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Authors: Gil McNeil

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BOOK: The Only Boy For Me
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Barney is oblivious to all this, and suddenly announces he would quite like to get some work done, if everybody could stop buggering about. The crew swiftly finish eating and snap into action, and content themselves with occasionally sniggering and calling me Miss Whiplash. The client doesn’t turn up, which is a blessing, and the actor manages not to vomit, but only just. We end up putting brandy into the porridge, to stop him heaving. This works rather well, but
thankfully we’re finished before he gets totally plastered and his eyes go glassy. We have a tea break, and then move on to doing hundreds of pack-shots, and shots of bowls of porridge, which bore Barney completely so he keeps wandering off.

We break again for supper, and then we aim to finish the pack-shots before hitting the magic hour, midnight, when we have to pay the crew double time. The crew try to slow things down as much as possible, as they are very keen on ‘double bubble’. But I’m wise to their tricks, and so is Barney. Finally we get enough pack-shots to satisfy even the most picky client, and the crew start disappearing pretty sharpish. Barney says he’ll ring me tomorrow and will see me next week in the office so we can plan the shoot in Cornwall, where we are doing the tricky bits. I can’t wait – the combination of boats, British weather and an actor who doesn’t like porridge is bound to be great fun.

I get home to find Edna half asleep by the fire. She says Charlie was a little lamb again tonight, and she has signed his sponsorship form for his sponsored walk, bless him, but don’t I think five miles is a long way? I think it’s a bloody long way. I know nothing about a sponsored walk, and ring Kate in the morning, who says the walk is scheduled for this weekend, and is being organised by the PTA so attendance is pretty much compulsory. Apparently Miss Pike forgot to give out the forms earlier. We are to meet at eleven am outside the pub, and bring wellies and waterproofs. Brilliant.

Saturday morning, and we are gathered outside the pub in wellies and anoraks, carrying rucksacks full of food for our epic journey. Mrs Harrison-Black comes over and says she’s so pleased everyone has made such an effort, and we aren’t
to worry if we can’t finish the whole course, just do as much as we can. Roger whispers that he thinks this is a bloody cheek, and with a bottom like hers she’s in no position to give other people lectures about fitness. Sally says she has brought brandy in a flask in case Roger collapses. Roger says if all he’s going to get is sarcasm then he might as well have stayed at home and read the papers.

They always bicker like this, but it’s affectionate bickering rather than that hideous I-really-wish-you-were-dead stuff that other couples seem to go in for. They met at university, and have been together ever since. They never have serious arguments, have never ‘gone through a bad patch’, and never had second thoughts. Enough to make you hate them really. Roger is a solicitor with a local firm, but he doesn’t make much money because he’s always helping people out and not charging them properly. Sally teaches part-time at the local secondary school, and is constantly exhausted. The combination of looking after William and Rosie and teaching A-level history to stroppy teenagers is not an easy one. Kate and I have told her that if she tells us one more story about dysfunctional teenagers we won’t stand next to her in the playground any more. As Kate says, we would rather not know. Then when James and Charlie dye their hair blue and insist on speaking in a new dialect based on how drug dealers talk in Detroit, it’ll be a nice surprise.

People start moving off, clutching their route maps. Some of them are Very Keen. Whole families have appeared in matching tracksuits, and appear to have enough kit to climb Everest.

‘Good God, look at that man, the one who just ran past. He’s got one of those watch things on; you know, those things that count your pulse and beep when you’re going to have a heart attack.’

‘Roger, dear, I think you’ll find that’s to measure his pace.’

‘Oh, so that’s what a pacemaker looks like. I thought you had to have them sewn into your chest, not wear them like a watch. Oh, I might get one now I know how jazzy they look.’

‘Do shut up, Roger.’

‘But really, look at him, jogging all over the place. What an utter prat, on a school sponsored walk. Honestly.’

We all agree, especially as Pacemaker Man keeps yelling at his two little boys to keep up. They look very miserable.

‘When are we going to stop for lunch?’

