The School Gates (3 page)

The panicked au pair hurriedly got out of the car.

‘Eliska, are you OK? Did you forget something?’

‘Yes,’ Eliska puffed. ‘Can I have a pound, please?’

Alana sat at the boardroom table in Stephen McNair’s spacious, bright office overlooking Chiswick High Road. He was looking particularly sexy today, in a sky-blue shirt and grey suit.

When all six-feet-four of him got up to go and fetch a cup of coffee, she suddenly had a clear vision of him ripping her clothes off all those years ago in that fancy London hotel.

It had been a typical one-night stand, if ever a one-night stand can be classed as ‘typical’. It had happened like this:

Company Christmas party

Invite the PR agency along

Drink too much

Hotel bar closes

‘Come to my room for a night-cap from the mini-bar?’

Drinks in – wits out

Wake up in the morning, regretting mixing rum with vodka and also business with pleasure

However, the untypical thing about this one-night stand was that Stephen McNair wasn’t normally a philanderer, and even Alana, with her insatiable desire for sex, realised that he was actually a decent bloke.

In her alluring black dress and high heels, the attractive blonde fox had lured the prey back to her lair and a full mini-bar, and then pounced.

Yes, he had shown weakness, but if Stephen McNair hadn’t been such a nice person, he actually could have won a case of rape against her.

They had met a week later at this very office and she solemnly promised him that nothing would ever be said about the matter. She realised just how much he loved his wife and that was it. The case of Murray v. McNair – CLOSED.

One sip of coffee down and The question immediately arose though. ‘So, got any pictures of that wee bairn of yours?’ The word ‘bairn’ emphasised his brusque Scottish accent.

‘No, no.’ Alana swallowed hard. ‘New term, new school pic. I’m waiting to upgrade.’

‘Typical – Alana Murray even upgrades her photos,’ Stephen laughed. He still found her very attractive. ‘How old is she going to be this month? I forget now.’

‘Six this year.’ Alana wanted to slip under the chair.

‘And will she be seeing her daddy on her birthday?’ Stephen continued to dig.

Of course she bloody won’t, Alana felt like saying. Now that Eliska was older she was even more adamant that she shouldn’t meet her father. It would just cause too much complication in her little life and she was a difficult enough child already. Was Alana being selfish? Yes she was, but at the moment it was the way she wanted it. If Stephen or Eliska asked her, Daddy was ‘always away on business’.

‘No, not this year. He’s away. Sri Lanka, I think he said.’

‘And he’s still looking after you both?’

‘Stephen! We don’t need looking after.’ She bit her lip.

He swiftly changed the subject, with, ‘Quarterly reports – then lunch, I think.’

‘You think well, Mr McNair,’ Alana beamed, suddenly recalling the sight of Stephen’s large cock and cursing the butterflies in her stomach that had suddenly awoken.

Mo sped up the steps to the doctors’ surgery and headed to her desk. Not having had time to wash her hair that morning, she quickly wound it into a bun and smudged on some clear lip gloss. The waiting room was already heaving. The supervisor, Grim Lynn, was such a grumpy old bag that it wasn’t worth even being a nano-second late and suffering her bitter wrath.

Puffing and panting, Mo peeled her old coat off her hefty frame, relieved to see that all of the three desks in the small room behind the main reception counter were empty. She could hear cups clanking and smelled fresh coffee from the kitchen and knew that it must be her colleague FFion, as the grim one ‘didn’t do caffeine’.

As Mo went to sit down, she noticed that on her swivel chair was an oblong of cardboard with a chain attached; she turned it over to see the words Nil by Mouth on it. Normally she would have laughed, but feeling particularly sensitive after her already terrible morning, she choked back the tears.

FFion appeared with two steaming cups of coffee.

‘Morning, my lovely. The grim one has had to go and take Dr Jennings on a house visit, since her car wouldn’t start. I’d like to say we’ll have an easy time of it, but it’s a full pen of ’em out there today.’

