We arranged to go to the classier supermarket at 8pm. I pulled up outside Imogen’s house and pipped the horn. She appeared with Miles’ younger brother, Thomas.
‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing Thomas?’
Thomas hadn’t wanted to watch his older brother play football and screamed until Imogen had agreed he could stay with her and come shopping.
I didn’t mind at all, I just needed to do a shop and fill those avocado green kitchen cupboards with food. As we approached the supermarket I sighed with relief. This looked more like it, it was twice the size with a petrol station to boot and it was only a mile in the opposite direction. I was sure I would be able to find this place again.
Imogen sat Thomas in her trolley and we entered the shop to find there was a much wider selection of food on offer. We bustled along, filling our trolleys with fresh fruit and vegetables. The sale racks were full of dressing-up costumes left over from Christmas and Halloween festivities. Imogen picked up numerous outfits and hooked them on to the back of her shopping trolley. I considered buying a few outfits for the children and usually wouldn’t hesitate but as I was having trouble squeezing the contents of our last house into the Shack, I decided against it at the moment.
Poor little Thomas was beginning to get very grouchy and tired. Imogen thought there was only one thing for it and handed him a large cup of Pick ‘n’ Mix. I couldn’t believe it – that was just what he needed as the time approached 9pm. His little body would go hyper with all the ‘E’ numbers. Imogen made sure she filled the cup right to the top. On the plus side, he was soon stuffing sweets into his mouth and had finally stopped whining. I was very surprised at Imogen’s actions as the sweets hadn’t been paid for and Thomas was gobbling them down at a rate of knots. We continued around the supermarket, manoeuvring our trolleys into the household aisle and, for the second time today, I spotted Rupert Kensington having another toilet roll rendezvous – only this time it was actually with his wife, Penelope. I was impressed; he had obviously spotted the ‘buy one get one free’ offer after all and decided it was a good deal not to be missed.
Imogen and Penelope made eye contact and then totally ignored each other. I thought this was strange as they had children in the same class but I made no comment. I was getting tired myself now and just wanted to return home as quickly as possible.
We loaded our items onto the conveyor belt and when the Pick ‘n’ Mix cup reached the cashier, she removed the lid.
‘Excuse me,’ she pronounced. ‘You need to fill these cups right to the top otherwise you don’t get your money’s worth. These sweets are very expensive.’
Imogen smirked, collected the cup and headed straight back towards the Pick ‘n’ Mix.
‘Works every time, free sweets,’ she winked as she passed me to shovel another load of fizzy cola bottles, white mice and strawberry laces into the cup, clearly following the cashier’s advice to the letter. By the time he had got through that lot, Thomas would have eaten his own body weight in sugary treats.
I spotted Rupert and Penelope at a cashier’s till further down the supermarket. I concluded that Rupert had definitely spotted the toilet roll offer as six packs of quilted rolls were loaded onto their conveyor belt. I paid for my shopping and we headed towards the doors that led to the car park. I felt like I had stepped into Dr Who’s TARDIS as a loud beeping noise started, followed by a deafening alarm which hurt my ears. I glanced at Imogen’s trolley and spotted the dressing-up outfits hooked on to the back – which she clearly hadn’t paid for.
I was just about to suggest going back to pay when Imogen shouted ‘RUN!’
I am a law abiding citizen – most of the time – and I don’t know what possessed me but instinctively I followed her lead and ran like hell. We drove home in silence. Within a few days of arriving in the village I had rattled Penelope’s cage over her alleged car parking spot, rumbled Camilla and Rupert on more than one occasion and had been shoplifting with a woman who was a virtual stranger. On a positive note though, Thomas was now asleep. In fact he was completely comatose, no doubt induced by a top-up of fizzy cola bottles and white chocolate mice.
Finally arriving back home I slumped down into a chair, not quite believing what had just happened. Matt asked how successful the shopping trip had been.
