As we rode past the school a toddler pointed at Penelope and shouted ‘Bike … Bike.’
This was the funniest thing I had heard in ages. At that age kids don’t know how to lie so I started to wonder if the toddler knew something about Penelope that I didn’t. Maybe she had been taking a leaf out of Rupert’s book and riding a few local blokes. My cycling companion went bright red and remarked that she found the toddler’s comments deeply embarrassing and insulting, until I reminded her he was just a toddler, pointing at her mode of transport.
The start of the ride went pretty slowly and we didn’t really have a route mapped out. We rode side by side which gave Penelope the chance to remind me that she was still going ahead with her bonfire party on the Saturday after Bonfire Night for the children in Little Jonny’s class. Well when I say all the children, that isn’t quite correct – she had invited all the children in the class except two. The first was Miles – Imogen’s son – and the other was Jacob – the dyslexic lad. Miles wasn’t invited because Penelope thought it would rile Imogen. Jacob wasn’t invited because Penelope had decided he wasn’t intelligent enough to mix with Little Jonny – her words, not mine. For everyone who thought the playground bully was a thing of the past, think again. They are now older and pushier than ever, breeding the next generation of bully in every town and village.
I kept quiet during the whole conversation. I thought it was absolutely diabolical that anyone would consider leaving two children out. How would those kids feel when everyone else was talking about the bonfire party? Penelope needed a firework up her backside to make her see sense. Jacob was no different to my Samuel. The only difference was that I had never told Penelope that Samuel was dyslexic too, so his invitation still stood.
My blood was starting to boil. I’ve said it before and I will say it again – the only thing that is wrong with primary schools is the mothers. If it wasn’t for the Playground Mafia the children would all get on together. It’s the mothers that create the cliques, it’s the mothers that segregate the children and choose the people that they think are good enough to play and become friends with their child and it’s the mothers who place pressure on the children to be the best in class.
There was only one thing for it. I made the decision that Samuel would not be going to the bonfire party. Instead, he would be having his own small firework party at home and Miles and Jacob would be invited.
That decision was bound to go with a bang when I finally got round to telling Penelope. It would also give Matt and me a legitimate reason to avoid yet another night at the Kensingtons’. Penelope was lapping up all the attention in the playground as the other mothers thanked her for their child’s invitation, one by one.
I watched from afar and for three days running saw Imogen handing tissues to Miles as he came out of school. I could only assume he was upset by the lack of a party invitation. Unfortunately for me I was involved by proxy just for being Penelope’s friend. It was at that moment that I decided to invite the excluded boys to our house on Saturday night. What’s the worst that could happen? The Kensingtons cancelling their holiday? Now that would be a result. They hadn’t even offered to pay towards the villa; they had just taken it for granted that it would be a free holiday.
As Imogen and Miles walked past me I grabbed Imogen’s arm.
‘Have you got a minute?’ I asked.
I could see Penelope watching from the other side of the playground, probably wondering why I was speaking to them both. Hopefully she would blast off in a rocket on Saturday night and never come back. Imogen was a little weary and Miles was heartbroken.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked.
‘What do you think?’ she curtly answered.
‘How about Miles comes over to the Shack on Saturday night and has a small firework party with Samuel and Jacob, how would he feel about that?’
Imogen appeared astounded.
‘That’s extremely kind of you.’
Miles wrapped his arms around my stomach and gave me a massive hug.
Penelope looked like she was about to give herself a hernia as she struggled to stay rooted to the spot, desperately trying to look like she wasn’t interested.
‘What about Penelope’s party?’ she responded.
‘I’m sure Penelope will have enough kids at her house to even notice we are missing and this way no-one has to miss out. See you Saturday about 6.30pm.’
Once Imogen had left the playground, Penelope was over quicker than a lit firework blasting up into the sky.
‘What was all that about?’ she demanded.
‘I was just inviting Miles over for tea. He’s had a very upsetting week at school,’ I replied.
There was no doubt that I was in for an interesting week. Penelope had spent an absolute fortune on fireworks, food and drinks for her party. She had gone over the top baking cakes and organising party bags. It wasn’t even anyone’s birthday, it was all about making Little Jonny popular and securing future invites to these so-called friends’ future parties. Samuel was entitled to choose his own friends – whoever he felt comfortable with – that was good enough for me.
Penelope had spent in the region of three hundred pounds to impress these kids. I, on the other hand, had baked some cakes with eggs from my own hens, bought a twenty quid box of fireworks and had some hot dogs and chips at the ready. For me it wasn’t about putting on a show, it was all about making the children feel happy and confident about themselves.
Penelope banged on all week about her party preparations. I, on the other hand, was glad I was going to be a mile up the road in the comfort of my own Shack.
Saturday night was upon us and Jacob and Miles arrived with big beaming smiles on their faces. We huddled around together in the garden. My children and the boys squealed with delight as they watched the fireworks whizz, crackle and bang in vibrant colours that flashed across the dark night sky. They stuffed their faces with hot dogs, chips and cake and we made toffee apples, which were delicious. The boys then retreated into the Shack and settled down to watch a film, all happy and all having the best time.
