The day of Wendy Barthorpe’s kids’ party was upon us. Her house was in the same village but I’d never visited before. On arrival it was a modest-looking detached house, overlooking fields and streams, very similar to Penelope’s house but with country views. I knocked on the door and waited. Wendy answered the door with a beaming smile and made Eva and I feel very welcome when she invited us in.
Slipping off my shoes at the door we followed Wendy down the hallway. Glancing at the wallpaper it all looked familiar to me but I couldn’t work out why. Wendy led us both into the kitchen and I had a very strange feeling that I had been here before. It all looked so familiar – the kitchen cupboards, the blinds, the ornaments. Eva ran off with the other children towards the front room to join in with the birthday celebrations whilst Wendy made me a cuppa. Scanning the room I had a quick look towards the back of the house into the conservatory. I must have been here before. I recognised the cushions, the rug and the lamps. It was all very bizarre unless this was the first sign of dementia – maybe I had been here before but just couldn’t remember. I racked my brains, but nothing.
Asking Wendy if I could use the facilities she pointed me in the direction of the downstairs toilet. Once inside, I recognised that space too, even down to the colour of the toilet paper. I sat on the loo quite puzzled by it all. Then it suddenly hit me and I let out a small laugh before reaching for my phone. I sent a text to Matt.
You are not going to believe this, I am in Wendy Barthorpe’s house and it is decorated exactly the same as Penelope’s!
It was unbelievable. Their houses were identical, even down to the tea cups and coasters. Even though they were virtually identical, the decor seemed to work much better in Wendy’s house. I’m not sure if it suited her house better or whether the extra detail, such as the vase of flowers in the hallway or the ornaments stood on the floor by the fireplace, just made it feel more homely. I was beginning to think I’d had a lucky escape from Penelope. There was no doubt Penelope had copied Wendy – with the effort Wendy had clearly gone to with the balloons and party bags for the kids, I could tell she was a very selfless thoughtful person. It was no wonder Rupert was confused when he copped off with Annie in Wendy’s house, maybe he thought he was at home.
On the way home from Wendy’s I made a mental note that she wouldn’t need to be allocated a seat on my bus. I found her a lovely, down to earth, approachable lady. The effort she had put into organising such a fantastic party was to her credit and her interaction with the children was mesmerising. My guess was Penelope never wanted me to become friends with Wendy, which was probably more down to Penelope’s insecurities.
This village was getting more bizarre by the minute; there were affairs, frisky pensioners, identical dwellings and let’s not forget that Elvis and Marilyn Monroe were both alive and kicking in the village too! This village could have been used as the inspiration for a TV serial drama but no-one would watch it – everyone would think it was too far-fetched.
I wasn’t quite sure how I fitted in around all these mad people, not that I particularly wanted to fit in. I had made two friends – sorry, acquaintances – and lost two acquaintances. I suppose technically I had only lost Imogen but I was about to distance myself from Penelope once the mountain escapade was over. I felt a little sad towards Rupert – I actually thought he was a good bloke who just made the wrong choices and found himself trapped, probably because he was unhappy.
I had two hours to kill before I picked up Eva from the party. Matt had taken Samuel, Matilda and Daisy for a walk up the forest with the dog so I used the time to clean the house for most of that time and finally sat down with a cuppa nearly an hour later. Resting my feet on the chair opposite I opened my laptop, balancing it on my knee and checked my emails. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing – never mind what I was reading. There in front of me in my inbox was a rambling email from Penelope. I suppose sending this lot by text may have used up all her credit. The main gist of the email was about how I had let her down.
HOW I HAD LET HER DOWN!
How the heck did she come to that conclusion and what was wrong with knocking on the door and having a face-to-face conversation if she was so upset? Apart from the fact it was all a little pathetic, she was hiding behind an email which probably made her feel brave about what she was saying.
Penelope had decided I had let her down by sending Eva to Wendy’s house for a party. The only thing this email had done for me so far was remind me to pick her up; I had completely forgotten she was there. Apparently, if I was any sort of friend I would delete Wendy from Facebook and ignore her in the school playground because of the pain she had caused Penelope.
I was confused, very confused. It might not take a lot for me to be confused but this was bordering on the verge of insane. I looked out of the window but I couldn’t see any men in white coats ready to take me away – more’s the pity. Penelope claimed she was deeply hurt that I had taken Wendy’s side. I hadn’t taken any sides – it wasn’t my argument – and actually it wasn’t even Wendy’s argument. Any rational person could see the argument was between Penelope, Rupert and Annie. Wendy hadn’t done anything wrong and neither had I.
That email had pushed me to my limit. It was ludicrous; it was ridiculous and it was all playground stuff. The bottom line was if Rupert hadn’t played away so close to home, none of this would even be happening. Drama is a spark that will extinguish when it is ignored and I did the sensible thing and ignored the email. I decided to stay clear of the lot of them. If I responded it would just add fuel to the fire, it would give Penelope something to gossip about with Camilla and quite frankly I was past caring what any of them thought of me. New Year’s Eve would be here before I knew it when my make believe bus would take them all over the cliff, never to darken my days again.
