The Misadventures of a Playground Mother (5 page)

T
he waitress clunked
the floral teacups down onto the table that was covered in an equally floral, lace-edged tablecloth. We both ordered a toasted teacake too.

Melanie started her story; and I settled into my chair, and poured us each a cup of tea. I buttered the teacake, which melted instantly.

‘I've certainly come across Bernie,' she began. ‘Is she a friend of yours?'

Now there was a question. Was BB a friend of mine? At first I hesitated with my answer; it was without a doubt that she had done me a favour by bringing about the untimely end of the Frisky Pensioner, but maybe it was a little unethical to shake her hand for that achievement.

‘No friend of mine,' I mused aloud.

‘I bumped in to Bernie at antenatal classes, her bump was neater than mine, well in fact it was neater than everyone's and of course she liked to tell us all,' Melanie began.

‘I bet she was an expectant mother's magazine dream,' I grinned.

‘Exactly!' Melanie laughed. ‘She was different from all us normal mums, she stood out from the crowd with her latest designer maternity wear snuggling around her bump. She must have spent a fortune in hair and nails salons during her pregnancy. Immaculately groomed she was.'

I nodded my head then took a sip from my cuppa, Melanie carried on.

‘Whereas me, I had the pregnancy from hell, I fought morning sickness every day and spent most of the day stuffing my face with ginger biscuits to try to curb the nausea. My weight gain was not just baby!'

I laughed; I knew exactly where Melanie was coming from. ‘You sound just like me,' I replied.

‘Most of the antenatal group were the same. We were happy to turn up in our husband's over-stretched baggy jumpers, and scrape our hair back, which was permanently tied up in a bobble due to the constant view of the bottom of the toilet – those women who don't suffer from morning sickness are so lucky.'

‘Most definitely,' I agreed, thinking back to all my pregnancies. ‘I was all for comfort.'

‘My ex-partner was always busy and rarely attended the classes with me. He was always at the gym enjoying his time before we were tied down to routine, nappies and nights falling asleep in front of brain-numbing telly.'

Typical bloke I thought to myself.

‘Bernie also attended the classes on her own. She was an extremely vocal pregnant mother and the group knew her life story after only week two of the class, well, all except the father. There was no sign of a father, she never spoke of him.'

BB was certainly vocal. My mind wandered back to the scene outside the Frisky Pensioner's house on New Year's Day.

‘She portrayed herself as a successful business woman to the rest of the group.'

‘I bet she did,' I smirked, knowing what type of business BB was in.

‘Apparently she had built her business up from scratch, winning awards here, there, and everywhere. At first we were all in awe of her string of successes; everything she touched turned to gold. She even reminisced about her school days, fabricating stories that she was elected by her peers to represent the school as Head Girl.'

I nearly spat out my tea. BB didn't seem the ‘correct calibre' to represent any school as Head Girl.

‘We were all hoodwinked into believing her academic career was textbook; super brainy and she had more qualifications than Professor Brian Cox.

I sat wondering if we were actually talking about the same person.

‘All her exam results were no less than an A, her A-Levels were a breeze and she easily secured a place at her first choice of University – Oxford of course.'

‘Only the best for Bernie,' I sniggered.

I was fascinated by this story; this wasn't the BB I knew. The BB I knew didn't give the impression she was a super academic, but maybe I had got her entirely wrong. This couldn't be the same person! But I had witnessed that look between them in the playground.

‘Each week during antenatal classes the group would joke that it was story time with Bernie. Her stories were amazing; her achievements were outstanding; and not a week went by without her winning an award locally or nationally. Every mother in the antenatal class wanted to be her. I wanted to be her; not only were her clothes, nails and hair immaculate, but her handbags were simply to die for. What an inspiration she was – hardworking, baby on the way, making her own money. I was impressed along with all the other mothers who simply didn't have the drive, energy, or inclination to do anything except watch re-runs of Bargain Hunt.'

I was now shaking my head at Melanie with a puzzled expression on my face. I was flabbergasted. The words inspiration and BB used in the same sentence?