Then the text arrived from Penelope.
Are you thinking of arriving anytime soon x?
Sorry Penelope I forgot to mention we can’t make it tonight.
What do you mean you can’t make it?
No kiss at the end of the text. I smiled to myself. It would be the shouty capitals next.
I was disappointed in myself for behaving this way but I felt I needed to make a stand.
We are having our own firework party and Samuel has Miles and Jacob around for tea. Hope your party goes with a bang! Have fun, see you on Monday.
I would be able to hear the hissing and whizzing of Penelope’s temper over the noise of our Catherine Wheels and Roman Candles once she read that text. What Penelope thought of me was not important and I couldn’t care less. Penelope was bitter, insecure and it could be worse – I could be with her at this moment in time with almost thirty kids in the house. No doubt she would make Rupert clean up!
Twelve
December
The festive season was upon us – again. The weather in recent days had changed drastically and there was a proper wintery chill in the air. The snow was fresh and crisp on the ground. Temperatures had dropped to a whopping minus ten degrees.
I love this month, Christmas time is my favourite time of year. I love the hustle and bustle of the shops, the decorations, the Christmas trees, the twinkling of the fairy lights, the log fires burning and the dark, cosy nights. We had lived in the village of Tattersfield for almost a year now and it certainly hadn’t been dull.
Since I’d hosted the substitute bonfire party for the lads that had been snubbed by Penelope, she had not spoken to me. I had been relegated in her friend list, no doubt replaced by Camilla. That suited me just fine, especially as it meant I didn’t have to put up with her relentless self-important dialogue or follow her wayward husband at stupid o’clock in the morni
ng to ascertain his whereabouts. Rupert would be flush this Christmas, not having to buy numerous instances of the same presents for various women. Matt and I and our beautiful family were chugging along nicely in the Shack, enjoying the time to ourselves and looking forward to a lovely, chilled family Christmas.
The latest Playground Mafia rumour suggested that Penelope and Rupert were spending Christmas Day at Camilla Noland’s house, which was still up for sale. This hardly came as a surprise to me and confirmed that Penelope was still unable to spend any time alone with Rupert. I cringed as I imagined the likely topics of conversation that would dominate the lazy evenings on our holiday that they had gate-crashed; obviously women, shift work, boilersuits, sports cars, Christmas presents, etc., would be totally out of bounds.
School had now been closed for a couple of days due to the freezing snow conditions. The children loved the time off school, building igloos, sledging and generally having fun in the snow. I too was overjoyed that school was closed – probably more so than the kids – as it meant I didn’t have to make the school run, which gave me a break from the Playground Mafia.
It was the morning of Christmas Eve and Matt was finishing work at lunchtime. In the meantime, the children and I headed to the local hill for some general snow-based fun, pulling our sledges behind us. There were three other figures standing on the hill, glancing over in our direction. I noticed the familiar figure of Penelope sporting yet another new coat.
Penelope looked straight at me and ignored me which I really couldn’t believe after all the effort I had put in with her over the last nine months. My monster slippers had been laid to rest because of her. My poodle was no longer a virgin after she took his doggy-cherry at our summer BBQ and I had provided beds for her children – both of them – on numerous occasions.
Even from a distance I could see that Penelope looked sad. Maybe Rupert had decided he couldn’t afford to buy her – and therefore Charlotte – an iPad for Christmas. Or maybe he had finally come to his senses and left her.
I wanted to tell her not to worry, that she would meet some fabulous characters next week at the New Year’s Eve bash I had arranged for some ‘special’ friends. There would be Mrs HSM, Mr ISG, FP, BB and of course the opportunity to meet up again with the White Witch of Narnia. The bus would be picking her up at midnight and would drive her to her destination to party to her heart’s content.
However, I quickly decided it was her prerogative to ignore me and that suited me just fine. I carried on walking to the other side of the hill with the children, where we sledged for nearly two hours. When we finally decided to head home, Penelope was gone.
Christmas Day was a quiet, family affair for us. The children had a wonderful time and Matt cooked the dinner – like he does every year – while I put my feet up. This time next week in the Shack I knew would be complete mayhem. New Year’s Eve was approaching and we had come a long way in the last twelve months. There was no threat of spending New Year’s Eve with the likes of Mr ISG and Lois.
This year our good friends from back home were coming to stay for the weekend, after all it was my birthday too. We would be a little squashed in the Shack but Eva and Samuel would bed down on the inflatable air beds at the side of our bed, leaving some space for our guests. I was glad I didn’t have to inflict the pain of Penelope and Rupert on these quality friends. We had known Mark and Jane for over twenty years and they were the salt of the earth, a couple you could always rely on for anything. They had one young child so a night of games, drinking and general fun – once the children were tucked up safely in bed of course – was on the cards for all.
We decided to have a kitty for our evening and I offered to go and buy all the food and alcohol the day before. I purchased balloons, party poppers and enough food and drink to sink the Titanic; the party celebrations were waiting to begin.
