How Could You Do This To Me, Mum?

by Rosie Rushton

  Ruth and Melvyn exchanged glances. ‘Charlie,’ mused Melvyn. ‘It has a ring to it.’

  ‘Charlie,’ repeated Ruth. ‘I like it.’

  ‘That’s settled then’ said Laura.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Bad News for Jemma

  Laura was, not surprisingly, the centre of attention when she went back to school on Tuesday. Her friends had heard about her accident and they wanted to find out all the details.

  ‘I was a fool,’ she said honestly. ‘I thought Daniel had it all sussed, about this protesting and stuff, when all the time what he was looking for was a fight. I reckon he would have demonstrated against anything – just for the sake of it.’

  ‘What happened to him? Were his mum and dad mad at him for getting arrested?’ asked Jemma.

  ‘Pretty much, I think,’ said Laura. ‘The police sent him home with a caution and I know his dad has said he can’t have any driving lessons for six months.’

  ‘Tell us about the baby,’ said Chelsea. She desperately wanted to get back to being friends with Laura again.

  ‘He’s cute,’ she said. ‘He’s unbelievably tiny with dinky little fingernails and a button nose. I don’t suppose,’ she added hesitantly, ‘you’d like to come to the hospital with me after school, to see him? I mean, if you’re busy with Bex or something . . .’

  ‘I’d love to come,’ said Chelsea. ‘Really love to.’

  ‘Do you want to come, Jemma?’ asked Laura.

  ‘Can’t, sorry,’ said Jemma. ‘It’s drama class and I need to find out the rehearsal schedule for Great Expectations.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Laura. ‘Are you still in it? I assumed you wouldn’t be now, what with Alexa getting the part of Estella.’

  Jemma stared at her. ‘What did you say?’ she demanded.

  ‘Alexa Browning – didn’t I say? Oh well, when Daniel came round to apologise last night, he said that Alexa had just had a phone call to say she’d got the part of Estella. I thought he’d got it wrong because you said you’d got it,’ she added, slightly puzzled.

  ‘Of course he got it wrong,’ thundered Jemma. ‘There is no way that kid could have got the part. I was tons better than her. There’s been a mistake. I’m sure there has.’ She rushed off towards the pay phones.

  Chelsea looked at Laura.

  ‘Whoops,’ they said in unison.

  Close by, Sumitha took a deep breath and went up to Mr Sharpe’s desk. She slipped the envelope into his folder. Then, heart thumping, she took her seat and waited for class to begin.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Baby Talk

  ‘He looks just like you did when you were born,’ said Ruth to Laura as they leaned over Charlie’s cot on Tuesday evening. Ruth had been discharged but Charlie had to stay in the Special Care Baby unit for a few more days. ‘You are pleased, aren’t you, Laura?’

  Laura nodded. ‘I think he’s cute,’ she said. ‘I rather like being a big sister.’

  She sighed.

  ‘What is it, love?’ asked her mother.

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking about Dad,’ she said. ‘I mean, you’re happy, and I just wish he was too. I want you both to be happy.’

  Ruth squeezed her hand.

  ‘I know, love,’ she said. ‘But you have to remember something. It is not your responsibility to make either of us happy. You mustn’t feel that just because Dad is going through a difficult time, it is somehow your fault. It’s not. No way.’

  ‘But he wanted me to get you to let him come home and, even though I can see now that it wouldn’t work, he’ll think I didn’t even try.’

  Ruth shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve written to Dad. A letter just between the two of us. I’ve told him how I feel and I’ve also asked him not to put this kind of pressure on you again. And don’t worry,’ she added, ‘I’ve told him how much you love him.’

  Laura felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said. ‘You’re cool, you know that? Oh look, Charlie’s been sick.’

  Sumitha hung around in the locker room until everyone had left. Then she went back up to the science lab.

  Paul was sitting on his desk, thumbing through a pile of essays. He looked up as she walked in.

  ‘Ah, Sumitha,’ he began.

  ‘Sir – Paul,’ she gulped. She’d done it. She had said it. ‘Did you read the card I left for you?’

