I Think I'll Just Curl Up and Die (5 page)

‘I'm – well, you see – oh no, I think I'm going to be sick again.' And with that she fled to the loo.

Oh my heavens, thought Ginny. Not that. She's not. She can't be. She could be.

Ruth returned.

‘Ruth, you're not – I mean, being sick and everything – ?'

Ruth nodded.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I am. I'm pregnant.'

Ginny stared, open-mouthed. ‘Oh no!' she breathed. ‘Oh knickers. That is to say, well – I mean – congratulations.'

‘I think,' said Ruth wryly, ‘that the “Oh no” and “Oh knickers” were more appropriate.'

‘But how did it happen?' asked Ginny.

Ruth laughed despite herself. ‘That's rich, coming from you – agony aunt to the Young and Uninformed,' she said. ‘ It happened in pretty much the usual way.'

‘But I mean – weren't you taking precautions?'

‘Yes, of course – I had a cap. Except I sometimes forgot to use it. Stupid, eh?'

‘What does Melvyn say?' asked Ginny, who was grappling with a whole range of emotions like ‘what must
it be like to have a baby at forty-two?' and ‘thank heavens it's not me' to ‘I wish it was me' and ‘I'll buy it a pair of those dinky little socks with frills on.'

Ruth chewed her lip. ‘I haven't told him,' she admitted. ‘Or Laura.'

‘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.

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.

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.'

‘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 to
get 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.

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.