The Playgroup

by Janey Fraser

  IMPORTANT NOTICE!

  We know you’ve already had the Puddleducks September newsletter and although we don’t want to drown you with more paperwork, we want to tell you about a Very Exciting Opportunity that has come up!

  You might have read, in the press, about Britain’s Top Ten Playgroup of the Year Award, which has just been launched by Bank With Us. Playgroups throughout the country have been invited to find a brand-new project that will involve the whole community.

  For instance, it might be a reading project where we invite local businesses to donate books and then come in to hear the children reading.

  This is the example that Bank With Us has given us, but we want to find something more exciting and different! So we’re asking you to think of something that will help Puddleducks Playgroup win!

  The prize is a staggering £20,000 to spend on equipment and resources but I’m sure you will agree that although the money would be very helpful, it’s the prestige which will count. So, over to you! Please send your ideas into us, in writing!

  PS. Just another reminder that there are still some spaces left for the After-School club, which is only open to Puddleducks and Corrybank children.

  PPS. Below is another song we plan to sing at the end-of-term concert/nativity play. If you can practise it at home, along with the Puddleducks Song, that would be very helpful!

  THE PUDDLEDUCKS TOOTHBRUSH SONG

  We are the little Puddleducks

  We love to clean our teeth.

  Up and down, round and round,

  Behind and underneath!

  And again with actions!

  We are the little Puddleducks

  (children point to themselves)

  We love to clean our teeth.

  (toothbrush action)

  Up and down, round and round,

  (bend down, straighten up and do finger circles in air)

  Behind and underneath!

  (look behind and then on floor)

  Thanks, everyone!

  Chapter 8

  GEMMA WOKE EARLY on the second day of term, conscious that she’d just had a really weird dream. As she rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom that she used to share with the other lodger – so nice to have it all to herself now! – it came back to her in bits. There’d been something about a motorbike. A red and black bike with a metal wing-like structure that swept up at the back behind the seat as though it belonged to a rocker . . .

  In her dream, the bike had taken off all on its own but as she’d begun chasing it down the road, she’d suddenly realised there was a child sitting on it. A very pale girl with dark hair and solemn blue eyes. Just at that point, she started to fall down a hole in the pavement.

  Falling, according to Kitty, who was big on dream interpretation, meant a fear of losing control.

  Gemma shivered as she peeled off her pjs and stood under the shower waiting for the hot water to kick in. No prizes for guessing why she’d dreamed of a bike like the one that belonged to Joe Balls (wow – had they got off to a wrong start there!) and a pale, dark-haired girl who looked like Lily.

  Personally, she’d thought Joe’s idea of talking to the parents about the need for discretion had been a good one, but Beryl had vetoed it by email late last night, saying it would draw attention to the situation. After all, not all the parents realised exactly who Lily was.

  Gemma closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the water finally surging over her. Even so, the niggling worry in her chest remained as she drove to work. Something didn’t feel right, she thought, which was why she wasn’t totally surprised when she arrived at Puddleducks to find the American mum with short spiky hair waiting at the door, clutching the other end of her son’s Velcro wrist harness.

  We don’t start for another half an hour, she wanted to say, but the distraught look on the woman’s face stopped her.

  ‘Sorry I’m early. Danny, stand still! You can’t go inside right now. Mrs Merryfield isn’t ready for us yet.’

  Miss Merryfield, please! Sometimes it just wasn’t worth correcting.

  ‘It’s just that . . .’ Her hands were twisting in an anguished fashion. ‘I needed to make sure . . . You’re new, aren’t you?’

  Gemma was taken aback for a second. ‘I’ve been at Puddleducks for three years. But I’ve only just taken over as acting playgroup leader, if that’s what you mean.’

  The woman was nodding energetically. ‘That’s exactly what I meant. I don’t mean to be rude but I wanted to make sure that you’ve been checked. Danny, I said stop fidgeting like that.’

  Checked? Visions of an infectious diseases clinic shot into her head.

  Mrs Carter Wright was still nodding furiously. ‘That you’ve had your security checks.’

