I Think I'll Just Curl Up and Die (12 page)

As they piled out of the cinema, Rupert said, ‘Let's get a coffee while we wait for my father.'

They collected their cappuccinos and sat by the window.

Rupert's eyes seemed fixed on a point midway between Jemma's chin and her waistline. She felt somewhat uncomfortable.

‘So where do you go to school, then?' she asked, in an effort to shift his attention.

‘Framchester College,' said Rupert. ‘I'm a weekly boarder. Four generations of Kentigan-Frys have been educated there, you know. My great-grandfather was the first and he went on to be captain of cricket - and then …'

‘That's nice,' said Jemma, who hadn't counted on a potted history of his family tree.

‘Where do you go - Hendon Hall? Quinton Gate?' Rupert named a couple of what Jemma's father termed rearing grounds for the mindless aristocracy.

‘No, Lee Hill,' said Jemma. ‘I started there when we moved up from Brighton last summer.'

‘Lee Hill?' said Rupert in amazement. ‘The grotty comprehensive?'

‘It's not grotty,' she said crossly. ‘It's great.'

‘But a comprehensive? Don't you get some awfully dire types there?'

‘Not all comprehensives are peopled with druggies scrawling graffiti on the walls, you know,' she said. ‘I've got some really good friends there.'

‘All the same, gorgeous girl like you …'

Jemma was slightly mollified. No one had called her gorgeous before. And the diet wasn't even over yet.

Rupert stretched his hand across the table and took hers.

‘Look, my parents are giving a bit of a do for my sister Sophie - her eighteenth birthday. Course, the proper bash isn't till Christmas when Victoria - that's my other sister - gets back from her year in Switzerland, and there'll be a dance - you know the sort of thing.'

He spoke as if people went hurtling off to balls every few days.

‘Anyway, Sophie wanted something on the day, so there's going to be a family supper party at the house in a couple of weeks time. Pa said it might be fun for you to come along as my partner. You could meet my mother as well.'

He looked at her earnestly through his specs.

I've been asked out twice in one week, thought Jemma. I must lose another half stone by then.

Jemma couldn't wait to tell someone all the details of her date with Rupert and the upcoming ball. First thing the following morning she was on the phone to Laura.

‘But Laura, what shall I wear?' she pleaded, after giving a run down of what he said and what he wore and how he seemed to really fancy her - and leaving out the bit about the clammy hands. ‘I really need your advice - I told Mum about the invitation and she actually suggested cutting down one of her old cocktail frocks for me. Can you imagine?'

Laura giggled.

‘Yes, but I don't like what I see! Anyway I was about to phone you,' she continued, ‘I want to ask you a favour. Are you free this evening?'

‘Yes, I guess so,' said Jemma, ‘Why?'

Laura told her.

‘Do you really think that's wise?' asked Jemma.

‘Yes, of course it is - I've checked it out,' said Laura. ‘Pleeeease, Jemma - Mum and Melvyn are going to some stupid film about childbirth and I need to do it while they are out. Pleeeeeease. Tell you what - you say yes and this afternoon, before we start, we could cycle over to Boughton and suss out the place.'

‘OK,' said Jemma, ‘if you're sure. I mean, I don't think it's really necessary. And what if it doesn't work?'

‘It will, it has to,' said Laura. ‘See you about three o'clock - but not a word to Mum.'

Bilu only had three days for half-term, and he was spending them with the Banerjis. Truth to tell, he was a bit miffed that none of the guys at school had asked him to their homes. Sumitha's family were very charming and all that, but so provincial and he was bored rigid.

Chitrita was out teaching English to a load of idiot women, Rajiv was at the hospital and Sumitha had gone to sort out her costume for that dumb school play. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on Sandeep till Chitrita got back. Who did they think he was? Some sort of unpaid babysitter? He wanted something exciting to happen, but that was unlikely round here. Even though Mr Banerji agreed to him taking Sumitha out, they had to say it was to a film or the skating rink. If only he could take her somewhere really exciting, show her that there was more to life than Daddy's rules. He needed to get her to unwind and she wouldn't do that surrounded by her friends at some stupid juvenile club. He would just have to make it
happen. And Sam Bonner's party next Friday might just be the chance. Now there was a thought. If only he could swing it. He could get out of this boring hole - and get Sumitha just where he wanted her.