‘Then one evening my ex, Rob, decided out of the blue to take a night off from the gym and attend the class with me. We were late due to the road works on Buttercup Lane and we could have sworn the traffic lights were broken, as they appeared to take forever to change to green. During the car journey, I gabbled constantly to Rob about Bernie, singing her praises and all her amazing achievements. It wasn't negotiable; this woman was Wonder Woman.

After the delays on the road, we finally arrived and parked the car. Hurrying into the hall, we found the antenatal class already in full flow. All the mothers, now in their third trimester, were lying there like stranded whales, on their mats; with their puffy ankles and high blood pressure, just willing for the day that the labour pains would begin.

I spotted Bernie and with Rob following, waddled over. She had kindly placed a spare mat next to hers for me, as I had texted her that we were running late. He sat down on the mat and turned to shake her hand while I introduced them. I could only describe the look on his face as pure shock soon followed by a smirk.'

I was mesmerised by this story; I had no idea what was coming next.

“So this is the woman who is giving Lord Sugar a run for his money?” Melanie mimicked Rob's surprise.

‘Bernie's reaction was shifty to say the least – her eyes widened, her face turned beetroot red and she looked as if she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Unbelievably, Rob recognised Bernie from many years earlier when he had been in the same class as her.

He told the group that not only did she leave school at sixteen without one single qualification; she was fondly known as the ‘school bike – slapper extraordinaire'. So Bernie's cover was blown, and her deceit uncovered.'

I let out a huge hoot of laughter. This was more like the BB I had come to know over the past year.

‘Rob went on to reveal she was from the Moorland estate, a notorious slum – drugs, prostitutes, you name it!'

I stared at Melanie in amazement; ‘Surely this isn't correct? According to Bernie's profile on Facebook, her roots were in posh Tipland.'

Tipland was an up-market housing development inhabited by Premier league footballers and successful executives who drove the latest Jags and kept their helicopters on the helipads that marked the surrounding area.

‘She is a Moorland's girl, through and through,' confirmed Melanie with a knowing look on her face.

‘Really? Seriously?' A snort of laughter came out of my nose.

‘Bernie is the mother of one child, a boy called Lonsdale but you'd know that already,' Melanie continued.

I was aware she only had one son but that was as far as my knowledge went. Other than her indiscretions on the morning of New Year's Day, I was only privy to her playground antics. I had no idea what her child was called, but seriously, Lonsdale – I couldn't see that name becoming the top of the list of popular baby names any day soon.

‘Lonsdale is named after the boy's father; she only met him once, picked him up on a night out in the local sticky-floored nightspot. She didn't even know his name,' Melanie went on.

‘Hang on, you just said he was named after the father, but she didn't know his name, how does that work?' I asked.

‘According to another reliable source, one night, apparently, Bernie had been out with a few friends in the club, the jukebox was rocking and the beers were flowing and they partied until the early hours of the morning. A group of men were standing by the bar swigging back their pints. Bernie and her friends singled them out and invaded their space. She began to flirt with one man in particular, one that she was instantly attracted to. He was married – had a ring on his left hand – but she didn't care. All men were fair game as far as she was concerned, and if there was a wife she could, if need be, dispose of her at any opportunity. Bernie did what she does best; she enticed him into her lair bragging about her status, money and fast car.

He jumped on the bandwagon, which was actually more like the two-nine-five bus, back to her house, not a fast car in sight. But she was a sure thing, offering everything to him on a plate – as well as a flea-infested mattress, and a scented candle to mask the damp smell of the house. They shared a single night of lust and when she awoke in the morning, he had disappeared, never to be seen again. No note, no number, nothing.'

‘How did the child become named after the father then?' I asked.

‘The bloke left his skeggy, stained Lonsdale boxer shorts discarded on the bathroom floor. Nine months later, Lonsdale was born. I'm not sure if she ever tried to find the father. Maybe she went back to the nightclub to try and track him down, but as far as anyone knew he was long gone.'

I was now grinning from ear to ear.

