Just Don't Make a Scene, Mum!

by Rosie Rushton

  The conversation inevitably came round to the kids.

  ‘I’ve decided that I am going to buy Jemma some new clothes on Saturday,’ announced Mrs Farrant. Apparently she says I am trying to keep her looking like a baby,’ she explained. And I suppose, beside your girls, she does look a bit young for her age.’

  The others made the sort of non-committal murmurs that meant they totally agreed but thought it more polite not to say so.

  ‘I must say, I am a bit worried about what she’ll choose – she seems to think of nothing but clothes these days and she’s taken to reading these teenage magazines.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s perfectly natural,’ said Ginny airily, thinking that Claire could do with spending a few minutes considering the same topic. Actually, that might make quite a nifty little column for next week’s slot. Mother vs Daughter Fashion Stakes. There – she’d broken the writer’s block already. ‘I remember when Geneva was twelve, she turned up in black fishnet tights and mesh shirt. She looked like a reject from the circus.’

  ‘Surely you didn’t let her go out like that?’ gasped Claire.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Ginny. ‘After four neighbours had fallen over in hysterics, she got the message. It would have taken me hours of in-house fighting.’

  ‘How sensible,’ sighed Chitrita. ‘I fear I am not a very good mother. You see, Rajiv is a stubborn man. He adores Sumitha but he is very strict. And me, I hate to cause an argument. I fear Sumitha suffers for her mother’s weakness.’

  They all murmured sympathetically, secretly feeling relieved that someone else was failing to match up to the psychologists’ idea of Supermum.

  ‘You and me both,’ said Mrs Joseph suddenly. ‘For years I’ve watched my husband mapping out Jon’s life for him, and I’ve just gone along with it. Henry had to struggle to get to where he is today, you see, and I think in a way he wants to relive his life through Jon. He seems set on Jon going to university, but Jon wants to go to art college. Henry really blew his top,’ she said wryly.

  Chitrita sighed. ‘That’s like my Rajiv. Sumitha wants to have her hair cut shorter. In India this is not customary but I say to Rajiv, we are not in India now. But he won’t budge. So what can I do?’

  ‘Well,’ said Anona Joseph decisively, ‘I for one am changing. I’m going to back Jon all the way. Although I’m scared stiff of what Henry will say. And what’s more I’m going back to college myself.

  She told them her plans to train to be an interior designer, and set up her own consultancy one day. They were very impressed.Then MrsTurnbull told them how she was going for yet another interview next week.

  ‘It’s for a primary school secretary,’ she said. ‘Maybe they won’t need me to be a computer whiz-kid!’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ said Ginny. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed.’

  ‘Soon you’ll be the only one being a good Earth Mother at home,’ remarked Ginny to Mrs Farrant, as she topped up her coffee.

  ‘Yes.’ Claire sighed. Actually, I used to love all the home-making bit but sometimes these days, I wish I could get out more …’

  ‘Well, I could always use help with my English as a Second Language classes,’ remarked Mrs Banerji. ‘There are never enough helpers for the students to practise their English with. Come while the children are at playgroup.You’d enjoy it.’

  I think I might, thought Mrs Farrant.At least it would be something else to think about rather than this business with Jemma.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said, turning to Ginny, who was on to her third piece of carrot cake, ‘that you don’t have problems with Chelsea, what with you being an expert on relationships and things?’

  Ginny grimaced.’Don’t you believe it. It’s much easier telling other people how to live their lives than managing to sort your own out. Right now, Chelsea is not impressed with me.’

  ‘But doesn’t that worry you?’ said Jemma’s mother. ‘I mean, don’t you get in a state when they have these outbursts and want to do outrageous things?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Ginny,’but worrying doesn’t stop them growing up and at the end of the day, they have to make a few mistakes of their own.’

  She paused. ‘Warwick’s off to Indonesia tomorrow and I’m worried sick – but what can I do? He’s an adult, he likes trees more than people and he’s determined to go. I’ve told him to phone,’ she added, ‘but Warwick is not very good at remembering instructions. And Chelsea thinks I should be home all the time attending to her needs.’

