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

  And they were off. Race after race Penelope shouted at poor Little Jonny; he looked very embarrassed and spent the whole time glaring back at her. After a while he just blanked her in the hope nobody would realise she was his mother.

  The PTA women were strutting about selling raffle tickets for items left over from the Christmas Fair. The prizes – if that’s what you could call them – were usually shower gels and body lotions that brought you out in a blotchy, spotty, allergic rash. The PTA had already siphoned off any decent prizes for themselves, perks of their commitment apparently. That was a commitment or perk I could definitely do without.

  There were two races left. The first was Little Jonny’s main event, which was in the bag according to Penelope. She had already prepared her speech for when he was presented with his gold medal. And the last race of the day was the mothers’ race.

  I could say I was glued to my seat waiting for the next race to start but that would have been a lie. Penelope looked like she was about to wet herself, she was that excited shouting for Little Jonny at the top of her voice. I didn’t know any of the kids lining up for the race – I prefer it that way – except my Samuel. Penelope hadn’t even noticed Samuel or given him a second thought. I didn’t make it obvious my son was in the race but I gave him a cheeky wink and quick thumbs-up to encourage him – and with the promise of twenty-five quid to beat Little Jonny I knew he would give it his best shot.

  The whistle went and the kids raced off. Penelope stood on her chair as they sprinted towards the finish line. Little Jonny was in front for most of the race until one boy came from nowhere in the outside lane. He got faster and faster until he overtook Little Jonny and raced through the finishing tape first.

  The roar of the crowd was immense and as the cheers died down I could hear the spectators whispering.

  ‘Who is that boy?’

  I noticed Penelope was like a deflated balloon, she was slumped over in her chair clasping her head in her hands, mortified that Little Jonny had disgraced the family name. Samuel looked over at me and gave me a thumbs-up on his way to receive his winner’s medal. Twenty-five quid well spent in my opinion. That’s my boy!

  Next it was time for Penelope to restore the ‘Kensington’ reputation. She needed to show Little Jonny that one of them was a winner.

  The headmistress grabbed the megaphone and bellowed, ‘Time for the mothers’ race.’

  Right before my very eyes Penelope stood up and whipped out a rucksack from underneath her chair. Not only did the bag contain her running gear but also an energy bar. I watched as she shovelled it down at superfast speed. I was mesmerised. That bar would have given me energy all right, energy to get off the school field and into the pub as fast as I could. Jesus, she wasn’t running a marathon, it was only a hundred metres sprint. She limbered up on the sideline in her new running spikes with some squats and stretches. I waited with bated breath for the sound of her shorts tearing, or her backside rippling.

  ‘Can all competitors make your way to the start line,’ shouted the headmistress.

  Penelope stood at the starting line in her clean, bright, white running shorts and a vest top that was way too tight. When the whistle blew, she was off, bounding up her lane heading towards the finish line. With all the drama that was going on around me I had forgotten to run the flippin’ race myself. What an absolute shame.

  I craned my neck in the direction of the finishing line. Botox Bernie was holding the rope. Botox Bernie had lost so much weight that you could hardly see her when she turned sideways. She was getting scrawnier by the day; rumours had it she was on the divorce diet.

  It was turning into a day full of surprises. I couldn’t believe my eyes – Penelope was actually winning. She was just ahead of another blonde who was vaguely recognisable. I squinted in the hope it would help me see more clearly. Then it twigged, it was only the woman with the beauty spot – the one on Rupert’s dating profile. Talk about doing it on your own doorstep. Penelope was head to head with Rupert’s new lover, neck and neck, fighting to be crowned mother of the year at the school sports day. I’m sure this is how wars start! Then it all took a turn for the worse. Almost within reach of the gold medal, Penelope tripped in her new running spikes and made a desperate grab for her husband’s new squeeze and they both hit the deck, face down in the dirt. Wendy Barthorpe stepped over the heap of mothers to take the winning medal! The crowd erupted with rapturous applause.

  It was turning out to be an eventful day but unfortunately for Rupert he had arrived when all the action was over. Well, apart from his wife sprawled on top of his new lover face down on the ground. They had even managed to take Botox Bernie’s legs from underneath her, though fortunately for her she had landed on her fabulous chest which had cushioned her fall. I couldn’t work out what the white heap was, on the floor next to the pile of women. It looked like hair – surely none of the mothers had brought a cat? I squinted again and realised it was a wig. At the same time there was a loud gasp from the crowd. The women were scrambling to their feet and the spectators could see that the blonde was now a brunette. I knew she looked vaguely familiar; I had definitely come across this woman before. This woman was the brunette hanging off the farrier’s arm when he’d been buying the chocolate ribbed condoms. This woman was the same woman having the affair with Camilla Noland’s husband. Funnily enough the farrier was also at sports day and hadn’t recognised his own lover until this moment. He had obviously never seen her in a wig before. Rupert did the best thing he could possibly do and quietly retreated out of the school gates back to his house, leaving the farrier to question the brunette’s transformation.