‘Andrex toilet rolls are on special offer. If you buy one, you get one free,’ I replied, exhausted.
The next day I completed the morning school run without making eye contact with anyone. I managed to make it in and out of the playground in less than ten minutes and park safely with no arguments, which surely has to qualify for an entry in the Guinness Book of Records.
Arriving home from the school run, I kicked off my shoes and headed straight towards the kitchen and switched the kettle on. Hearing the sound of the doorbell ring, the dog launched himself at the swirly glass panes in the aluminium door. Opening the door I found Imogen standing in front of me. I invited her in and to be fair, even before she had placed both feet onto the swirly orange carpet, she apologised for the mad shopping trip and explained that she didn’t know what had come over her. I knew exactly what had come over her – three free dressing-up outfits and a cup of Pick ‘n’ Mix. I wouldn’t mind but she had completely missed out on the Andrex offer. However at this moment Imogen was the closest thing I had to a friend, so I didn’t judge her. I needed all the friends I could get.
Imogen sat down with a brew and began to tell me a little about village life. Her two closest friends were Meredith and Lucinda. They also had children at the school and were proper villagers. They had lived in the village all their lives and their parents and grandparents had lived here too.
Imogen had met them at a toddler group and they had bonded well. I think her exact words were, ‘We never really socialise, we just sort the kids out together.’
Mainly that meant taking them to football practice, swimming lessons and after-school clubs, etc.
I plucked up the courage to question her about Penelope. I was surprised they hadn’t spoken in the supermarket, especially as they had children in the same class at school. I could see from Imogen’s reaction – no Botox in sight at this point – that there was a story to tell so I waited in anticipation.
‘We were once good friends but Penelope falls out with everyone. And I mean everyone. She is incapable of having more than one friend,’ Imogen revealed.
As she talked my mind was preoccupied with all the jobs I needed to carry on with that day. The wood-chip wallpaper needed stripping off and the carpet from the kids’ bedrooms needed a clean. Before I could stop myself my mouth opened and I spoke.
‘How about you save that story for Saturday night – why don’t you all come round to the Shack and I’ll prepare some food and you can enlighten me about village life?’
So that was that, a dinner evening had been arranged. Our first proper guests at the Shack!
All the children were settling in well, and I was really busy making the Shack into some sort of habitable state. I’d also taken part in a small amount of exploring around the village and had located the bank and the local garden centre all by myself.
My fondness for garden centres has grown over the years. I’m fascinated by that fact that they don’t just sell plants and gardening tools. There is all sorts of tat to buy, books to read and the huge strawberry cream tarts that they sell in the cafes are to die for. I decided one morning to have a quick trip to the garden centre as I was on the hunt for a plant that would grow quickly and cover up our hideous garage. Mr Fletcher-Parker shared his knowledge that a clematis would do the job just fine.
I’m not the best gardener and every time I purchase a plant I somehow manage to kill it but it was worth a try. I searched through hundreds of plants and had no real idea what I was looking for. I headed towards the trees and shrubs that were located at the back of the garden centre and stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t believe my eyes – there again was Rupert Kensington holding a woman’s han
d – but the hand belonged to neither Camilla Noland nor his wife.
This woman had a lovely figure and fantastic legs and was overall very feminine. She and Rupert were laughing and giggling and both looked like they didn’t have a care in the world. It certainly looked like Rupert wanted to plough her furrow and plant his seed in her lady garden. It took me by surprise when a male member of staff approached me and asked if he could help. I was still slightly flummoxed after spotting Rupert again so I answered him by saying I was looking for a clitoris. The assistant gave a loud embarrassed laugh and Rupert and his mysterious woman glanced over in my direction. The member of staff informed me politely that I wouldn’t find one of those in a garden centre.
‘Clematis, I mean clematis,’ I stuttered, trying to rescue myself from the situation.
