School Run
The School Run
Sophie King
Copyright © Sophie King 2005, 2012
This edition first published 2012 by Corazon Books (Wyndham Media Ltd)
145-157 St John Street, London, EC1V 4PW.
First published in Great Britain in 2005 by Hodder and Stoughton
Sophie King has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, organisations and events are a product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organisations and events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for the enjoyment of the purchaser only. To share this ebook you must purchase an additional copy per recipient. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Contents
Tales from the Heart bonus stories
Divorce for Beginners bonus chapters
To my late mother Sally, who always knew I would. And to my wonderful children William, Lucy and Giles, whose antics nearly made sure I didn’t!
Also to my father Michael and sister Nancy.
MONDAY
1
HARRIET
‘This is Capital Radio and it’s nearly seven a.m. on a lovely bright summer morning . . .’
‘The
phone
! ForGod’ssakewillsomeonegetthephone? Who’s taken it? Why doesn’t anyone put the flipping thing back when they’ve finished? Find it, Bruce – quickly. It might be Dad.
Great. It’s stopped. Now look what you’ve done. Can you hear me or am I just screaming at myself? ‘OhforGod’ssake don’ttellmeyou’renoteven
up
? Do you know what time it is? Kate, out of bed, now, or I’ll take you to school without you. Yes, I know that doesn’t make sense, but you’re fuddling my brain. No, Bruce, I don’t know where your school trousers are.
Don’t
say they’re still in the tumble-dryer.
Doorbell! Get it, someone. No, Kate, you
can’t
open the packet. It’s for Dad. Where do you want me to sign? Right. You wouldn’t like to drop the kids off on the way, would you? Just joking.
Quick
. It’s the phone again. Got it? Charlie? . . . Oh, Pippa . . . No, that’s fine. Just a bit frantic this end, that’s all . . . I see. Poor you. Maybe it’s that virus. Half Bruce’s class has got it. Oh, and Pippa? We might be a bit late. OK?’
‘We’re coming up to eight a.m. and it’s nearly time for the news. This is Capital Radio, bringing you the latest –’
Harriet switched off the radio, squeezed her pelvic floor up to the third storey and crunched into fifth gear instead of third. Charlie’s gears were different from hers but it made sense to use his bigger car while he was away. The steering was heavier too and her hands were sweating (gosh, it was warm today) on the steering wheel. There was also the smell of cheese and onion crisps, which she’d foolishly allowed them to eat last week, despite Charlie’s No Food in the Car rule – she’d have to clean it before he got back. A quick squirt of Chanel should help.
Squeeze, squeeze
. Only recently, when she’d sneezed, had she realised she’d got so . . . well, out of condition. The book she’d bought had suggested doing exercises in the car or when she was washing up. You pretended your inside was a lift, going up three storeys and then down, one by one. She always descended in a splodge.
I might as well slap an ‘Out of Order’ notice on myself, thought Harriet, grazing the kerb as she swung out into the main road. Bother. She’d only just had the rear tyres replaced last week even though they weren’t that old. ‘Wear and tear,’ the garage chap had said, when she’d balked at the size of the bill. ‘Volvo tyres don’t come cheap.’
‘But I only use it for school runs and the odd bit of shopping,’ she had protested.
The mechanic had grimaced. ‘School runs are the worst. All that stopping and starting. Wears the tyres out.’
And to think the government wanted more kids to walk to school, thought Harriet, wryly. Fine, if you live round the corner or have a chauffeur, like most of the cabinet, but it would take hours for Kate and Bruce to get to St Theresa’s and, besides, she wouldn’t consider them crossing these roads on their own. Anyway, the school run gave you time to talk to the kids and catch up with their news and gossip. Anything to divert them and deflect questions on when Daddy was coming home.
‘Don’t you have a spelling test today, Kate? . . . Kate, will you listen to me or shall I get your hearing checked again?’
‘She’s got her iPod on, Mrs Chapman. Shall I tell her you’re trying to talk to her?’
Harriet squinted as the low sun momentarily blinded her, flicked her fringe out of her eyes (she really must book that cut before Charlie got back on Friday) and wondered, not for the first time, why her kids couldn’t be as polite as Pippa’s.
‘Thank you, Beth. That would be very kind.’
‘Kate, your mum’s trying to talk to you.’
‘Wha’?’
Harriet yanked down the sun visor, took a deep breath and a sharp corner at the same time. ‘The word “what” had a T in it the last time I looked. Anyway, it’s “sorry” or “pardon”.
I said, haven’t you got a spelling test today?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Well, you’ve either got one or you haven’t. Pass me the list.’
‘That’s dangerous, Mum,’ said Bruce, sternly. ‘You can’t read and drive at the same time.’
Couldn’t she? She could put on her lipstick – with the spare she kept in Charlie’s glove compartment – do her pelvic floor squeezes
and
drive simultaneously. She’d only got three points on her licence, which was nothing compared with some of her friends, but they niggled. One of the mums at school had lost hers altogether after one too many ladies’ lunches and it was costing her a fortune in taxis. Still, that’s what they all were, weren’t they? Unpaid taxis doing the school run and the husband-to-station run.
When
your husband happened to be at home.
Swiftly she glanced at the spelling list, then back at the road.
‘Hyacinth,’ she said. ‘How do you spell that?’ Someone, she noticed, had tied a fresh bunch of roses to the lamp post at the corner of Acacia Road. There had been flowers there for over two years and they always made her shiver. So many people seemed to do that now, when their loved ones had accidents. Far more effective than those ‘Speed Kills’ signs but horribly macabre. Like having a coffin open at a funeral. She slowed down automatically, as she approached the new speed bumps.