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

  ‘Where the hell is Rupert?’ Penelope enquired.

  ‘He left about half an hour ago to start his shift. He has just started a new job,’ Charlotte replied.

  My phone beeped and I glanced down to see a text from Matt.

  What’s going on? Rupert’s turned up back here and is asking why I am looking after the kids in his house and wants to know where Penelope is. He’s got his shifts mixed up and he’s not supposed to be working this weekend.

  Jesus, how the hell was I going to explain what we had discovered in only a hundred and sixty characters?

  Play dumb again, just say we are out for drink and we will be back soon.

  I didn’t have a clue if we would be back soon. I didn’t have a clue what was going on, full stop.

  It was strange being in the same room as two Penelopes dressed in the same clothes. I did think of suggesting that Charlotte could buy Wendy’s house and then they could have matching houses and matching clothes but share the same Rupert. At least then he would feel right at home in either house and save a few quid on petrol too – Wendy only lived down the road.

  Penelope, who had been staring into her tea cup, finally spoke again, directing her question at Charlotte.

  ‘What do you mean he has done it again?’

  ‘Rupert has had an affair again,’ replied Charlotte, coolly.

  ‘Well obviously – with you,’ snapped Penelope. ‘He can’t have an affair with me, I’m his wife,’ she continued.

  OH MY GOSH…

  It hit me before it hit Penelope – further evidence that I was the intelligent one. Was Rupert actually married to both of these women?

  Penelope was slow on the uptake and hadn’t quite grasped that she was in a room with Rupert’s other wife. This was the most interesting Saturday night without alcohol I had had in a long while. I immediately renamed this assignment to ‘Mission Bigamy’.

  I couldn’t keep the fact that they were wearing the same clothes to myself a moment longer. If I was in the same room as someone wearing an identical top I would be mortified, never mind the fact they also had matching cardigans, trousers and shoes. I tried to catch a glimpse of their socks but this was probably the least of their worries. So before I could stop it, the obvious question popped out of my mouth.

  ‘Do you both realise you are wearing the same clothes?’

  They should have been grateful that I didn’t say, ‘Do you both realise, you’re dressed identical, look exactly the same and are sleeping with the same man.’

  Penelope was definitely getting the worse deal out of the two of them as this house was beautiful and hers, apart from being an analogue of Wendy Barthorpe’s house, was just another house on the estate.

  Charlotte began her story. She wasn’t angry; in fact she was very pleasant coming face to face with herself. I wasn’t sure if I should leave because technically this was nothing to do with me but I was Makepeace – I had found Penelope mark two and I wanted the bloody gossip.

  Charlotte stated that Rupert had had numerous affairs over the years and this wasn’t the first time the ‘other woman’ had knocked on the door. I wasn’t sure yet which one of them was the ‘other woman’ and didn’t like to ask for clarification at this moment, so I thought it best to keep quiet.

  Charlotte continued by telling us that every time Rupert had bought his mistress a present he would buy her the same, whether it was clothes, shoes, handbags or perfumes. There was a method to his madness – if he bought them both the same things he could never trip himself up by forgetting what he had got each of them. At this point, both Penelope and Charlotte confirmed that Rupert had bought them the same outfits and presents for Christmas.

  I was amazed how calculating Rupert was. I would have never thought of that but I suppose I’m not married to two people. Christmas must cost Rupert a fortune, unless he sought out the ‘buy one get one free’ offers for gifts. I wondered how he would get away with having two families on Christmas Day but that’s where his shift work could always be used as a cover story.

  It transpired that Rupert had lived with Charlotte for over fifteen years but they were never married or able to have children. Charlotte wasn’t shocked that Penelope had two children with Rupert. I was shocked that Penelope actually remembered she had TWO children as she was always forgetting about Annabel. This was a psychologist’s dream, what went on in Rupert’s head? He was living a double life with two different women who looked the same – living only fifteen minutes apart – and then continued to be unfaithful to both of them.

