The Misadventures of a Playground Mother (18 page)

T
his year
, it seemed as if the days and weeks were flying by and already another Friday was upon us. Every night I'd taken the same route running to the telephone box, pushing my legs a little further and faster each time. With my headphones plugged in and listening to the tunes that still needed to be updated on my iPod, I was beginning to feel like an established runner. Saturday morning I was up and out early, 6 a.m. to be precise. Matt, thinking I was completely crazy, rolled over in bed and hid beneath the warm duvet. Saturday was the only free day without any children's activities and I was determined to keep my running regime going over the weekend. I was pushing my body more and more, and my body ached, but with my new running app, I tracked the colossal amount of calories I was burning off with each run. I'd started a little light reading – a woman's running magazine. It was fantastic with its advice, and healthy eating regimes; and it was normal for new runners to feel tired, but I hadn't expected the exhaustion to be quite so severe. I could quite easily have closed my eyes by eight every night and fallen asleep.

Deciding on a new route in my mind, I went straight past the telephone box, looped back round the lane, over the stile and back home – a little ambitious maybe – but if all else failed I could stride fast.

Life had taken a turn for the better; I pottered around the garden after my morning run, and ambled across the fields with the dog – very pleasant indeed. A few weeks had passed since Penelope stropped out of the kitchen slamming the front door behind her. I had seen neither hide nor hair of her except during the school run. My friendship with Melanie had blossomed; she was a lovely person, very down to earth, and she wasn't in my pocket every minute of the day. Her relationship with the Farrier was going from strength to strength and their children Rosie and Dotty with only a couple of years between them had bonded like true siblings. Matt and I socialised with them on a regular basis.

The following Monday morning was one I would never forget. It was to change my perception of humans forever. Every morning Melanie and I would walk to the school together, past the cricket pavilion, the newsagents and the pub on the corner. It wasn't far and the children kept each other company skipping and chattering along the way. When we reached the main road, which was always congested with cars, and with its very narrow pavements, we had to walk in single file until we reached the pelican crossing, which was only a stone's throw away from the school gates.

That day, Melanie and I were deep in conversation discussing last night's serial drama on ITV. Everyone had been left wanting more, but neither of us could predict the plot. There were so many twists and turns we were willing the week away, ready for the finale, which couldn't come quickly enough. We were about to cross over the road, when we saw BB and her son Lonsdale heading in the same direction as us. This wasn't out of the norm, we usually crossed paths on the school run but there was something exaggerated in the way she swaggered this morning; something felt different.

‘What's up with her?' Melanie whispered under her breath. ‘Have you seen the look on her face?'

It was true. BB had a face like thunder. ‘That's right, you just walk on like you haven't got a care in the world,' BB barked directly at me with intense venom. I could feel her stare following me while I walked across the pelican crossing; she seemed very unstable, shaking with rage.

This morning, I wasn't in the best of moods, I'd tossed and turned all night with a slight ache under my arm, it wasn't a pain as such, but a small discomfort that had kept me awake. Although I was feeling very drained and short-tempered, I wasn't going to dignify this crazy woman with a response, and I certainly had no idea what she was yelling about. My children had been startled by her actions, even a little frightened. Melanie and I huddled them in closer around the pushchair and told them instructing them to carry on walking and not to look behind.

‘What is her problem?' Melanie asked.

‘I've no idea, but there is certainly something nasty in the wind this morning; look in front of us.'

Thinking I had somehow been transported back in time to my teenage years – a teenager who had been terrified of the school bully, who used line her army up outside the railings to intimidate and upset the children. There in front of us, blocking the entrance to the school gate was Penelope with her mothers' army. Their arms were folded tightly and their heads swivelled first to me, and then to Melanie. I was a bit shocked, as my eyes took in the mothers that were standing before me, all laughing and staring – I knew this was a tactic – trying to make me feel uncomfortable, trying to isolate me for whatever reason, but I had no idea what that reason was yet.

I was shaking inside. My face was beginning to burn; in fact, I could feel my cheeks were flaming red.

Melanie took control. She cleared her throat, ‘excuse me ladies, you seem to be blocking the gateway,' she snapped, and barged straight through them, ushering the kids and me through quickly. It was like a miners' strike, a picket line back in the 80s led by their very own Arthur Scargills – BB and Penelope.

‘What in God's name is this all about?' Melanie asked me once we were through the human barrier.

‘I've no idea, but look at them all gathered in a huddle staring at us.'

‘Since when have Penelope and BB been friends?'

‘I wasn't aware they were,' I sighed, rolling my eyes. Amongst the gaggle of mothers, I was shocked to witness one in particular, Harriet Mackintosh, whom I would have described as salt of the earth; a mother who claimed at every opportunity that she would never entertain cliques and bullies. She had one child Clarabelle who had been friends with Eva for a while but without warning, Harriet Mackintosh had ventured over to the dark side. Whatever was going on?

‘What shall we do?'

‘What can we do? We are standing in a school playground and it's not the time or the place to be acting like them.'

‘Let's go for the act natural look, pretend we are laughing and haven't noticed their ridiculous clique,' ordered Melanie, giving a determined smile.

‘Why would we do that? I don't feel like smiling. I'm fuming! I want to barge straight up to them and confront them,' I spat, but I took Melanie's lead I gave out a radiant smile.

‘What we do is ensure the kids are inside safely then head straight back to mine for a cuppa,' I said.

