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)

by Christie Barlow

  The next day it all went nugget up in the coop. My clucking good hens were fast becoming clucking dead hens. I suppose where there is life there is always going to be death. My hens were dropping dead one by one. I didn’t have a clue why or how, it was a complete mystery. So far that week I had lost six. I was bewildered and it was very upsetting to say the least. This particular Friday morning I ventured into the coop to find that Daphne had departed to chicken heaven. I picked her up with a tear in my eye. Suddenly I heard BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. That could only mean one thing; it was Friday and there was no mistaking FP’s knock on the door. I actually chose to ignore the door and wandered round to the back of the Shack to find a suitable box to place Daphne in. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM – he wasn’t giving up today. I really wasn’t in the mood for FP any more. He had changed from a friendly granddad-type character into a creepy old guy that was way too friendly for my liking! Quite frankly I really could do without him.

  I could imagine him in his day – many, many years ago – being just like Rupert. A womaniser, having numerous affairs behind his wife’s back. He probably thought he was God’s gift and I wondered if he was related to the International Sex God. Everywhere I went in the village he popped up – and I mean popped up. If I was walking down the lane he would appear from behind a hedge. If I was in the post office he would be loitering behind me in the queue. It was as if he knew where I was going to be, and everywhere I was, he was too – like some kind of geriatric ninja. I had unwittingly acquired my own pensioner stalker. Why couldn’t I have a fit, young thirty year old stalker? Or Gary Barlow, he would be the perfect stalker. But no, not me. I was only able to attract those over the age of sixty-five. I didn’t like it and I didn’t like him.

  There was only one way to get rid of FP quickly that morning and that was to open the door holding the dead chicken so he would notice that I was up to my armpits in death. Unlocking the front door I didn’t even crack the smile that I usually forced. This morning, to put it bluntly, I really couldn’t be bothered. I was fed up of being nice.

  Holding dead Daphne I stared at him and curtly said, ‘I’ll just get your eggs.’

  I left the front door of the Shack ajar behind me and wandered down the hallway towards the kitchen while juggling dead Daphne and placed his eggs into the box. I turned around to head back to the front door and crashed straight into FP! The cheeky pensioner had let himself in the front door and followed me through to the kitchen without even being invited. What happened next was unbelievable and, unfortunately for me, holding a dead chicken in one hand and a box of eggs in the other didn’t leave me with any free hands to defend myself.

  ‘Are you upset?’ he whispered.

  Was he for real? I was holding a dead chicken. I looked at him with an expression that should have questioned his intelligence but it had no effect on him.

  With no expression on my face I replied, ‘Here are your eggs’ and I stretched out my hand with the box. His grubby, fat-fingered hand went to grab the egg box, or so I thought. Quick as a flash, the dirty Frisky Pensioner swiftly slung his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his neck as his other arm went around my waist and straight up my top. If I could have vomited on demand, that’s exactly what I would have done.

  ‘Get off me, what the bloody hell do you think you are doing?’ I shouted.

  I swung the dead chicken and clouted his podgy, repulsive face with her cadaver – sorry Daphne.

  ‘Get out! Get out now!’ I shrieked.

  I couldn’t believe what had just happened and the only witness I had was a dead bloody chicken! Clucking hell, to say the least. FP skulked out of the Shack with his feathers ruffled and his eggs broken.

  I sat down and had a swig of sherry, while I put this into perspective. So far, I’d been shoplifting, played detective, got chucked out of a friend’s house and been touched up by a bloody frisky pensioner all in the space of twelve weeks. Marvellous! Could my year get any worse? I rang Matt and filled him in. Straight away he joked how lucky Frisky Pensioner was as he hadn’t copped a feel for weeks. But realising this was probably not the best time to be saying this he suggested he could go round with his shotgun. But there was a major problem with that idea – he didn’t have a shotgun. There was no way FP would have the cheek to come back for eggs next Friday, was there?