  ‘Well, if it’s any consolation,’ said Ruth, ‘Laura thinks you are Mother of the Year – how many times has she said to me, ‘Oh Mum, why can’t you be like Chelsea’s mother?’Apparently you are with it, and I am without it; you are of the moment and I am antediluvian; you know the meaning of life, I know nothing…shall I go on?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Mrs Farrant, topping up everyone’s coffee,’that the next thing we shall have to contend with is boyfriends. Now that really does worry me.’

  Everything seems to worry you, thought Ginny, but just smiled.

  ‘Oh, it’s starting already,’ said Mrs Turnbull. ‘Last term Laura had a crush on Duncan Nisbet, but that seems to have petered out. I was wondering if she’d found someone else.’

  ‘Chelsea met this lad called Rob at the club – in Year Ten at school apparently,’ said Ginny.

  ‘Oh yes, he’s a great friend of Jon’s,’ said Mrs Joseph. ‘They were at primary school together.’

  ‘Nice lad, keeps phoning me for tips on becoming a journalist. One likes to help them if one can,’ Ginny added.

  ‘So you’re stealing your daughter’s boyfriends now, are you?’ teased Ruth.

  ‘Oh, Chelsea doesn’t think of him as a boyfriend … well, I don’t think she does. I mean, she never said. And he’s never seemed to take much notice of… I never thought. He just said they’d met at The Stomping Ground and he’d discovered that I was Chelsea’s mum and … oh, goodness, you don’t think that Chelsea’s feeling peeved because all he wants to do is talk about writing and all she wants is his attention all to herself?’

  No one said a word.

  Ginny started thinking.

  ‘Sumitha has no boyfriends,’ said Chitrita. ‘Her father would not permit it.’

  As if that will make any difference, thought the other mothers simultaneously.

  ‘Well, she seemed quite fond of your Jon … ’ began Claire.

  ‘Oh, goodness, is that the time?’ said Ruth hastily. ‘I must be going.’

  ‘Jon?’ said Chitrita, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, Anona’s boy. She said he was a friend … ’ said Claire doubtfully, as Mrs Joseph and Mrs Banerji looked at one another in surprise.

  A virtual reality shot of Sumitha’s father when he discovered his daughter had consorted with a boy swam before Ruth’s eyes. Drastic circumstances called for drastic action.

  ‘Oh, no, I’m so sorry Claire!’ Ruth cried as the mug of coffee landed in her hostess’s lap.

  In the ensuing dash for cold water and cloths and tissues and kitchen roll, the subject of clubbing was quite forgotten.

  Mrs Banerji had put two and two together and made four. She wasn’t worried – it had to happen some time and Sumitha was a sensible girl – but she knew Rajiv would disapprove strongly. She decided to forget what she had heard.

  Claire Farrant was clucking around with a damp cloth.

  Well, thought Ruth as she looked guiltily at Claire’s stained tweed, we didn’t want a scene, did we?

  Chapter ThirtyOne

  On the Up

  When Jemma got in from school on Thursday, her mother sat her down and said, ‘So what sort of clothes would you really like to wear? Not,’ she added hastily, ‘that you will necessarily get them.’

  Jemma took a deep breath. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘a denim mini would be great.’ She said the word ‘mini’ very softly and emphasised the ‘denim’ bit. ‘And perhaps some ankle boots. Or a halterneck top, a forties
-style jacket, a sequin bolero …’

  Her mother sighed. ‘Oh, dear, I don’t know – but I suppose you are nearly fourteen.’

  ‘Yes I am,’ said Jemma. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ said her mother, determined to avoid another row. ‘I’ll tell you what. You can buy some new clothes. We’ll go out next Saturday and pop into Girl Heaven and …’

  ‘MUM!’

  ‘Sorry, sorry. Chic, Oasis, wherever.’

  ‘That would be great. Mum, it really would,’ said Jemma. ‘But could I take Laura or Sumitha or someone and go on my own? I mean, it’s not really on to have your mum tagging along in town.’

  ‘Oh I see. And are your friends going to be footing the bill for this spending extravaganza?’

  ‘No, but…’

  Her mum sighed. Count to ten, she told herself. ‘All right.You go with the girls, choose your clothes and I’ll meet you later on to write the cheque.’

  Jemma leapt up and hugged her mum. ‘Thanks, Mum – I’ll phone the others.’