She stopped as Mo sniffed loudly and a tear rolled down her cheek. Ffion quickly shut the reception hatch, ignoring a patient who’d just come in and was waiting to see her.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’

Another sniff and Mo pointed to the Nil by Mouth sign.

‘Oh, cariad, I’m so sorry. It was just a joke. Dr Delicious left one for each for us, thought it would stop us both eating so many biscuits. Look, mine’s up already,’ FFion gestured at her desk, where the offending article was hanging in pride of place behind her flat screen.

Just five feet tall, with a petite frame, designer glasses enhancing her big brown eyes and shoulder-length thick auburn hair, Ffion was Little to Mo’s Large.

The annoying thing was that her twenty-year-old metabolism allowed her to consistently eat crap and down at least a bottle of wine a night, without her gaining a gram. However, Mo didn’t hold this against her. FFion Jones was a lovely, thoughtful girl and thankfully kept her sane enough to stop her putting morphine into Grim Lynn’s Elderflower and Burdock herbal teas.

‘Look, give it here.’ Ffion took the sign back. ‘Swap it with these.’ She handed over a pack of chocolate Hobnobs. ‘Now, get that hatch open and give us a smile.’

At that moment, Dr Noah Anderson, a.k.a. Dr Delicious, sounded his buzzer.

‘Mrs Rachel Smith for Dr Del- – I mean Dr Anderson, please,’ Mo announced to the waiting room, jumping into action.

A red-faced man was shifting with agitation on the other side of the reception counter.

‘I am so sorry for the delay, sir,’ Mo said briskly. ‘Now, how can I help?’

The morning flew by in a blur of snuffles, urine samples, smear tests and screaming babies. Both Ffion and Mo breathed a sigh of relief when lunchtime came.

‘You are so lucky that you’re done now,’ Ffion said as the last patient left. ‘I’ve got another four hours of this.’

‘If it wasn’t for collecting Rosie, I could do with another four hours of money myself, to be honest. It’s Charlie’s birthday on Saturday and I want to send him a present.’

‘Charlie?’

‘My son.’

Ffion looked perplexed. Just as Mo was about to explain, Dr Delicious appeared, causing Ffion to turn the colour of her hair.

The sexy doctor had not long been a GP at The White House practice in Denbury. In fact, he had arrived six months ago, the same month that Ffion replaced old Betty on her retirement. Mo had worked there part-time for eight years, just having a break when Rosie was born and then going back when the little girl started nursery.

All the time she had been there it had just been Dr Amanda Jennings and Dr Paul Stevens. That was, until Dr Stevens had a terrible accident with his ride-on lawnmower and had suffered permanent injuries, poor man.

Dr Noah Anderson looked young for a GP. Ffion guessed thirty, Mo guessed thirty-five. Both ladies thought that he would be far more suited to a role in an American hospital soap opera. Jaw-droppingly handsome, with black cropped hair and chiselled features, he had such a soft voice and calm demeanour that Mo was sure that half the female population of Denbury who claimed breast or vaginal problems were most probably lying!

‘So how is my conscientious double act today then?’ he asked pleasantly.

‘It’s OK, you can say Little and Large,’ Mo said tongue in cheek, looking towards FFion’s Nil by Mouth sign.

Dr Delicious put his hand to his forehead, stuttering, ‘I… I… it wasn’t…’

‘We’re knackered,’ Ffion announced, shielding his embarrassment.

‘Me too,’ the doctor replied, glad of the interruption. ‘What time’s my first one of the afternoon anyway?’

Mo looked at her computer. ‘Two-thirty. It’s Hypochondriac Hilda too, so go and put your feet up till then.’

The delicious one laughed, relieved that Mo really wasn’t too offended.

‘Right – I must go.’ Mo suddenly realised the time. ‘I’ve got to get to the post office, shop for dinner, then go and collect Rosie.’

‘No time for a quick sandwich with me in Rosco’s then?’ Ffion asked, itching to find out more about Mo’s son.

‘Sorry, love. Maybe tomorrow. Enjoy your afternoon and remember...’

‘Patience with the patients, ladies,’ Ffion intervened with her finest impression of Grim Lynn, sticking two fingers up in jest at Mo as she did so.

