The Misadventures of a Playground Mother (24 page)

N
ew Year's Eve
in ‘The Queen's Head' was nothing special. The pub could definitely have done with a bit of a sprucing up; the main entrance was usually surrounded by smokers gathered to get their fix of nicotine and it felt as if you had passively smoked ten cigarettes before you had even made it inside. The ladies' toilets appeared to have been painted so many times, that there was a kaleidoscope of colour in the areas where the paint had peeled. Despite its many shortcomings though, it was a convenient place to drink with no taxi costs.

Pushing our way in through the crowds of people, the atmosphere was jovial. It was fast approaching 11.30 p.m. The live band in the corner was belting out tunes from the eighties and requests were encouraged. Most drinkers had long abandoned all sense of decorum and the dance floor was full of inebriated youths, enjoying their night with no intention of going home any time soon. Every one of them were eyeing up the remaining members of the opposite sex on the dance floor in the vain hope of copping off with a stranger before the clock struck midnight. I was glad those times of my life were over; it made me exhausted just looking at them.

Rupert managed to grab us a vacant table in the corner of the pub while Matt and the Farrier fought their way through the crowd of people gathered at the bar. The majority of them were swaying from side to side and slurring their words shouting ‘Happy New Year' even though there were still thirty minutes to go until we linked arms for the traditional Auld Lang Syne.

There seemed to be some kind of additional frenzy in the corner of the bar. Melanie, Sue and I turned swiftly towards the raucous cheer. Our eyes widened and our mouths fell open as we identified the person causing the commotion. There was no mistaking BB, who no longer had her feet on the ground – which was an occupational hazard for her – as she stood brazenly on the polished oak bar high above the punters waiting to be served.

She looked as if she was laced with every type of alcohol available, right down to her knickers which she was parading for the world and his wife to see. Melanie mouthed over the loud music, ‘I'm just glad she is actually wearing some,' and winked.

It was cringe city, and judging by the hysteria that was going on around her, she was clearly arousing the majority of slobbering excuses for males, who were standing in front of her videoing her little performance on their phones which no doubt would provide them with additional entertainment when they returned home.

One bloke zooming in on her chest could be heard slurring, ‘look at those beauties,' then ‘damn,' when the battery died and the phone shut down. She was a party animal – there was no denying that – but I was momentarily lost for words. BB was now swinging her arms around in circles like she was about to launch a shot-put.

Melanie, Sue and I exchanged a knowing smile; we knew the lyrics to the next song very well and it was only a matter of time before BB took a tumble. She put her hands on her hips and brought her knees in tight – which was an unusual position for them to be in.

‘Here goes,' Melanie laughed as BB launched exuberantly into the pelvic thrust – which was much more up her street – and slipped off the edge of the bar, toppling onto the beer swilling gawping males below.

The lads returned with the drinks, which was my cue to fight through the crowds and nip to the toilet before the clock struck midnight. Stepping over a few comatose bodies on the floor and numerous strangers that were in very compromising positions, I was relieved to find there was no queue for the ladies'.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I admired my wig, which didn't look too bad and was genuine enough so nobody on the school run had guessed I was wearing one. Still studying my reflection in the mirror, the cubicle door flung open behind me and I couldn't believe my eyes. There standing in the doorway was a very pregnant Penelope.

I'd managed to avoid any contact with her since the episode at the summer fair. She was hanging on to the frame of the door looking completely shell-shocked, her talons digging into the flaky paintwork.

‘
I
t's coming
,' Penelope panted, ‘the baby is coming.'

It was just my luck that I had needed to go to the toilet at this very moment. Why me? Why bloody me?

The look on her face told me this was no exaggeration and the time between her contractions suggested the baby was well and truly on its way.

‘BB isn't answering her phone; I've tried to ring her but there is no answer.'

I knew very well that it was highly unlikely that BB would hear her phone, never mind answer it. She was too busy putting it out at the bar for the men who were drooling over her.

I hadn't known they had patched their friendship up, but since neither of them had anyone else in the village, I guess it was no surprise.

Neither of them had moved on since last year; at the very start of this year, BB was entertaining more than one frisky pensioner in the pub and Penelope was about to give birth on a reeking pub toilet floor. I supposed it was a step up from the disabled toilet in the snooker hall where the conception had taken place.

I took off my cardigan and laid it over a patch of the beige dimpled tiles, trying not to imagine the delights it would absorb. The practicality of trying to move Penelope was too complicated and it was way too late. Clutching her bump in agony, the contractions were becoming more frequent and it was clear she wasn't going to hold the child in for much longer. She lay down on my cardigan on her back, raised her knees, and begged me not to leave her. I prayed someone else would venture into the toilets soon so I could send them for help; I had never known a ladies' loo so empty before – ever.

‘Take off your tights,' I instructed bravely, ‘I'll have to have a look at what is going on down there.'

For once Penelope didn't protest and did as I asked; she was breathing very heavily now and she wasn't the only one. I had no clue what it was like at the other end until now. Struggling out of her tights and knickers, she lay back down on the toilet floor.

Penelope was becoming panic-stricken. ‘Can you see the head?' she yelled at me. She held on to my hand and squeezed tight, in fact so tight, that I started to lose feeling in it.

To be honest, I'd done some things in my time but looking at Penelope's nether regions was certainly beyond the call of duty. I had found it difficult living with the image of her bonking the Jonny Vegas look-alike the night of the speed-dating incident and never in a million years had I ever anticipated I would be present at the birth.