  I hoped Penelope was now calm after her outburst in the taxi. I just carried on like nothing had happened. Obviously it had happened as I was looking really good; the weight was dropping off me. Penelope had actually been very sheepish that week – I just assumed she was bloody embarrassed. I, on the other hand, was still fuming over the slating she had given me in the taxi. But deep down I knew Penelope was unlikely to become a seven-year friend – to be honest, I couldn’t see her becoming a two-year friend. Paddy Power would have given me favourable odds on that.

  Penelope and Wendy’s relationship had become very strained since Rupert had been caught playing poker with the lovely Annie. The three ladies had been good friends. Wendy was still friends with Annie and Penelope was just about still friends with Wendy. Penelope thought Wendy should show her some loyalty and stop speaking to Annie. Wendy thought this was ridiculous as she was entitled to be friends with whoever she wanted. Annie hadn’t done anything to Wendy. Wendy would not have minded if Annie had tried to take her own husband as she had been wanting rid of him for years. She never had any luck.

  Penelope had got her knickers in a twist (Rupert allegedly preferred his women to go ‘commando’) over Wendy and Annie’s friendship and Penelope eventually gave Wendy an ultimatum – it was Annie or her. Wendy was a sensible woman and didn’t really have to think about it. There was no contest; it was Annie all the way.

  Penelope and I were still walking every morning. This walking lark was definitely character building. The next morning’s walk – you’ve guessed it – was all about Wendy.

  I must have uttered no more than two words on the walk that morning. I managed to nod a few times in what I thought were the right places and I definitely rolled my eyes a few times. According to Penelope, Wendy was a home-wrecker and a traitor. Penelope was all me, me, me.

  Actually I felt like saying, ‘Shut up, woman, Wendy more than likely has her own problems and her own life to deal with.’ But of course I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.

  Penelope told me she had sent Wendy an email telling her how wrong she was to continue to speak to Annie. I couldn’t quite see the logic. Poor Wendy was living her own nightmare at this time. Due to all this mither, she had decided that her own husband was a waste of space and was in the process of removing him from the marital home. Did Penelope care? Of course she didn’t. Penelope offered Wendy no support, just hassle about something that was nothing to do with Wendy in the first place.

  Penelope banged on for an hour and a half, slating Wendy and calling her all the names under the sun. I’d had enough, to be honest. I could clearly see why she fell out with everyone. So far there had been Stephanie, Imogen and now Wendy – and those were only the ones I knew about. No doubt my time would come. I prayed it was some time soon.

  That afternoon, Penelope strolled onto the playground and addressed Wendy.

  ‘Hi Wendy, have you had a nice day? I waved at you while we were walking but you mustn’t have seen us.’

  She was totally unbelievable. I’m sure Penelope has that condition where you have a split personality – she is certainly duplicitous to say the least. This morning she had suggested that capital punishment should be brought back for friends who weren’t loyal. At this precise moment I agreed.

  Same time, same walk but the next morning I was left completely gobsmacked. I felt like I had been whacked in the face by a dead chicken – that had been filled with lead first! I even questioned whether I was a drug addict and hallucinating over what I saw before me. Was I looking in a mirror? Penelope was standing on the drive of the Shack wearing yet another new coat. Not only was it a new coat, it was MY coat! It was exactly the s
ame style and the same colour.

  My jaw dropped. I was speechless and if it was possible to be more speechless, I would have been when I glanced down at her feet. She was sporting new Wellington boots. Not any new Wellington boots, they were the same colour and brand as mine. We looked like twins. I didn’t want a twin.

  The first thing I wanted to say and it was on the tip of my tongue was, ‘Did you keep the receipt?’

  ‘Morning,’ Penelope chirped.

  At least she was in a better mood than yesterday. This could only be a change for the better.

  ‘Nice coat,’ I murmured. ‘Nice wellies,’ I continued.

  ‘I so loved your coat, I just had to get one,’ she retorted. ‘We look like twins, don’t you think?’

  In my opinion we were nothing like twins.

  As we set off on the walk, I prayed no-one would see us. It was like a blast from the past, my memory transported me back to when I bought the same clothes as my mate when we were teenagers. We were going to be a girl rap-group called Fly Tie – it wasn’t really a group and we couldn’t even rap but we had dreams. Back then, we thought it was cool to wear the same clothes. Now, however, it really was not cool – it was not the 1990s.

