The Misadventures of a Playground Mother (10 page)

I
climbed
into the car and locked the doors, feeling relieved that I was now in a man-free environment. I guessed I would be waiting a little over half an hour for Penelope to return if her endurance skills were better than mine. It was freezing and all I had for company was an Alexander O'Neill CD – Mr Smooth himself – but on the plus side, I suppose that was better than spending another minute in the snooker hall.

Forty minutes later, the wannabe daters started to filter out from the snooker hall. High-fiving each other as they left the building, they were obviously celebrating a successful night.

Ten minutes later, I was still waiting for Penelope to materialise. Even Marjorie had left the building clutching the list of daters tightly as if it were the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, and no doubt chalking up another successful night in her mind.

I was beginning to get cold and a little agitated so I made the brave decision to re-enter the snooker hall in search of the absent Penelope. It did cross my mind that maybe she had copped off and sneaked out the back door of the building but then I remembered the calibre of the males we had observed. Surely, Penelope had drawn the same conclusion I had and ditched all the potential dates?

Inside the snooker hall, the lights were now off and it was in complete darkness. Penelope was nowhere to be seen. I remembered the light switch was situated near the blue door marked private that I had observed on the way in. I carefully manoeuvred my way over to it, being careful not to trip over any tables or chairs on the way.

I successfully reached the light switch without bruising my leg and flicked it on. The fluorescent tubes started flickering and popping to life, bathing the area in artificial light once more. I surveyed the area a number of times but there was no sign of Penelope anywhere in the room. How very peculiar I thought, where the hell had she disappeared to? Never mind a ditch or date event; this could very well progress into a murder mystery evening. I had suffered enough. I removed the car keys from my pocket, and decided there was nothing else to do except to head home.

I flicked the lights off again and ventured back outside. I could feel the temperature had dropped; it was only the beginning of March and even though there were signs that spring was approaching, it was still very chilly late at night. Shivering and glancing around the car park, I spotted another parked car. Alarm bells started to ring and I wondered if Penelope had been kidnapped or worse.

I hurried back towards the building in a panic, and with little regard for my own safety, acrobatically dodged the tables and chairs like a middle-aged version of Wonder Woman and flicked the lights on again. Still no sign of Penelope, where on earth could she be? Suddenly I had a brainwave, I could just phone her! I reached into my pocket for my mobile, dialled Penelope's number and waited nervously.

Over the hum of the bar chillers, I heard the faint sound of a phone ringing – not just any phone but Penelope's phone. I would recognise that ringtone anywhere. It was the distinct sound of the Weather Girls' ‘It's raining men' I had heard it many a time.

I listened carefully, homing in on the direction of the sound. It had to be Penelope's phone and surely, Penelope's phone was with Penelope although she was taking her time answering. The ring led me to the painted cream doors that concealed the toilets, which thankfully, I had managed to avoid for the entire evening.

By the time, I reached the door the ringing sound had stopped so I placed my ear close to the surface of the door, being particularly careful not to make any type of contact. There was not a sound to be heard so I dialled Penelope's number again. I heard her phone ring again loud and clear, ‘It's raining men,' blaring out from behind the door of the disabled toilet.

Penelope clearly needed my help; maybe the poor woman had collapsed, or was hurt in some way. I looked down and noticed the lock was broken so I grabbed the handle and threw the door open. My heart was nearly jumping out of my body and I was feeling genuinely guilty that I had abandoned her and left her to fend for herself. What sort of friend must I be?

My jaw hit the floor as the Weather Girls belted out ‘Hallelujah!' and my eyes observed the sight in front of me.

He was definitely not tall, blonde, and lean as the song goes. He had a Jonny Vegas look about him and was wearing the same psychedelic shirt I had the misfortune of being confronted with earlier, which immediately dazzled me. When my eyes eventually refocussed, I could see Penelope's gold spandex dress was hitched up over her hips and she was bent over the washbasin. Mr Vegas was holding his shirt under his double chin, which flapped in time to the thrusting movement I was witnessing.

From Penelope's moaning, I gathered that the real name of the Jonny Vegas look-alike was Clive. At least she had enquired as to his name – he began shrieking, ‘You have reached your destination.'