– Chapter Two –

A tear ran down Dana’s face as she pulled away from the school gates. She ignored the scathing glance of Emily Pritchard – who had quite clearly stated her dislike of women who drove 4 x 4s.

Dana’s husband Mark had told her that the only reason old Preachy Knickers (Mark’s words) protested, was that she really wanted one herself and couldn’t afford it.

Dana was sure that the fact that they lived in a big house up Bramwell Hill and drove a fancy car had stopped her making friends. She quite often thought that some of the other mothers were whispering about her at the school gates, and it made her really sad. She should make more of an effort, but she was really quite shy – and Mark’s insistence that she didn’t work, and his dislike of her not being home with him in the evenings had made it nigh-on impossible for her to start building relationships outside the family unit.

She was lucky to get a parking spot in Denbury High Street, since the ‘Ladies Who Latte’ (LWL) Brigade usually grabbed all the places. Talking of the LWL Brigade, Dana fiercely rejected any idea of her belonging to the same category as them.

She could have a facial, pedicure, manicure or back massage every day of the week if she wanted, and Mark wouldn’t bat an eyelid. But that wasn’t her. She was a natural beauty, with her cropped blonde hair and big blue eyes in a heart-shaped face. Her beauty regime was soap and water and a supermarket own-brand moisturiser. Her generous nature was much bigger than any whims or fancies. In fact, she hated the fact that she did not earn any money of her own.

Mark had always lavished on her expensive gifts of brand – name cosmetics but she usually sneaked them to the women’s hostel in the next town, a month after receiving them.

She picked up the dry cleaning and laid it neatly on the back seat, her tears replaced with a smile as she saw Tommy’s favourite bear propped up on his booster seat. Noticing half a sticky lollipop wedged in its hand, it reminded her that she needed to get some after-school snacks for him.

She crossed the road to the newsagents. The outside hoarding screamed its news – Denbury Vicar in Summer Holiday Collection Scam.

Hilarious, she thought. She picked up a paper. She must see what he’d done, plus there was no harm in looking at what jobs were around, now was there?

She crossed back over the road to the car and seeing Rosco’s on the corner, thought she would treat herself to a cream doughnut to have with her morning coffee back at home. The café was packed with an eclectic mix of business people having breakfast meetings, workmen and of course the LWL Brigade.

Suddenly feeling bold, she stepped out of her place in the take-away queue and sat down at a small table in the corner. Using the local paper as her companion, she spread it in front of her. A young good-looking waiter approached, looking slightly harassed. Dana flashed a smile at him and he managed a weak one in return.

‘You OK?’ she asked kindly.

‘We’re rushed off our feet! Have been trying to fill the vacancy for a waitress for two weeks now. You’d think in these tough times, people would be crying out for jobs.’ He took her order and hurried away.

Dana picked up the newspaper and swiftly flicked to the Jobs Section. ‘Anything to fit in with school,’ she said under her breath, using her finger as a guide. Now what could she do? Her written English wasn’t great. Maybe shop work? Nothing. Garage forecourt attendant? No – the shifts wouldn’t fit with school.

When her cappuccino came, she took a sip of it and looked around her. At the table where the Ladies Who Latte congregated, she observed how the women dripped in designer clothes and jewellery and lifted their cups cautiously with perfectly manicured hands.

Two ‘suits’ staring into a laptop, slurped black coffees and droned on about the falling Euro. Three decorators discussed the mid-week football results, whilst tucking into hearty bacon rolls.

Dana caught the waiter’s eye. He must only be about twenty-one, she thought, assessing him as if she was far older than her own twenty-five years. Italian maybe. Long, dark wavy hair, tied back in a ponytail, and limpid brown eyes. He scurried over with the bill, saying, ‘Here you are, signorina. Is that all?’

‘This job here,’ Dana blurted out.

‘Yep?’

‘What are the hours?’

‘Eight-thirty till two.’

‘Oh.’

Almost seeming to read her mind, he said, ‘But we’re so desperate, I’m sure my brother would negotiate on hours if he had to.’