Matt was working from home on the morning of my interview which I was extremely thankful for because he could mind Matilda and Daisy whilst I disappeared for a couple of hours. I was under scrutiny in the playground. I was wearing a smart black dress with heels. Botox Bernie nearly dislocated her neck when she swung round to stare at me. She was getting scrawnier by the day and the veins in her neck were starting to bulge out. She reminded me of Deirdre Barlow from Coronation Street. I felt like telling her to wind her neck in or even wringing it myself but I kept my self-control. I did hear her muttering to herself that I was completely overdressed for a violin concert. Oh no, I had totally forgotten the children’s violin concert. I chalked it up on the advantage list for the interview as it would be more like a vile din concert! When the kids practised at home the poodle would howl. I tottered off quickly from the playground before Penelope arrived and shone the interrogation light into my eyes to find out where I was going. It wasn’t that I was deliberately keeping it from her, I just didn’t have the job yet and was still unsure whether I actually wanted it.
Then the text messages started. Not just one or two text messages but forty-eight! I had never had a full inbox before – but I did now.
My screen was about to explode and the constant beeping was flattening my battery. The display read ‘Penelope Kensington (48)’. That was the number of text messages she had sent me and it wasn’t referring to her age. I switched my phone to silent as I entered the interview room to be seen by the lovely woman who bought my eggs. She was sitting with Humpty Dumpty and the White Witch of Narnia. I thought Humpty Dumpty was a bloke with his dungarees and bowler haircut and what I assumed was stubble – until ‘he’ was introduced to me as Davina. I was mesmerised at the amount of spit that flew from her mouth every time she talked and watched it consistently land in her coffee.
The White Witch of Narnia, apparently called Sal, never moved. She just stared at me the whole time, occasionally flicking her blonde hair and I was convinced she was looking down her snooty nose at me. I had a feeling the White Witch was trouble and my gut feelings were usually right. I don’t know why but I decided to allocate her a seat on my bus immediately. It was only after I was offered the job that I discovered the White Witch had been roped in as a stand-in because the chair of governors couldn’t make it. She wasn’t even an employee, just a mother of a child that attended the education establishment – and on occasions a dreaded parent helper who had her fingers in many pies.
I had landed myself a job. I couldn’t believe it as technically I hadn’t even applied. But in two weeks’ time I would be able to paint, tell stories and act as a referee to a bunch of lively little people for ten hours a week. And take Matilda and Daisy to work with me.
I flicked my phone back off silent and glanced at the screen.
‘Penelope Kensington (72).’
My, how she had aged in forty-five minutes! Whatever was the matter with her? I could only assume that it must be a major trauma to send seventy-two texts. Maybe Little Jonny had disappointed the Kensington family by no longer wanting to study dinosaurs. Finally reading the messages I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Where are you? X
Are you there? X
Why aren’t you at the violin concert? X
Why aren’t you answering me? X
Have I done something to upset you? X
Well don’t answer me then.
So after five texts Penelope had stopped putting kisses.
Why are you ignoring me?
I am worried now.
Then the shouty capitals started.
ANSWER ME.
WHY WON’T YOU ANSWER ME?
And the texts just kept arriving, they went on and on and bloody on. Was this lunatic for real? Unfortunately the answer to that was most probably yes. What was wrong with this woman? Maybe she thought I was out with Rupert, or even worse, Annie.
It was ridiculous. Even if I had wanted to reply it would have proven quite difficult as it appeared a text message had been sent every thirty seconds. I was quite amazed at the speed she must have typed the texts. The stalker tone of the text messages were a little alarming. Maybe it was her time of the month which had led to her behaviour spiralling out of control but then I remembered, we had the same coat, same wellies, same bag and now our periods were in bloody sync!
I was quite taken aback by the tone of the messages. I could suggest a stalker management course to her but I did what any normal, sane person would do in these circumstances and ignored them, well for the time being anyway. It was at this precise moment that I mentally placed Penelope on my bus along with Mrs High School Musical, Mr International Sex God and his plus one Lois, Botox Bernie, Mrs Noland, Frisky Pensioner and the White Witch of Narnia. There were only two seats left.
I took control of the situation and made an executive decision. I wasn’t going to let anyone spoil my day so I wandered into the nearest town in search of cake. A big fat cream cake would help me celebrate my job news. However, for some reason I just knew today wasn’t going to be a normal day. How I longed for a normal day.
Making my way towards the cake shop I could almost taste the pastry and cream but first I needed to nip to the chemist on my way past to pick up some lady products as I – and therefore Penelope too – were soon due a visit from our monthly friend. Still with cake on my mind, I spotted someone who was clearly having their cake and eating it. Luckily for Penelope it wasn’t Rupert this time, it was only Camilla Noland’s husband. The farrier was skulking at the back of the pharmacy pondering which flavour condoms to buy with a busty brunette hanging off his arm. Vast improvement on Camilla, I mused to myself. This pharmacy was tucked away down one of the back streets and the farrier must have thought he would be safe away from prying eyes.
I sneaked right up behind them.