He started some careful planning.

While Bilu was working out a plan of action, Jon was wondering how to broach the all-important subject with his father. They were at the driving range attached to the golf club and Henry had been going on about grips and swings and keeping shoulders still for what seemed like ages.

‘This is thirsty work, Dad - can we go for a drink?' asked Jon.

‘Good idea,' said Henry, and they headed for the club house.

While they were waiting for their drinks, Henry spotted a friend.

‘Archie, old chap, let me introduce you to my son, Jon.'

Archie was a corpulent man with a fascinating collection of chins and eyebrows like scrubbing brushes.

‘Oh, this is the famous Jon - we've heard all about you. You're going to take the art world by storm, I gather,' he boomed.

Jon blushed. ‘Well, I don't know about that …'

‘Oh, yes, very talented, my boy,' said his father, picking up his bitter and Jon's Coke and manoeuvring them on to a table. ‘Gets it from the wife, you know - she's shortly to open her own design consultancy.'

‘Really?' said Archie.

That's news to me, thought Jon.

‘Oh yes. Of course, she'll need a lot of backing from me and I shall handle all the business side for her - she may be artistic, but lousy with figures. But then, women are, aren't they?'

Archie and Henry had a mutual titter over the shortcomings of the female sex and then Archie waddled off to regale some other poor unfortunate with his eagle at the 11th.

When they had settled at a table, Jon said, ‘Dad, what's all this about you helping Mum? I mean, I know she's had the odd idea about running a business one day, but I didn't think you were that keen on her doing this course, never mind making a career of it.'

Henry took a swig of his beer.

‘Well, I can't say I was over the moon at the idea at first, but she has a talent. Of course, I spotted it ages ago, you know, but you can't force these things. No, I've not said much yet, but with someone like me behind her, she
could do very well, advising home owners on style, doing up country homes, that sort of thing.'

‘But this course, Dad,' said Jon, ‘Doesn't it bother you? Her spending time with all these guys from college?' Jon was careful to emphasise the word guys.

‘Oh, well, your mum has always been the gregarious type,' said Henry, apparently missing the point. ‘Gets on with everyone. I was like that once,' he added wistfully, ‘till my life became nothing but work, work and more work. But that's got to change. And your mother's little enterprise could be just the thing to pay for all those little extras.'

Jon sipped his Coke thoughtfully.

‘Jon,' said his dad suddenly, ‘do you think I look - well, do I look old for my age?'

Jon looked up in surprise.

‘I've never thought about it,' said Jon. ‘No, I don't think so. You look about fifty and that's what you are.'

Henry sighed. ‘But I'm overweight,' he said.

‘Yes,' agreed Jon.

‘Oh,' said his father who had been hoping for a staunch denial.

‘You could always get fit, though,' said Jon. ‘Join a gym, get a tailor-made fitness programme.'

It was then he had his flash of inspiration. ‘Tell you what, Dad, why don't we both go? We could do it at the weekends and one night a week. Come on.'

This could be just what they needed, him and Jon, thought Henry.

‘You don't mind?' said Henry. ‘Being seen there with your old dad?'

‘No, it'd be cool,' said Jon. And if we get you in trim, Mum might stop lusting after college students so much, he thought to himself.

‘It's massive!' gasped Jemma, as she and Laura jumped off their bikes a few yards short of the entrance to Boughton Hall. ‘I can't go to a do there - they probably all wear tiaras and have servants and …'

‘Get real - of course you can go!' said Laura. ‘And tell me every detail. It can go in the novel. My heroine, Lady Lavinia, has just fallen in love with Jonquil Descartes - I could have them living somewhere like this after the wedding, and they can discover it's haunted, and then Lady Lavinia can have a horrific accident …'

‘Laura!' Jemma laughed. ‘We are supposed to be sorting my social life, not writing your blockbuster. What
shall
I wear?'