  Was this what it was all about? Some people, thought Gemma, might have been affronted. Put yourselves in the parents’ shoes, Granny had always said. If she’d been a mother in a strange country with different rules, she might be worried too.

  ‘Yes I have.’ Gemma almost wanted to pat the woman’s hand comfortingly. ‘We all have to. Everyone does who works here, including the cleaners. So you don’t have to worry on that score.’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘I know you’re early but if you want, why don’t you come in with Danny now and you can watch us get ready. It might reassure you to see what we do.’ She squatted down beside Danny, who was trying to yank off the wrist harness. ‘Shall we show Mummy that lovely Wendy house you were playing in yesterday with your new friends? We could do some letter outlines too!’

  Bella arrived shortly afterwards to find Mrs Carter Wright standing awkwardly over her son while he played peekaboo behind the playhouse curtains.

  ‘Is that our new FM?’ she hissed.

  Gemma gave her a disapproving look. One thing she hadn’t liked under Miriam’s leadership was her boss’s penchant for labelling mums. FM stood for Fussy Mum. There was, Miriam used to say heavily, always one. Then there was AW Mum, which stood for Always Working, like Freddie’s mum who sent her son pictures of herself in the office via his kiddy iPhone, which he wasn’t meant to have at school.

  Occasionally there would be a DM (Drunk Mum) after the social evening. Usually they had a very watered-down punch on offer, containing more orange and lemon squash than anything else. Last term one of the mothers had brought along her own bottle of ‘water’, which turned out to be vodka.

  ‘I’m sho shad that Oliver is leaving to go to the big school,’ she had said, hiccuping into everyone’s ear. Gemma had just hoped that, for Brian’s sake, Oliver and his weak bladder would mature at Big School.

  Sometimes Gemma wished she could pick up all the parents and roll them into one so they came out with each other’s pluses and minuses. Fussy Mum could give some of her worry to Couldn’t Care Less Mum. Pushy Mum who had been going on at her about extra counting lessons after school could lose some of her pushiness to Forgetful Mum who had forgotten, again, to bring in her emergency contact form. And Helpful Mum (‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help you put everything away?’) could be balanced with Untidy Mum who had left a trail of chewing gum and dirty tissues on her way out.

  ‘I’ve done the register and everyone’s here,’ said Jean importantly, coming up to her.

  ‘See you later, Danny,’ the American woman was saying.

  ‘Poor thing,’ whispered Jean. ‘Did you see how our new boy didn’t even give his mum a second look? Just like my lot when they went off to college.’

  Bella sniffed. ‘Better than yelling for their mums if you ask me. Now, bags I don’t go on messy corner this morning. I’m still trying to get green jelly off my new bootlegs. By the way, have you seen what Lily is wearing? I’m sure I saw that silk dress in Junior Vogue.’

  Gemma sighed. Bella was definitely in the wrong job. Anyone who wore new clothes to a nursery shouldn’t complain if they got ruined.

  Gemma clapped her hands, giving Bella a sharp look. ‘Time to practise Puddleducks
songs, I think, everyone!’

  Sienna pouted. ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s a good question,’ said Gemma, ignoring Bella’s rolling eyes. So what if Sienna was always asking ‘why’? It was normal at this age. ‘It’s because singing is fun! Right, everyone. I’d like all the Puddleducks who were here last term to help the new ones with the words. Clemmie, can you stand next to Danny? Lovely. Off we go then.’

  Gemma was rather proud of her Puddleducks songs, which she herself had made up. Singing was a great way of releasing emotions and also of helping children to learn how to do things. She was pleased to see Danny, his eyes bright and excited, nudging Lily in enthusiasm.

  Automatically, Gemma’s hand went up to her neck to touch her silver chain in the way she often did when feeling emotional. But a cold chill struck through her. It wasn’t there.

  Chapter 9

  ‘HAS ANYONE SEEN my silver necklace?’ Gemma heard her own voice come out with a panicky edge as she crouched down on all fours, looking to see if it could be anywhere on the floor.

  ‘What does it look like?’ asked Bella in an interested tone.

  Gemma tried to get her head straight. ‘It’s a chain.’

  ‘With a pendant or without?’ asked Jean soothingly.