Mercifully, the school bell rang and the children filed into their classrooms safe and sound. Without even a fleeting backwards glance, Melanie and I were out of the playground quicker than a wannabe WAG trying to bag the local footballer.

Arriving back at home, I was in charge of the teapot. I poured two mugs of tea, and offered Melanie a chocolate digestive. She accepted and we dunked and bit into them at the same time. Matilda and Daisy were quite happily playing on the carpet with jigsaws and dolls.

‘I'd heard Harriet Mackintosh had taken up with the clique, fearful her Clarabelle will be left out of the parties and invites for tea,' Melanie stated.

‘I'm really surprised; she has always kept a wide berth of the Mafia constantly refusing to entertain them, until now obviously. Just when you think you've got to know someone, they surprise you,' I grunted.

As I said this, I felt a bubble of fear rise into my stomach. After what we'd experienced at the school gates this morning, I had the feeling trouble was ahead. Fortunately, for me, Melanie was standing like a trooper by my side. Well actually she was sitting slurping tea; neither of us for the moment had any idea what had rattled the mothers.

I refilled the teapot, and we both sank our teeth into another chocolate biscuit.

‘Have you had any word from Penelope since her outburst in the kitchen?' Melanie enquired.

‘No, absolutely nothing.'

‘What about Rupert?'

'Nothing from him either.'

‘I've heard he's taken up with the lady in the posh car.'

‘Rumour has it she's left her husband; he was abusive or so I've heard from Sandra, at the newsagent. She's taken her two kids and moved in with Rupert, squashed silly in his little flat I believe.'

‘I bet that is cramping his style and Penelope won't be happy if he's spending time entertaining someone else's kids.'

‘He could have been entertaining ‘her' someone else's kid, if you get my drift,' Melanie chuckled trying to make light of the tense situation.

‘He's signed the house over to Penelope; she demanded that he provide a stable home environment for Little Jonny and Annabel and with a new baby on the way she didn't want to be uprooting and moving the kids,' Melanie continued.

‘That must be a shock for him though, going from two kids to four overnight. Who is the woman do you know?'

‘No idea, but Penelope is better off for kicking him into touch, single parent benefit, her mortgage paid, and reduction on the council tax; I bet she thinks she has won the lottery,' Melanie giggled.

Suddenly she went quiet, shaking her head disbelievingly at her phone. The colour drained from her face and she looked up. ‘Bloody hell, you are not going to believe this,' she said.

‘I'm listening, go on.'

‘It appears Penelope isn't playing nicely.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘It's Penelope and BB.'

I stared at Melanie.

‘BB has posted on Facebook.'

‘What has she posted?' my voice faltered.

Melanie flipped the phone over to me so I could see.

‘That you are a thief,' Melanie reluctantly revealed.

‘I'm a thief? What in God's name am I meant to have pinched?' I enquired startled.

‘Fifty thousand pounds,' Melanie answered.

There it was in black and white on Botox Bernie's status. As I read the post, my blood started to boil.

‘
I
t comes
to something when a local mother robs you blind of fifty thousand pounds.'

It didn't stop there.

‘Which mother?' – typed by Harriet Mackintosh.

‘Rachel Young.' – BB.

‘Who has she robbed?' – Harriet Mackintosh.

‘Penelope Kensington.' – BB.

‘How's she done that?' – Harriet Mackintosh.

‘She's been really nasty, fleeced her of fifty thousand pounds. She stole her lottery scratch card.' – BB.

‘If anyone robbed from my family I'd do more than slap the cow.' – The woman with the yappy dog dressed in the fake Barbour coat.

‘I'm going to sue her.'' – Penelope Kensington.

‘I'd do more than sue her.'' – The woman with the yappy dog dressed in the fake Barbour coat.

The post went on and on and on.

We both sat there amazed at such behaviour from adults. Fifteen minutes later, my temper was wearing thin. ‘What the heck is she hoping to gain and why would any other mothers lower themselves to join her pointless crusade – what could it possibly have to do with any of them?' I asked Melanie.

‘The answer to both of those questions is very simple. Penelope is miffed she has missed out on the jackpot, more than likely through her own greed. If they'd have offered to pay for the holiday and the car and had actually stumped up the cash in the first place, you may have even considered giving her a share but she didn't! Let her waste her money on solicitors, she can't claim it's her ticket; she didn't even pay you for her ticket!

‘The answer to your second question, these types of mothers are obsessed with senseless drama. They are the type of people that love attention and like hanging their dirty linen out in public, and they're usually brought together by gossip and untruths. What sort of people write on social media sites that they are going to slap people? These dregs of society are simply bullies, the type of people that have nothing going on in their own lives and are very unhappy individuals by the looks of things.'

Melanie had hit the nail on the head; at this moment, I wished someone would hit Penelope and BB over the head – hard with a hammer.

Melanie paused, ‘I'm so sorry, this is a horrendous situation, but at least you have found out one thing, Penelope was never a genuine friend, a genuine friend would be happy for you no matter what. It appears she is riddled with jealously at your lottery win. Money does funny things to people; you, my dear, have had a lucky escape.'

Melanie was spot on. For the last twelve months, Penelope had tested my patience to the limit. I had put up with antics for fear of being rejected from village life. But I didn't need superficial friendships. I hadn't done anything wrong. If these mothers wanted to set their children this type of example, and use social media to intimidate people, then frankly, these were the types of people I didn't want to know.

Melanie stood up, threw her arms wide, and gave me a hug.