The Misadventures of a Playground Mother Page 3

  It had only been a few hours since the body of the Frisky Pensioner had been removed and we had already become acquainted with our new neighbours – The Farrier and his only daughter Rosie, who was currently enjoying herself at a friend’s birthday party.

  Suddenly I heard the front door open and we were hit by a blast of freezing cold air. We looked up to find a tear-stricken Penelope standing in front of us.

  It had only been a few hours since Rupert had returned home to make peace with his wife and judging by the look on her face it hadn’t gone too well.

  The Farrier was up and out of his chair faster than a horse racing in the Grand National and took this opportunity to scarper back to his new home, as she announced, ‘I’ve left him, I’ve finally left Rupert.’

  3

  Penelope looked exhausted and not at her best, as might be expected under the circumstances. She plonked herself down on the warm chair; the same one that the Farrier had just vacated. I anticipated an interrogation on why the Farrier was visiting me on my birthday but surprisingly she was preoccupied and no questions were asked.

  Matt popped his head around the door to see who it was and then swiftly decided to retreat to the playroom with the children. He rolled his eyes when he saw it was a tear-stricken Penelope.

  ‘I’ve left Rupert,' she repeated.

  I’d heard her very loud and very clear the first time. I wasn’t sure why I needed to know any of this; what business was it of mine? Not only had Penelope gatecrashed my New Year’s Eve party she also seemed hell-bent on wrecking my birthday. I had expected ‘a happy birthday’, at least but it was obvious I was expecting a little too much, for the next words that left her mouth made me sit up and question whether my brain was functioning correctly.

  ‘Could I possibly stay here tonight?’

  I felt my whole body go into some sort of weird seizure, I started to sweat uncontrollably – I hoped this wasn’t the beginning of the menopause; I’d heard about women starting really young but surely not at thirty-five. Why in God’s name did Penelope want to stay here? What about Little Jonny and Annabel, their children? Where were they? Surely, she would want them with her. And why couldn’t she have kicked Rupert out and forced him to find a bed for the night? Let’s face it, Rupert was quite the ladies’ man, and there would have probably been numerous warm beds where he could have spent the night.

  Penelope, clearly, was eagerly waiting my reply. Frisky Pensioner would not be the only man in the village dying of a heart attack today if I suggested to Matt that we had an overnight guest. It was at this precise moment that I made the conscious decision to change the date of my birthday and not reveal it to anyone. I lost myself in a massive daydream as I imagined myself sitting on a beach sipping a cool beer, eating cake with not another soul in sight. I was brought back to the real world when Penelope stated, ‘Little Jonny and Annabel must be freezing waiting outside in the car.’ I stared at Penelope in amazement, my mouth falling open. I’d assumed they were at home with Rupert.

  I hit planet earth with a bump as my brain slowly digested her words. That was one of my New Year’s resolutions out of the window straightaway – I will not be a doormat. However, what could I do? Penelope was requesting my help and I didn’t think this was the appropriate time to upset her further so the words left my mouth, ‘Of course you can stay; go and retrieve those poor children from the car and let me dish up my birthday cake with hot chocolate for everyone.’

  ‘I knew you would say yes,’ she gushed.

  I paused; ‘One night only Penelope, otherwise you will not be the only one getting divorced.’

  After a few minutes, I wearily climbed the stairs to check on my own children; Eva, Samuel, Matilda and Daisy had been extremely quiet all day. Peering around Eva’s bedroom door I could see from the corner of my eye that three of the children were snuggled under Eva’s duvet watching Back to the Future while eating their body weight in chocolate from their Christmas selection boxes. Matt must have moved Daisy’s playpen in to the bedroom because she was quite happily throwing her toys around whilst gurgling happily. I certainly wasn’t going to win any Mother of the Day awards today.