‘We left the antenatal class that night and Bernie never spoke to me again. She soon moved out of the area and must have relocated here, to Tattersfield, to spin her lies to a new set of gullible mothers.' Melanie finished off.

The cuppa with Melanie had entertained me to say the least. It was only the first morning back on the school run after the holidays and it was already proving a very interesting start to the new term. Who knew what other delights would be revealed by the end of the school year.

I looked down at my watch; an hour had already lapsed. I had been putting off the inevitable; I now had to return home and face Penelope, and ask her politely to leave. There was no way we could have another three bodies filling up space in the house. I knew that Penelope would be upset. It wasn't going to be easy for her to embark on the path of a single woman, but I had my own family to look after, and I needed to put them first. Melanie and I said our goodbyes after paying for the cuppas with the promise of a get-together very soon. I bonded well with Melanie; I really liked her, a very down-to-earth woman in my opinion. I had a feeling we were going to be great friends but in the meantime, I had to hurry home and evict Penelope before she transferred the deeds of my house into her name and took over the mortgage payments. I was clueless about squatters' rights and that's the way I wanted it to stay.

O
n my return
, Penelope was up and dressed and looking rather more human. Sitting in the armchair, feet up, hugging a mug of tea and scoffing my chocolates, she had made herself at home. She was absorbed in a re-run of the Jeremy Kyle show on the television.

This prompted me to have the conversation sooner rather than later about her immediate departure. There was no way I could tolerate other humans arguing with each other in my living room, whether they were on the telly or not. Some guest on the show started to hyperventilate, as her lies about her child's father had been uncovered. I wasn't very knowledgeable on biology matters at school but I was convinced that they wouldn't need to do a lie detector test to confirm that the man on the screen wasn't the biological father. The baby was white, he was of Chinese origin. Grabbing the remote quickly and clicking the standby button, I turned to face Penelope just in time to witness her stuffing the last of the strawberry creams into her mouth.

‘We need to talk,' I stated.

I was rather taken back by my own tone, as it was somewhat direct. I couldn't pussyfoot around Penelope any more; she lived in a perfectly good house within walking distance up the lane.

‘I know what you are going say,' she replied.

I was gobsmacked but happy that this was going to be easier than I ever imagined.

‘I'll be off then,' she smiled.

I was shaking my head in disbelief, not quite believing the eviction was proving exceptionally stress free. Wow! There wasn't even a ‘can we talk about this' conversation moment; no begging, absolutely nothing.

Penelope stood up abruptly, reminding me of a sulky toddler. Throwing the chocolate wrappers in the waste paper basket, she then proceeded to scoop the magazines up, which she laid in a neat pile on the coffee table, before plumping up the cushions on the sofa. She eventually left the room, clearly short of any further time-stalling tactics.

Two minutes later, she was back and stood in the living room sporting an expression that reminded me of the Cheshire cat featured in
Alice in Wonderland
. She nodded her head at the front door, and tugging on the lapels of her duffle coat and pulling them up around her ears, she dropped the bombshell.

‘I've taken your front door key; I shan't be too long, there's a blustery wind out there now. I can definitely see myself back soon; it shouldn't take too long.' She placed the key on the table while wrapping her scarf around her neck.

Anxiety flooded through my veins and I was paralysed, frozen to the spot. Scanning the room I established this was not Wonderland and she was not Alice but there appeared to be a mad hatter amongst us. What did she just say? What shouldn't take too long? What did she mean?

‘I don't understand Penelope,' I managed to stammer.

‘It won't take me long; you can't imagine how relieved I am to be able to stay here with the children. I'd best fill a suitcase with clothes and hurry back before the school pick-up time,' she beamed cheerily.

Suddenly my mouth went very dry, two paths to my life flashed before my very eyes, the first one being, that I should find my inner kindness and let Penelope stay, and the second, that I too would be husbandless and bringing up four children on my own.

How could Penelope get this so wrong?

‘No, No, No, Penelope, you have got this all wrong,' I said grabbing the key from the table. ‘I'm sorry, but you have a perfectly good home to go back to; talk to Rupert, maybe he can find alternative accommodation but we just don't have the room.'