  What amused me most about this situation was Rupert wearing the neon lettered boilersuit out of choice rather than necessity. He didn’t really have a shift job, goodness knows where he was earning his money to support and sustain two separate families and lifestyles. The boilersuit was his cover; why in God’s name did he not pretend he was a business man so he could swagger around in a fashionable suit impressing the ladies? He could then invent the odd business trip so he had legitimate cover for nights away from either – or both – of them!

  Although I suppose he didn’t need to reel in any more women, he had more than his fair share in the same postcode area. I felt sorry for Penelope, she looked physically battered. It was one thing forgiving your husband for having an affair with your best friend but how on earth do you get over him leading a double life for fifteen years and living with another woman who looks exactly like you?

  It was getting late when I began to drive Penelope back to her normal house in the village. Penelope could probably picture herself as the lady of the manor but that was Charlotte’s house – left to her by her late mother – so there was no way Penelope would get her hands on it, even if she chose to divorce Rupert.

  What do you say in a situation like this? There was absolutely nothing I could say. The Verve’s ‘Lucky Man’ was playing out on the car radio so I switched it off quickly. Rupert had been a lucky man up to this point but I assumed his luck had just run out. I drove Penelope home in silence. She had trumped all my dramas with Imogen and Frisky Pensioner. It was all about her and she was welcome to it. Little Jonny no longer wanting to become a palaeontologist and deciding he wanted to work in McDonald’s was the least of her worries.

  I dropped Penelope at home. It was a bit of come-down compared to the cottage we had just left behind. Rupert opened the door and greeted us.

  ‘Where have you pair been?’

  I thought I’d leave Penelope to explain that one. I picked up Matt and our kids and drove home to the Shack. At least Matt didn’t wear a boilersuit – he’d look like an inmate from the local funny-farm if he did.

  Ten

  October

  October was the month Rupert disappeared from the village for two whole weeks – not by choice but on Penelope’s insistence. If it was down to me Rupert would have disappeared on a permanent basis – under the bloody patio. Luckily for him he wasn’t married to me, thank God. Penelope sent him off to rehab to help him understand and control his addiction. I wasn’t sure if it was the addiction to the boilersuit fashion disaster, sex or lying – I didn’t like to ask. Penelope swore me to secrecy. That wasn’t difficult; who was I going to tell? I couldn’t believe she even wanted to save the marriage. Had it really been a marriage when Rupert had been sharing her with another woman for the past fifteen years? Penelope couldn’t even spend a weekend with Rupert at the best of times but she decided they should stay together for the sake of the kids. She thought the children deserved a father figure that they could look up to but since they didn’t have one of those, Rupert would have to do.

  While Rupert was out of the picture for two weeks, I was stuck with Penelope. It was as though she had suddenly become an incapable human being and had regressed back to a child. She might as well have moved into the Shack as she was there more than Matt was. He was at the end of his tether and fed up with the sight of her and became a part-time alcoholic, venturing to the pub with the dog and a newspaper most evenings for
company. I suggested he could join Rupert in rehab if he was going to carry on in that manner.

  He thought he was having it tough but being stuck with Penelope twenty-four hours a day was more than torture – that would turn anyone to drink. She was driving herself insane trying to imagine what Rupert was up to every minute of the day. Paddy Power’s odds suggested Rupert would have copped off with his counsellor by now and was probably living it up while away from his wives – but I didn’t like to comment.

  The weekend of the mountain climb was fast approaching. I could hardly contain my excitement; a weekend away with Penelope, just the two of us. Yippee! It was times like these when I pondered how bad I must have been in a past life. Matt was landed with the school run for the very first time ever as Penelope and I were due to head off on the Friday afternoon, before school finished.

  The morning of the expedition, the scene in the playground was unbelievable – there were flags, good luck banners and lots of cheers. One of the teachers had even made us a ‘Good Luck’ cake – thankfully there was no Kendal Mint in sight! I thought it was a little over the top – wishing me luck for spending a weekend away with Penelope – but soon realised it was actually to do with the climb. She lapped up the attention while I, on the other hand, was a little bit embarrassed. We weren’t climbing Everest, just some overgrown hill in Cumbria.

