‘Well . . .’ began her mother.
‘Please?’
You won’t get all big-headed and stroppy with us?’ said Claire, eyeing her sternly.
‘Sumitha, can I say something?’ Victoria Morrant was waiting for Sumitha at the school gate.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Sumitha. ‘Sandeep’s OK, isn’t he?’ she added anxiously. ‘I mean, there hasn’t been any more trouble?’
Victoria shook her head. ‘No, he’s fine. I’m just waiting for his football practice to finish, then he said I could come to your house for tea. Which is why I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I was rude and yelled at you that time. I know it wasn’t your fault but I was worried and didn’t know what to do.’
‘Hey, hang on,’ said Sumitha. ‘If anyone should be saying sorry, it should be me. I was so wrapped up in myself I didn’t take any notice of my brother. I mean, he can be a mortal pain at times, but I should have sussed out that something was wrong. I’m glad he had you rooting for him.’
Sandeep came rushing up, red-faced and out of breath.
‘Hi, Victoria,’ he said. ‘Er, Sumitha, you’re not going to walk home with us, are you? Puh-leese!’
Sumitha grinned. ‘Touché,’ she said.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The Final Course
‘I’ve got a brilliant idea!’ enthused Barry on the morning of the opening gala.
‘Could you have it quietly?’ pleaded Ginny who was suffering the effects of a surfeit of champagne at the party the night before.
‘Listen, Chelsea,’ he said, ignoring his wife. ‘How would it be if you and your friends dressed up in berets and striped T-shirts for this evening? You know, have a French theme?’
Chelsea gave her father a withering look.
‘Dad, get a grip – that is such a cliché! Really pathetic,’ she protested.
‘Oh,’ said Barry.
‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘I’ve got my new hipsters and Laura’s getting some wicked flared jeans and Jemma reckons she can con her mum into buying her a fluffy angora jumper because she’ll say it keeps the cold out!’
‘Oh, well,’ sighed Barry. ‘Even if the restaurant flops, I will have kept retail sales in the clothing industry at an all-time high!’
Chelsea giggled. ‘It won’t flop, Dad,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Everyone said the food was way amazing – and you know Jemma’s gran has chosen Gee Whizz for her wedding meal. Hey, you might even get a slot in one of the Sunday magazines.’
‘Heaven forbid,’ said Barry wryly.
Later that afternoon, Chelsea and Laura were down at Gee Whizz helping to set tables. Ginny was doing something extraordinary with some arum lilies and an armful of driftwood and Barry was darting from bistro to kitchen and back, getting redder and redder in the face and muttering, ‘Tomato coulis, caramelised oranges, peppers for the piperade,’ under his breath.
When they had finished folding the final table napkin, Laura gave a big yawn and flopped into the nearest chair.
‘Not tired already, Laura?’ asked Ginny ramming a lily into a brass urn.
‘It’s Charlie,’ explained Laura. ‘Every morning at three o’clock he yells blue murder and wakes me up. Then I just nod off and he starts again at six. You’d think modern science could invent some slow-release milk pill for babies, wouldn’t you?’
‘Why don’t you spend the weekend at our house?’ suggested Chelsea. ‘She can, can’t she, Mum?’
‘Of course she can – why don’t you pop through to the office and give your mum a call?’
‘Brilliant – thanks, Mrs Gee.’
While Laura was phoning, Chelsea went through to the kitchen to see how her dad was getting on.
He was nowhere to be seen, and Chelsea strolled over to one of the cookers and stuck her finger in a pan of sauce bubbling on the hob.
‘Mmm, nice,’ she murmured out loud.
‘Madam is too kind!’
Chelsea jumped and turned round.
Standing before her, wielding a wooden spoon in one hand and an aubergine in the other, was the world’s most drop dead gorgeous guy.
‘Hi, I’m Todd. Will’s nephew,’ he said, dropping the aubergine and holding out a hand. ‘I’m your dad’s new sous-chef – well, I’m a student, actually, but sous-chef sounds more grand. My uncle tells me this is all good experience for a future hotelier!’
‘Hi,’ murmured Chelsea. ‘I’m Chelsea – Barry’s daughter.’
‘Great – you going to be doing the odd spot of work here as well?’ he asked, beaming at her.
‘Yes, definitely,’ said Chelsea, who was of the mind that she would take a short sojourn to Mars if Todd was piloting the spacecraft.
‘I say, you wouldn’t do me a favour, would you?’ he asked. ‘Just chop these mushrooms – I’m running late and your dad is a hard taskmaster!’
While she chopped, Chelsea discovered that Todd was staying with his uncle, knew no one in Leehampton and didn’t have a regular girlfriend.
‘You wouldn’t like to come out with me tomorrow, would you?’ he asked. ‘Sundays are going to be my only free day. We could catch a movie,’ he added.
Yes, thought Chelsea, mentally punching the air.
No, thought Chelsea, coming down to earth.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got a mate staying for the weekend. I can’t let her down.’
‘OK, no sweat,’ said Todd, chucking a handful of herbs into a pan. ‘Another time, maybe?’
‘Maybe,’ said Chelsea, grinning. ‘Maybe.’
The Leehampton Series
Just Don’t Make a Scene, Mum!
I Think I’ll Just Curl Up and Die!
How Could You Do This to Me, Mum?
Does Anyone Ever Listen? (October 2006)
Also available by Rosie Rushton from Piccadilly Press:
Meet the girls: Holly, Tansy, Jade and Cleo. Each book follows one week in their lives – but what a week! Disasters, parents, secrets, boyfriends and more challenge the girls.
Four friends. Seven days. About a hundred things that can (and will) go wrong!
What a Week Omnibus Books 1–3
(What a Week to Fall In Love
What a Week to Make It Big
What a Week to Break Free)
What a Week Omnibus Books 4–6 (What a Week to Make a Stand
What a Week to Play It Cool
What a Week to Make a Move)
What a Week to Take a Chance
What a Week to Get Real
What a Week to Risk It All
How Could You Do This To Me, Mum? Page 14