When New Year’s Eve arrived the snow was falling lightly around the Shack. The log fire was burning and I sipped a small sherry while reflecting on the last twelve months. It had been eventful to say the least. I quickly concluded that I had made no new ‘real’ friends. A lot of people who had crossed my path were no longer speaking to me. Paddy Power was spot on with the odds of who wouldn’t go the distance. I had simply met people who wanted to use me in one way or another. I was probably a novelty being the new blood in the village. It was definitely a local village for local people. The playground scene was no different to the place I had left behind. All the same characters were in attendance; they just had different appearances and names and drove different cars. Considering we lived in the country, there were nowhere near as many 4x4s at this school as there were at the last school.
I symbolically raised my glass to wish the likes of Mr ISG, Lois, Mrs HSM, FP, BB, the White Witch of Narnia, Camilla Noland, Penelope and Rupert a ‘Happy New Year’ which I thought was very kind of me considering what they had all put me through in the previous twelve months. I chuckled to myself as I pictured them climbing onto the bus to be driven out of my life forever.
I was interrupted by a knock at the door. I was excited thinking that it would be our good friends arriving and shouted to Matt to hurry and open it for our guests. I waited for the inevitable chatter as people spilt down the hallway but none came, it was deadly quiet.
Matt popped his head around the living room door and said quietly, ‘It’s for you.’
Standing up I headed towards the front door. There standing in front of me was one of the people I was least expecting to see – Mr Fletcher Parker – Frisky Pensioner himself. He needed to get himself back home and wait for my bus to pick him up.
His hands were clasped behind his back.
‘Thank God for that,’ I thought. At least he wouldn’t be able to grope me again.
‘Can I help you?’ I asked.
This was the most polite I had been towards him in a while. Suddenly he swung his arms forward from behind his back and thrust a bottle of red wine straight into my chest. Well, at least it wasn’t his face.
‘I believe it is your birthday tomorrow, have a drink on me,’ he said, merrily.
I didn’t want a drink on him and I didn’t want to take the bottle from his sweaty hands but as his hands were still pressed against my chest, I needed to remove him and the bottle from my doorstep quickly. Before I knew it, he had me in a headlock and had thrust his lips onto mine, again. His geriatric ninja qualities didn’t end at silently creeping into houses, he could contort himself and his unwilling victim into a compromising pose faster than you could say ‘Bruce Lee’.
‘Happy Birthday,’ he mumbled as he un-puckered.
Why me? Why did it have to be my birthday? And more to the point, how did he even know it was my birthday? I stepped backwards, just as Mark and Jane’s car pulled onto the drive. Frisky Pensioner was startled and shuffled away quickly, still holding the bottle of wine.
Mark, slamming the car door, had witnessed Frisky Pensioner’s antics and reached out to grab the bottle from him as he passed.
‘She’ll need that to get rid of the vile taste in her mouth,’ he declared.
If FP was the geriatric ninja, Mark was definitely the wine ninja!
‘That’s the last time you will ever kiss me. Your bus leaves at midnight, make sure you are ready,’ I shouted up the road after him.
Mark and Jane looked at me with a puzzled stare.
I ushered Mark and Jane and their daughter Poppy inside and shut the door behind them. I then left them rolling around laughing in the hallway whilst I marched quickly to the bathroom to scrub my teeth. That wasn’t a great start to what I hoped would be a great night but I suppose it could be worse; I could be spending the evening with Penelope.
After my unexpected birthday kiss the party celebrations were properly underway. The buffet was prepared, the wine and beer were flowing and the children were all having a great time. They played games and sang songs, dressed in their pyjamas – it was better for them to be dressed in comfy stuff i
nstead of being trussed up like chickens, and we knew that we would be in no fit state to help any of the children get changed for bed later on.
With only a few hours until midnight the children snuggled down in one of the bedrooms with a pile of snacks to watch a film. That left the adults to drink more and become even merrier, if that was at all possible.
Then Mark asked, ‘What’s that banging noise?’
Matt, Jane and I stopped to listen but we couldn’t hear anything. We concluded that Mark was probably imagining things. After all, he’d already drank way too much alcohol.
‘There it is again!’ he exclaimed.
This time I thought I had heard something but was distracted by Jane handing me a birthday present to open. Technically it wasn’t my birthday for another few hours but I ripped open the paper anyway. I couldn’t believe my eyes; there inside the package was a brand new pair of monster slippers. And even better – they matched perfectly with the monster onesie I was wearing. I put them on and jigged around the living room showing them off to everyone.
The next song that blurted out from the stereo made me laugh.
It was ‘It’s Raining Men’, the song that was playing in the car on the way to the mountain climb with Penelope. I was more than merry by now, continuing to dance around in my comedy footwear.
‘Hey,’ I shouted over The Weather Girls. ‘At least these monster slippers will survive the antics of Rupert Kensington. I bet they are stuck with Camilla listening to Elvis records all night.’
Samuel entered the room, turned down the music and made an announcement.
‘Unfortunately for you they are not. They are standing in our hallway listening to you. That banging was them knocking on the front door.’
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 24