As we have barely got out of the pub car park, I have to explain to Charlie that we’ll have to go a bit further. This is greeted with howls of outrage. Kate opens a packet of wine gums as a diversion, and peace is restored. James, Charlie and William announce that the wine gums have made them drunk, and start doing silly walks. The gap between us and the rest of the group is growing steadily, and the really keen types who set off at a brisk trot are now tiny dots on the horizon. The route veers off into the woods. Things get increasingly muddy. This is going to be a very long day.

The boys now have so much mud on their wellies they can barely lift their feet up, and we have to keep stopping to help them wipe it off. The children start to whine, and then move into advanced whining mode. Roger starts a game of I Spy, and cheats shamelessly, claiming to have seen a tiger, and a Red Indian. The children almost believe him, and keep peering into the trees. We decide to stop for a rest, but the ground is far too wet to sit on so we balance on fallen tree trunks, and drink coffee while the children eat. We all have swigs from Sally’s flask, and agree that really the countryside is very beautiful. Roger slips off his tree trunk
and sits in a muddy puddle, and the children think this is the most hysterically funny thing they have ever seen. Ever. Luckily Roger is not the sort to go off in a huff when being laughed at by five children and three women. A very rare man indeed.

He informs us that even his pants are wet, which sets us all off again. Sally finally stops laughing, and gives him a kiss. The children think this is revolting, and make noises as if they’re being sick. Kate and I exchange envious glances. We set off again, much happier, and emerge into open countryside. We pass one of the matching-tracksuit families, in the midst of a blazing row. The parents are arguing very loudly about whose fault it is that they forgot to bring their flask of coffee, and the children are arguing about whose turn it is to carry the map. One of the children has clearly fallen head first into a puddle, and is covered in mud from head to foot. We are now almost in sight of the main group, and pass another family where all is not well.

William says maybe it will turn out like the tortoise and the hare and we will actually be the winners. We all say how clever of him to have thought of this, but the chances of us actually winning are slight as some of the jogging tracksuit brigade have probably already finished, and are back home having cold showers. I give William a mini Mars bar as a reward for such positive thinking, and Charlie sulks.

Then it begins to rain. Hideous nightmare half-hour follows where nearly everyone is on the brink of tears and tantrums, and we run out of sweets. I find a packet of Polos in the bottom of my bag, but sadly no four-by-four off-road vehicle which is what we really need. Still, the Polos work wonders for a while. William says that the dentist told him Polos are the worst sweets in the world, and he’s not allowed to have them now. James and Charlie look
at him like he is an orphan from a war zone, rather than a child with parents who have a firm policy on sugar. Roger says he once bit his dentist when he was a small boy, and the children all look at him with admiration. Roger hastily launches into a long explanation about how it was years ago, and dentists are lovely now and give you stickers. The children look unconvinced. Sally says Roger can take William to the dentist next time. I wonder if they have stickers that say ‘I bit the dentist today’ as well as the usual ones about Tommy Toothbrush.

The rain continues and we trudge on. The route is now taking us back along the road at the other side of the village, and the end is in sight. We finally reach the finishing point, and Mrs Harrison-Black says, ‘Oh, thank God, we were just about to send out a search party for you. Ha-ha.’ Kate fixes her with one of her special withering looks. Apparently she learnt how to do it at Finishing School. I can’t believe she actually went to a finishing school, but she says it was her mother’s idea and as it meant she got six months in Switzerland to flirt with ski instructors she agreed to go. It obviously paid off because she’s very good at withering, and even Mrs Harrison-Black takes a step backwards. The children suddenly discover reserves of untapped energy, and run around saying hello to all their friends. I invite Kate and Sally and Roger to supper, and say I’ll make pizzas. Kate says she’ll rent a couple of videos and Sally and Roger offer to bring the wine. The children all get madly excited and Charlie wants balloons so it will be a proper party.

The pizzas are a huge success, and the boys disappear upstairs to Charlie’s room to play with Lego. We keep hearing sounds of muffled crashing, and the mess in Charlie’s room is phenomenal, but I try not to think about it. Phoebe and Rosie watch
Little Women
on video, and adore
it. As do we all, except for Roger who keeps snorting at the more saccharine moments, and says the film should really be called
Boring Women
and when will there be a gunfight?

