The Playgroup

by Janey Fraser

  Chapter 17

  NOW WHAT SHOULD she do? Gemma sat on the ground with her back to the wall and the hamster in her lap, which was nibbling the treats she’d scattered around her jeans zip. She’d have, at some point, to tell Joe she was living next to him.

  How awful! Joyce’s house was her refuge from school. Much as she loved Puddleducks, she needed an escape at the end of the day, and her room, which she’d come to see as ‘hers’ despite the weekly rent, was the only space she could call her own.

  Over the last three years she had customised it with the antique patchwork throw from the bring-and-buy sale in town; a cornflower-blue lampshade from Heals that Mum had bought her one Christmas; a charming Victorian pine chest of drawers with white china handles that she’d picked up from a house clearance advertised in the local paper, and of course her books. Rows and rows of them on the shelves which Joyce had allowed her to put up.

  Joe Balls didn’t seem like the type to have romances, either Victorian or contemporary, on his shelves. In fact, the man who’d always made it clear that numbers were his ‘thing’ probably had an array of calculators on show.

  There was a murmur of voices through the wall which Gemma could feel reverberating through her back, and the sound of heels click-clacking across the landing to the bathroom and then back again. Oh no! She’d have to share the bathroom with him too! That would be so embarrassing. Mentally Gemma did a quick check of all her personals which she’d kept in the bathroom cabinet even though it had been shared with the previous next-door lodger, a girl who worked at an employment agency with whom she’d got on really well.

  They’d had some fun girly chats and even swapped bath stuff sometimes. But now she was going to have that awful situation where she might actually bump into Joe Balls as she or he came in and out of the bathroom, unless one of them got up really early. If he’d been someone else at school, like Di perhaps or even that quiet young man who was in charge of Year Three, she might have coped, but Joe with his grumpy, gruff manner was a different matter. He was just the kind of person who would complain about ring stains. That was a thought! How embarrassing would it be to share a bath – at different times, of course!

  No. This wouldn’t do at all. How could Joyce have done this without consulting her? Surely her landlady must have realised they worked together. On the other hand, she’d been in a terrible rush to get away to see her daughter, who was having her first baby. Maybe she hadn’t been as thorough as she usually was when quizzing prospective lodgers.

  Meanwhile, Joe Balls – dark horse! – was entertaining this extremely glamorous woman next door. So much for Bella’s furtive speculation about his love life. ‘I reckon he must be gay,’ she had said only the other week. ‘After all, he never mentions a girlfriend.’

  Gay? Privately, Gemma thought she was being unfair. Perhaps he simply hadn’t found the right one. Yet that embrace at the door, which she’d heard rather than seen, had sounded pretty intense on the redhead’s part with that rather breathy ‘Darling’.

  Ed, he had called her. Probably short for Edwina. That would fit with the well-bred voice and the gorgeous clothes.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she whispered to Hammie, who was looking up at her with his cute, knowing black eyes, ‘I should just pop next door when she’s gone and tell him I’m his new neighbour.’

  Just saying it out loud made her feel that this was the right thing to do. She only hoped that the glamorous auburn girlfriend wouldn’t stay the night.

  When, an hour later, there was the sound of the door opening and shutting again, Gemma still didn’t know what to do. Did that mean Ed had gone out, or both of them? Would it look intrusive if she knocked on his door and she was still there?

  Oh blow it. The sooner done, the sooner over, as her grandmother used to say. Popping Hammie gently back into his playball, Gemma ran her hands through her hair and tentatively knocked on Joe Balls’s door. Had he heard her? She knocked again, louder this time.

  ‘Coming,’ called a deep voice, and Gemma’s heart quickened as footsteps came towards the closed door. This was ridiculous. She had as much right to live next door to him as he did to her, so why did she feel awkward?

  ‘Gemma!’ His surprised look removed any chance that he might have known the identity of his fellow lodger. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  She felt an embarrassed flush crawl up her neck, deepening when she saw that he was wearing just a pair of shorts. He had a towel slung around his shoulders as though he’d just stepped out of a shower, even though his room didn’t have one. This was excruciating! ‘No. Not exactly. I just thought you ought to know that I live next door.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘To this house?’

  ‘No. To you.’ She indicated the door next to him. ‘I’ve rented a room here for ages. Obviously Joyce didn’t tell you.’

  He put the towel more firmly round his shoulders, but not before she’d glimpsed the rather unexpected crop of black hairs on his chest. ‘She was in a rush.’

  ‘Her daughter’s having a baby.’

  They both spoke at the same time and then each paused, uncertain whether to speak next or to give way. Gemma gave way.

  ‘So,’ he mused, as though digesting the information. ‘We’re neighbours. At least, during the week. I still intend to go home to London at the weekends.’

  She nodded. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not the type to cadge tea bags. Just the odd spoonful of hot chocolate.’

  He smiled, and for a minute he looked like a different man, thought Gemma. Perhaps, she felt like telling him, he ought to smile more. It certainly made her feel more at ease with him. Then, unable to contain her curiosity, she took a sneak peep behind him. His room was smaller than hers, and as far as she could see there was no one else there, unless she was under the bed.