  ‘But you’ll see them tomorrow,’ called her mother.

  But Jemma was already dialling.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Shop Till You Drop

  Sumitha had been delighted when Jemma had phoned to ask her about shopping on Saturday. She had just decided to take the plunge and have her hair cut while her father was in a better mood. Jemma had asked whether this wasn’t pushing her luck a bit, but Sumitha knew that it was something she simply had to do. But it would help to have Jemma there for moral support.

  The next day at school Jemma asked Chelsea and Laura to go along too. Secretly she wanted someone with her who wasn’t as slim as a reed and stunningly beautiful and she thought Laura fitted the bill. But Laura pouted and said she would go only if Sumitha didn’t, and Jemma did something very unusual for her. She lost her temper.

  ‘Oh pull yourself together, Laura, and stop whingeing!’ she shouted. ‘All this fuss over a boy who probably hasn’t given either of you another thought since Saturday. What matters more – friends you’ve got, or one boy who might speak to you again if he has nothing better to do?’

  Laura looked sheepish. Truth to tell, she was getting tired of playing the wounded party.

  ‘Wow, Jemma, I didn’t know you had it in you,’ said Chelsea admiringly, when Laura and Sumitha had grudgingly agreed not to mention Jon again and to be friends.

  So they went to town and Jemma chose a denim knee-length skirt and chunky belt, a deep red halterneck dress, and two beaded vest tops. Her only problem was devising a way to convince her mother that these were essential items in the wardrobe of any self-respecting teenager.

  ‘What you need,’ Chelsea suggested, ‘is a strategy. Show her something outrageous first of all – those gold PVC hipsters over there. Then, when she goes totally crazy …’

  ‘Which she will,’ interjected Jemma.

  ‘When she goes totally crazy,’ continued Chelsea, ‘you say – ‘OK Mum, how about these?’ and show her the ones you really want. Good, eh?’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Jemma.

  Then it was Sumitha’s turn. She had bought three pairs of dangly earrings and was impatient to get her hair cut so that she could show them off. The girls marched into Fringe Affairs and watched as Sumitha’s jet black hair fell in a growing pile to the floor.

  An hour later, Sumitha emerged with a neat bob and a very cold neck. And burst into tears.

  ‘I hate it!’she wept.

  ‘It looks great,’ said Chelsea.

  ‘It really suits you,’ agreed Laura, thinking that Jon wouldn’t fancy her half so much without all that gorgeous long hair.

  ‘Wish my hair hung like that,’ added Jemma.

  It had taken two doughnuts and a mug of hot chocolate to pacify Sumitha and it wasn’t until she had put on one of her pairs of new earrings and received an admiring glance from a rather fit boy at the opposite table, that she calmed down. Maybe Jon would like her even more now.

  ‘Now all I have to do is face the music at home,’ she sighed, as she left for the bus stop.

  When Mrs Farrant arrived at Chic at the appointed time, having told herself over and over again to be calm, laid back and adult, Jemma showed her the gold hipsters.

  ‘YOU CANNOT,YOUWILL NOT, GO AROUND IN THOSE!’ screeched Mrs Farrant, causing the manager of Chic to drop her polystyrene cup of coffee in alarm.

  ‘OK, OK Mum, whatever you say,’ said Jemma. ‘Do you prefer these?’

  She held up the skirt, the halterneck dress and one of the tops.

  ‘The skirt’s quite short, and isn’t the dress a bit old for

  – oh, go on then.Take them. Anything’s better than those awful plastic things.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, you’re a star.’ Jemma grinned as her mother drew out her cheque book. She gave the thumbs up to the others.

  ‘Children,’ sighed Mrs Farrant to the shop assistant who was applying great concentration to chewing on some gum. ‘Bless them, they do grow up so fast don’t they? It only seems the other day …’

  ‘Mum, shut up!’ muttered Jemma. Don’t spoil it now, she thought.

  The assistant chewed on, folding the clothes into a carrier bag with all the speed of a tortoise on tranquillisers.

  ‘Er, just a moment,’ said Jemma’s mother. ‘Is that hem coming down?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, is that hem coming down?’ She pointed to a couple of stray threads.

  ‘Oh, it’s just where it was finished off,’ said the assistant.