  Just when I thought things could not get any worse, I spotted Wendy and Annie driving towards us, howling with laughter and beeping and waving. I thought the beeping was a little over the top but I really couldn’t blame them for the laughter. Penelope couldn’t grasp what they found amusing. She convinced herself it was pretend laughter and they were just trying to make her jealous.

  I wanted to scream, ‘IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU. You have made me look like a complete and utter idiot.’

  But I didn’t, I just nodded in the right places and plugged my headphones in. Even Gina G’s ‘Ooh Aah, Just a Little Bit’ was beginning to grate on me now. With all this walking there was only one way to drown out Penelope – plug in my iPod and pretend that I was listening. She wouldn’t have a clue if I was listening or not as long as I nodded from time to time. I began to realise that I had a lot of shameful songs on my iPod; if these walks were to continue I would have to update the device, and quick.

  Penelope was chatting away as usual and just for a change it was all about Little Jonny. Apparently Little Jonny was keeping his options open and if by any chance he didn’t grow up to work with dinosaurs he was going to be the next David Beckham. I wanted to shake her and tell her there was no way on this earth that Little Jonny was going to be the next David Beckham. Instead I just nodded in the right place again – I was getting good at this. Penelope was delusional. I carried on listening to my iPod and smiled to myself as ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ blasted through my ears.

  Approaching the bottom of the lane signalled we were nearly at the end of our walk. Penelope gave me a beaming smile and said she couldn’t wait to tell Rupert and was really looking forward to Saturday night. Taking out my earphones I gave her a puzzled look. What was Penelope barking on about now? Then it hit me, I realised I’d been nodding in the wrong bloody places. Penelope had only gone and hinted it was about time that Rupert and Matt were introduced and I had nodded.

  There was no getting out of it. Saturday night was the night we were to entertain Penelope, Rupert and Little Jonny. I did wonder if they still had Annabel because Penelope never mentioned her. All I had to do now was break the news to Matt and the kids.

  Surely it couldn’t be that bad, could it? Spending a few hours with Penelope, Rupert and Little Jonny? Oh and poor Annabel – I was starting to forget her now like her own mother. Flicking through my recipe books I decided to cook a good old pie. You couldn’t go wrong with a pie and lots of fresh vegetables. Leaving Matt with the children I rose early on the Saturday morning to venture out for all the fresh ingredients. As you can imagine, Matt wasn’t overly thrilled at the thought of spending his Saturday night with a womaniser. I told him to pretend he didn’t know anything about Rupert’s affairs. It wasn’t as if we would be discussing Rupert’s infidelities and asking him for marks out of ten for his time with Stephanie, Camilla and Annie – and those were only the ones we knew about. I bet his little black book was packed with numbers – and maybe scores. I assured Matt that once we got Saturday night out of the way we wouldn’t have to entertain them again.

  Our usual routine on a Saturday night would be to all curl up in the living room and watch brain numbing television until we fell asleep at a ridiculously early time. My party animal days are definitely over. There was only one dress code in the Shack for a Saturday night, pyjamas or any type of slob out clothes, the comfier the better.

  When the Kensington clan knocked on the door of the Shack, I realised Penelope had different ideas regarding the dress code. She was wearing a jumper and hot pants. Yes that’s right – hot pants. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  Just as the Kensingtons arrived, my phone beeped with a text message from Fay. She was wishing me luck for the evening ahead and couldn’t wait to hear all about it. I quickly typed a reply.

  Why depress both of us?

  Penelope introduced Matt to Rupert and Little Jonny.

  ‘Who’s this?’ enquired Matt.

  As usual, Penelope had forgotten all about Annabel.

  ‘I didn’t realise you had two kids,’ smirked Matt.

  ‘Neither did she,’ I muttered under my breath.

  Rupert shook Matt’s hand and gave me a friendly punch on my shoulder.

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he remarked at me.

  ‘Ditto,’ I replied.

  I had a feeling this night was not going to be chalked up as one of the better nights of my life.

  Rupert handed over a bag of beers.

