The Misadventures of a Playground Mother (13 page)

Seated at the table next to them was a man wearing a pin-striped suit, his jacket unfastened, sinking his teeth into a bacon butty that oozed brown sauce and dripped onto his plate below. He then slurped his tea and tapped on his laptop as if the financial world depended on it. Ten minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of Penelope. Not wanting to be rude, but I'd waited long enough, I tucked into my sticky bun. Penelope's coffee, by now, would be barely luke warm and certainly freezing cold if she didn't hurry back soon. Finally, after nearly twenty minutes, I spotted her making her way back towards me at the table.

‘Is everything OK?' I enquired. ‘You've been ages.'

‘Actually no, I'm feeling a little dizzy and I have one of my headaches coming on; do you mind if we drink up quickly and go back home?'

I was a little taken aback; this shopping trip was all her idea, but to be honest I didn't really mind. I didn't have anything to drink up quick, having already demolished my sticky bun and coffee, I was ready to go. There were plenty of household jobs I could be getting on with before the afternoon school run.

'While you sit there and drink your coffee, I'm going to nip quickly back to the shop next door. I really fancied that pink striped bikini I saw earlier, so I'll just be two minutes; you wait here.'

Penelope only managed a nod while I rushed next door to make the only purchase of today's shopping trip.

That was that; our holiday shopping outing brought to an abrupt end. Penelope was extremely quiet on the whole of our return journey, she dropped me back home, and with a quick wave of the hand, she was gone. Maybe she was just hormonal or about to come down with a bug; whichever it was, an afternoon nap was, maybe the tonic needed to recharge her batteries.

I
t was
the night before the holiday and all four children were bathed, hair washed, wearing their PJs, and ready for an early night. Each one of them was excited; willing that tomorrow would come sooner. Tomorrow our holiday would start, the holiday with the Kensingtons. The children seemed unperturbed, yet Matt and I were both anxious; we could only hope the next two weeks were not going to be as bad as we anticipated. The children's clothes were set out in little piles at the foot of the bed ready for the morning. I packed a small rucksack for each of them filled with books, games and colouring pens for the flight. Next to their rucksacks lay a small wheelie case each with the minimal amount of clothes; just a new swimsuit each, change of clothes in case of any spillages on the flight and a cap and sunglasses. I didn't envy any families at the airport with tired crying children trying to manoeuvre suitcases around winding belted areas, running over people's feet and forever hurling them back upright once toppled over due to the excessive weight. We were lucky we didn't need any luggage except our hand luggage on the short flight to our second home.

We settled down on the sofa with a bottle of wine once all the children were sound asleep in their beds. I lay my legs over Matt's knees while he poured us a couple of glasses of wine. Thoughts were running through my head, I really needed this holiday, since I'd began my running regime I'd begun to feel a little drained and tired really quickly. Putting it down to the excess calories I was burning no matter what the next two weeks had in store for us, I was determined to rest and enjoy myself with my family. Matt and I clinked our glasses ‘Here's to a happy holiday,' I laughed.

‘I think there's only one thing we can do over the next two weeks and that's to try and make the best of the situation,' I said.

‘Maybe we are misjudging the Kensingtons, for all we know they may the best holiday companions one could hope for,' grinned Matt.

‘Do you really believe that?'

‘Of course I don't!'

We both laughed then, and took a sip of our wine.

‘We will need buckets of patience.'

‘I know, but let's hope they surprise us and the next two weeks run smoothly.'

‘Yes, fingers crossed. What could possibly go wrong?' I joked.

We both raised our eyebrows at each other and then cuddled down on the sofa.

‘Well, let's hope they have done the right thing in getting back together for the sake of the children and lets pray to God Little Jonny doesn't disappoint them and he secures his place at Oxford,' Matt laughed.

The landline rang; Matt placed his wine glass on the table and reached out to pick up the receiver. After saying hello, he began mouthing at me like a demented fish, pointing at the telephone informing me it was Penelope. Smirking and pulling daft faces at him I detected the change of tone in his voice and his serious face began to emerge, ‘I'm sorry Penelope it didn't cross my mind to tell you, but it won't matter, it's only for a couple of hours max if that. It's nothing to worry about, we will all be at the other end before we know it sunning ourselves with a beer in hand,' he said, apologetically.

