Authors: Gil McNeil
‘Jack, stop it. And Archie, do your shoes up.’
Jack glares at me. ‘It’s ridiculous, that’s all. Just ridiculous.’
He stomps off upstairs and then comes back down with toothpaste all over the front of his sweatshirt so I do a quick spot of dabbing with a damp cloth while we’re putting our coats on.
‘Mum, Ben Taylor says my anorak makes me look like a minger.’
Archie’s busy having a hopping competition with himself, but pauses, balanced on one leg, ready to defend his brother against enemy forces disparaging his anorak.
‘Well, Ben Taylor’s a minger. I’ll tell him for you, if you like. I’ll go right up to him and say, “You’re a minger,” and then run away. I can run really fast, you know. I can run like the wind.’
Jack grins. ‘Yes, I know, you’re quite a good runner for your age.’
Archie hesitates, not sure whether ‘for your age’ is a put-down, until Jack smiles at him.
‘Yes, I am.’
I’m still trying to work out if ‘minger’ is as rude as it sounds, and needs to join our banned-and-never-to-be-heard-again list.
‘I think Ben sounds very silly, and you should ignore him.’
They both look at me and roll their eyes.
‘You can’t ignore him, Mum, or he’ll just keep doing it, it’s like Archie and Harry.’
‘Come on, let’s go. We need to walk quickly today, so no looking for conkers or we’ll be really late. And what’s like Archie and Harry?’
There’s a silence as I close the front door.
‘Jack, what’s like Archie and Harry?’
‘Harry just kept being horrible to Nelly all the time, that’s all. He kept calling her Nelly Belly. But now he’s stopped.’
I’ve got a funny feeling I’m not going to like this.
‘What did you do, Archie?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Archie.’
‘I just pushed him a little bit, and he fell right over, on purpose. And Nelly gave me some of her biscuit, and it was chocolate.’
‘Archie.’
‘And then he cried, but he’s a big baby and it was only pretending crying. And we had to sit on the mat and Mrs Berry said it was horrible to call people names and he mustn’t do it again. And you mustn’t push people or they can get hurt, and I had to say sorry.’
‘Right, well that’s right, because you could really hurt someone, pushing them. And did you say sorry nicely? Hold my hand now, while we cross the road.’
‘No, I didn’t. I said I was sorry he fell over but I wasn’t sorry I pushed him because calling people Nelly Belly was much more horribler than a little old push, and he’s a big baby for fussing. And if he doesn’t want to get pushed he should shut up calling people names. And Mrs Berry smiled, I saw her, and I got a sticker in painting, for Good Trying, but I got a hole in my paper and everything, so I think it was for pushing Harry really.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t.’
Actually, I’m pretty sure it was.
‘The best thing to do when someone calls you names is just ignore them. They’ll soon stop when they see you don’t care.’
‘Yes, but Nelly did care.’
I don’t want to encourage him in his role as self-appointed playground enforcer; he’s already got quite enough of the Vinnie side of the Jones family gene pool to be going on with, even if it is sweet of him to defend Nelly like that.
‘Try to be extra friendly today, to show you’ve forgotten all about it.’
‘But I haven’t.’
‘Archie.’
‘Oh, all right.’
A very small girl is ringing the bell so enthusiastically she’s almost falling over as we walk through the gates; they don’t go in for the rather brutal lining up in the playground in total silence thing like our old school used to favour, so stragglers can merge in with everyone else instead of doing the walk of shame across a silent playground. There’s a great deal of cheerful milling about, and you’re allowed to go inside with them and help hang up their coats, which seems to lead to much less stress and far fewer tears in Reception, so I don’t know why all schools don’t do it; it’s so much friendlier. But I suppose not all of them are interested in being friendly as long as their test scores are high enough.
Connie’s waiting for me in our usual spot by the bench under the big conker tree, as Jack and Archie go straight into their classrooms. Having Marco as a ready-made friend has really helped Jack a lot; he was so nervous on the first morning he couldn’t eat any breakfast, even though I’d made his favourite toasted bacon sandwiches. Archie had three, and seemed completely relaxed; he plays with Nelly every lunchtime, especially Narnia, their new favourite game – Nelly’s either the Witch or the Lion, and Archie’s usually the Wardrobe.