  Unquestionably, an early night was needed for all including me, as tomorrow was January 2nd, the day the school playground would be full of mothers displaying their range of new coats, bags and boots. This would be the day BB (Botox Bernie) would be in her element. She would have an extra spring in her step while parading her assortment of Christmas gifts such as Ugg boots, or a counterfeit designer coat, and her usual quantity of diamond-encrusted jewellery that bore a resemblance to the cheap tat that can be purchased from the local market. Nevertheless, I knew now exactly how she had accumulated her so-called gifts, and exactly how she had been earning her money if her appearance outside the Frisky Pensioner’s abode was anything to go by. It was very different from the spiel she had spun, to anyone that would listen, that gave us all the impression she was a successful high-flying business woman; there had been nothing high-flying about that flea-ridden chinchilla she had been sporting this morning.

  Not only would we have the likes of BB showing off her new gifts to anyone unfortunate enough to make eye contact with her but we’d also have the mothers who would enter the playground dressed in tight leggings, new trainers and headbands. They’d strut around wearing the latest Garmin watch, having downloaded the newest fitness app and raiding Tesco’s shelves for skipping ropes and dumbbells. Usually after a week, these mothers had broken all New Year's resolutions, had wasted their money on their new fitness regime, and returned to doing what they knew best, ladies that lunch. Their comfort zones would be fully restored while they sipped Pinot Grigio and slated anyone with a pulse at the Petty Tedious Army (PTA) meetings. Their usual meeting place was the quaint bistro on the outskirts of the village run by a husband and wife team. The charming restaurant is loved by all the locals, and has stood the test of time; it is still popular whilst other eateries have come and gone. It is a cosy, homely scene with low ceilings and huge fireplaces; hundreds of flickering candles light up the little nooks. It is a perfect combination for the PTA to conduct their meetings away from the noise of the bar.

  ‘Would you children like to come down for cake and hot chocolate’ I asked.

  I was sure with the amount of additives they had already piled into their systems today that a few more wouldn’t do them any harm. ‘Little Jonny and Annabel are also here,’ I continued, ‘and will be staying tonight.’

  There was no denying that Matt had been fantastic today, he had supplied all visitors with cups of tea and snacks whilst cleaning up and now he had excelled himself with making up all the beds for our latest visitors.

  Gathering around the kitchen table, the children chatted and sat down at the table. Matt poured mugs of hot chocolate for everyone whilst Eva placed some token candles on the cake. Samuel was excited about lighting the candles, and with careful supervision, he struck the match and lit each one. The candles were now burning brightly. Matilda wrapped her arms around me and gave me a quick hug before plonking herself down on the chair and I balanced Daisy in my arms. I quickly planted a kiss on the tops of their heads. Samuel rapped his knuckles on the table while Matilda raised her finger to her lips and shushed everyone.

  Silence.

  Eva counted to three and everyone sang a joyful rendition of happy birthday.

  I can honestly say that, a few months back, if anyone had even suggested I would be spending my birthday with Penelope (we had had a big falling out the previous year), I would have thought they were very insane. However, there we all were standing in my kitchen like long lost friends. She watched me blow out the candles on my cake whilst I made my wish. I knew my wish wouldn’t be granted; the genie in my lamp was on annual leave, and it was too far-fetched to believe that Rupert would knock on the door and whisk his wife and children back home so they could all live happily ever after – or at least have a peaceful night. I was deeply annoyed with myself that I had wasted my wish.

  I sliced up the cake and placed the pieces onto the paper plates left over from the buffet the night before. ‘It’s sponge with homemade raspberry jam,’ I said, handing Penelope a plate. She hesitated, taking the plate from me but with her eyes firmly locked on a larger slice still on the table. Quickly she shoved the plate in her hand straight into the palm of little Jonny’s; it felt like we were playing pass the parcel. Grasping the bigger slice, Penelope completely devoured it in a couple of mouthfuls.