  Camilla handed Penelope a good luck gift – a new ridiculous fur hat for her head. That woman certainly liked making Penelope look stupid. On the plus side, Penelope appeared to have lost the ‘puppy fighting’ jodhpurs for the weekend. Imogen looked over at all the kerfuffle in the playground, wandered over to me and handed me a small gift bag.

  She gave me a wink and whispered, ‘you may need this’ before walking off.

  I glanced into the bag to find a pill bottle with ‘Valium’ written in hand on the label, a small bottle of whisky and a card. I opened the card and read the message.

  ‘To dull the pain,’ it said, followed by a smiley-face symbol.

  I quickly caught Imogen’s eye as she left the playground and winked back in her direction. It had been a while since we’d spoken and I really appreciated the gesture.

  Penelope and I drove back to her house to load up the car before we set off on our long journey. I waited patiently in the car for her to reappear with her overnight bag. I had to do a double-take in my mirror when she appeared with numerous bags; it looked more like she was moving house.

  ‘What’s in this bag?’ I enquired.

  She reeled off a list.

  ‘My denim jacket, a lightweight rain coat, a fleece, a mountain coat, a heavyweight raincoat and my puffa jacket.’

  I was no Carol Vorderman but that added up to six coats. We were due to be away for less than forty-eight hours and the weather forecast for once in Cumbria was actually quite sunny. I would look forward to her swapping her coat every eight hours.

  ‘What’s in this bag then?’ I continued.

  ‘My shoes.’

  ‘How many bloody shoes do you need?’

  This bag contained flip-flops, Converse, walking boots, a normal pair of shoes, slippers and Wellington boots. All in all she was taking six pairs of footwear. When was she going to have time to wear all these? Did she intend taking them all up the mountain?

  ‘Why in God’s name do you have flip-flops?’ I quizzed.

  Penelope enlightened me; apparently her feet swelled up at night and became really sweaty so the only footwear she would be comfortable in was the flip-flops. So why take the slippers, what was the point in that? The next bag was full to the brim of makeup. Then there was another bag of food, snacks and the boxes of Kendal Mint Cake. Finally there was the rucksack, which contained her climbing clothes and night stuff.

  ‘Have you got your toothbrush?’ I added sarcastically.

  The panic-stricken look on her face suggested the answer to that was ‘No’ as she rushed back into her bathroom to retrieve it. I placed my one small bag that mainly consisted of the Valium and whisky that Imogen had given me into the boot of the car.

  After taking thirty minutes to load Penelope’s bags, we were finally on our way. You would think we were royalty as the streets were lined with her neighbours waving us off. I’m sure they were waving Penelope off hoping for her non-return.

  We had only travelled three miles up the road when Penelope needed to stop for the toilet, have a fag break and to touch up her lipstick. I consulted my parent handbook and suggested she should have gone to the toilet before we set off. I gave her a sarcastic ‘tut’ and shook my head in disbelief. After waiting ten minutes for her to finish her fag she finally got back into the car reeking of smoke. I just knew this was going to be the longest forty-eight hours of my life filled with fag breaks, footwear alterations and numerous coat changes. Penelope took a CD from one of her many bags and she slipped it into the player.

  I knew her fashion sense was a throwback to the eighties, in fact it was actually a very brave look, but I hadn’t realised her music taste was no better than mine. Out of the car speakers blurted The Weather Girls. I was only aware of one of their songs. Come to think of it, it was probably their only song. The temperature was definitely rising in the car and I was beginning to feel agitated and we were only five miles from home.

  I pride myself on being able to multi-task but there was no way I could listen to this and the details of Little Jonny’s latest career choice while I was trying to concentrate on driving. Without saying a word, I pressed the eject button and took control.

  I turned to Penelope and in the words of the song I sang ‘Have I got news for you.’

  I started how I meant to go on this weekend.

  ‘My car, I’m driving, we are listening to the radio.’

  It was going to be torture enough without any added pain. It was a long journey – a bloody long journey.