There, I'd said it. I reminded myself of my New Year promise – it was still intact – I wouldn't be a doormat. I couldn't believe how well I had taken control of the situation; I was very impressed with my little self. The realisation that I had put myself first after all last year's antics genuinely excited me.

Penelope was eyeballing me, as if she wanted to kill me; I knew she would be aware of the many years she would get for murder, so the odds were I was quite safe – I think.

Her face had already taken on the Oompa Loompa look. I thought she was about to have a massive toddler strop as steam appeared to rush out of her ears like a cartoon character. She leant forward and singled out the Turkish delight that was left in the box of chocolates on the coffee table, then stuffed it into her mouth. She unbuttoned her coat and plonked herself back in the armchair – my armchair. I detested Turkish delight; I was never going to eat them but that wasn't the point; they were
my
chocolates.

'What am I to do? I've left my husband; I am unemployed thanks to Camilla Noland and my children are now, technically, from a broken home,' she was beginning to get hysterical.

Who was she trying to kid? There was nothing broken about her home; it was less than half a mile up the road with running water and electricity.

Life could be worse; she could be hanging her dirty laundry out in public on the Jeremy Kyle Show.

There was no way, no way on this planet she could stay here. She had driven me insane with all her one-sided talking last year during our keep fit walking sessions, I had listened to her constant chatter about Little Jonny for months on end without ever getting a word in; my only escape was to return home and lock the door behind me.

The thought crossed my mind that the timing of this separation may suit Rupert down to the ground. The Farrier's flat had just become vacant now he had taken possession of his father's property. This could be a stroke of luck for Rupert, his own bachelor pad, close enough to visit his children, but far enough away from his wife to provide his own entertainment.

I was going to suggest that perhaps Penelope could move in with the Farrier. His house was definitely spacious with enough bedrooms, but I wasn't sure that was one of my better ideas, as for many months, Camilla had been bed-hopping with Rupert, and if anything more dodgy went on in that circle of people they may just be featured on the next Jeremy Kyle show.

The day was flying by and there were only a few hours until we had to brave the school pick up. In the meantime, I offered to drive Penelope home. This wasn't down to my caring nature, it was more to make certain she had left and wasn't coming back tonight, or any other night for that matter.

After gathering all her belongings and double-checking there was nothing left behind, she reluctantly climbed into the car. When I dropped Penelope back at her home, Rupert's bubble car was parked on the driveway. I wondered if he would be rushing out to purchase another boy racer if his marriage was now over. A car that would attract the women, just like the one he'd had that Penelope had made him trade in. I wished her luck as she grudgingly prised herself out of the car seat and slowly shuffled towards the front door. I shouted words of encouragement as she placed the key in the lock, then drove off quickly.

At school pick-up time, I trudged back through grey slush, as the snow had now begun to thaw. I passed the cliques that had gathered outside the school gate, gossiping about some poor sod as usual, and stood in my normal spot. Melanie was already there, keen to collect her child on her first day and anxious to hear how the day had gone. I was always lastminute.com, arriving as the bell rang out. That was always the best way though, as it left less time for tedious conversations.

Eva my eldest was first out of the door, waving two letters at me as she ran towards me. I really needed to start a career in gambling because it was a dead cert that one of the letters would be asking for money for something and no doubt, the other one was to inform the parents that on the first day there had already been an outbreak of nits. I was correct on both counts. The school never wasted any time asking for money. This time it was for a school trip, a trip that was less than five miles up the road and they wanted a voluntary contribution of ten pounds. We all knew voluntary doesn't mean voluntary in this case and it would have been cheaper if I'd dropped Eva at the destination myself.

Penelope arrived late, a little flustered which was understandable. Her living arrangements for the near future appeared to be under control. Rupert was moving into temporary accommodation into The Farrier's old flat. I was certainly relieved and I was sure Matt would be too.

I was about to introduce Penelope to Melanie but, Melanie had been summoned by her child's teacher, probably for a quick update on how well she had coped on her first day at school. There was no rush, I was sure their paths would cross soon enough.