  I scanned the field looking for Camilla. I thought it was odd that the farrier could be in deep discussion with this lady – in the loosest sense of the word – and Camilla was nowhere to be seen. I don’t know why I was surprised I couldn’t see her; she never went to Mothers’ Day assemblies, harvest festivals or any other events for that matter to support her daughter. So why would sports day be any different?

  I was just about to leave the shamed Penelope handing the wig back when things started to get interesting. I could hear shouting – shouting that sounded like ‘Camilla’. In a strange twist of events I could see her racing across the field after ‘Elvis’. She was running so fast that I considered suggesting she should enter the mothers’ race herself next year. I didn’t have a clue where the pair of them had appeared from – probably the bushes at the back of the field. Elvis was shouting after the woman in the wig – the farrier’s and Rupert’s lover. Then like a lightning bolt it all fell into place.

  The lady in the wig was his ex, the Marilyn Monroe look-alike. Camilla was married to the farrier but she was having an affair with Elvis. The farrier was having an affair with Elvis’ ex who was also having an affair with Rupert (Marilyn, not the farrier). Rupert was married to Penelope who quite frankly was the innocent party in all of this. Camilla Noland had once had an affair with Rupert but Penelope was yet to find out about that one. And they were all squabbling on the school field in the middle of sports day with the PTA having a field day – pardon the pun. I think the tight shorts and the figure hugging vest was the least of Penelope’s problems as she went in search of Rupert.

  Seven

  July

  The sun shone brightly as Penelope and I headed off on our usual morning walk. June had been a rotten month for her. Little Jonny hadn’t stepped up to the mark on sports day, Penelope had ended up eating grass during her race while clutching the wig of the latest woman in her husband’s life. She had been humped by a standard poodle, made the wrong choices on eBay and Wendy Barthorpe had totally cut her out of her life. Due to the stress of it all, Penelope had piled the weight back on. She put it down to comfort eating. Maybe July would be kinder to her.

  Penelope decided she was on a mission to set herself new challenges. I noticed that the challenge this morning was to walk with heavy weights strapped around her ankles in the vain hope of
accelerating the weight loss. I had decided to knock the Friday weigh-ins on the head, it was too much hassle. Every week Penelope stomped off in a mood because I was losing more weight than she was. I don’t think she quite grasped the fact that we were two different body shapes, which was life.

  We headed up the main road on our walk and for a change Penelope and I weren’t dressed in the same attire. The previous day I had noticed she was wearing the same strappy sandals as me but I didn’t pass comment. I pondered the idea of buying and wearing a ridiculous item of clothing, just to see if she copied. I suppose I should look on the positive side, obviously I was a trend-setter and I should have felt privileged she wanted to copy my style.

  We ambled along the fields and streams for quite some time until Penelope suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. I thought that the weights had got too much for her and she couldn’t walk any further. There was no way I could carry her back, weights or no weights. We had walked a great distance and there straight in front of us was Camilla Noland’s house. Penelope was staring at the property and I followed her gaze. There, right outside her house, was a ‘For Sale’ sign. I was actually a little gobsmacked myself. I thought back to the conversation in the saddlery, when Camilla was adamant how much she loved her beautiful house and how it was worth a fortune with all her land. It was apparent the grass wasn’t greener hanging out with Elvis – either that or she was moving to Graceland.

  Camilla and Penelope had been hanging out a little more than usual and Penelope couldn’t wait to share the gossip. This proved that they were both as two-faced as each other – in the past Penelope had continuously slated Camilla and Camilla was always the one spreading Penelope’s – or Rupert’s – misfortune around the village.

  Penelope had been spending some evenings in Camilla’s and Elvis’ company. The local eating establishment that employed Elvis was providing them with not only a little entertainment but a free night out on the house. According to Penelope, she was Camilla’s alibi, leaving the farrier convinced she was out with her. Penelope had made up a foursome with a bloke called Tom. Tom was one of Elvis’ mates. It was unfortunate for Tom that his surname was Jones but he wasn’t Welsh and he didn’t have wiry, curly hair or an orange complexion. However, he did insist on role playing as his namesake and assumed he was hilarious. Tom thought Penelope was a lady and greeted her with ‘What’s new pussycat?’ every time they met. Penelope didn’t seem to mind, if there was a free feed involved she was there.

  The sports day incident had the whole village talking. Rupert had saved his own skin by disappearing from the scene before anyone cottoned on to the fact that the farrier wasn’t the only one who’d had a close encounter with Marilyn. Both Camilla and the farrier had come face to face with each other’s love interests and quite frankly what could either of them say? Camilla had never loved the farrier, he was just her meal ticket at the time for a more prosperous life. Camilla no longer had to endure his moaning or his repulsive snorting noises when he awoke each morning. Not to mention his vile habit of cutting his toe nails with one of his farrier tools at the kitchen table. None of these characteristics were the least bit attractive. She was entitled to half his worldly goods, which would be quite substantial given the amount of land that was attached the house.