  ‘Without,’ she said, almost in tears.

  ‘Oh.’ Bella’s disappointed voice clearly suggested that in that case, there wasn’t much to get excited about.

  Bella, Jean and all the children tried to find it, but without any luck. Together they searched the messy corner, the quiet corner, the Wendy house and the playground. Nothing.

  Gemma’s neck felt naked and there was a lump in her throat which threatened to choke her. Was it a sign?

  ‘Did someone special give it to you?’ asked Bella in a knowing voice.

  Gemma pretended not to hear the question, not trusting herself to give a coherent reply. Meanwhile, she was in charge of twenty small people for the morning, and she simply had to put her personal pain behind her to concentrate on their needs rather than hers.

  It didn’t help when there was a scrap over the sandpit, thanks to Freddie deciding it would be fun to flick sand at anyone who passed. Jean had handled it brilliantly, bless her.

  ‘Freddie,’ she’d begun, ‘can you put a bit of sand in your hand and move it around with your finger like this? Good. It feels sharp, doesn’t it? That’s what it’s like for someone if they get some of your sand in their eyes. So shall we stop?’

  ‘I catched it,’ called out Matthew, who was playing softball.

  ‘Caught,’ groaned Bella, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. ‘Not catched. And watch what you’re doing with those play scissors, Billy. It’s not nice to cut off people’s noses.’

  It was amazing, thought Gemma as she helped Clemmie to cut playdough shapes into quarters (four quarters make a whole – see?) how you could almost tell what kind of adults they would become. Clemmie, who always wore the princess costume and would only eat her mid-morning snack off a pink spotty plate, might well end up as a fashion designer. Freddie, who was very organised – just look at him lining up the cars in the play garage – might be an engineer.

  Molly, who had a permanently runny nose, wanted to work with animals like her mother. And as for Billy, who was leaping up and down in his seat at Bella’s paper-cutting table, who knew what Billy would do? Prime Minister? Young Offender? Either was possible.

  Meanwhile, Gemma was keeping her eyes peeled for the silver chain. If only she had time to look! But then Johnnie bumped his head on the corner of the sandpit during Messy Play and had to go down in the Accident Book, although there wasn’t even a bruise to be seen. ‘No problem,’ said Lars his au pair smoothly when he arrived fifteen minutes late to pick up his charge. ‘I will sext my boss.’

  It was all Gemma could do to keep a straight face. No wonder Johnnie’s command of the English language was rather sketchy!

  ‘Come on then,’ Bella said as they started tidying up the art corner, otherwise known as fart corner thanks to Toby whose inability to keep smells in, regardless of whether he was on antibiotics or not, was legendary. She nudged Gemma. ‘You can tell me now they’ve gone. Lily’s surname isn’t her name at all, is it? She’s the daughter of . . .’

  ‘Shhhhhh!’ Gemma gave her a warning look as their new cleaner, a rather ferocious-looking young woman who, judging from her accent and yellowy-white complexion, came from an Eastern European country, clanged by with her bucket and broom.

  ‘Anna’s all right. She hardly speaks so she probably doesn’t understand much English. Go on. You can tell me.’

  Gemma thought back to her conversation with Beryl during the summer holidays and last night’s chat with Joe Balls. Privacy was everything. It was one of the reasons why Dilly Dalung, one of the most famous female rock singers in Britain, had chosen to send her daughter Lily to a state playgroup rather than a high-profile society pre-prep or nursery school.

  Certainly she could have afforded the latter. It was no secret that, much to the locals’ excitement, Ms Dalung had bought a mansion on the other side of Hazelwood after her very bitter divorce, during which she’d accused her husband of some pretty awful things. Gemma, like many women in the country, had been unable to prevent herself from following the case in detail.

  The fact that she had chosen to send her daughter to Puddleducks was, as Joe had pointed out unnecessarily, a huge compliment to the playgroup. Now it was up to Gemma and her staff to ensure they all rose to the challenge. If Dilly Dalung was impressed by the care and education they prided themselves on offering, it might help in saving their skins.

