I Think I'll Just Curl Up and Die (13 page)

After Jemma had left, Laura sat on the edge of the bath and cried. So much for stunning Jon with her looks. If he had any sense, he would never be seen within a million miles of her ever again. Her life was over. She might as well just curl up and die.

By the time Laura's mum and Melvyn returned home, Laura was in bed with a pillow over her head.

‘Laura's asleep early for half-term,' remarked Ruth, switching on the kettle and making herself a chocolate spread and banana sandwich, her latest craving.

‘Mm,' agreed Melvyn. ‘Are these the house details you
picked up?' he said, pointing to a pile of estate agents' leaflets.

‘Yes - take a look at the one in Berrydale,' said Ruth. ‘It looks lovely and it's not too badly priced.'

‘I think,' said Melvyn, ‘we should put this house on the market tomorrow. I'll pop in to Homefinders tomorrow morning and get them to come out and do a valuation.'

‘Brilliant,' said Ruth. ‘In that case, I had better spend tomorrow morning cleaning. So it's bed for me. Being pregnant seems a lot more tiring than it used to be.'

Melvyn decided to take a shower. Which was tricky because he couldn't find a single clean towel anywhere. When he opened the airing cupboard, he discovered a heap of soggy towels with grey streaks all over them. He surveyed them thoughtfully, sniffing each in turn.

He crept across the landing and opened Laura's bedroom door a chink. She was sound asleep, but it only took one glance to see what had happened. And to take in Laura's tear-stained face and the extraordinary colour of her hair.

‘Everything all right?' said Ruth sleepily as Melvyn climbed into bed.

‘Fine,' he said. It might be politic to try to sort this one himself.

At eight-thirty the following morning, Melvyn knocked on Laura's door.

‘Go away.' Laura sounded as though she had a very bad cold.

Melvyn pushed the door open a chink.

‘Laura, can I come in for just a minute?' he asked.

‘No, you can't.'

‘It's concerning the little matter of black towels,' he ventured.

Silence.

‘And your hair,' he whispered.

No comment.

‘And I'm leaving for work in fifteen minutes and I thought we could go via that Fringe Affairs place and I could drop you off for some repair work,' continued Melvyn. ‘My treat, needless to say.'

Laura gulped. Was there a glimmer of hope after all?

She opened the door and Melvyn tried very hard not to laugh. She was wearing black trousers and a black sweater, and her head was swathed in an assortment of coloured scarves like a gypsy setting out for the fortune telling booth.

‘I suppose you think this is really hysterical!' said Laura, choking back tears.

‘No, I don't,' said Melvyn seriously. ‘I think you feel silly and miserable and fed up and worried about what everyone will say. Which is why I thought a trip to the hairdresser's sooner rather than later might be a good idea. I'm sure they deal with things like this all the time.'

‘And you'd pay?' queried Laura.

‘Of course,' said Melvyn. ‘By the way, as yet your mum doesn't know anything about it. I'll whip the towels into the washer while she's in the shower.'

Laura looked at her feet.

‘I would have done them but …' she began.

‘I know, I know - last night was not the best moment of your life, was it?' he said. ‘So let's get going?'

‘What's in all this for you?' asked Laura suspiciously.

‘Oh, Laura, why do you always have to think that people have ulterior motives? Doesn't it ever occur to you that I am doing it because I care about you and because I can guess how you feel right now?'

He handed her a wad of notes.

‘There's forty pounds - that should cover it, but if not, tell them I'll call in with the rest in my lunch hour.'

Laura smiled through her tears.

‘Thanks ever so much,' she said.

Perhaps, she thought, he wasn't quite such a geek after all.

* * *

‘Morning. Welcome to Fringe Affairs. How may I help you-oo?' The girl on reception chanted the words like a mantra.

‘I'd like to talk to someone about my hair,' said Laura. ‘It went wrong.'

Two and a half hours later, Laura gazed into the mirror. Her hair was a deep shade of muted copper, cut into a chin length bob.

‘It really suits you,' said the hairdresser. ‘Very sophisticated. I've cut off all those frizzy ends and sorted the colour, but you'll have to keep conditioning it.'

‘I love it,' said Laura. ‘Thanks ever so much - you've saved my life!'