  ‘I did, Sumitha,’ said Mr Sharpe, putting down his papers and turning to face her. ‘And before we go any further – before you say things which one day you will feel embarrassed about, or I start preaching and sounding like that agony uncle guy in Shriek, let me tell you what you already know, deep down.’

  Sumitha stared at him. Was he going to tell her that she was his favourite, that he realised she wasn’t a stupid kid, that he . . .

  ‘I am your teacher, I am twelve years older than you and any idea that you may have of loving me is merely a crush. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but it’s true.’

  ‘No – I do, I think you’re amazing,’ protested Sumitha. ‘You’re a brilliant teacher.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Paul. ‘But never forget that is all I am. Your teacher. Nothing more. And now, I must lock up. Good night, Sumitha.’

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Jemma Exits the Stage

  Jemma lay sprawled out on her bed, crying her eyes out. It just wasn’t fair. How could Alexa Browning – who was only twelve! – be chosen to play Estella, while she, Jemma Farrant, whom everyone knew had bags of talent had been totally ignored? How was she going to face everyone? She’d been so sure of getting the part that she had told all her friends that she would get them tickets – and now she wasn’t even going to be the understudy.

  Nobody seemed to realise how awful it was. When she had phoned Miss Olive, all she had said was, ‘There will be plenty more parts to play, Jemma, and Alexa just had the right Victorian look about her.’ Her mother just said, ‘It won’t do you any harm – you were getting far too big for your boots,’ and Gran, who had been so keen on her doing drama in the first place, had remarked, ‘Disappointment is very good for the young,’ which Jemma thought was a pretty useless sort of thing to say.

  Even Rob hadn’t understood.

  ‘There’ll be other plays,’ he had said when she sobbed down the phone to him. ‘And besides, it means we can spend more time together and actually talk about something other than drama. You were getting altogether too taken up with this acting lark anyway.’

  ‘Fat lot you know!’ she had said and slammed down the phone.

  But deep inside, she knew what was hurting most of all. It was the fact that she had told everyone she was bound to get the part. She had kept going on about how good she was – and the fact was, she obviously wasn’t. If she had been, she would be playing Estella instead of Alexa.

  She used to think that if she was outgoing and confident and bubbly like Chelsea, she would have stacks of friends. Well, she had tried it. And now, she probably wouldn’t have a single friend left in the whole world.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Bullies Brought to Brook

  ‘I’ve just seen your dad going into Mr Todd’s study,’ said Laura to Sumitha on Wednesday morning before assembly. ‘What’s going on?’

  Sumitha chewed her lip, ‘Well, don’t tell anyone, but it’s about Sandeep. He’s been bullied.’

  Laura looked aghast. ‘That’s awful – what happened?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to say anything about it until Mr Todd has sorted it,’ she said. ‘I just feel so awful that I never realised what was going on. Sandeep’s been so miserable for so long – and I just told him to grow up.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Laura, laying a comforting hand on Sumitha’s shoulder. ‘Your dad and Toddy will get it sorted.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Sumitha. ‘I do hope so.’

  Behind the closed door of the headmaster’s study, Matthew Barnes a
nd Kevin Bott were standing, eyes downcast, in front of the desk.

  ‘This,’ said Mr Todd, ‘is Mr Banerji. Sandeep Banerji’s father.’

  Kevin shuffled uneasily and Matthew bit his fingernails.

  ‘Good morning, Matthew. Good morning, Kevin,’ said Mr Banerji politely extending his hand. They each shook it rather half-heartedly.

  ‘Mr Banerji would like a word with you,’ said Mr Todd.

  The boys looked apprehensive.

  ‘Now then,’ said Rajiv. ‘I assume you are both going to taunt me, tease me, ask me for money and then, eventually, should I be foolish enough to stand up to you, you will hit me. Well now, time is short; you have an assembly to attend so I suggest we get on with it.’

  Matthew and Kevin stared at him.

  ‘You are puzzled? Have I got it wrong?’ asked Mr Banerji. ‘Is this not the way you behave?’

  They said nothing. Matthew twisted his hands behind his back and Kevin chewed his lip.