A mortified Penelope squinting into the mirror hanging on the bog wall in front of her finally noticed me standing there.

Losing her footing – probably due to exhaustion from her shenanigans – she fell to her knees. Vegas must have thought his luck was in and shouted gleefully, ‘Yeah baby!'

Banging – no pun intended – her head on the cracked washbasin Penelope instinctively reached for the long, white cord hanging from the ceiling in an attempt to steady her fall. A shrill alarm echoed through the snooker hall and red lights began flashing inside the disabled toilet. She had inadvertently activated the rescue alarm.

Mr Vegas, now realising they had company, released his shirt from his chin, pulled his beige trousers over his boxer shorts and fled the disabled toilet, knocking me over in his hurry to escape.

Penelope scrambled to her feet muttering, ‘I'll see you in the car.' I turned around hastily and headed away, allowing her to maintain a little dignity.

She emerged slowly and tottered down the snooker hall steps, eventually removing her heals to expedite her progress to the car. Penelope made her way towards the driver's side of the car. I had removed the Alexander O'Neill from the CD player, and was already sitting behind the wheel with the engine running. I flashed the headlights at her to open the passenger door. Once she was safely sitting inside, I put the car into gear and pulled out of the car park. Neither of us spoke; we drove home in complete silence. I vowed never to return to any snooker hall ever again in this lifetime.

Penelope's plan was to become a sexy saucy seductress; the only thing she accomplished was a dirty bang with a Jonny Vegas lookalike in the ‘disabled' toilet in the snooker hall. As plans go, I considered the speed-dating experience one epic failure.

A
fter the insane
speed-dating debacle, decided I didn't need any more of Penelope's madcap ideas or anyone else's for that matter, and I kept myself to myself as much as I possibly could. Some mornings, I was glad to escape out of the house for a brisk walk, with the dog in tow, stumbling across an idyllic countryside path up the lane and over the fields for some fresh country air.

Life was beginning to settle down. Penelope too kept her distance, which probably had more to do with the embarrassment of the situation. I, on the other hand, was glad, and I never wanted to witness Penelope in that dress ever again.

The house rang with Matt's laughter the night I arrived home after speed-dating. I'd rather never visualise that moment again. Needless to say, no emails from Marjory seeking to fix me up on a successful date, pinged in my inbox that night or any other.

Melanie was becoming a regular visitor to the Farrier next door. The realisation that Camilla had duped both of them with her games all those years ago saddened both the Farrier and Melanie; they'd missed many happy years together. Melanie and my friendship was blossoming. Every morning we stood chatting together in the school playground, and she would often walk with me when I dropped Matilda and Daisy at pre-school. On many occasions, we would grab a cuppa after the morning school run. I really liked Melanie; there were no hidden agendas with her. I could be myself and we weren't in competition over the children, and to be honest, we barely talked about them. She was a different kettle of fish from Penelope. We were certainly on the same wavelength.

One morning after returning home from walking the dog, Melanie rapped on the door to share her wonderful news. Opening the door, she was standing before me with a beaming smile that spread from ear to ear.

‘Are you sleeping with the Farrier?' I asked.

‘Who said that?' she replied, laughing.

‘You just did, when you didn't say no! Busted!' I laughed.

There was only one way to celebrate – a slice of Victoria Sponge and a cup of tea. Oh, and I wanted to hear all the details!

The marvellous news didn't end there; the Farrier was determined not to waste any more time being without Melanie and after careful consideration and approval from his daughter Rosie, both invited Melanie and Dotty to move into their home with them. They were going to be one happy family.

‘Jeez, that was quick but don't get me wrong I am really pleased for you.'

‘I know,' replied Melanie ‘but we have just picked up where we left off all those years ago and if you know that you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, why not? We don't need to ask our parents' permission.'

‘Well in the Farrier's case that would be difficult, his father is dead and goodness knows where Iris Fletcher-Parker is.' I joked.

‘We are going to be neighbours!'

‘I'll drink to that,' chinking my cuppa against Melanie's mug.

After all these years, Melanie's feelings towards the Farrier had never disappeared; he was ‘the one', the man she wanted to grow old with. I was overjoyed for both of them, I was a sucker for a love story, and they made a lovely couple.

