A Year in the Life of a Playground Mother: A laugh-out-loud funny novel about life at the School Gates (A School Gates Comedy Book 1)

by Christie Barlow

  Emma took control of the situation and telephoned her colleagues at the local station on the grounds that Charles was disturbing the peace and organised for a newly qualified constable to make a visit as soon as possible to the house.

  Fifteen minutes later the officer arrived on the scene and the mystery was soon solved. It was at that unfortunate moment we all discovered that the International Sex God was the proud owner of a deflated water bed. It transpired he had been partaking in some sort of solitary sex act whilst viewing a dodgy adult movie. After hearing the unfamiliar noise of the estate agent erecting the ‘For Sale’ sign, he was panicked into thinking Lois had returned home. The only way to prevent her from entering the bedroom and discovering his early morning extra-curricular activities was to burst the water bed. This was an image I immediately tried to block from my mind. At least now Emma fully understood why I wanted to move away from these people.

  Now I’ve covered trees and the water bed, it just leaves the story of New Year’s Eve last year.

  Christmas was just around the corner, a time of year that I truly love. The shops are transformed into enchanting places, full of sparkle with tinsel draped from every possible appendage and the festive tunes that belt out over the supermarket speakers fill the aisles with festive cheer. I was really looking forward to this Christmas as the previous one had been no fun at all. I had been on the verge of being read my last rites carrying Daisy and I was determined this one was going to be different. Not only would I enjoy myself but this year I could participate in the demon drink.

  This was a must in the weeks running up to Christmas especially the last few weeks of the school term. A cheeky glass of pinot grigio always helped to numb the pain of sitting through the school nativity plays.

  The hard work of the teaching staff and children always seemed to be overshadowed by the Playground Mafia. They perch themselves on the front row to obtain the best views of their offspring. They have had the seats adorned with handwritten ‘Reserved’ notices that they have been able to sneak into the hall because of their PTA ‘special access’ rights. The rest of us mere mortals would need a current CRB check and a letter from the Prime Minister to get access to the hall during the school day.

  They take great pride in scanning the programme and smiling smugly to themselves when they see their child’s name printed in the cast list next to the main parts of Mary and Joseph.

  For the duration of the play, they sit there with their noses in the air pretending they are at the Royal Ballet, constantly muttering.

  ‘Did you know my Arabella has the main part?’

  ‘Look at my Tristram, I’m certain he will be a Hollywood actor when he grows up.’

  The closest their child will probably get to Hollywood is the town in County Down, Northern Ireland, that bears a similar name.

  The parts of Mary and Joseph are so over rated: all they do is stand there, by a manger in a barn.

  One piece of information that I never volunteered to any member of the Playground Mafia was the fact we had a second home. This type of information would have been like winning the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory and no doubt would secure my immediate place in the ‘In Crowd’ in a flash. The property was located in southern Spain. So why didn’t I tell them? Probably because I knew the first thing they would do – after checking their child’s bag for a new reading book – would be to search the Internet to pinpoint the property. No doubt the result of their find would ensure I became their new best friend as they inevitably try to blag a free holiday from us. At this moment I didn’t need any new best friends and I certainly didn’t need to holiday with any of the Playground Mafia. I decided sometimes it was better to keep this type of information to myself.

  We shared the Spanish house with a couple of great people. These two weren’t acquaintances; Alex and Susan were real friends. Alex was Matt’s old business partner, Susan was his wife and they were great fun. There was a small amount of cash left over after Matt and Alex sold their business, so during one drunken evening we decided to send the boys off to Spain for a weekend in search of a villa for us to purchase. I’m not quite sure how much actual viewing took place but on their return we were the proud owners of a patch of land and some architects’ plans which incorporated the largest swimming pool on the complex. A little over a year later, the house was finished and we were soaking up the Spanish sun, sipping champagne in our Jacuzzi.

  Alex and Susan were joining us this New Year’s Eve for our celebrations. It was always great fun when we got together and between us we have six kids. We were past the party animal stage and had progressed from drinking senseless amounts of alcohol in the local nightclub to drinking senseless amounts of alcohol at home, while in charge of the little people.