  ‘Does your girlfriend live here too?’

  She could see from his eyes that she’d been too nosy.

  ‘My girlfriend? No. She’s . . . What the hell is that?’

  His eyes went behind her towards the floor at the same time as she felt something hard brush her ankles.

  ‘Oh my God,’ squealed Gemma. ‘Hammie!’

  She ran towards the top step, but it was too late. Horrified, she watched the ball bump down first one step and then another and another . . .

  ‘Stop him,’ she screamed, and Joe, to give him credit, seemed to take in the situation and ran past her, scooping the ball off the bottom step.

  ‘What’s inside?’ he asked, handing it to her.

  Gemma could hardly speak. ‘The hamster. The playgroup hamster.’ Her hands trembled. ‘Oh God. Is it dead? I can’t bear to look.’

  She shook with fear as Joe peered inside. ‘It’s breathing but it is lying on its side. There’s a spot of blood too on the sawdust. Look, I think we ought to take it to the vet. Is there one in this place?’

  It was after hours, but what was an emergency if it wasn’t a hamster who had fallen down the stairs in its playball? Yes, the duty vet was prepared to come in to the satellite surgery just out of town, but they would need to be there within the half-hour.

  ‘My car’s being serviced,’ wailed Gemma.

  ‘Then I’ll give you a lift.’ Joe strode up the stairs. ‘Just give me a second to put something on and get the bike keys.’

  Five minutes later, Gemma found herself clutching the back of Ed’s leather jacket – so weirdly intimate to have her arms around his back! – and flying through town on a Harley-Davidson, with Hammie wedged into the bike box on the back. Joe had said he’d take it slowly on account of their precious cargo, but it still felt fast to her. Would Hammie still be alive when they got there? And how could she have been so stupid as to leave her bedroom door ajar?

  ‘He’s sitting up!’ said Joe when they got there, in a voice that didn’t sound like Joe Balls at school. ‘Look!’

  The vet didn’t seem surprised. ‘You’d be amazed what animals survive,’ she said. ‘Ouch. Don’t bite, you little rascal.’ />
  Together Gemma and Joe marvelled as the vet very carefully felt each miniature joint. It was incredible how she could do an examination on such a tiny creature.

  ‘I think its right arm looks broken,’ said the vet at last.

  Gemma gasped with horror.

  ‘But it’s not a problem. I had one in last week, exactly the same. We’ll just pop a miniature splint on it and providing it has plenty of rest – you’ll need to leave him here overnight – your Hammie should make a full recovery.’ She smiled at them. ‘Just don’t let the children play with him for at least three weeks.’

  She thinks we’re a couple, realised Gemma with embarrassment but if Joe thought the same, he didn’t put the vet right. Instead, he just gave Gemma a look that said, clear as day, ‘that’s a relief’, and drove her back. Without the excuse of a mercy dash as there had been on the outward journey, it now felt really awkward to put her arms around his waist and feel the heat of his body under the leather jacket.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Gemma when he parked outside Joyce’s. She stared down at the ground, wondering about the correct procedure for dismounting. In the end, she swung her leg over the seat – so high! – and almost fell on to the pavement in a most inelegant fashion.

  Righting herself, she wondered if she should ask him in for a coffee. Then again, she’d just run out, and after what she’d said about not cadging tea bags, it didn’t seem the right thing. In silence, they walked side by side up the stairs to their respective rooms.

  ‘I’ll say goodnight then.’ He made as though to shake her hand but then stopped.

  ‘See you tomorrow at your Britain’s Best Talent gig.’ His mouth curled slightly as though he was trying to smile. ‘My class is looking forward to it.’

  ‘Us too,’ Gemma heard herself saying. ‘And thanks once more. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. I really don’t.’

  Instantly he stopped his attempt at a smile. ‘It was nothing. Anyone would have done it.’

  Oh dear. Now he thought she was being too friendly. As if he was her type! Gemma walked back to her room, telling herself that with some men, you just couldn’t win.

  Kitty, it had to be said, was absolutely brilliant. She arrived in a bright pink shirt dress with sparkling black trainers and a purple hair bow that made her look like Minnie Mouse. Even at uni, she’d been the one who had dressed eccentric ally with leggings that had clashed intentionally with the rest of her, and a different hair colour every month. She might not have got through to the final of Britain’s Best Talent, but she had done well enough for a record company to offer her a contract.

  The children were so excited, as they nattered to Kitty while walking up to Reception, that Gemma and her helpers could hardly keep them in line.

  But if she’d hoped that the hamster episode might have thawed Joe Balls’s attitude to her at school, she was mistaken. The entire drama, from her boss’s distant expression, might as well not have happened.

  ‘Very good of you to make time to visit us,’ he’d said stiffly before introducing Kitty to his own class. The idea was that the children did their own acts after hers. The Puddleducks sang the toothpaste song which she had written especially for them to encourage them to clean their teeth at night, while Joe’s class did a variety of songs, and performed a play about a wizard who was also a mathematician. Boring, boring.

  Some of the mothers were there, and there was a big round of applause afterwards.

