket and handed over a one pound coin. Kevin sneered at it.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I said two pounds – one for me, one for my mate Matthew here.’ Reluctantly Sandeep handed over another coin. ‘Good,’ said Kevin. ‘And we’ll have the same next week, thank you.’
‘I can’t,’ said Sandeep. ‘I haven’t got any more.’ He wouldn’t dare do what he had done this morning ever again.
‘Dear me,’ said Matthew, clamping a hand on Sandeep’s shoulder. ‘Well, I should get some if I were you. Or else me and Kevin will have to take some pretty drastic action. Eh, Kevin?’
Kevin leered and nodded.
Sandeep felt sick.
‘And remember, no running to teacher. No telling tales. Because if you do, we’ll finish you off. OK?’
‘OK,’ said Sandeep, And he didn’t cry till they had gone.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Anona Makes Waves
‘Just tip your head back for me, Mrs Turnbull, and we’ll get you rinsed,’ gushed the new junior at Fringe Affairs who gloried in the name of Amber and had obviously coloured her hair, fingernails and lips to echo her name, ‘Made any plans for next summer’s holidays yet, have you?’
Why, thought Ruth, wincing as the rim of the basin cut into her scalp, do all hairdressers want to know about your leisure arrangements? She was in no mood to indulge in small talk about holidays or anything else for that matter. She was too furious to be sociable.
&nbs
p; Ruth was seriously angry with her ex-husband. He had no right to drag Laura into discussions about the breakdown of their marriage, and even less right to expect a fifteen-year-old to act as some sort of mediator between her parents.
The trouble was, she didn’t know what to do. If she phoned Peter and told him what she thought, he would probably blame Laura and if she ignored the whole thing, he would simply keep on nagging his daughter to say something. She didn’t want to tell Melvyn because he would lose his rag and storm round to Peter’s and all hell would be let loose which wouldn’t do any of them any good.
And then there was this business of the animal rights demonstration. Melvyn didn’t think it was a good idea for Laura to go, but he wasn’t about to stop her. He said she had to discover her own values in life and no one could do it for her. But Ruth didn’t like the idea of her daughter shouting slogans and waving placards, good cause or not.
‘Getting ready for a glamorous delivery, are you Ruth?’ Ruth gingerly raised her head and saw Anona Joseph, wreathed in towels, smiling down at her.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I thought I should have it all cut off and permed because somehow I don’t think I am going to have time for hot brushes and creative flair for the next few months!’
Anona flopped down beside her. ‘I’m going auburn,’ she said. ‘I want a totally new image. By the way, Laura’s looking well – I saw her at the Leehampton Labs demo. Nice kid, you must be very proud of her.’
Ruth nodded. ‘Yes – not that I approve of all this animal rights business, though.’ A thought struck her. ‘What were you doing there?’
Whereupon Anona launched into an invective against animal testing which lasted ten minutes and left Ruth wishing she hadn’t made a comment.
‘Oh well,’ said Ruth amiably, ‘it wouldn’t do for us all to be alike. I’ve just told Laura she is not to go to any more demos, especially not the one at Fettlesham Downs.’
‘Well,’ said Anona, ‘I think you’re wrong. To my mind, that savours of complacency. You should be proud that your kid has principles and is prepared to stand up and be counted.’
There is that, thought Ruth.
‘I’m going – I’ll keep an eye on her if that’s what is bothering you,’ offered Anona.
‘Well . . .’ Ruth hesitated.
You can’t keep her in cotton wool for ever, Ruth,’ admonished Anona. You don’t want to be another Claire Farrant, do you?’
That is very true, thought Ruth,
‘Well, as long as you really do make sure she’s OK,’ she said.
‘Of course I will,’ said Anona.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jemma’s Mum Gets in a Flap
Mrs Banerji’s thoughts were miles away from the class of Asian women to whom she was supposed to be explaining the rudiments of writing a business letter in English. All she could think of was the money that she was now convinced Sandeep had taken. Why? Why would he do such a thing? It was not as though they kept him short; if he had needed something, he could have asked and they could at least have discussed it.
Rajiv was all for confronting Sandeep, taking away all his privileges and going straight to the school, but Chitrita wasn’t sure. There had to be a reason. She thought that maybe she would have a word with Sumitha.
At the end of class, still worrying about the problem, she headed down the corridor at the day centre and bumped headlong into Claire Farrant who was emerging from the crèche, clutching several boxes of building bricks.
‘Oh, Chitrita, hello,’ she said. ‘I was hoping to see you. I want to ask you about Miss Olive and the drama school. I’m very worried about my Jemma right now.’
You are always worried about your Jemma, thought Chitrita to herself.
‘How can I help?’ she said, praying that Claire wouldn’t keep her long. She needed to sort out what to do before Sandeep got home from school.
‘Well, Jemma’s got an audition for Great Expectations and I don’t want her to do it,’ began Claire, dumping the boxes on the floor. ‘There’s the school work, and then there would be rehearsals, and performances and . . .’
‘Hang on,’ said Chitrita. ‘I thought you said it was just an audition.’