‘We don't need to leave that early; we will meet you in the departures lounge and send you a message as soon as we arrive,' Matt continued, obviously replying to whatever Penelope was throwing at him.

Matt hung up and the first trauma of the holiday was upon us.

It hadn't been an intentional move, but Matt had already gone ahead and booked our seats on the plane using the online check-in. This had actually worked out in our favour, as it would mean that we wouldn't be sitting next to the Kensingtons on the plane. It had been an oversight on Matt's part but we were very pleased with the outcome. According to Matt, Penelope had called to confirm the time we all needed to leave in convoy for the airport. Matt was a last minute type of guy, a guy that would be late for his own funeral; he wouldn't hang around anywhere unless he truly needed to and airports were certainly not his thing – a pet hate of his to be more precise. By checking us in online, he had secured us another two hours in bed; we didn't need to arrive at the airport until one hour before take-off. Unfortunately, for the Kensingtons, they would have to be at the airport three hours before departure and then sit and wait in the departures lounge with next to nothing to do.

Matt genuinely had not realized the implications, but as online check-in was now shut there was nothing that could be done, the Kensingtons would be allocated their seats on arrival.

The following morning we awoke feeling much better for the extra hours. I already had a text from Penelope, sent at 4 a.m. I could not understand why she would be texting at such a ridiculous time in the morning, but it soon became clear. Penelope had begun panicking over the seating arrangements on the plane, coaxing Rupert to wake up even earlier than necessary, and ordered him to arrive at the check-in two hours ahead of their three-hour check-in time.

This was absolutely bonkers; why would anyone want to be sitting and waiting around in an airport when they could be still enjoying the comfort of their own home. Penelope's plan was to be first in the queue; she would be first all right, and she would be standing there waiting before the check-in attendants were even out of their own beds.

The method to her madness, and it was certainly madness, was that, if they were the first family to arrive out of those that hadn't taken the opportunity to confirm their seats online, it might be a possible to have their seats allocated in a row near to us, if not adjacent to ours. I bet Rupert was not screeching for joy at this ridiculous scenario. For the time that we would be in the air, did it really matter if we were on opposite ends of the plane?

Once the children were washed, dressed and finished eating their breakfast, we were ready and raring to go. They were so excited to be returning to their Spanish home and Matt and I were especially looking forward to relaxing in the sunshine.

Passports – Check

Tickets – Check

Car Hire paperwork – Check

We were ready. We clambered into the car. Matt fired up the engine, and with squeals of delight from the children, we were off! We hoped by the time we arrived, the Kensingtons would have had their seats allocated and the situation resolved.

I
nside the terminal building
, we saw that our flight was in less than an hour's time, which by my reckoning gave us plenty of time to grab a quick drink and for one more toilet stop before setting off on our holiday.

We found the check-in counter and Eva, Samuel, Matilda and Daisy all screeching with joy, ran towards the queuing holidaymakers. We joined the back of the queue, which was extremely long – actually, so long that Matt made a comment that something must be up as it wasn't usually this busy with less than an hour to go before boarding.

The children promptly squatted on the brown floor tiles and chattering among themselves, began playing a game of Ispy. As we turned to face the queue directly in front of us, Matt and I suddenly became aware that the sea of people in front were staring straight back at us. There were only a two words that could describe every face that was glaring at us – FED UP. Mothers were soothing whimpering children, babies' nappies were being changed in the long line of people before us and we heard numerous tuts that seemed to be directed at us.

Two airport officials were walking towards us, and a strong feeling of dread suddenly came over me. Guessing this might have something to do with Penelope and Rupert; I prayed we wouldn't need a good lawyer. ‘Are you the Young family?' one of the officials asked Matt.

‘Yes we are, is everything OK?' Matt gulped.

‘Nothing at all to worry about Sir, but we would be grateful if you could follow us please,' replied the second official.

Guiding us forward with the children following directly behind, we were escorted to the front of the queue.

Immediately, we spotted Penelope squatting on the floor next to three open suitcases while sipping from a bottle of water. Standing next to her was Rupert looking anxious, who appeared to be constantly checking his watch.