For one whole week Penelope ignored me, which didn’t upset me in the slightest. Penelope was acting like a toddler. She hadn’t got her own way and was stamping her feet. She could stamp them all she liked, I didn’t care. It gave me the opportunity to get on with my life without listening to her woes. It was always about her.
After a very quiet week and a Penelope-free Saturday night I was relaxed and enjoying myself, pottering around the Shack without the tedious schedule of meeting up with her every day. This very morning I was enjoying myself playing with Matilda and Daisy, something I felt I hadn’t been able to do with the training schedule that occupied my time. Hearing a knock on the door I made my way up the hallway to open it. There standing on other side was a tearful Penelope.
‘Can I come in?’ she sniffled.
Opening the door wide I gestured and welcomed her in.
Making our way up the hallway I put the kettle on and handed her the box of tissues. I secretly hoped that the tears were down to the fact that she had changed her mind about climbing the mountain the following week and had come to let me down gently. That would mean there would be no confrontation and an amicable friendship would continue. The best of both worlds.
Penelope spilt the beans that the tears were because of a niggling gut feeling that Rupert was still having an affair and she wanted me to help her find out with whom. My jaw dropped; why did she need my help and where was Camilla, her new best friend, to help her discover Rupert’s latest misdemeanours?
Why couldn’t Camilla take a turn at playing Dempsey and Makepeace with Penelope? I’ll tell you why, because she would gain nothing from finding out what Rupert was up to now, and if she started following him it may soon come to light that she herself had once been sneaking around with lover boy.
I wanted to inform Penelope that it seemed I was no longer good enough to be her friend but, in reality, she wasn’t good enough to be my friend. It was all take, take, take on her part and not once in the last few months had she ever asked how I was. Not that I would tell her if she did ever ask but I would have liked to have been given the choice. I still had her email – in a fashion. It was just about readable after being p
inned to the dartboard along with her mountain training plans, with numerous holes punched all over it.
Sighing to myself I took pity on Penelope and agreed to help her one last time.
Apparently Rupert claimed that he had landed a new job. I was surprised he hadn’t landed a sexually transmitted disease the way he seemed to put it about the village. He was now a supervisor, working shifts and the occasional weekend. He was still with the same company but had moved to a different department. He had taken to wearing a new set of blue overalls with the word ‘Supervisor’ stitched onto the back of them in neon yellow thread. I didn’t hold back and suggested to Penelope that she had absolutely nothing to worry about when Rupert wore the new uniform. Under no circumstances would any woman fancy him wearing those overalls, as he looked like an outcast from the Village People.
Penelope had a plan. Unfortunately I remembered her last plan, which resulted in a full-on cat fight in Home Bargains. Such class. Her plan involved me taking a copy of Rupert’s shift timetable and following him when he set off for work, to confirm that he was actually going where he said he was going. I suppose it wasn’t as though I had anything better to do with my time except look after my children, animals, Matt and fit in my part-time job.
‘Mission Infidelity’ was due to begin that night. I was so excited … not. It was Saturday night and yet again Penelope was impinging on my time. Matt was beginning to think he was single father always in charge of the children and I could see his point. Rupert’s shift was due to start at 7pm and I was to sit up the road and wait for him to pass me, then follow him to his destination. I took my satnav just in case I fell too far back and missed him make a turn – what I really wanted to do was go straight back home and crack open a beer. I had been sitting in the car since 5.30pm, which was Penelope’s idea to guarantee I didn’t miss him. There was no way I was going to miss a bloke with neon lettering across his back driving a black bubble car, was there?
As I set off on Mission Infidelity Matt was abandoned yet again with his arm around the dog, the children to put to bed and then a night of watching re-runs of Fawlty Towers until I returned. I did suggest maybe Penelope could keep him company but, after the death stare he gave me, I left the house immediately. I was dressed in dark clothing and wore a baseball cap, sunglasses and trainers – not at all conspicuous. I’ve no idea why I agreed to Penelope’s request to wear this stupid attire because Rupert would recognise the car anyway, regardless of what I was wearing.
I had received strict instructions to return with evidence – any evidence. While I was sitting in the car waiting for Rupert, I saw Annie drive through the estate. At least I had evidence that it wasn’t her that Rupert was meeting. Penelope would be pleased. I sent her a text to put her mind at ease. She went off on one with her reply, she was back to being the texter possessed!
How dare she drive through the estate, why can’t she go all the way around on the main roads, she had written.
Annie had every right to drive through the estate. The roads were public and I’m sure she paid her tax and insurance. I didn’t have time to respond to this outburst because at that very moment I’d spotted Rupert driving up the road in his bubble car. I’m not sure how he clambered into that car; it looked like his head was cranked to one side as he contorted himself to see out of the windscreen.
I set off after him in hot pursuit, well actually chugging along at twenty-five miles an hour. He drove for approximately fifteen minutes before pulling his car into the drive of a lovely, old thatched cottage. The cottage was surrounded by established trees, shrubs and beautiful brick archways with flowers clambering and entwined all around them. There was even a stream running through the front garden, complete with a little wooden bridge. Camilla would be miffed if she could see this now – there was loads of land attached to the property, something she could only dream of. This was my ideal home.