‘Just don't go messing with dyes on your own - promise!' said the stylist, laughing. ‘Oh, and I'm afraid that'll be forty pounds.'

‘Oh, it's OK, my … my mum's boyfriend is paying,' said Laura.

‘Lucky you - that kind of guy I could do with in my life,' said the hairdresser.

As Laura stepped out of the salon, she almost bumped into Melvyn.

‘Hi,' she said.

‘Do I know you?' asked Melvyn in mock surprise. ‘I dropped off some funny kid with streaky hair and frizzy ends; now I collide with this chic sensation!'

Laura laughed. ‘Is it OK? Do you like it?'

‘It's great,' said Melvyn, chuffed that his opinion should matter. ‘You look a million dollars. Want a lift home?' he added.

Laura nodded. ‘But shouldn't you be at work?'

‘I am allowed a lunch hour, you know,' Melvyn said, smiling. ‘Besides,' he added as they walked to the car, ‘I've got to pick up some keys from Homefinders.'

Laura looked at him questioningly.

‘There's a house in Berrydale that your mum and I are going to see this evening - want to come? I rather think we need more space, what with the three of us, and a new baby, don't you?'

‘Oh yes, yes - but why didn't you tell me?' said Laura, climbing into the car. ‘I'm always the last to find out things.'

‘Actually,' said Melvyn, ‘I did try to mention it over a certain Sunday lunch but you bunked off before I …'

Laura looked guilty.

‘I suppose I've been a bit of a pain to you, haven't I?' she said.

Melvyn smiled. ‘Well, let's just say I like it better when we're talking. I rather guess your mum will too. Now, shall we go home?'

Sumitha and Bilu were watching television.

‘Bilu, I saw you the other day with a girl outside the Contrary Cockerel. Who was she?' Sumitha's heart was thumping. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

Bilu thought fast. ‘Girl?' he said in a puzzled voice. ‘Oh, her. Natalie. Poor kid, she was in an awful state. Her dog had been put down that morning.'

Sumitha breathed a sigh of relief.

‘So - she's not a girlfriend of yours?'

Bilu laughed. ‘Girlfriend? Heavens, no, I hardly know her. She's the sister of a mate of mine from school. I just tried to cheer her up. Anyway, why would I want anyone else when I've got a gorgeous girl like you?'

Sumitha glowed.

‘So gorgeous that I want her to come to a party with me on Friday. My mate Sam is having a party while his parents are away - should be a really good laugh.'

‘It sounds terrific, but I don't know what Dad will …'

‘Oh, give it a rest,' retorted Bilu. ‘All I hear is Dad this and Dad that. You're a big girl now - but if you don't want to …'

‘I'll come,' Sumitha said quickly. ‘But …'

‘Leave your father to me,' interrupted Bilu, planting a kiss on top of her head.

‘So you see, Mr Banerji,' said Bilu over supper that Wednesday night, ‘I'd like to take Sumitha with me.'

‘Well, I don't know …' began Rajiv, looking at his wife. ‘She is very young to go to a late function.'

‘Oh, I do understand,' said Bilu. ‘But you see, some friends of my parents - from Calcutta, you know - are exhibiting in an exhibition of Hindu art and the party is to celebrate the opening. I would so like to introduce Sumitha to them. Do you know the Gangopadhyays?'

‘The name rings a bell,' said Rajiv. ‘And yes, it is an excellent idea! It is important for you to maintain close links with our culture.'

Got you, thought Bilu.

Hurrah, thought Sumitha.

I don't believe a word of it, thought Chitrita.

Chelsea was fed up. This was turning out to be a rotten half-term. For one thing, she had phoned Sumitha to
invite her over for the day, only to discover she was not in the least bit interested.

‘Oh, no thanks, Chelsea,' she said. ‘Bilu and I are going to a party and I need to wash my hair and stuff.'

Stuff Bilu, thought Chelsea. That's all Sumitha thinks about these days - no one else seems important to her any more. It was all right for some - whenever she got to go out with Rob, it was with a gang of others and nothing mildly romantic ever happened. Sometimes she wondered just how Rob saw her - she had a nasty feeling she was just one of his many mates. If she could only get him on his own more often, she might be able to win him over.