There’s a last-minute flurry of people arriving, including two small girls who arrive on their bikes and refuse to get off, and a girl from Archie’s class who he calls Nettle, which can’t be right. She’s having a last-minute ponytail adjustment when one of the big boys arrives with his leg in plaster, with his two younger brothers trailing behind him and doing impressions of his limp; he stops every few steps and turns round and they freeze, like they’re playing a new version of grandmother’s footsteps, and he gets more and more annoyed with them until Mr O’Brien comes over and the two shadow limpers start walking normally again.
Connie laughs. ‘Look at the little one, he’s doing it again.’
One of the toddlers has just been retrieved from Reception, which he tries to infiltrate most mornings. He tends to get very narky with his mum when she brings him back out, and he’s sitting down in the playground and taking one of his wellies off this morning, to stress quite how irritated he is.
His mum sighs. ‘Sam, please don’t do that. Let’s put it back on.’
He takes his other boot off, and chucks it as hard as he can. It’s easy to forget just what total nightmare toddlers can be; you only remember all the chubby kisses but forget the constant battles and ear-splitting shrieks, it’s like post-traumatic-stress disorder, but in reverse. Connie retrieves the welly and takes it back to him, and says something in Italian, which I’m guessing
is along the lines of Aren’t you a little bugger? but it sounds so lovely she gets rewarded with a cheeky smile. Maybe we could start a new trend: swearing at your child in a foreign language. Nobody would know, and you’d get to unburden yourself without feeling like someone was going to call Social Services. I think it could be a real winner, and I’m definitely going to get her to teach me a few handy phrases.
We’re walking towards the gate when I notice a woman heading our way holding a pile of pamphlets, wearing a sensible navy skirt and loafers, and a padded puffa jacket with a silk scarf knotted over pearls. Christ, I hope she’s not another über-Tory out recruiting. I’ve already had one in the shop, asking me to join the local Conservatives Mean Business, or Mean Conservatives in Business or whatever they call it, and the only way I could get rid of her was to out myself as a lifelong Labour voter, so now she keeps popping in with annoying and vaguely racist leaflets and trying to convert me; I think they probably get a special merit badge if they convert people to the Right Path. Or possibly a rosette.
She smiles at us, but it’s a rather scary smile.
‘I’m Annabel Morgan, and I’m president of our PTA.’
Oh, thank God for that.
She hands us each a leaflet.
‘I’ll be more than happy to answer any questions. This is my fourth year as president, so I know about most things, if I do say so myself. The committee were so insistent I felt I had to stand again, although I would have been more than happy to let someone else take the reins for a while, more than happy. It’s a great deal of work, as I’m sure you can imagine, but we all have to do our bit, don’t we?’
There’s something about the way she talks that makes you think she’s probably moved heaven and earth to keep hold of her presidency, and what’s more she’d knock you flat with a bulldozer if you tried to stand against her. I think she’s
probably one of the I’m-a-very-important-person PTA types, who are always telling you how busy they are, and tend to have unpleasant children, who you start out feeling sorry for, for having such an appalling mother, and end up wanting to hit with a bean bag. There are nice PTA people, of course, who make cakes, and spend ages sorting through lost property and covering all the books in the library in sticky-backed plastic. They’re usually the ones who end up volunteering to drive leftover kids home after parties; who funnily enough often turn out to be the kids of the Very Important Types, who are just too busy being Special to remember to pick them up.
‘It’s not obligatory, of course, but we do like to welcome new parents and ask them if they’d like to join us. We’re raising money for more IT equipment at the moment, which is so important, I’m sure you’ll agree.’
‘Oh, yes, definitely. I’ve been meaning to find out about the PTA. How much is it?’
‘Ten pounds a year.’
‘I’ll bring the money in tomorrow then. I can’t promise much in the way of help during school time, because I’ll be busy in the shop, but I’ll certainly do what I can.’
‘Oh yes, you’re Mary Butterworth’s granddaughter, aren’t you, from the wool shop, with the wonderful new window display?’
‘Yes.’
‘So clever. Although I do tend to pop up to John Lewis when I’m knitting for Harry. I only like to use pure wool – he has such very sensitive skin.’
‘Well, come in next time you’re passing, because we’ve got lots of new stock in.’