‘Oh, it won't be that grand,' said Laura airily, as though she attended formal dinners every day of her life. ‘I reckon
a silvery satin slip dress with strappy sandals and a choker - yes, that'd be good.' She eyed Jemma up and down. ‘You've lost a lot of weight, haven't you?'

Jemma couldn't have been happier if David Beckham had kissed her. Someone else had noticed.

‘Come on, let's get back and do my hair,' said Laura, jumping on her bike and pedalling like fury off up the hill.

Jemma followed, panting hard. She was sure this hill was steeper than it used to be. There was a nasty buzzing in her ears and her legs felt like jelly. Luckily, at the top of the hill, Laura stopped for a swig of orange juice from the bottle in her saddlebag.

‘Just think what it must be like to live in a place like that,' panted Jemma as she took a swig offered by Laura.

Which was just what Laura was thinking. There was Rupert Kenty-whatever swanning about in that mansion, while she, Laura Turnbull, was stuck in some miserable semi in a godforsaken close in town with a pregnant mother and her moronic lover. Fate could be very cruel.

That evening, after Laura's mum and Melvyn had left for the film, Laura and Jemma grabbed a handful of towels from the airing cupboard and ensconced themselves in the bathroom.

HAIR-WE-GO
Raven Raver
Permanent Hair Colour with Added Gloss
Before use, test on strand of hair
.

‘Right,' said Laura, peering at the instructions on the bottle of hair colour, ‘it says here you have to be sure to cover every bit of your hair with the dye, right down to just above the roots. I'll lean over the bath and you can put the rubber gloves on and massage it in.'

‘Are you sure this is wise?' said Jemma, pulling on the gloves. ‘It looks awfully black in the picture.' She was secretly wondering how black hair would go with Laura's ginger eyebrows and mass of freckles but decided it was better to say nothing.

‘Well, that's the colour I want it to be!' snapped Laura. ‘I tried being subtle and it doesn't work - I put those comb-in highlights in and no one even noticed.'

‘Oh - I thought your hair had just gone lighter in the sun,' said Jemma.

‘No, courtesy of Streak It On. This time, I am going to be totally transformed,' declared Laura, clamping a towel to her face and bending over the bath. ‘Get on with it, then,' she said in muffled voice.

‘Have you done the strand test?' queried Jemma.

‘Oh no, I haven't got time to mess around with all that,' said Laura impatiently. ‘Just get on with it and then we can make a coffee while it does its thing.'

By the time they had had a drink, read that week's copy of
Yell!
, discussed the various outfits Jemma could buy for the big party and debated whether Bilu really was two-timing Sumitha, it occurred to Jemma that they had forgotten all about the hair.

‘Hey!' she gasped. ‘How long has that stuff been on your hair? We forgot to time it - the leaflet says to leave it on for fifteen minutes.' They dashed to the bathroom.

‘Rinse thoroughly until the water runs clear,' Laura read. ‘Go on, I can't wait to see it.'

Five minutes later, with Jemma chewing her lip anxiously behind her, Laura stood up and turned to gaze at her new radiant self in the mirror.

‘Oh no!' she squeaked. ‘What's happened?'

All over Laura's head were broad streaks of khaki green hair. The rest was a dull charcoal colour. It looked a total mess.

Tears trickled down Laura's face.

‘It's all gone wrong!' she sobbed. ‘What shall I do?'

‘Don't worry,' said Jemma. ‘Let's try using loads of shampoo and see if we can get some of it out. After all, it's supposed to fade each time you wash it.'

Half an hour, six shampoos and five clean towels later, the result was just the same.

‘I'll never be able to show my face outside the house again!' wailed Laura. ‘What do I look like? Oh, Jemma, what am I going to do?'

Jemma was at a loss.

‘Your mum'll sort it out,' she said. ‘She's bound to know what to do. And talking of mums, I'd better go. I promised mine I wouldn't be late - Gran's arriving tonight.'

What Jemma didn't say was that she felt really weak and wobbly. And hungry. She had only had one satsuma and three pieces of crispbread that day and thought that maybe she should eat something. She'd have an apple when she got home.