Clearly, Penelope wasn't thrilled for Melanie when I bumped into her at the end of the lane on the afternoon school run. I thought it was general chitchat sharing such delightful news.

Storming off towards the playground, she left me for dust and I shook my head in disbelief. I struggled with the logic behind it all; Penelope was clearly jealous for whatever reason. Perhaps she was afraid that Melanie might become an even closer friend of mine. To me it was insane; Penelope falling out over a toy – was that really worth it? Melanie's view on it all revealed it was a genuine slip-up – I hadn't doubted that for a second – just an extra present scooped up in haste with all the others.

Penelope, for some reason, considered Melanie a rival; someone she must struggle against for my attention. Even though at times it was quite amusing, at others it was tiresome and frankly, I was getting a little fed up with dancing to Penelope's tune. In fact, those dancing shoes were long disposed of in the recycle bin when I made my New Year's resolution. The speed-dating was a slight blip. However, I was back on track.

Oh the joy of it all, on my very arrival at the playground there appeared to be a minor dilemma. Penelope and Melanie were standing on either side of the patch of playground where I always stood. Their arms were folded and both were ignoring each other. I, as usual, was piggy-in-the-bloody-middle.

Positioning myself between the two women, I spoke, ‘Before either of you huff or puff or say anything I feel you ladies need to recapture your sanity. Are the pair of you never ever going to speak again because of a child's birthday present? There I'd said it; taking my life into my own hands I'd put it out there when it was absolutely nothing to do with me. Silently they stared at each other. To be quite honest, this wasn't Melanie's doing and I felt a little awkward for putting her on the spot, but since we had to stand here every day, even if they had no intention of becoming best buddies, it would make for a more comfortable atmosphere if they at least acknowledged each other. Scrutinising Penelope's expression, I couldn't predict which way this was going to end up.

Thankfully, Melanie chiselled through the tension, and held out her hand. We waited hoping Penelope would reach out and grasp the olive branch being offered. Luckily, for all of us, Penelope swallowed her pride and did just that.

Saved by the school bell, the children came running out chattering excitedly about their school day.

‘Mum, we had my favourite lunch today,' Eva excitedly told us all.

‘Erm ... Let me guess, it wouldn't be spaghetti bolognese by any chance would it?' I grinned.

‘How do you know that?' asked Samuel seriously.

‘I think the tomato sauce smeared around Eva's face and spilt down her polo shirt was a dead giveaway,' Melanie joined in, giggling.

Eva looked down at her shirt and burst out laughing.

‘Mum, I have a letter for you here,' Little Jonny handed the letter to Penelope.

‘Here's Dotty!' Melanie stated as we watched her skip towards us.

‘Have you had a good day at school?' Melanie asked Dotty.

‘I loved literacy today we had to write about poem about something life changing.'

‘Ooh what did you write about Dotty?' I asked.

‘My poem was all about changing school and making new friends.'

‘That's lovely.'

Penelope interrupted the chatter of the children. ‘Have you seen this?' she asked thrusting the letter towards us.

We all quickly perused the letter headed up in bold black with the title, THE PTA NEEDS YOUR HELP.

‘What do you think of this?' Penelope enquired.

‘What do I think of what?' I answered. In the pit of my stomach, I hoped I was wrong that Penelope wasn't going to suggest we all jolly along together and join the Petty Tedious Army.

‘I think we should unite and enlist our help.'

I think it's best when Penelope doesn't think at all.

Melanie began smirking behind Penelope's back. ‘Penelope, this has your name written all over it, you are a fantastic people person with great communication skills and anyone who is anyone will totally respect you. Not only that, just think; there will be many advantages to this role; you would even secure front row seats at all school productions in the future,' Melanie stated.

It seemed that only I noted the sarcasm in her tone.

‘I completely get what you mean,' Penelope responded smiling.

I, on the other hand, thought this was a disastrous suggestion.

‘What about you, Rachel?' Melanie guffawed.

I shook my head. ‘There's no rush for me, my primary school sentence has a few years left to run, plenty of time,' I replied with equal sarcasm, and I grinned at Melanie.