Marjorie would have a field day if she got wind of this little gem. I cast my mind back to the wannabe Cilla Black, who for four years – according to her – had successfully run her speed-dating business from the snooker hall. In all that time, she hadn't managed to fix up a single, solitary date, but a speed-dating baby would certainly put her back on the map; the publicity she could milk from this would be very beneficial. Penelope had her first potential candidate for the role of godmother.

Penelope cried out in pain. ‘It's coming, it's coming,' she panted.

‘Just keep calm and breathe through the contractions,' I replied.

‘I DON'T WANT TO KEEP CALM!' she yelled. ‘I WANT IT OUT NOW.'

Believe me; I wanted it out just as much as she did. Where the bloody hell were Sue and Melanie? Surely, they must have noticed I was missing by now.

‘You are doing really well, not long left now,' I reassured her. I actually had no idea how much time was left.

‘I want to push, it's coming,' she insisted.

I wished someone would come and help; where was everyone? Apart from Penelope screaming, the only other thing I could hear in the background was the sound of the hokey-cokey playing out from the jukebox.

‘I can feel the head.'

‘Are you sure?' I enquired.

Penelope nodded. She was pale and sweating heavily.

I thought how ironic it was that after the crap Penelope had put me through for the last two years, I was the one to deliver her baby.

‘I don't want my baby to be born in a toilet,' she screamed.

I wanted to remind her that it was conceived in a toilet but then I remembered she was entitled to be a bit tetchy giving birth with no pain relief in sight.

Glancing down I could see the head.

‘The head is crowning, I can see the head.'

‘I know, I can feel it, I need to push again.'

‘Penelope this baby isn't hanging about, it's nearly here, on the next contraction push as hard as you can.'

The contraction was coming; I could tell by the pain in her face.

‘You bastard,' Penelope started screaming. ‘You bastard, I hate you.'

That was a bit rich coming from her by anyone's standards. Her eyes were black with hatred, when I realised the door had opened behind me.

I couldn't believe my eyes; it wasn't me she was calling a bastard but Clive, the Jonny Vegas look-alike who had just so happened to have entered through the wrong toilet door, and was now faced with the result of his one-night stand being born on the toilet floor. What were Paddy Power's odds on that?

I had never been so happy to see another individual in my life. Clive on the other hand, who pretended not to recognise Penelope, turned to me and said, ‘you've changed your hair. Curly suits you,'

‘Never mind my bloody hair; I hope you two remember each other. Clive I need your jacket.'

‘Come on Penelope one last push, this is it, this is the one.'

She nodded and despite the pain in her eyes, gave it everything she had, gaining leverage by pushing one leg against the frame of the toilet door and one against Clive. The perspiration was running down my body and I felt as if I had run a marathon. I could hear the crowd in the pub counting down, ready to welcome the New Year in. Where the hell was everybody and why hadn't Matt come looking for me?

‘Ten,' the crowd roared in the pub.

‘I'm not comfortable,' Penelope wailed.

‘Nine.'

‘Stay calm, you have done this before.'

‘Eight.'

‘Not without pain relief!'

‘Seven.'

‘Too late for that now, far too late.'

‘Six.'

‘Rachel, are you in there, can you hear me?' came the voice of a concerned Matt from the other side of the toilet door.

‘Five.'

‘About bloody time, Matt. Hurry up we need help.'

‘Four.''

‘I can't come into the ladies'

‘Three.'

‘You can and come now! For God's sake, hurry.'

‘Two.'

The crowd in the pub had reached the heights of raucousness when Matt flung the door open to find Penelope's legs akimbo with a Jonny Vegas look-a-like and me about to deliver the baby.

‘It's here!'

‘One.

Happy New Year!' The pub erupted. All around us, party poppers were being let off, and the fireworks in the distance could barely be heard as Penelope gave out a last scream and with one last push, a slithering bundle of slimy life slid straight into my hands.

Matt quickly rushed over to the paper towel dispenser, grabbed a handful of towels and wiped the mucus from the baby's mouth and nose. The baby let out a cry and the relief was instant.

Wrapping the baby up in Clive's coat, we placed it onto Penelope's chest. Matt finally obtained a signal on his mobile phone and was able to call the paramedics.

‘Don't touch the cord or the placenta,' Matt relayed back to us, help will soon be here.

‘Mother and baby appear to be doing well,' Matt announced down the phone before hanging up.

‘And who's this?' Matt directed at Clive.

‘Clive, meet Matt and Matt, meet Clive, the baby's father.'

Penelope was worn out; tears of relief were streaming down her cheeks. ‘What have I got?' she asked, exhausted.

‘You've got a little girl,' I told her. ‘A beautiful little girl. Just stay still now, help is on its way.'

Hearing the sirens in the distance, we knew it wouldn't be long before the paramedics arrived. The toilet door opened again and we had some extra company. BB, finally realising that her sidekick had disappeared, had come in search of Penelope. She appeared to sober up immediately and rather than congratulate her friend on the arrival of her baby daughter, she could only stare intently at the man crouched down at Penelope's side.

‘What the fuck are you doing in here?' she yelled at Clive.

That was the second time tonight that poor Clive had had a woman hurl obscenities at him; all he'd done was to take the wrong door and it had changed his life forever.

‘You bastard, I can't believe you've turned up after all these years.'

‘Do you two know each other?' Penelope enquired quite innocently, clutching her bundle of joy.

‘Know each other,' BB spat. ‘This is the bastard who left his rancid Lonsdale boxer shorts on my bedroom floor – the bloke who did a runner never to be seen again. This is Lonsdale's father!'