That's an idea, thought Chelsea, as she hung up. I'll phone Rob. Maybe we can go bowling.

‘Oh, I am sorry,' said Rob's mum on the other end of the phone. ‘Rob's not in. He's round at Mandy's, practising for the show. Any message?'

Yes, tell him I'm putting a contract out on Mandy blimmin' Fincham's life, thought Chelsea.

‘No, it's OK thanks,' she said and put down the phone and burst into tears.

Just then the phone rang. Perhaps, thought Chelsea, it was Rob, just home and desperate to talk to her. It wasn't. It was Jemma who spent the next ten minutes telling Chelsea all about Rupert and his eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled and his big house and the forthcoming party.

‘So will you come shopping tomorrow and help me
choose something to wear?' said Jemma. ‘I've got to get it sorted before Mum decides to make some taffeta creation out of her old cocktail frock. And I do want to look really good for Rupert.'

Oh great, thought Chelsea. There's all you lot with impressive love lives - even Jemma - and there's the boy of my dreams snogging that cow Mandy Fincham.

‘That was great!' said Henry. ‘I hadn't realised that working out could be such fun. Mind you, I feel like I've tackled Everest without oxygen.'

Jon grinned. ‘You'll get used to it - that fitness programme they drew up for you builds up really gradually.'

On the drive home, Henry said, ‘I was telling old Peter Hall down at the club about you; now his brother is deputy editor of
Shire News
- he might be able to get you some work experience with their design team in the holidays.'

‘That would be fantastic, Dad - thanks!' Jon said.

‘Well, it would be their privilege. I told Peter you were not just any artistic kid but something pretty hot.'

‘Oh, Dad!' Jon exclaimed. Dad might never give up bragging but at least he was on Jon's side now.

Jon's high spirits plummeted when they turned into the driveway of their house.

‘Well, now, who's car is that?' mused his father.

The car parked by the garage was strange to Henry, but not to Jon. It was that guy again - the one he kept seeing his mum with.

Before Jon could think of any way to stop him, his father blundered through the back door, hurled his kit on the floor and walked towards the sitting room, where peals of laughter came from behind closed doors. Jon followed close behind.

‘Oh, Henry, Jon, you're back!' Mrs Joseph jumped up from where she was sitting on a huge Aztec floor cushion that Jon hadn't seen before. ‘Do look what Vernon brought me - he did it in Design. Isn't he a clever clogs!'

Jon's mum had flushed cheeks and shining eyes.

‘Oh, I'm sorry - Henry, this is Vernon. We're on the same course. Vernon, my husband, Henry, and this is Jon, our son.'

Vernon jumped up and held out a hand. ‘Well, hello there, pleased to meet you both,' he said.

Jon glared at him.

‘Can I offer you a drink - oh, I see you've had some,' said Henry, catching sight of an almost empty bottle of Chardonnay on the hearth. ‘Well, Vernon, so you're on this course too? Pretty tricky when you've got a regular
high-flyer like Anona to compete with, eh? She's quite something, isn't she?'

His wife stood open-mouthed. Henry was actually praising her artistic skills and she hadn't thought he had even noticed she had any. Poor Dad, thought Jon; he worships her and she is treating him like dirt.

‘Oh, she certainly is,' said Vernon, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Her sense of colour is incredible. Actually, I was just off,' he continued, getting up and brushing invisible flecks off his suede waistcoat. ‘Still haven't finished our assignment for Monday.'

If that's not the sign of a guilty conscience, I don't know what is, thought Jon. He's cutting and running because he can't face Dad. How could Mum do it?

‘See you again soon,' said Vernon, waving a hand.

Not if I can help it, thought Jon.

Anona gave Vernon a quick kiss.

‘And I do hope everything works out for you,' she said.

‘Fingers crossed,' said Vernon. ‘And thanks for being so great.'

How could she? thought Jon. Kissing another man. And with her own husband in the house. He would never have thought it of her. He felt really sorry for poor old Dad. And very peeved with his mother. She mustn't be allowed to get away with it.

Laura, on the other hand, was far from peeved. She had got home and her mum had been ecstatic about her hair. When she asked how Laura had managed to pay for it, Melvyn simply said, ‘I thought she might like a treat - after all, if she's going to be a big sister, she needs to look the part.'