‘You’re a bloke anyway, you’d have no chance of ever finding a clitoris,’ I muttered as I walked off quickly, leaving all my dignity amongst the potted plants.
This was the first time Rupert had made eye contact with me. I wanted to ask who had dumped who. Had he dumped Camilla or had she dumped him?
Saturday night had arrived and our first dinner guests, Imogen, Steve and their children, would soon be arriving at the Shack. The house was so small that at present we didn’t have a dining room table, we couldn’t fit one in. My genius plan was to throw a tablecloth over the patio table and move it into the freezing cold conservatory where we could all quite comfortably fit around it to eat. The doorbell rang, signalling that our dinner guests had arrived. Miles and Thomas said their ‘Hello’s and ran off to play with the other children, not to be seen again for the rest of the night. Before I’d even poured the first glass of wine – well Imogen’s first and my fourth – she brought up the subject of Penelope.
Two hours and two bottles of wine later, Imogen finally finished talking about Penelope. The men had taken themselves off into the warmth of living room and were spending their time chatting about cars, golf and anything remotely blokey.
Imogen appeared exhausted; it was like a therapy session for her. She did look better for getting it off her chest and at that point my thoughts turned to Rupert Kensington. I wondered whose chest Rupert would be rolling off later.
Imogen enlightened me that she and Penelope had once been friends. Good friends, friends that socialised with each other most Saturday nights. They shared barbeques in the summer and occasionally had days out together. Imogen said that their friendship had blossomed from the start. They enjoyed each other’s company whilst shopping, dined out for lunch and even participated in the odd bit of exercise together. The friendship lasted approximately four years – so they never made it to the seven-year point – but it all went wrong when the children started school.
Penelope and Rupert have two children – Little Jonny and Annabel – who were in the same classes as Miles and Thomas. Imogen claimed that as soon as Miles and Little Jonny started school, the situation changed. Apparently Penelope became materialistic and incredibly competitive too. Little Jonny always had to have the most expensive football boots, was given the latest football kit the day it was released and he was always dressed in the latest designer coat. Penelope must have a thing about coats because every time I saw her she was wearing a different one.
Imogen claimed it wasn’t the fact that he had all this gear; it was the fact that Penelope never shut up about it that drove her mad.
Poor Annabel never got a look in, she was cast aside and it was all about Little Jonny.
‘Little Jonny this, Little Jonny that.’
Little Jonny could name every single dinosaur at the age of three. According to Penelope, when he grew up he was going to be a philanthropist. She probably meant palaeontologist – if Imogen was right about her materialism I couldn’t imagine him being encouraged to donate large sums of money to charity. Penelope didn’t shut up about Little Jonny until poor Imogen couldn’t take any more.
Little Jonny had the best designer school bag to carry his reading book in; the reading book that became the catalyst to the deterioration of their friendship.
Miles had been invited for tea at Penelope’s and Imogen claimed that she had never even mentioned to Penelope that Miles had started reading. In fact he was so good at reading that he had skipped the first level and started on level two. Little Jonny was still on the first stage picture books which don’t contain any words. You are supposed to discuss the story portrayed in pictures with your child to gradually introduce them to books. During Miles’ visit for tea, curiosity got the better of Penelope and she rifled through Miles’ bag to discover that he had started reading. Penelope nearly passed out when she realised Little Jonny was not the cleverest in the class. Miles was – by far.
When Imogen collected Miles later that evening, she could see that Penelope’s face was like thunder. Imogen was immediately bombarded with questions.
‘When did Miles start reading?’
‘How long has he been on that level?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me he was on reading books?’
Imogen wanted to reply, ‘Because quite frankly it’s none of your business,’ but instead she scooped Miles’ coat off the peg, laced up his shoes and took him home.
That night Penelope had a sleepless night trying to work out how Little Jonny was going to up his game. There was only one thing for it; Penelope needed to invest in the Oxford Reading Tree books. As a part-time child-minder she could claim the cost of these back through her tax and pass it off as an educational tool for all the other children she looked after. Genius!