  The boys planned to collect the curry early evening from the local curry house, leaving Susan and I attempting to entice the children into bed. The only problem with this plan was that Eva, my eldest, was a knowledgeable child and didn’t miss a trick. She knew it was New Year’s Eve and that this was the one night of the year where everyone stayed up until midnight – including children! It was proving a little difficult to lure her into bed so plan B kicked into action. Susan and I hurried around the house changing all of the clocks to 11.50pm. We quickly downloaded ‘Auld Lang Syne’ on to the iPod and counted down the time to midnight. Eva was completely oblivious to our cunning trickery and it worked an absolute treat. By 7.30pm she was in bed, sound asleep.

  Susan and I were always up for the comfy life. We imagined Mrs High School Musical dressed up to the nines, playing hostess to the other members of the Playground Mafia at her over-the-top dinner and champagne party. Not us, we dressed up in our fluffy PJs and slippers and cracked open a beer. It was also my birthday in less than five hours but in all honesty New Year’s Day is the worst day in the year for a birthday. Usually everyone is suffering from the hangover from hell after consuming vast amounts of alcohol the night before, so finding people to celebrate it with you was always a challenge. On the flip-side, the night before my birthday is traditionally the biggest party night on the social calendar for excessive drinking so I simply adopt that night instead for my birthday celebrations. The highlight of my birthday is the telephone call I dutifully receive from my mother – usually with a hangover – when she reminds me that I utterly ruined her New Year’s Eve plans all those years ago when I decided to arrive two weeks early.

  I was really looking forward to the night ahead. All the children were now in bed, a chicken balti was on its way, a bottle of Lanson Black Label was chilling for midnight and a game of poker and a right good chin-wag with our friends was on the cards. Unexpectedly the doorbell rang so I made some comment about the boys forgetting their keys and bounded to the door in my bright pink fluffy pyjamas and monster feet slippers. Opening the front door I found the International Sex God standing there in front of me. This was something I hadn’t anticipated. Staring at him I asked him politely what I could do for him. As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I had phrased that wrongly.

  I thought I’d been rescued by the men’s impeccable timing. After parking the car on the drive they hurried straight past him into the house with the curry in hand. Whilst the International Sex God answered my question.

  ‘Are you staying in tonight?’ he enquired.

  I couldn’t make up my mind whether this was a serious question only because I was standing there, in front of him dressed in my PJs and slippers. I didn’t usually go out dressed in this attire. I continued staring at him as the next sentence escaped from his thin, creepy lips.

  ‘We aren’t doing anything tonight, is it OK if Lois and I pop in and join you?’

  I grimaced.

  I wanted to scream ‘No!’

  I wanted to give him Mrs High School Musical’s address and catapult him anywhere in the world except my living room. I thought I was thinking fast when I replied.

  ‘I’m sorry, we are about to sit down
with our friends for a curry.’

  I thought this was a polite way of saying ‘No.’

  His response was not one I was expecting.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘You enjoy your meal and we will see you in a hour,’ he continued.

  Ugh.

  I clearly didn’t have a handle on this.

  How on earth did that just happen?

  What was I supposed to do now?

  Most people usually organise their party arrangements for New Year’s Eve well in advance.

  Shutting the door in a dazed state the buoyant mood of the evening had completely evaporated. Taking a massive swig from my beer can I gazed at Matt. The look of astonishment on his face said it all as I shared the unfortunate news we were also about to spend New Year’s Eve with the International Sex God and Lois – his timid mouse of a wife. Could our night get any worse? Immediately witnessing the look of disbelief on Susan’s face we rapidly drank the next two cans of beer and decided to move on to the harder stuff. There was only one solution in times like this – sherry!

  Feeling anxious, I had suddenly lost my appetite. We all sat around the table breaking up bits of poppadum while trying to come up with a plan to lose the neighbours. Unless we gate-crashed Mrs High School Musical’s party and did the conga with the Playground Mafia, we were stuck with them. Thinking about it seriously, a night with the International Sex God was probably the better option but only just.