The film finishes and everyone starts to leave. William throws a fit and clings on to the sofa sobbing that he doesn’t want to go home. I finally bribe him to go by lending him a cowboy hat, and a bow and arrow, which Charlie reluctantly agrees to part with, but only if he looks after them. William solemnly promises he will, and they all pile into the car and William waves his hat out of the window as they drive off down the lane. James then bursts into tears and says he doesn’t want to go home either, and he wanted to borrow the cowboy hat. Phoebe says he’s being a stupid baby, and James kicks her. Kate frogmarches them to the car, and Charlie hops up and down saying Phoebe is the most horrible girl in the world and deserved to be kicked. I tell him to shut up, and he tells me I am very rude. Could get a great deal ruder, but decide instead to ignore all his protests and get him into pyjamas and into bed before he has time to think of any diversionary tactics.

‘Mummy.’

‘Yes.’

‘Can we go on another walk tomorrow?’

‘No.’

‘Can we have pizza then?’

‘No.’

‘I hate you, Mummy.’

‘Goodnight, Charlie.’

He’s asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. I creep out of the room because the floor is covered with a layer of small pieces of Lego. There is even Lego in the bathroom sink. Perhaps I’ll be able to throw some of it away
tomorrow when he’s not looking. On that happy thought I collapse into bed, and have complicated dreams about sponsored walks through porridge, with Barney shouting at us all to hurry up, because the light is going. I hope this is not an omen for the shoot next week.

Chapter Three
Sex and Drugs and Sausage Rolls

Apparently a local policeman visited school today and gave a drugs talk in assembly. Charlie has clearly been most impressed by this, and is sitting in the bath giving me a lecture.

‘Mummy, I’m going to say no to drugs, and you must too.’

‘Of course I will, Charlie.’

Though right now I’d say a very definite yes to a large gin and tonic.

‘Good, and if anyone offers you extra tea you must say no.’

‘What do you mean, extra tea, darling? Tea is alright, isn’t it?’

Christ, I’m not even going to be allowed to drink tea now, without lectures from Charlie on the evils of drugs.

‘You know, Mummy, extra tea, it’s a drug and the policeman said it looks like a sweet sometimes. Isn’t that awful – you might think it was a nice sweet and it would be a drug. So you must never take sweets from strangers either, Mummy, because it could be extra tea.’

‘I think you mean Ecstasy, darling, not extra tea.’

‘How do you know, has someone tried to give you some?’

Charlie narrows his eyes and looks at me very hard, scanning my face for signs of drug abuse.

‘No, of course not, but I saw it on the news and it’s definitely called Ecstasy.’

‘Well, if anyone tries to give you some you must say no and tell a ponsible adult, like Miss Pike. Who will you tell, Mummy, because Miss Pike is not at your work, is she?’

No, thank God. I have visions of her trying to get everyone to sit nicely, and Barney telling her to fuck off.

‘The word is responsible, Charlie, not ponsible. And I
am
a responsible adult, so I won’t need to tell anyone.’

Charlie does not look convinced that I qualify as a responsible adult, so to avoid an ugly scene I change the subject.

‘Anyway, darling, it’s great that you listened so well and know all about drugs. Did the policeman say anything else?’

‘Oh yes, loads. He told us all about stranger danger, and if you see a stranger you’re allowed to do anything to them and then run away. Even biting.’

He pauses for the full marvellousness of this to sink in. I can tell he’s thrilled at the prospect of biting the first stranger he meets. I must act now to avoid the possibility of legal action in the not-too-distant future.

‘Biting is not allowed, Charlie, not unless you’re really sure you’re in danger, not just because you don’t know someone. You can shout and kick and run away far better than hanging about trying to bite somebody. And anyway it’s very rare that anything ever happens with strangers, so don’t worry too much about it.’

I hope this is the right line to take; I hate these kind of conversations and know sooner or later I will have a vivid nightmare where Charlie is being dragged off by nutters and it’s all my fault because I told him not to bite them.
Charlie meanwhile sits calmly in the bath singing rude songs of his own devising. We wash his hair, and he claims I am trying to drown him. I must book a hairdresser’s appointment soon: his hair is getting so long he can barely see out from under his fringe. I did try to cut it myself once, but lots of little tufts sprang up out of nowhere and he ended up looking like he’d had a rather major electrical shock.

BOOK: The Only Boy For Me
6.38Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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