Quickly counting their suitcases, eight in total, Matt and I raised our eyebrows at each other. It all seemed very excessive for a two-week trip to Spain. Next to Penelope were piles and piles of clothes laid out on the floor – more clothes than in my entire wardrobe. One whole suitcase was bursting to the brim with shoes – flip-flops, sandals, pumps, trainers, walking shoes – every type of shoe you could possibly imagine. Even the gold high heels from the speed-dating incident were crammed into the suitcase.

We could hear Rupert's flustered voice, ‘Penelope, I am not paying in excess of two hundred pounds to take these suitcases with us. When are you ever going to wear all this stuff? We would need a container to ship this lot to Spain; it's ridiculous!'

Little Jonny and Annabel were perched on top of another couple of cases sharing out a packet of chocolate hobnob biscuits, which was obviously a ploy to keep them quiet.

‘What is in this suitcase?' Rupert continued, wrenching at the zip and the clasp. The suitcase snapped open, and about 20 bottles of water spilled out. ‘What the bloody hell do you need all this for?' Rupert shouted at her.

‘Because we have never been to Spain and the water may taste different,' she shouted back.

Luckily, for Rupert, we arrived on the scene before he was arrested for causing bodily harm to his wife.

Penelope, scrambling to close the lid, quickly spoke, ‘we are relieved to see you; it feels like we have been here hours.'

‘We have been here bloody hours,' Rupert bawled back.

‘What's going on?' I asked

Penelope told us that if all the suitcases were going to make it on to the plane, then they would need to pay an extra two hundred pounds. Rupert informed Penelope that this was just not going to happen. The two officials who were still standing beside us looked bewildered by the whole situation and Little Jonny and Annabel who had scoffed all the chocolate hobnobs were beginning to get a little agitated.

‘Mum,' Annabel said, her voice quivering. ‘Mum ... '

‘Will you be quiet,' Penelope shouted back at her.

Seeing someone needed to take control of the situation, one of the officials took Rupert to one side. Handing him a pen and a form, he explained to Rupert that he could either pay the excess amount or he could complete the form and the airport would store the cases for the remainder of the holiday at a smaller charge.

Rupert pointed to four of the eight cases that were to go with them. The check-in attendant looking relieved, hurled the cases onto the conveyor belt, tagged them and sent them down the chute before Penelope could argue or Rupert change his mind. Rupert filled in the form, muttering under his breath.

‘Mum, MUM!' Annabel cried.

‘For God's sake Annabel, stop whining whatever is the
matter
?' Penelope shouted back. Having stuffed her face with fizzy coke and numerous chocolate hobnob biscuits, Annabel was turning a shade of green, and I mean a very ominous shade of green. Moving quickly – mother's instinct – I hustled Matt and the children out of the firing line. Annabel standing up in front of Penelope opened her mouth wide and threw up all over her mother. The vomit oozed down Penelope's flowery Boden summer dress; and settled in the sides of her yellow canvas pumps. Penelope was absolutely fuming.

‘I feel sick,' Annabel declared.

If Penelope and Rupert hadn't managed to secure everyone's attention before, I could categorically confirm that most travellers' heads in the airport were now towards us.

Dripping in puke, Penelope was about to blow a gasket. Rapidly steering Annabel out of sight and into the toilets, I left Matt standing dumbfounded with the rest of the children, Rupert, the airport official, and a sick-covered Penelope.

Taking cover in the clean, white clinical airport toilets, I cleaned down Annabel using the baby wipes that were tucked away in the side pocket of my handbag. I wiped her mouth and washed her hands, by which time she was feeling better. Glancing at my watch, time was ticking away; we still had to check in and I needed to buy drinks and magazines before boarding the plane.

Grabbing Annabel's hand, we rushed back to the desk where everyone was still standing. Gaping at Penelope I was mesmerised. Changed out of her puke covered holiday clothes she was standing in front of us in the gold spandex dress and killer heels that she'd worn for the speed-dating episode. Oh, the humiliation for poor Rupert!

Matt, trying to conceal his laughter – not very well I might add – began whispering to me.

After I'd left with Annabel in search of the toilets, Penelope had insisted on opening the cases that the official was about to wheel off to be stored for the fortnight. However, the only outfit she could muster together was the lovely gold number.