  After all the cake was consumed and hot chocolate glugged down, the children all went back upstairs. I felt awful, not only in the physical sense, but because I had abandoned the children all day and wasn’t even sure if they had eaten any proper food. Eva settled down with a book to read. Little Jonny and Annabel shared Samuel’s room for the night while he lay down on the camp bed in Matilda’s room. My youngest child Daisy was fast asleep before I could even kiss her goodnight on her forehead.

  As birthdays go, I was glad it was drawing to a close – one dead pensioner (Mr F-P), one prostitute (Botox Bernie) and one new best friend (Penelope) who I didn’t want. Taking the wastepaper basket, which was overflowing, I wandered back downstairs and grabbed the equally full recycle bin from the kitchen, and then ventured onto the drive to empty them. The snow was still falling lightly all around me. Looking over towards the Farrier’s house the street lamp opposite lit up his front window. I could see him sitting in a chair in his living room; his daughter, now back from her friend’s house was perched beside him hugging a warm drink; he was reading her a story. Even though today, he had lost his father, I had a feeling this would be a new start for them both. The house might be a little too big for them both, but at least there was no mortgage so they would probably have enough to live on. Over the years, he had visited his parents infrequently. Today, he had seemed a gentle, caring soul and I really warmed to him. I genuinely hoped the coming year would bring him happiness.

  The dog decided to leave the cold conservatory as Matt lit the fire in the living room. Penelope had poured herself a glass of the Malibu and was looking extremely comfortable and very much at home watching television with her feet perched on top of my footstool.

  Matt had a strained looked on his face as he mouthed across the room at me, ‘but it’s your birthday.’ I knew it was my birthday, but what was with his disappointed look and sad puppy-dog eyes. I shrugged my shoulders back at him and mouthed, ‘I know, it’s the same date every year.’

  Penelope was unaware of our silent conversation going on around her; she was glued to the television watching the New Year’s episode of Morecombe and Wise. Matt stared down at his feet sulkily. Then it hit me; I knew exactly what his sulk was about; it was his wife’s birthday so what would that mean to any living bloke with a pulse? That would mean, if he was a betting man, Paddy Powers’ odds would be a dead cert – he expected sex tonight. Typical bloke, it could be the anniversary of your dead goldfish’s birthday, the one you won at the fairground, the one that only survived two days in the plastic bag, but was now a part of the family, and your husband would still expect sex. The pressure on any woman on birthdays, anniversaries and bar mitzvahs was just excessively much.

  ‘Well, let me tell you,’ I mouthed back at his sulky face, ‘it’s my birthday, not yours, so huff away.’

  Suddenly, Penelope bolted upright as if she had caught sight of a ghost. It would be just my luck that Frisky Pensioner had returned in spirit for one last visit before he entered through the gates up above. But no, she had remembered she had forgotten the children’s bags and clothes for their return to school in the morning. I noticed she had remembered a full wardrobe for herself though, judging by the overflowing holdall at her feet no doubt consisting of numerous outfits – thinking about it – way too many outfits for just one night’s stay.

  ‘I need you to go back to the house and retrieve the children’s clothes,’ she piped up.

  Why me? It was her children, I had not one ounce of enthusiasm to roam out into the cold, dark night. Why did I need to do anything? A hot sweat started to rise up my body again but I convinced myself it was more anger than menopausal. Penelope lifted her head in my and I stared straight into her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s bad news Penelope, I’d rather lance off a wart than get myself dressed and go out in the freezing cold ... you are on your own.’

  The cheek of the woman! She hadn’t even had the grace to wish me a happy birthday. I was a little peeved at always being treated like a doormat by my so-called friend and that’s a friend in the loosest sense of the word. It was plain to see Penelope was only trying to salvage our friendship, since Camilla Noland, her latest best friend, had left the village.

  Penelope was a little taken aback by my slight outburst. I had wanted to stand up to this woman for a long time; this year I wasn’t going to let myself down. I was going to put myself first for a change and if she didn’t like it ... well ...