I’d only met the farrier a couple of times before in the school yard and in the local newsagent but he always waved or nodded his head in my direction in acknowledgement.
‘Hello, fancy seeing you here,’ I bellowed, right into his ear. The poor bloke nearly jumped out of his shoes. He went bright red and clearly didn’t know where to look. Instead of making another comment I gave him a knowing smile and wandered off to pay for my stuff before finally bagging that cream cake that had my name on it.
Finally arriving home I sat down and chatted with Matt over a pot of tea and we devoured the cream cakes before he promptly had to leave to visit some clients. Sitting on the floor in front of the telly playing Lego with Matilda and Daisy I quietly pondered my next move in the stalker Penelope game.
Over and over again I typed, deleted and retyped replies to Penelope’s messages – well obviously not all of them as that would have taken a lifetime – but I couldn’t bring myself to send them. I decided to ignore her messages and send an upbeat one instead.
Good news! I’ve landed myself a job, ten hours a week!
It took less than a minute for her to reply and it wasn’t quite the reply I was expecting.
Charming, and you didn’t tell me because?
I read and re-read the message. I was looking for the hidden ‘Congratulations, that’s great news, I’m so happy for you’, but it must have been extremely well hidden because no matter how hard I searched through the text, I couldn’t find it.
I didn’t tell anyone. It all happened so quickly and actually you are the first person I have told.
Technically she wasn’t but I thought if I made her sound important all would be OK. How wrong was I?
You didn’t tell me about the job because you knew if I’d applied too I would have secured the position instead of you, she insisted.
I couldn’t work out whether she had an A* in self-importance or whether she was just a nutter; at that precise moment I concluded it must be the latter. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Penelope although I was starting to consider putting it on my ‘To Do’ list. So while maintaining my dignity I Googled ‘restraining order�
� and took my time to reply. In fact Penelope is still waiting for that reply.
I made myself a cuppa and stuffed a custard cream into my mouth and continued to ponder whether Penelope was for real. I started to think – which can be a dangerous thing – and came to the conclusion that Penelope was never going to be a true friend. Fay would never ever even think of sending me texts like those. Penelope had shown her true colours and jealous streak and was now well and truly on my bus, ready to be driven off the cliff, never to send text messages to my phone again. If only. Sometimes I wish fantasy was reality.
My phone beeped again, this time a reminder to pick up Annabel from school.
‘Shit,’ I thought. I had completely forgotten that I had agreed to collect Annabel from school. Penelope was probably sitting with her feet up, updating her Facebook status for the umpteenth time that day. There was only one thing for it, I had to rise above it, drop Annabel off at home and act as if nothing had happened. And that’s exactly what I did.
Penelope answered the door in a very subdued manner and couldn’t make eye contact with me. Normally she would ask me in but not on this occasion.
I put on my chirpiest voice and must have sounded like a chipmunk on helium.
‘You OK to walk in the morning? I’ll see you then.’
What I really wanted to say was ‘You’re a bloody nutter, full of your own self-importance and you don’t give a stuff about anyone else, it’s all about you,’ but I did the grown up thing and kept my mouth shut for an easy life. Believe me it was hard – very hard to do.
Penelope grasped the olive branch with both hands, which was extremely lucky for her because I felt like whacking the olive branch right over her head.
‘Yes that’s great,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
I wouldn’t have minded but Penelope was in fact the only one that knew about my new job and look at all the drama she had caused. When arriving home it had completely slipped my mind about the job interview – I was far more interested in revealing to Matt that I’d rumbled the local farrier riding a busty brunette whilst purchasing chocolate ribbed condoms from a chemist.
The previous day’s shenanigans would make for a very interesting walk today. I was determined there wasn’t going to be an atmosphere. Yes, I thought Penelope was maybe a little insecure at the moment and with everything going on in her home life I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and put it behind us.
I couldn’t believe the change in her the following morning: she looked sprightly and was beaming like the Cheshire cat. She was grinning from ear to ear and seemed ready to burst. I didn’t even have my trainers laced up before she spilled the latest news regarding Camilla Noland and Penelope had heard it straight from the horse’s mouth, Camilla herself.
Camilla Noland was having an affair.
I tried to act surprised and didn’t like to mention it wasn’t for the first time this year. Rupert had seen to that. I decided this wasn’t the time to burst Penelope’s bubble so I let her have her moment to fill me in on the gossip. It would have been rude not to.
Penelope started at the beginning. I thought this was a very good place to start.
‘Camilla has told me this in total confidence so promise me, you swear not to tell a soul.’
Two things flashed through my mind at this very moment:-
Never divulge anything to Penelope that you didn’t want repeating.
Why would Camilla Noland confide in Penelope?
Then I realised there was only one reason why Camilla would spill details of her affair to Penelope: she knew Penelope would confide in Rupert, leaving him jealous of her latest conquest. Camilla had a plan, she wanted Rupert back and wasn’t willing to share him and the only way for her to achieve this was to become Penelope’s new best friend. I bet Rupert was squirming in his Y-fronts at the thought of having to share nights out with the new loved-up couple.