  ‘Is this not the way you behaved towards my son? And indeed, he is no different from me. We are both Bengali. Our skin is not white, it is brown. And we are both people who like a quiet life – we hate to make waves. So why are you not bullying me right now?’

  ‘It was no big deal – just a bit of fun . . .’ ventured Kevin.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Mr Banerji. ‘So hitting small boys in the dark corners of the locker room, and extorting money from them when they think no one is looking is your idea of fun? You know, I feel so very sorry for you both.’

  The boys looked at him in surprise.

  ‘You are surprised?’ queried Rajiv. ‘Oh yes, I do feel sorry for you. Because to act in that cowardly low-down sort of way you must both be very unhappy boys. I hope that you and your parents and Mr Todd can sort this whole dreadful business out because I would not like to think that anyone, including you, has to go through life feeling as miserable as you made my son feel. That is all I have to say,’ he added. ‘What happens now is up to Mr Todd.’

  The headmaster stood up.

  ‘To me, and to Year Eight,’ he amended. ‘The class will hold a bully court next week and we shall endeavour to sort this whole thing out. Thank you for coming, Mr Banerji, it is much appreciated.’

  Sumitha caught up with her father as he was leaving the building.

  ‘Dad, what happened? Is it going to be all right?’

  Her father smiled wryly. ‘All right? Well, hopefully Kevin and Matthew will be helped to see the error of their ways and, between us, we must try to restore Sandeep’s self-respect and confidence.’ He sighed. ‘But it is up to all of us, whatever age, to be on the lookout for this sort of thing. And, if we see it, to have the courage of Victoria and do something about it. The problem was that Sandeep was afraid to tell anyone; he should have come straight to me, or his mother, or you – it would have saved him so much pain.’

  Sumitha nodded. ‘And if I had listened to him, instead of always nagging at him, he just might have felt able to tell me,’ she said tearfully.

  Half an hour later, Mr Todd was addressing the school assembly.

  ‘And now for two pieces of happy news. Firstly, our congratulations to Alexa Browning of Year Seven, who has been chosen to play Estella in the Royal Theatre’s forthcoming production of Great Expectations.’ He paused while the applause rang out. Jemma bit her lip.

  ‘Bad luck,’ said Chelsea touching her shoulder, ‘Never mind, there’s always next time. You’re really talented – you’ll make it.’

  Jemma looked at her. She thought Chelsea would be delighted that she had messed up.

  ‘And Jemma,’ whispered Chelsea, as the applause died down, ‘can we be friends again? I’m sorry I was such an idiot over you and Rob.’

  Jemma smiled. ‘Yes, please – I missed you.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Chelsea.

  ‘And lastly, I am delighted to announce that Mr Sharpe, our new science teacher, has become engaged to Miss McConnell.’

  Chatter broke out in the room and some smart alec called out, ‘Fast work, sir.’ Sumitha gulped. Paul. Paul was getting married? He couldn’t. She loved him so much. How could he fancy mousy Miss McConnell? How could he?

  Well, if that was his game, she was certainly not going to give up any more Thursdays to organise his rotten science club.

  ‘Can Victoria come to tea?’ Sandeep asked his mother that evening.

  ‘I think that would be a great idea,’ said Chitrita.

  ‘Sandeep’s in love,’ teased Sumitha.

  Her mother glared at her. She didn’t want Sandeep’s newly found confidence bruised.

  ‘You can talk,’ retorted Sandeep. ‘Anyway, Mr Sharpe’s getting married so you won’t be able to swoon over him any more!’

  ‘Get knotted,’ muttered Sumitha, but she grinned at him while she said it.

  Sandeep stuck his tongue out and grinned back.

  Well, well, thought Chitrita. Things are taking a turn around here.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Gee Whizz!

  Excitement was mounting in the Gee household as the opening of Barry and Will’s new restaurant approached. It was attracting a great deal of publicity, thanks to some careful orchestration by Ginny, who managed not only to get the local newspaper to devote three-quarters of a page to the enterprise, but persuaded Hot FM to run their weekly Food Fanatics slot from the kitchen.