  ‘Well that’s something,’ I thought, at least they have some manners and if nothing else I could get trollied. Every cloud and all that.

  I reached out to take the other bag from Rupert but this time it was Matt’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

  ‘Oh you don’t want that bag, it’s my slippers. I take my slippers everywhere,’ Rupert remarked.

  ‘He’s brought his bloody slippers,’ Matt mouthed at me. I laughed a little uncomfortably and whispered back, ‘I hope he doesn’t think he’s getting his feet under my table.’

  I was just praying to God he hadn’t brought his toothbrush and a clean pair of pants.

  The children kicked off their shoes and ran off to play upstairs with Eva, Samuel and Matilda. Daisy was already fast asleep in her cot. The problem I had not fully resolved was where to seat everyone to eat? I finally decided to stick with the hosed-down patio table that I had earlier placed in the conservatory. Actually the word conservatory was too posh for this room and I’m not even sure you could class it as a room. It wasn’t even attached to the main house. You had to leave the main house via the back door, pass the coal scuttle and outside toilet – very classy avocado green, of course – and continue to the end of the long corridor. It was like being transported back in time via Dr Who’s TARDIS. The thought of David Tennant made me smile. I needed something this evening to make me smile.

  I led our guests through the house, out of the back door and into the conservatory. I offered Penelope a drink like the marvellous hostess I was.

  ‘I’ll have a Malibu, please,’ she replied.

  A Malibu? Where the bloody hell did she think she was? Some tropical Caribbean island or the sticky-carpeted local Ritzy nightclub in 1987? What would she ask for next, Taboo? I may have been ninety miles south of my roots but I was still a northern bird. The choices were lager, bitter, wine, sherry or Babycham. In the end she opted for sherry.

  We started to make small talk around the patio table. There was only person talking and you won’t be surprised to hear that it was Penelope. Rupert looked like a fish out of water. In fact he looked like a goldfish on numerous occasions as he opened his mouth to speak only to be spoken over by Penelope. It was quite amusing to watch and it was obvious who wore the trousers i
n that relationship. Well let’s face it, Rupert barely wore any trousers and Penelope should have been wearing some, if those hot pants were anything to go by.

  Penelope was clearly unhappy in her relationship – that was plain to see. There was no chemistry between the two of them, no glancing moments and every time poor Rupert managed to get his opinion out there, Penelope shot him down in flames and belittled him at every opportunity. Rupert was clearly unhappy with the relationship too, otherwise why the other women? I placed my homemade pie and fresh vegetables proudly on the table and have to admit that it smelled good and looked absolutely delicious. Penelope’s face was a picture.

  ‘Have you made that pie?’ she enquired.

  ‘I certainly have,’ I replied smugly.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time we had home-cooked food,’ Rupert butted in, only to be given one of Penelope’s best withering looks.

  Penelope started to shovel the pie from the dish onto her plate in a massive mound. She was like a woman possessed. I always thought that if you were unhappy, you generally had a loss of appetite and stopped eating. But not Penelope – in her miserable state of mind she was comfort eating. Next Friday, when her weight loss was actually a gain, I guess she would blame it on my cooking; it would be my fault entirely.

  Matt started to witness what I had to endure day in and day out from Penelope. Every time Matt tried to steer the conversation away from the marvellous Little Jonny, Penelope would steer it right back on to him. The alcohol was beginning to kick in which was a blessing in disguise but somehow I maintained my decorum and self-control. I was smiling to myself as ironically the bottle of sherry we were drinking had been donated by Wendy at the last school fair. I’d pulled the lucky ticket from the tombola and won the bottle and was now using Wendy’s sherry to dull the pain of listening to Penelope. I retained my human spirit, pouring Penelope another tumbler full.

  Unfortunately the more alcohol Penelope consumed, the greater Little Jonny became. Even Rupert had lost the will to live and started to roll his eyes. The conversation had now moved on to football. Little Jonny was the best footballer for his age apparently, not just in the village but in the world. Penelope sat at my table large as life and informed me that there would be no point sending Samuel to train with the same football team as Little Jonny because he would never get a game. He just wasn’t in the same league as him.