According to Penelope, Camilla was getting soapy with the bottle washer at a local eatery. We shall call him Professor Plum because she liked to have him in the library, in the study, in the kitchen – well to be honest anywhere – it didn’t really matter. On a Friday night he was the DJ in the restaurant where he worked but I think that was probably bigging him up way too much. In reality he placed a few flashing lights at the side of the sound system and played the latest chart CDs.
On a Saturday night he was an Elvis impersonator and belted out tracks in the restaurant.
This was where the affair had started, when Elvis enticed Camilla onto the dance floor and he warbled to her ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’
Actually when Camilla thought about it, she was lonesome tonight as the farrier was away on business. Anyone who had the nerve to warble that in my ear would have definitely been returned to sender. The most amusing thing about this situation was that Elvis was alive and kicking in my village and so was his ex, a Marilyn Monroe look-alike. I pictured the pair of them together, it was just so wrong. I couldn’t make up my mind who was worse, Camilla or Marilyn.
So both Mr and Mrs Noland were having affairs then? I never mentioned to Penelope that I had seen the farrier with his busty brunette in the back street chemist. The only good thing about this was Penelope was more concerned with Camilla’s antics than my new job. I was yesterday’s fish and chip paper. Thank God, and Penelope seemed to have got over her strop. Well for today anyway.
Six
June
Penelope still seemed to be enjoying our walks each morning; I, on the other hand, had lost all enthusiasm. They were becoming tiresome and not just because of the exercise. The Friday weigh-ins were painful. We were beginning to get saddled with the Kensingtons’ most Saturday nights too as they didn’t appear to enjoy each other’s company very much any more. Penelope was always keen to get the ‘next date’ in the diary when they left and it was nearly always the Saturday after. Each weekend they would turn up with a bag of beers and tucked down the side of the bag were Rupert’s slippers.
Matt had built up quite a rapport with Rupert and they kept a running joke between them that they might as well have their own coat pegs with their names on in our cloakroom as they were here that often. One Saturday afternoon he ventured off to the local DIY store and returned with four coat pegs which he skilfully managed to fix to the wall just as they knocked on the door for our usual Saturday night get-together. They were genuinely pleased they had named coat pegs in the Shack, not realising that we were taking the mickey in the hope they would take the hint and allow us to spend a Saturday night without them.
Summer was upon us and the warmer days began to creep in. Penelope took this opportunity to suggest Saturday afternoon BBQs which basically comprised of more of the same antics but starting a few hours earlier. The children usually bedded down in the living room if they were feeling tired and Daisy could sleep for England.
The first Saturday in June was an eye opener for me. This is when I witnessed again Penelope’s competitive streak. June was the month – according to Penelope – that Little Jonny was going to win his Olympic medal. To be precise, not any old medal but an Olympic gold medal. This month is the month I pray for constant rain. Why would anyone wish for constant rain in June, I hear you ask? So primary school sports day would be cancelled.
During this annual event, the Petty Tedious Army (PTA) are out in full force, strutting their stuff and attempting to walk in their high heels over the school field. They look totally ridiculous in their floral numbers, big floppy hats and oversized sunglasses. Anyone would think they were attending Ladies Day at Royal Ascot, not the local village school sports day. I am amazed how seriously some mothers take it. I have first-hand experience of how competitive these mothers could be.
Penelope and Rupert were due to arrive at the Shack for a barbeque later that Saturday afternoon. The sun was shining, the chickens were clucking and the new ducklings quacking. I was sitting enjoying the sunshine in the garden, swigging a sneaky beer when I glanc
ed down at the text that had just arrived.
I know we are due round at 4pm but is there any chance I can come at 2.30pm and borrow your garden x?
I was a little dumbfounded; why would Penelope want to borrow my garden? I noticed from the text she was back to putting kisses at the end of her messages so hopefully that meant she was over her strop regarding my new job, which I hadn’t even started yet.
I sat in anticipation as the garden gate flung wide open at 2.30pm on the dot and in flounced Penelope. She was dressed in tight, white shorts and a vest top. Strapped to her feet were the shiniest, brightest white trainers I had ever seen.
Penelope threw a stop watch in my direction and shouted, ‘Time me,’ before bending over to tighten her laces.
At the same time, she let out the most almighty gust of wind that almost ripped the backside out of her shorts. Can you imagine being next to her in a yoga class? Her embarrassed, beetroot-coloured face glanced up in my direction and I tried my best to contain the roar of laughter that I wanted to let out – and the trickle of wee that I didn’t.
When I finally composed myself I shouted, ‘On your marks, get set,’ as she bent over again – no bottom burp this time, thankfully – and placed her feet in the imaginary starting blocks she must have visualised in my lawn.
I was still completely bemused and didn’t really have a clue what was happening, so I took a swig of beer and shouted, ‘Go!’
Penelope was out of the pretend starting blocks, running around my garden like a demented greyhound. I had seen her run before of course but that was down the aisles of Home Bargains after Annie and, prior to that, when we were out playing at Dempsey and Makepeace.
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 14