  When the decorators finally moved out, Barry suggested to Will Zetland, who was an entrepreneur with a finger in a number of extremely lucrative pies, that they should throw a private party the evening before the official opening. ‘It will give our friends a chance to see what we are doing and it will be a good practice run for the staff,’ explained Barry.

  ‘Can my friends come too?’ Chelsea asked, thinking that a free meal would be a good way of getting them all back together again like before.

  ‘Of course,’ said her father. ‘What I’d really like,’ he added tentatively, ‘would be for you and some of your friends to come along for the grand opening as well and hand round canapés and give out leaflets. But of course, if you think that would be a naff thing to do . . .’ Barry was very anxious not to ruffle the newly calm atmosphere in the household.

  ‘That would be great,’ said Chelsea. An idea hit her. ‘Dad?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart?’

  ‘Can I have some money? I’ve absolutely nothing to wear for such an event.’

  Some things, thought Barry, fishing out his wallet, never change.

  Chelsea and her mum went on a mammoth shopping spree during which Ginny who had recently celebrated the effectiveness of her HRT by acquiring a perm and a chestnut rinse, lashed out more money on a new purple suit and a waistcoat in a rather interesting shade of banana. Chelsea used her father’s cash donation to buy a pair of faded-denim hipsters.

  Then they had coffee and doughnuts and a long heart-to-heart talk about friends and love and the meaning of life in general.

  ‘Have you seen any more of your friend Bex?’ asked Ginny hesitantly.

  ‘Only at school,’ said Chelsea. ‘She told me she’s stopped going around with Fee and that lot.’

  ‘I was just thinking that you should invite her over sometime,’ commented Ginny.

  ‘But I thought she was the sort of person you didn’t approve of. Dad certainly didn’t.’

  ‘Well, it just seems to me that she cared enough to follow you that night and make sure you were all right. From the little you have told me, it sounds like she might not be a very happy kid. As long as you bear in mind that old adage that your granny used to chant – make new friends, but keep the old . . .’

  ‘. . . for one is silver, the other gold,’ finished Chelsea, grinning. ‘I know – Jemma’s coming round after school tomorrow. We’re friends again. I reckon it’s not worth losing a mate because of a boy.’

  Ginny grinned. ‘You’re learning,’ she said.

  Life in Laura’s house was a little more frenetic.

&
nbsp; ‘When is this kid going to learn that you sleep at night and stay awake in the day time?’ yawned Laura at three o’clock one morning, when Charlie was making it perfectly clear that he needed food and he needed it now.

  ‘Bless him, he’s only three weeks old,’ protested Ruth, warming a bottle.

  ‘Jon wants to draw his portrait – if he ever stops yelling long enough, that is,’ said Laura.

  ‘Things going well with you two, are they?’ enquired Ruth.

  Laura chose not to reply. She didn’t want to tempt providence. She leaned over Charlie’s cot and tickled his toes.

  He grinned.

  ‘Mum, Mum – he smiled at me!’ cried Laura.

  ‘Wind, darling,’ said her mother. ‘They don’t smile until they are six weeks old.’

  ‘No, he smiled,’ insisted Laura. ‘He’s obviously a very advanced kid. He gets his brains from his sister.’

  Ruth smiled. She had an idea that Charlie had a champion for life.

  ‘Jemma! Telephone!’ called Claire.

  Jemma galloped downstairs and snatched the receiver.

  ‘Rob? Oh, oh sorry. Hi, Miss Olive. Pardon? Yes. What me? Really? In the summer? Oh wow! Thank you. Thanks a million. Yes, see you on Saturday. Bye!’

  She hurled the receiver back on the cradle and flew into the kitchen.

  ‘Mum! Mum! You’ll never guess what! That was Miss Olive and Jake Huntley, that’s the man producing Great Expectations – well, he just—’

  ‘Jemma, Jemma, calm down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying,’ said her mother, laughing.

  Jemma took a deep breath. ‘The producer of Great Expectations is going to do Cider with Rosie in the summer. And he wants me for the part of Marjorie! It’s a great part – I can do it, can’t I Mum?’