She smiles, but in a way that makes me feel like I’ve just knocked on her front door and tried to sell her a packet of dusters.
‘Actually I did want a little word, on another subject, if you’ve got a moment.’
She looks rather pointedly at Connie.
‘This is Connie Maxwell. She and her husband have just taken over the Anchor.’
She nods at Connie. ‘I hear the food’s rather good now. We must book a table soon.’
There’s an awkward silence, and she looks at Connie as if she were a waitress who’s lingering too long at her table.
‘I hope you won’t mind my mentioning this in public, so to speak, but there was something else I wanted to discuss. Your son Archie is in my son Harry’s class, I think.’
Oh. Bugger.
‘Yes, I think he is.’
‘There was an unpleasant incident yesterday, not the sort of thing we want to encourage at all. But I don’t suppose he mentioned it, did he?’
‘Oh, yes, we were just talking about it actually, and I’m sure it won’t happen again.’
‘Well, I was rather hoping he might apologise, perhaps after school, with both of us present? Harry said he didn’t do it properly yesterday, and I do think it’s important for our children to realise that we will not tolerate violence, don’t you?’
She’s speaking quite slowly, and very loudly, as if she’s dealing with people who aren’t as clever as she is. Christ, they’re always terrible bullies, the Very Important Types.
‘I think it was just a little bit of pushing, wasn’t it? And Mrs Berry seems to have dealt with it.’
‘Yes, Mrs Berry, who we all adore, of course, but she is sometimes, well, she doesn’t always focus on things quite like she might, and Harry was terribly upset last night.’
Connie makes a fuffing noise.
‘So was Antonella.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘My daughter, Antonella, she was very upset also, and if Archie is saying sorry, then Harry will say sorry to Nelly, yes?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you. You’re from Italy, aren’t you? We love Italy. We were in Florence for Easter last year – so civilised.’
So not only is she the leading light of the PTA but she’s also a cosmopolitan jet setter too. At least I think that’s the impression we’re meant to be getting.
Connie glares at her.
‘Archie was only, how do you say, sticking out for Nelly.’
Connie’s looking quite angry now, so I think I’d better step in and try to sort this out or there might be a bit more pushing in the playground.
‘Apparently Harry’s been teasing Nelly, for a few days, calling her silly names, which is very upsetting when you’re only little – quite upsetting when you’re big, too.’
I try a small smile, but she’s having none of it, and some of the other parents are definitely listening. How perfect; at this rate we’ll be banned from joining the PTA before we’ve even joined.
‘I’ve talked to Archie, as I said, and he does know that pushing people is wrong, and I’m sure Harry knows he mustn’t tease people. And Mrs Berry will keep an eye on things. But if you think it would help, why don’t I have them all round to tea? They can all make biscuits, they always love that, or if you’d rather ask them to apologise again, then I imagine you meant Harry would apologise to Nelly, too, didn’t you? Otherwise we’d be sending out a very mixed message, wouldn’t we?’
She gives me a terrifying look, like she’d set the hounds on me if only she had some handy. Actually I can just see her sitting on a horse like a total snooter, blowing a bugle.
‘Yes, well, I’m so glad we had this little chat. It’s so important to be vigilant of course, but perhaps if we keep an eye on things for now … I must just pop into the office – official business you know, it never stops, there’s always so much to do. So sweet of you to ask Harry round to tea, but he does have a very
full schedule after school. I’ll look at the diary and get back to you shall I? Super.’
She nods at the other parents as she storms across the playground.
Bloody hell.
Connie mutters in Italian, including something which sounds like porking Madonnas.
‘You must teach me a few phrases. They’ll be so handy for Venice with my mum.’
She laughs. ‘In Venice they have different ones.’
‘Yes, but she won’t know that.’
‘Are you really having Harry to make biscuits?’
‘I bloody hope not, but it was the only way I could think of to shut her up.’
We seem to be getting lots of extra smiles and nods as we walk to the gates, so I get the feeling our president isn’t quite as popular as she likes to think she is; but I’d also be willing to bet a fair bit of money that our chances of winning anything in a PTA raffle in the next year or two are now extremely slim. Not even the ubiquitous third-prize box of squashed chocolates from the local shop. And guess who’ll be holding the sick bucket on any coach trips if she’s got anything to do with it? Double bugger.