  They also had an obligation to look after the child. Of course, they did that with all their Puddleducks, but after what Dilly Dalung had told Beryl about her ex, Gemma couldn’t help feeling a special concern for Lily.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, sounding primmer than she’d meant to. ‘I can’t say. Now, if you mop up that puddle over there, I’ll prise the glue off the cupboard door.’

  Bella gave the puddle a doubtful glance. ‘Is that soapy water from Messy Play or Honey leakage again?’

  Could be either! Despite her worry over her necklace, Gemma felt like laughing at her assistant who was now putting on her own pair of rubber gloves with black fur trim (which she always carried in her bag) and reluctantly mopping up the spillage before washing her hands thoroughly at the sink. ‘I’ll be off now, if that’s all right.’ She sniffed. ‘Honestly, at times I wonder why we do this.’

  Because, thought Gemma, taking a palette knife to the cupboard, we love it. Because there was nothing like seeing the relieved look on the face of a new, worried mother, like the American woman when she came to collect her son yesterday and he not only gave her a big warm hug, but was also jumping up and down with excitement to show her the papier-mâché football he had made. Or the look on Daisy’s mother’s face when she’d arrived this morning, complete with twin slings, to see her daughter shooting off to the sandpit.

  ‘Miss Merryfield?’

  Joe’s deep voice made her jump. She hadn’t even heard him pressing the security buttons. She tried to hold his gaze to show she wasn’t intimidated by him, but it was difficult. His eyes, which were strangely mesmeric, had that intense expression which reminded her of a former university tutor who was never happy with his students’ performance, even if they achieved top grades.

  ‘Thought I’d come down to see how your day went.’

  His voice had that tough, let’s-go-forward edge, and Gemma suspected that this man was more into power talking than power walking.

  ‘My day? Great, thanks.’

  ‘Great?’ he repeated.

  ‘Is that the wrong answer?’ She hadn’t meant to retort so sharply, but she’d always wished she’d stood up more to that tutor, and now this northern Mr Grumpy, as Di in the school office rather naughtily called him, was bringing out some of her past resentment.

  He gave her a steely look. ‘What do you mean by that?’ />
  ‘Well,’ she said, taking a deep breath, ‘I can’t help thinking that whatever I say is wrong. If I say I had a great day, are you thinking that I am being too self-congratulatory? What I really mean is that over the last two days, I persuaded one child to leave her mother’s ankles with the help of Mouse’s baby, who was also feeling homesick. I also stopped a rather lively Puddleduck from shearing someone’s hair and turned his attention to writing letter outlines instead. Together with my team, we got through Music Mania without bursting any eardrums, and we’ve also had our first rehearsal for Pyjama Drama.’

  Was that a smile curling on Joe Balls’s lips? It almost made him look friendly.

  ‘May I enquire what Pyjama Drama involves?’

  She pointed to a pile of neatly folded pjs on the side. ‘Everyone dresses up in them and we write our own play about a family of pyjamas. This term the storyline is about Mr and Mrs Pyjama teaching their children to fold themselves up properly.’

  It was a smile!

  ‘And this baby mouse? Where does he come in?’

  Quick as a flash, Gemma pulled out a spare baby from her skirt pocket. Tucking her index finger into his body, she made him do a quick bow. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ she said in a squeaky voice. ‘You can take me home if you like.’

  Instantly, Joe’s face tightened. ‘I don’t have children.’

  Really? Somehow she’d assumed that at his age – he must be in his mid-thirties, surely? – he’d be married with a family of his own. Too late, Gemma realised she’d put her foot in it again. She herself always felt slightly inadequate when new parents asked if she had children herself, and now she’d made Joe feel awkward too.

  ‘Sorry. How about nieces or nephews?’

  Her keenness to make amends was making her gabble.

  ‘Godchildren. Two.’

  She thrust Mouse Baby Mark One at him. ‘Then please, do give him as a present. I’ve made plenty more.’

  Looking decidedly amused (a good sign, surely?), the new head of Reception shoved the poor mouse in his trouser pocket. Then he spoke with a lower voice so that she had to go nearer to hear him. Their proximity made her feel slightly awkward: she could even smell something lemony which might or might not be his aftershave. ‘I also came down to find out how Lily has been getting on.’