  Penelope waffled on about how great Camilla was.

  I wanted to add, ‘Yes Penelope, such a good friend that she knows your husband much better than you think,’ but I didn’t.

  Penelope carried on talking about their new celebrity clients and how much money Camilla was raking in at her saddlery business. She couldn’t be raking it in that much as she still had no land.

  ‘Pay rise for you then Penelope, managing director next!’ I suggested. ‘Just think of all those new coats you can buy.’

  I could see the cogs turning over in Penelope’s mind as she clearly hadn’t been offered a pay rise and no doubt Camilla would keep all the profits for herself. Well I suppose she would try – if the farrier managed to secure half her business in the divorce settlement, Penelope may be out of a job. I guess Camilla would then become an ex-mate and Penelope would get back to slating her. She had given up a job working for herself, with time off during school holidays, to be Camilla’s cleaner for the minimum wage. I know which one I would have chosen.

  The evening was closing in and the sky was beginning to darken and after numerous toilet stops and fag breaks we made a visit to the nearest McDonald’s. Penelope managed to shovel two burgers down in less than four minutes. I needed to consult the Guinness Book of Records for burger shovelling because I was gobsmacked how quickly she made them disappear. As we finally approached the village where our hotel was located, I was tired, fed up and couldn’t believe I was wishing it was Monday morning already and I was back in the playground.

  The satnav took us to the road where the hotel was supposed to be. We passed some magnificent houses situated along the riverbank, quaint little shops and ice-cream parlours. Luxurious hotels complete with swimming pools, spas and cinema rooms. I couldn’t wait to arrive and head off for a quick relaxing swim and a small tipple, before climbing into bed in preparation for our long day ahead.

  I drove up and down the road umpteen times but couldn’t locate the hotel. Penelope double-checked the address on her confirmation and declared that we were definitely on the right road. I handed her my mobile phone and suggested she rang t
he hotel to get the exact location. The telephone was on loudspeaker as Penelope dialled the number. The phone clicked and a very unpleasant bloke answered.

  ‘Yes? What do you want?’

  I raised my eyebrows and stared hard at Penelope. Surely she had dialled the wrong number. Penelope spoke and asked if she had called ‘The Yates Hotel’.

  I was hoping the irritable man would confirm it was the wrong number and I could sigh with relief. No such luck – he verified we had called the right number and we needed to head another mile up the road. He told us to be quick too, as he wanted to close up for the night.

  When we arrived I couldn’t prevent the words, ‘You seriously have to be joking,’ from leaving my lips.

  ‘We have passed some fabulous-looking hotels and you have booked us into a dive. How much has this dump cost?’

  The look of horror on Penelope’s face said it all.

  ‘It cost a thirty pounds a night,’ she replied.

  ‘No shit, Sherlock … no bloody wonder. They need to pay me to stay here.’

  I was a little angry to say the least, after driving for hours and ending up at what looked like a rundown youth hostel or ‘halfway house’ for those recently released from prison. Even the hotel sign was lopsided and numerous light bulbs were out. There was no swimming pool, telly, bar or Wi-Fi. Even ten quid a night for this place was steep. I reluctantly parked the car, climbed out and headed to the door of the hotel. It creaked and jammed against the floor so I gave it a shove with my shoulder, dislodging a massive spider which fell down and landed on Penelope’s shoulder. Thank God I had Imogen’s Valium and whisky tucked away. I had a feeling I was going to need a lot of help to survive this weekend.

  We looked around and couldn’t see anyone. There were lots of chairs covered in cobwebs and antique tables draped in lace tablecloths. In front of us there was a hatch with a bell and a rope. Stuck to the wall adjacent to the bell was a scribbled note, telling us to ring the proprietor again when we arrived. I was willing to lose my thirty pounds a night and leave this dump there and then. I was willing to find a vacancy at one of those lovely hotels down the road, crack open a bottle of champagne and pay a hundred pounds per night if I had to. Penelope was anything but willing. In her words she couldn’t afford to lose her money.