  An hour later we were alerted to a tap, tap, tap on the window pane; pulling back the curtains we were faced with the neighbours staring straight back at us. At this point the sherry had rapidly begun to travel through my body and their faces were somewhat blurry. The thought crossed my mind to swiftly drink the rest of the bottle with the hope I’d put myself in a coma. Drastic measures I know.

  Staggering towards the front door, I was more than a little tipsy and was finding it difficult to manoeuvre down the hallway wearing my monster slippers. Opening the front door, I did a double-take. That sherry must have been strong stuff because I could swear that Lois was standing in front of me in wearing a ball gown and Mr International Sex God was wearing a tuxedo. No, on second thoughts, it wasn’t the sherry. Lois was actually standing in front of me wearing a ball gown and Mr International Sex God was actually sporting a tuxedo. Was it possible I had got the dress code wrong at my own party?

  It was also quite quickly apparent that they had come without booze. The cheeky, tight-fisted neighbours had not only gate-crashed my house on New Year’s Eve wearing some ridiculous attire they expected to drink all our drink and eat all our food. I had a feeling this was definitely going to be a night to remember. The only way to completely block this night out of my mind forever was to drink more sherry.

  Feeling like I was a bridesmaid at her wedding I ended up easing Lois onto the sofa in her ball gown leaving not much room for anyone else to sit down. In no uncertain terms, I repeat, there was no way I was going to assist Lois to the toilet. I was beginning to feel a little ridiculous and underdressed in my pink fluffy pyjamas and monster feet slippers.

  ‘Would you like a drink,’ I asked. ‘We have beer, wine, vodka, Bacardi and maybe a little Advocaat that has been festering in the drinks cupboard for years. I could make you a Snowball if you like.’

  I had no intention of offering her any sherry, the sherry bottle was mine and mine only! I had hidden the bottle safely behind the dog’s bed. Lois’ reply was unexpected, causing Susan and I to raise our eyebrows in disbelief.

  ‘I’m teetotal, have you got any fruit juice?’

  Fruit juice? Bloody fruit juice! It was New Year’s Eve and I was already three sheets to the wind, did I look like I was the kind of girl that had fruit juice? Mischievously I did think about offering her some of the baby’s milk that I had expressed earlier in the day – probably the only soft-drink in the house.

  Charles helped himself to a beer and before he perched on the edge of the couch next to Lois he tossed his car keys into the empty bowl on the coffee table. His smirk twitched slightly followed by a wink in my direction. Why the hell did he need his car keys, he only lived next door?

  No sooner had Charles sat down than Susan leapt up and I followed her into the kitchen. She stuffed her pyjama sleeves completely into her mouth to muffle the sound of her uncontrollable fit of giggles. Yesterday’s mascara was now smeared under her eyes leaving her resembling an ancient pop star.

  Pushing Susan out of the kitchen and up the stairs before our fits of giggles were busted by the unwanted neighbours, we fell through the bedroom door and landed on the floor like a pair of teenagers who had just taken a sip of alcohol for the very first time. Attempting to control her laughter Susan wiped her panda black eyes clean.

  ‘Why on earth would they need to gate-crash our fun, where are their friends and what’s with the dress?’ Susan chuckled, ‘They look like the entertainment act for the evening.’

  ‘I thought their dress sense was very current,’ I guffawed.

  ‘It’s a tragedy,’ Susan howled.

  Instantly we both stood up and immediately began to belt out the tune ‘Tragedy’ by Steps whilst breaking into synchronised dance moves.

  The tears were free-flowing down Susan’s face, her arms flailing whilst stomping her feet on the ground, I thought it was possible any minute now she may die from laughing.

  ‘And him, wearing a tuxedo, for God’s sake, they are in a modest detached house on an estate not the ballroom at Blackpool.’ Susan hooted some more.

  ‘You are all heart, you are,’ I chuckled.