  Almost immediately, Penelope activated her tear ducts and the waterworks commenced – no chance of a drought this year. She and Rupert could possibly be up for joint nominations for the most dramatic performance at this year’s Oscars. ‘Please, please at least come with me, I can’t face Rupert on my own.’

  Rupert was definitely the more intelligent one out of the two of them; why had he managed to wangle staying in the family home with a fridge full of food watching the telly without any interruption?

  I rose out of the chair and eyeballed Penelope. ‘We had better be quick.’ I growled at her.

  I wasn’t in the least bit thrilled embarking on operation collect children’s clothing on New Year’s Day at this time of night in the snow.

  ‘Well that showed her,’ mouthed Matt from the corner of the room with a knowing smile on his face. I felt a prickle of annoyance towards him and scowled at him. He needed to remember to keep his sarcastic remarks to himself otherwise; his sex ban wouldn’t just be on my birthday.

  4

  I didn’t feel brave enough to drive in such appalling weather conditions. Granted it wasn’t very far, but the roads would be treacherous. I located my phone and dialled the number of the local taxi firm; at least if any car was going to slide through a hedge it wasn’t going to be mine. The number connected and an irate woman said, ‘Yes!’ Well, you could hear by the enthusiasm in her voice that she was chuffed to be working on New Year’s Day.

  I was just about to speak when she screamed at me down the receiver, ‘It’s on its way!’

  ‘What’s on its way?’ I innocently asked.

  ‘The taxi is on its way, it’s just round the next corner.’

  ‘How can the taxi possibly be on its way? I haven’t even ordered the bloody thing yet.’

  My patience was beginning to wear a little thin. I rattled my car keys in Penelope’s direction. I quickly swapped my slippers for wellies and stomped down the path towards the car. I was still dressed in my onesie, smelling, if I’m truly honest, worse than BB’s latest perfume; I hadn’t been near a shower all day.

  The car slid down the lane on the icy road, the sky was darkened with snow and the street lamps were barely visible through the thickly falling snow. The only reliable light source we had to guide us back to Penelope’s house was the car’s headlights. There was no denying the night had an eerie feel about it. There was not a single person or car in sight. Well, there wouldn’t be would there? Even the flipping taxi that was meant to be round the next corner was nowhere to be seen. Everyone else had the common sense to stay indoors, curled up in the warmth with a drink whilst munching on leftover turkey sandwiches. Mercifully, Penelope didn’t speak a word on the short journey to her house.

  I pulled up outside her house, well when I say pulled up, what I actually mean is the car bumped up the curb slamming straight into her recycle bin which proceeded to spill the contents of her rubbish all over the front garden. The house was in complete darkness, which was strange as Rupert was meant to be home. Penelope stepped over an empty can of baked beans in the snow as she glared at me. Placing the key into the lock, she pushed the front door ajar. We both stood like statues for a moment as we witnessed some sort of flashing emerging from the living room, then looked at each other. ‘We have burglars,’ she whispered. ‘Bloody hell, the house is being robbed!’

  So not only had Frisky Pensioner died revealing BB as a budget prostitute, or that the Farrier had moved in next-door-but-one, and that Penelope had gatecrashed my house, Wearing only my onesie, I was about to come face-to-face with a burglar on my birthday. I was not sure who would be more scared, me or him.

  Penelope opened the cloakroom door slowly, and bending down, she grabbed one of Rupert’s work boots from the shoe rack, the type with a steel toecap, and forced it into my hand. Why give it to me? Did she expect me to pummel the burglar to death?

  We stood as still as possible; I could swear that my heart was pounding so fast it was jumping out of my chest. We listened carefully to a faint moaning sound. Maybe the burglar was in distress, wounded. Possibly, he had sliced his leg on the broken windowpane as he clambered through. We took very small steps, tiptoeing towards the living room door. We both froze to the spot. I mouthed at Penelope, ‘What’s the plan?’ Well, she was no bloody use as she shrugged her shoulders back in return.