  ‘Well, it obviously isn’t finished off, is it? It’s not good enough, it is simply not good enough.’ Jemma’s mum was in full flood. ‘I told my daughter not to shop in cheap places like this but she wouldn’t listen. Now, can you find me one that isn’t falling apart – or does all your stock disintegrate on touch?’

  The assistant raised her plucked eyebrows heavenwards, had another quick chew on her gum, and strolled off. Jemma cringed. Laura and Chelsea were staring open-mouthed.

  ‘Oh Mum, don’t make a scene,’ said Jemma, wrapping her left leg round her right one, which she always did when she was mortified. ‘It’s only a tiny bit of hem hanging down – I’ll sew it up.’

  ‘And look at this,’ Mrs Farrant picked up the shirt. ‘There’s a button missing.’

  ‘There’s a spare inside – I can put that on, Mum. Just pay and don’t make a fuss.’

  ‘I am not making a fuss Jemma, I am making a point. I’m not about to pay good money for a garment only to have it fall to pieces the first instant you put it on.’

  ‘It’s not falling to pieces – it’s …’

  ‘ENOUGH!’

  The assistant ambled back bearing another skirt. ‘This do you?’ she growled.

  Mrs Farrant examined it. ‘Thank you, that will do nicely,’ she said. ‘And now, this button …’

  The assistant sighed.’Warrabout it?’

  ‘It isn’t there, that’s what about it. Of course,’ said Mrs Farrant, ‘I could always deal straight with the manager.’

  The assistant became alert. ‘Just one moment, Madam, I’ll see if we have one out the back.’

  ‘MUM!’ Jemma’s discomfiture was reaching new heights.

  The assistant returned. ‘I’m sorry, Madam.That’s the last one. But I could let you have two pounds off the price.’

  ‘Right, that’ll do nicely,’ said Claire.

  Laura and Chelsea were impressed. ‘Your mum knows her stuff,’ whispered Laura.

  ‘There you are girls,’ said Claire. ‘You take the two pounds and put it towards drinks while I go and do the rest of my shopping. I’ll see you at home, Jemma.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum – really, thanks a lot.’ Jemma was delighted.

  ‘Your mum was brilliant,’ said Chelsea. ‘I’d never have dared say anything.’

  ‘She was really pretty cool, wasn’t she?’ Jemma felt quite proud of her mum. It was somethi
ng of a novel experience. ‘I think I’ll catch her up and buy her some chocolates – you know, to say thanks,’ she added. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Shall I or not?’ said Chelsea, as she and Laura sat over their French fries and cola later.

  ‘Shall you or not what?’ said Laura, who was quietly worrying about her love life.

  ‘Get my nose pierced,’ said Chelsea.

  ‘You’re not serious?’ gasped Laura, the enormity of Chelsea’s suggestion banishing even romantic thoughts from her mind. ‘Your mum would go ballistic. Well, mine would – yours is pretty cool, so I suppose she wouldn’t.’

  ‘Come to think of it, she would probably write about it in next week’s paper,’ said Chelsea. ‘The Day Chelsea Went Punk – I wouldn’t put it past her. Hey, if you get your nose pierced, what happens when you catch a cold?’

  ‘Yuck,’ said Laura.

  ‘Well, I’ll get my ears done then,’ said Chelsea.

  ‘They’ve been done,’ pointed out Laura.

  ‘Again,’ said Chelsea. ‘Come on.’

  Sumitha crept through the back door. She tiptoed to the stairs. She met her mother coming out of the dining room.

  ‘Sumitha! Your hair!’ Chitrita gasped.

  Sumitha fought back tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I mean, I thought it would look – and Dad did say he’d let me do more – but if they hadn’t done the sides so – and – oh Mum!’And Sumitha burst into tears again.

  ‘Hey, Sumitha,’ said her mum, giving her a hug, ‘you are meant to be pleased with it. What’s up?’

  ‘I look stupid.’

  You look wonderful.’

  ‘I do?’ asked Sumitha, hopefully.

  You do,’ said her mother.

  ‘Do you think I look, well, sort of more, you know …’

  You look very elegant – quite the young lady.’

  ‘Dad’ll make a scene,’ observed Sumitha.

  ‘This is true,’ murmured her mother.

  Chapter Thirty Three