  ‘If I was married to the International Sex God I would need to be constantly inebriated to keep my sanity, teetotal would not be an option.’

  Finally managing to pull ourselves together we headed downstairs straight towards the dog’s bed for a quick top-up, before returning to the living room.

  Entering the living room it fell completely silent and all eyes were on us, especially Matt’s. His behaviour resembled that of a demented octopus, waving his arms around and pointing, first at the neighbours and then at his ears. He was obviously trying to tell me something but I was way too drunk for an impromptu game of charades. Suddenly, in the corner of the room a red flashing light caught my eye and I realised that the baby monitor was switched on and everyone in the room had heard our laughing and derogatory remarks.

  Alex was finding it difficult to hide the fact he found the situation hilarious, he was biting down hard on his bottom lip to stop his laughter from escaping.

  There was only one thing for it – more sherry!

  At this point you would have hoped they would make their excuses to leave and go home, as much for our sakes as well as theirs. Instead, Lois looked in my direction and made eye contact for the first time ever.

  ‘I think I will have a drink, if it’s OK with you,’ she said. ‘Whatever you pair are drinking will do for me.’

  To be honest I was very reluctant to share my sherry but thought it was only fair as we had given her and her husband a right good slating and everyone had heard us. Susan retrieved the sherry bottle and poured her a very large tumbler full and I picked a spot to sit down in the living room as far away from the International Sex God as I could manage.

  Quick-thinking Alex decided to play some tunes on the iPod to drown out the awkward silence in the room. Susan raised her eyebrows in my direction; we both noticed Lois had sneaked a cheeky refill and was now on her second tumbler of sherry and as a consequence was starting to relax. Her lips were becoming very loose indeed and her words were beginning to slur. I, on the other hand, had begun to sober up. I think that was down to the game of musical chairs that Alex had instigated in a further attempt to lighten the mood. Unfortunately for me every time I sat down the International Sex God would move and sit next to me so I purposely forfeited the game by ensuring I was the last to find a chair. When the game had ended I decided to throw a few questions at them both, mainly to remind Charles that he was married and his wife was
in the room sitting beside him.

  ‘How did you two meet?’ I enquired.

  I was thirty-four years old and quite naïve to be fair, living a normal low-key existence in a regular house with my four children, my hard-working husband and a standard poodle. My eyes were about to be opened wide.

  Lois started to rattle on about school. I was astounded because I’d hardly heard her speak before but now she was like a verbal machine gun. She told us that she had met Charles at school. I thought this was a bit strange because she certainly looked around twenty years younger than him but I was useless at guessing ages. Maybe he was younger than he looked? Maybe he had just had a hard life?

  Lois giggled that it was love at first sight when their eyes met across the Bunsen burner in a chemistry lesson. She chuckled that at that very moment they both knew they were going to be together forever.

  They started dating secretly – her family were very strict – and she would regularly catch the bus to Charles’ house. It all sounded so very innocent – a young girl taking the bus to her boyfriend’s parents’ house was normal, wasn’t it?

  Then the curiosity got the better of me.

  ‘How old are you both?’

  ‘I am forty-five years old,’ Lois replied. ‘And Charles is sixty-seven next month.’

  I could see the look of confusion on Alex and Susan’s faces but Matt and I were obviously joining the dots faster than they were. Lois was making her own chemistry with the chemistry teacher! Charles was having it away with his pupil and Lois wasn’t catching the bus to Charles’ parents’ house – Lois was catching the bus to his house!

  Charles hijacked the conversation and we all listened intently. Actually I couldn’t move, I needed the toilet so badly but didn’t dare go in case I missed anything. Charles had our full attention as he continued to tell us about their first holiday together. As he reminisced, I tuned in to the words ‘nudist beach’, ‘swingers’ and ‘car keys’ as though I was playing a game of Voyeurs Bingo. I was just about to shout ‘House’ when it hit me like a bolt of lightning – they thought their luck was in. They had put their car keys in OUR bowl on OUR table.