Watching Penelope saunter off the playground, I knew that by seven tonight my phone would ping with a text message telling me that Penelope was going to be the newest PTA representative. I wasn't disappointed. At exactly seven o'clock, while juggling with Matilda and Daisy and trying to get them ready for bed, I heard my phone ping over the theme tune to Emmerdale that was blaring out from the television in the living room.

O
o-er
! The very next morning, saw Penelope in the playground dressed up to the nines, and looking very smart. Wearing my usual attire that entailed wellies and scruffy mud-splattered jeans, I was grubbier than usual. I had been fighting with an escaped chicken that decided the grass looked greener in the garden next door. It then flew into the brutal jaws of the neighbouring dog. Wrestling with the dog, I finally released the hen from its mouth.

‘Goodness, where are you going to?' Melanie asked Penelope.

My gut instinct told me I didn't need to enquire what Penelope was up to; this outfit oozed her new PTA status.

Melanie and I exchange a knowing glance.

‘I'd like to formally introduce myself as the new chairperson of the PTA,' Penelope said, stretching out her hand.

Reaching forward to cup her hand, Melanie said ‘Nice one.'

‘Congratulations! That will be nice for you,' I chipped in.

‘It was a gruelling application process, interviews with Bridget, the head teacher, discussions with the previous chairperson, not to mention the grilling I received from the governors.' Penelope gloated.

‘Hark at Penelope now on first-name terms with the headmistress, anyone would think she was the new prime minister!' whispered Melanie.

I knew Penelope was prone to exaggeration but I let her run with it and have her moment. We had only received the letter the previous evening and three hours later she'd texted me to say her application had been successful; any sane person would surmise from that it was more likely no one had been daft enough to apply for the role.

Excited to be assigned her first mission on her very first day, Bridget the headmistress formally allocated her the task of organising a uniform sale.

‘What an excellent idea rummaging through other people's old clothes,' Melanie said sarcastically.

Penelope explained to us she had one week to design a leaflet to be distributed amongst the children notifying them of the sale. The idea behind it all was to benefit those families that might struggle to purchase uniform at costly prices; this way, any second-hand uniforms in good condition could be sold on, for next to nothing. Overall, I thought it was a superb idea. Various items of uniform, which were no longer worn, were still hanging in our wardrobes with their labels intact. It would give me the chance not only to have a clear-out, but also to help some other families from the school.

There was nothing too taxing about Penelope's first mission. Firstly the designing of the leaflet, followed by setting a date, then the washing and ironing of the donated uniforms, and lastly hanging them on little rails in the hall ready for mums to purchase.

Changing my mind, I considered this would provide Penelope with something to focus on. Keeping busy was a positive move forward; she was still unemployed and small tasks would keep her mind off Rupert's latest antics.

It was rumoured that Rupert was coping fairly well with his new life; this really didn't surprise any of us, because his life was exactly the same now as it had been when he was living with Penelope. The only difference was that he had acquired a bachelor pad and entertained his women without the need to sneak around. Let's face it, he must have thought all his Christmases had come at once. A string of women were often witnessed leaving his pad at various hours of the day and night.

Penelope was aware of the rumours circulating in the village regarding Rupert's women, but she chose to stay strong and hold her head up high. I was beginning to admire her determination to stick to her guns. She threw herself into the PTA wholeheartedly. Her high-heeled shoes were resurrected from the deep dark depths of her wardrobe (all except the hooker gold ones from the speed-dating fiasco – which were certainly best forgotten); power suits were pressed and worn with pride, which led to an all-new, very confident Penelope.

Penelope took her role seriously –– she flitted in and out of the school office mingling with the teachers and assistants at every opportunity. Her new position had given her a sense of standing within the school circle. She was now somebody. Any excuse to use the photocopier or acquire stationery gave her the opportunity to poke her head into the children's classrooms, ensuring Little Jonny was securing his lead at the top of the reading scheme display board. I was all for this new importance, it gave me the opportunity to spend some quality time with myself.

My influx of unoccupied time, now with the children attending school and pre-school, led me to thinking. Walking the dog each day over the fields supplied me with ample time to myself, but I'd noticed something recently. Not only were my jeans becoming tighter, but also orange peel type dimples were beginning to appear on the top of my arms – not an attractive look. It was true, that becoming content with life only meant one thing, the pounds were starting to pile back on.