  Once the walk was over, I returned home and made myself a cuppa. Camilla’s pad was on my mind and I decided to have a nosey of the particulars on the estate agents’ website that was advertising her property. I thought that if it was up for sale at a half decent price it might be worth a look, especially with all that land. Surely my money was as good as anyone else’s? I located the house on the website and couldn’t believe my eyes. Camilla’s house was indeed a bargain and cheaper than the Shack. I knew this for certain because we had only recently had the Shack valued. What an absolute bargain with all that land, a substantial house on the market for buttons. I was so excited I telephoned Matt immediately, who was not the least bit thrilled at the thought of moving house again so soon. My argument was the land; we had horses and it would be ideal. I persuaded Matt to at least have a look when he arrived home.

  I waited patiently for him to arrive home at six o’clock and as soon as he entered the house I thrust the laptop into his face to view the details. He made himself a drink while I hopped from one foot to another, willing him to hurry up. Eventually he sat down and looked over the details.

  ‘Great house,’ he said, ‘it would be ideal for us and the children but there is a reason why the house is so cheap. Have another look yourself.’

  He swung the laptop in my direction.

  Oh my gosh … it slapped me straight in my face. Camilla Noland wasn’t Lady of the Manor or Mrs ‘I’m better than everyone else’. The particulars showed only a small courtyard attached to the property, the only land the substantial property actually had. After a quick search on the Internet, it became apparent the acres she claimed were attached to the property belonged to the farmer at the rear of the house. She just rented grazing space for her horses.

  I let out a howl of laughter.

  ‘Mrs Noland has NO LAND.’

  Her surname suited her completely. She’d had the cheek to turn down my money for a saddle while standing as bold as brass boasting about her land and property. How the mighty have fallen. Some people are not quite who they make out they are.

  Mrs No-Land, as I now thought of her, was one of these people. I knew every time I saw her I would have a secret smile to myself. She was no better than me – or anyone else for that fact.

  The next day’s walk was extremely interesting. Matt was working from home and was quite happy to supervise Matilda and Daisy whilst I trekked out with Penelope. We trekked miles, ten miles to be exact, to a pub along the canal. We were armed with a rucksack full of water, money and toilet roll in case we got caught short halfway there. We picked the pub at random; neither of us had visited this joint before but it was a beautiful day and to be honest I was quite looking forward to a few hours without the children.

  We wandered along the canal in the sunny weather. Today, Penelope’s choice of subject was Camilla and she was chatting quite openly about all the dirt she had on Camilla.

  In Penelope’s words, ‘It’s only you I am telling.’

  Camilla was hoping to set up home with Elvis once the house and land were sold. That would be all well and good if she actually had some land to sell. Penelope vouched for Camilla claiming that the land was indeed all hers. Penelope was quite adamant that Mrs Noland had no reason to lie, but I knew different.

  The pub was in sight, a welcome view to be honest. Entering the pub we headed straight towards the bar, after ordering our drinks we looked around to locate a table so we could sit and peruse the lunchtime menu. I was ravenous after all the exercise. Immediately scanning the room I clocked the White Witch of Narnia sitting at a table in the corner. She was the woman who had interviewed me for my latest job – or should I say the woman who sat in on the interview and did nothing except peer down her snooty nose at me. She sat alone but had two drinks resting on her table. I assumed whoever her lunch date was had nipped to the toilet. We both eyeballed each other at the same time but she quickly looked away.

  I thought this was very rude of her, so when I passed her table I gave her a cheery, ‘Hello, how are you?’

  My greeting was a little over the top and a few customers sat at the other tables glanced over in my direction. The White Witch looked up and forced nothing but a smile.

  We sat at a table not too far from the White Witch.

  ‘How the hell do you know her?’ Penelope enquired.

  Her voice was a little shaky and I knew immediately from her reaction that there was a story behind this question. Surely Rupert hadn’t been poking his wand in her cauldron as well? If that was the case, my opinion of Rupert would hit an all-time low.

  ‘She was on the interview panel for the job I just landed. Well, when I say she was on the interview panel, she was attending
to make up the numbers. That’s the only time I have come across her. Why?’ I replied.

  ‘That witch used to be my best friend,’ answered Penelope. That didn’t seem a major drama to me as Penelope had loads of people who used to be her best friend. One day I would be one of those people who used to be her best friend.

  Penelope shared the story of how she, the White Witch and another friend called Mel were once the terrible threesome. Always out together, having a laugh, until Mel landed a boyfriend. Mel broke away from the group a little and started to see Rob more and more until, eventually, the times she met up with Penelope and the White Witch became very scarce. Mel was very happy and had set up home with Rob and their first baby was on the way – exciting times.

  During the last couple of months of the pregnancy, a distressed Mel had contacted Penelope and the White Witch to invite them round for a catch-up. When they arrived Mel appeared to be in a right state, to say the least. She was becoming suspicious of Rob’s behaviour and thought he may be having an affair. His routine was changing and more often than not he would arrive home from work later than usual. No sooner had he arrived home he was straight back out again to pump some iron at the gym but Mel never found any gym clothes to wash in the washing basket. Penelope and the White Witch had assured Mel she was probably imagining it and no doubt the pregnancy was taking its toll. The White Witch decided to be a ‘Good Witch’ and took it upon herself to follow Rob one evening so she could put her mind at rest. Her findings concluded that Rob was indeed working late and then travelling to the gym so there was nothing to worry about all.