‘Well, yes, but Jemma says Miss Olive thinks she will get it,’ explained Claire. ‘And then, of course, when I heard that Sumitha has given it all up, I wondered if that was because there was something wrong with the school.’
Chitrita took a deep breath. ‘Look, Claire, Sumitha gave it up simply because she has outgrown the singing/dancing phase of her life. Miss Olive is a brilliant drama teacher but she is also just that – dramatic. She loves to believe that her students are the crème de la crème. She heaps praise on them and, in most cases, she gets the best out of them. But you have to realise there will be dozens of girls from all the other drama schools all competing for the one part. The chances of Jemma getting it on her very first attempt are, if you don’t mind my saying so, fairly remote.’
‘That’s what Andrew says,’ sighed Claire. ‘But Jemma seems so confident, and she’s growing up so fast, you see.’
‘Well,’ said Chitrita reasonably, ‘she is nearly fifteen. It happens.’
‘So you think I should let her do the audition?’ said Claire.
‘Why not? If she does land the part, then you’ll have to make a decision. But I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it yet.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ginny’s Big Break
On Thursday afternoon, as Ginny was staggering through the front door, clutching carrier bags full of shopping, the phone rang.
‘Ginny Gee speaking.’
‘Robin Stapleton here – TV East. Ginny, we are in a bit of a tight spot and we need your help.’
‘Fire away,’ said Ginny, thinking that they probably wanted her to write another feature extolling one of their forthcoming costume dramas.
Ten minutes later, she put the phone down, shaking with excitement. This could be her big break. If only she could pull it off, she could be made. She ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. Keep calm, Ginny, she told herself.
‘Whoopee!!’ she shrieked. ‘Whoopee! Whoopee! Whoopee!’
‘Mum?’ Chelsea appeared through the back door and gasped at the sight of her mother executing a highland fling on the quarry tiles. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Guess what?’ cried her mother. ‘Tessa Tavera – you know, Tessa Talks on TV East? Well, she’s broken her leg filming a ski holiday piece for The World Is Your Oyster and they want me to front her Saturday chat show this week. And if it goes OK, I might get to cover it till the end of this series.’ She hugged her daughter excitedly.
‘You? On network television? This coming Saturday?’ Chelsea’s eyes widened.
‘Yes, isn’t it brilliant?’
Yes, absolutely, thought Chelsea. Now you will never find out about me going to The Tip. She pictured her mother, complete with plunging neckline and bright yellow skirt, thrusting the microphone and her breasts in the face of some long-suffering member of the audience.
‘Mum,’ said Chelsea
‘Yes?’ said Ginny.
‘You will behave, won’t you?’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Victoria to the Rescue
Sumitha was taking as long as she could to dismantle the science display Mr Sharpe was standing beside her, carefully putting soil samples into polythene bags.
‘Right, finished for the day,’ he said, sticking on the last label.
Don’t go yet, thought Sumitha.
‘Tell me some more about the school in Phorabadur, sir,’ she said. Anything to keep him close to her.
‘Well, I don’t—’ Paul began, glancing at his watch.
‘Sumitha! Sumitha, come quickly!’ It was Victoria Morrant, panting for breath and looking very red in the face.
‘I’m busy,’ said Sumitha, glaring at her.
‘What’s up, Victoria?’ asked Paul.
‘It’s Sandeep
Banerji, sir – he’s in the locker room and he’s crying and he’s—’
‘Oh, he’s always whingeing about something,’ snapped Sumitha, furious that her intimate chat with Paul should have been interrupted.
‘You’re horrid!’ declared Victoria, scowling at Sumitha. ‘He’s your brother, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Don’t I know it.’ Sumitha gave a mock, bored yawn, and glanced at Paul with what she hoped was a knowing look. ‘It’s time he grew up.’
‘Sumitha, I think that is most unfair,’ retorted Mr Sharpe. ‘Go and check it out.’
Sumitha looked hurt. ‘But sir, I haven’t finished here.’
‘You’re brother is bleeding and you are too busy to help?’ shouted Victoria. ‘You make me sick!’
‘Bleeding?’ repeated Mr Sharpe. ‘Right – I’m on my way.’ And he headed off at a sprint for the locker room.
But when they got to the Year Seven locker room, there was no sign of Sandeep or his belongings.
‘There you are,’ declared Sumitha with satisfaction. ‘He’s obviously gone home. There can’t be much wrong with him.’
‘Well, get on home after him, will you?’ said Paul. ‘To be on the safe side. And Sumitha?’ He paused.
‘Yes, sir?’ she said breathlessly.
‘Try to be a bit kinder.’ And he headed for the staffroom.
‘I’ll come with you,’ announced Victoria, grabbing her rucksack and throwing her scarf on.
‘I don’t know what you are in such a state about,’ said Sumitha, smarting at the veiled accusation from her hero, ‘except, of course, that for some reason beyond my imagining you fancy my brother.’
Victoria glowered at her. ‘I don’t fancy him. I like him – he’s my friend. And I think something is very wrong. Not that you would care. Too busy sucking up to sir, aren’t you?’ And with that she marched ahead of Sumitha into the school yard.
How Could You Do This To Me, Mum? Page 9