Imogen arrived in the playground the next morning to find Penelope already inside the school, bending the teacher’s ear and complaining that she wasn’t pushing Little Jonny enough. According to Penelope, Little Jonny was way too intelligent than the level of the books he was reading. She demanded the teacher either send home three books a week or move Little Jonny up a level. The teacher – who is a teacher because she is qualified and knows what she is talking about – refused. That poor teacher would be haunted by Penelope for the next school year as she challenged her assessment of Little Jonny’s ability on a daily basis. Miles had completely overtaken Little Jonny on the reading scale and Penelope wasn’t having it. Poor Little Jonny, all he wanted to do was make mud pies in the garden and annoy his little sister by teasing her with the worms he had pulled out of the ground with his fingers. Little did he know that over a hundred Oxford Reading Tree books had just been delivered to his house and he was going to spend the whole summer reading them all. But I suppose it made a change from Penelope forcing him to learn the names of those flippin’ dinosaurs Imogen joked.
Two days later, Imogen and Penelope’s friendship totally broke down when Miles became ill with the ’flu. Imogen had decided to send him to school but he was sent straight back home again by the teacher. Penelope was fuming and sent a text message to Imogen inferring that she was a bad mother for sending him to school in the first place! I think Penelope was put out because Miles had been sent home with numerous reading books to study while he was recovering, which would make it even harder for Little Jonny to catch him up. Imogen kept her dignity and didn’t reply. They never spoke again.
I topped up Imogen’s wine glass while she described how she was relieved the friendship had finally come to an end. Penelope was too intense for her. She would text every day inviting her to pop round for coffee and when she did, she would have to endure endless stories and anecdotes about Little Jonny. Imogen claimed that every Saturday night was taken up socialising with Penelope and Rupert. Rupert worked shifts at the local factory and if he was working nights Imogen still got lumbered with Penelope. Imogen was thankful she would never have to listen to the relentless dialogue about Little Jonny again.
Imogen wasn’t the only one cleansing her soul that night. The Shack was finally hooked up to the Internet and once Imogen and Steve had sauntered on home with their children I logged straight into my Facebook account. Immediately spotting
that my news feed was full to the brim of Mrs High School Musical’s antics I shook my head. Even with the distance between us she was still having a detrimental effect on my life. Facebook to me had become all about quality, not quantity of friends. It wasn’t a popularity contest. Last year Mrs High School Musical spent her entire birthday on Facebook reading ‘Happy Birthday’ messages from people she used to go to school with and who she didn’t actually like or remember. The whole world was going mad with social networking. I implemented my motto ‘don’t pretend, just un-friend’ and hit the delete button, catapulting Mrs High School Musical and her gang from my life forever. She was no longer in my gang but I had most definitely allocated her a seat on my bus!
Two
February
The move to the village was going smoothly. We were settled in the Shack, Imogen was my friend and life was ticking along happily. Until I got a bee in my bonnet about chickens that is.
This move was all about the country life. I wanted chickens and ponies. I wanted to spend my days baking cakes and cookies. The Shack had plenty of land and there was definitely enough room for chickens. I had never seen a live chicken up close, never mind cared for one or kept one as a pet. I informed Matt that I was going to buy some livestock. Matt thought this was a ridiculous idea and reminded me I didn’t know one end of a chicken from another. For at least an hour he kept telling me what a stupid idea it was. He was getting more and more irate and I could tell I had ruffled his feathers. You would have thought I had suggested that Penelope and Rupert should join us on a family holiday or that I was planning on having a lesbian affair with Camilla Noland. There was no need for him to get his wattle in such a twist; I had only suggested getting half a dozen chickens.
A Year in the Life of a Playground Mother: A laugh-out-loud funny novel about life at the School Gates (A School Gates Comedy Book 1) Page 6