I imagined myself on the television programme Through the Keyhole.
‘Well who lives in a house like this?’ I muttered, complete with the silly accent.
That’s the question Penelope would soon be asking Rupert. Actually I wanted to live in a house like this, it was magnificent.
Rupert uncurled himself from the car, stretched out his legs and arms and went to retrieve a beautiful bouquet of flowers from the boot. The front door of the cottage opened and Rupert disappeared inside. I couldn’t quite make out who had opened the door, as I was currently hiding in one of the hedgerows with a thorny rose sticking in my backside and unable to move without letting out a squeal. I think it was safe to say there was only one type of ‘shift work’ Rupert would be participating in tonight.
I headed back to Penelope’s, being careful not to get the house mixed up with Wendy’s, convinced I had one of the thorns from the bush still stuck in my rear. When I arrived, I found Penelope pacing up and down her kitchen and shouting at Little Jonny for not completing his workbook quicker. In her agitated state she was clutching her mobile phone and showed me the messages she had sent to Rupert. He was lucky, she had only sent twenty-three messages so far! Goodness knows how many it would be by the morning. Rupert hadn’t replied to any of them. I therefore had two choices; I could comfort Penelope by telling her that Rupert would be unable to reply because he was at work in a factory and probably didn’t get a signal, or I could shatter her world further and tell her he was in the most gorgeous cottage you could ever imagine, about to start some overtime on his latest mistress who no doubt lived there. I did wonder what the heck he was doing turning up at the cottage in those shocking overalls. If that had been me I would have stopped off to change before I arrived to see the other woman. Not that I had any expertise in this area at all I should add.
I dived straight into the ‘shattering her world further’ option. This was selfish of me and I only took this option to avoid being sent out night after night to follow Rupert, while wearing this stupid disguise. Before I knew it Little Jonny had been bundled in the back of the car and we were driving towards the Shack. Her idea was to drop Little Jonny with Matt while I drove her to where Rupert was located. I sent Matt a quick text to warn him of the situation. I received a text back.
I would quite like my wife back, the Shack is going up for sale and when we move house make no friends and talk to no-one. He joked but there was a serious undertone.
Penelope was becoming a pain in the backside – a bit like the rose thorn which continued to stab me every time I sat down.
Matt opened the door of the Shack and Little Jonny clambered out of the car. The poor kid didn’t even have his shoes on.
Matt looked into the back seat of the car.
‘No Annabel?’ he enquired.
Oh gosh, I had forgotten all about Annabel, which just went to prove I had been hanging around with her mother way too long. Penelope had also forgotten all about her daughter – not for the first time I might add. She was fast asleep, tucked up in bed at home. Matt shot me a stern look, took Penelope’s house key from her and headed back there with all the children in tow. I had déjà vu when I glanced down at Little Jonny who was heading back home in his slippers. Like father, like son.
Mission Infidelity was now in its second hour and I’m sure Rupert would be looking forward to the second hour of his shift, no doubt hoping it was as rewarding as his first. I’m not sure what union he was with but I hoped he didn’t plan on going more than four hours without a break. I drove back to the thatched cottage and pulled up outside. Penelope just stared open-mouthed.
‘It’s b-b-b-beautiful,’ she stuttered.
I had the feeling that whoever owned this property would be beautiful too…
Penelope stomped up the gravel drive. She walked over the little bridge across the stream and rapped the lion’s head knocker onto the door. The time was now 9.30pm and I was more than a little peeved that yet again it was a Saturday night and not a drop of alcohol had crossed my lips. This was starting to become the norm. I commented on the prett
y clematis climbing up the front of the house and the roses tangled amongst them. Penelope shot me the death stare – which was a bit of a cheek, as I was the one giving up my evening tracking down her husband for her yet again.
The door of the cottage opened and both Penelope and I looked at each other in a state of shock – our jaws simultaneously hit the herringbone block doorstep. This was the first time in a long time that I genuinely didn’t know what to do or say, which is most unusual for me. The woman stood before us was dressed in exactly the same cardigan, top, trousers and shoes as Penelope. She was the spitting image of Penelope too. Her hair was the same, her complexion was the same, they were even the same height – they were like twins. She even had Penelope’s mannerisms. Penelope and the other woman just stared at each other before the other woman broke the uncomfortable silence. Penelope and I digested her words, one at a time.
‘He has done it again, hasn’t he?’
I was a little confused and I was supposed to be the intelligent one, so Penelope didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of figuring out what was going on. Every person has an unstable friend in their lives, yet here was I, stood with what looked like two unstable Penelopes. Why was I so unlucky?
The woman introduced herself as Charlotte and invited us into a magnificent period-style kitchen that looked like it was straight out of a Country Living magazine. I wanted to make an offer on this house there and then but surely the only thing on offer at this moment in time was Rupert’s head – or maybe his whole body – on a silver platter.
Charlotte offered us a cup of tea and watched us curiously while we scanned the area looking for Rupert. I didn’t see him in person but noticed a photograph on the wall of a young Rupert with his arms around Charlotte.
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 20