  Gemma had arranged to meet Kitty in one of the wine bars in town after work. ‘He’s gorgeous,’ gushed Kitty before Gemma could say anything. ‘Just like Colin Firth but slightly more rounded, with attitude. I’ve always had a thing about northerners.’

  Not Kitty too!

  ‘Joe Balls can be very rude and besides, he’s got a girlfriend,’ said Gemma quickly. ‘An extremely glamorous one with a voice like slub silk and legs up to her doubtless perfectly waxed armpits. Besides, have you forgotten about . . .’

  ‘Don’t even say that man’s name.’ Kitty laid a hand on her arm. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I can’t stay the night but like I said, I’ve got this gig. As for that other thing we talked about, in my opinion, the sooner you take the plunge the better. Gemma, are you listening to me?’

  The last part of this conversation haunted Gemma all through the weekend. Usually, she enjoyed her weekends. On Saturdays she went to a t’ai chi class and often she went on a cycle ride along the canal. ‘You ought to get out more and see people your age,’ Joyce was always telling her, but Gemma would laugh and say she was happy as she was. Sometimes she met up with friends in London and they went to a play or the cinema, but when they suggested clubbing, she always made an excuse.

  Meanwhile, she needed to see Brian, and Sunday was just the day to do it. ‘You were lucky to catch me, young lady,’ he said when she arrived at about midday. ‘Only just got back from church, I have. Didn’t used to go but when you’ve survived something like I have, it makes you count your blessings.’

  She stood in the kitchen, watching him check the roast in the oven. ‘Fancy a bite?’

  She automatically started to make an excuse, but then she stopped. When news of Brian’s heart attack first got out, the rumour was that he might not survive but here he was, bright as a daisy, despite moving rather more slowly than she remembered. Dear Brian, who had been so kind to her when she had been a new girl at Puddleducks. She owed him some time, thought Gemma, especially as he didn’t have his adored Mavis around any more.

  ‘A bite to eat?’ she repeated. ‘That would be lovely. Thanks. I would have brought a bottle of wine if I’d known.’

  His eyes twinkled. ‘Don’t you worry about that. My successor presented me with some whisky and my favourite biscuits the other day. I’ve polished off the last ones but I have some wine.’

  ‘Joe Balls came to visit?’

  ‘He did,’ said Brian, carefully stirring flour into the gravy. Gemma briefly considered offering to help, but had a feeling that his pride wouldn’t let him agree. ‘And the man’s not the ogre that everyone makes out. In fact, he could do with a bit of help.’

  Help?

  ‘It’s not easy for the poor bloke.’ Brian poured the gravy into a jug, slopping it slightly with his shaking hand on to the yellow-and-black-flecked Formica worktop. ‘He might have the business background but three years at a tough school in London isn’t enough, in my opinion, to weave your way into the hearts of Corrybank and Puddleducks. The man’s got other issues too. Things that he told me in confidence that clearly I can’t share. But let’s have our lunch, shall we? And then I’m going to tell you how you can help him.’

  It was ridiculous, thought Gemma walking home. Help Joe Balls? The problem with him, as she’d tried explaining to Brian, was that he was one of those people who always thought he was right. In fact . . .

  What was that?

  Her eye fell on a newspaper placard outside the garage. This one, with a tabloid name above it, stood out far beyond the others.

  Singer Dilly Dalung secretly sends tot to state playgroup!

  Gemma felt sick as she bought a copy and quickly scanned the article. It contained all kinds of details, like the type of snack box which Lily took to playgroup and the kind of car that dropped her off – details that only an insider could have provided. There was even a picture of the Puddleducks building.

  How on earth did they get that? It was such an invasion of privacy!

  On the other hand, it was inevitable that one of the other parents would eventually say something to a newspaper. Some of them had already asked her if Dilly Dalung really was Lily’s mother, and although she’d explained she couldn’t comment, it was clear from their expressions that they knew what was going on. Maybe Beryl had been wrong when she’d vetoed Joe’s idea to discuss the situation with the other parents. Personally, Gemma had thought that everyone concerned should know the truth.

  On the other hand, maybe it had been a member of staff who had provided th
is ‘Exclusive’. Someone who wanted the money that the paper had no doubt paid. A picture of Bella with yet another new pair of shoes flashed into her mind, making her shiver with apprehension. Bella wasn’t an ideal playgroup assistant, it was true. But surely she wouldn’t stoop to something as low as this?

  Just at that moment, her mobile rang. ‘Gemma?’ It was Joe’s voice. The old, gravelly, distant voice before the hamster incident. ‘I expect you’ve seen the newspapers. Beryl wants us both into school first thing Tuesday morning, for an urgent meeting.’

  ‘OK,’ said Gemma tightly, wondering why she always got the feeling that she had done something wrong when Joe talked to her.

  ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘I wonder if . . .’

  The line went dead. Bother. Her battery had gone. Now Joe might think she had cut him off! With a heavy, sinking feeling, Gemma found herself making her way towards Puddleducks. Something made her wonder if the scummy journalist who had broken the story might just be having another look right now when no one was around.

  Yes! There were three of them, each with their cameras taking a picture of the giant blue and white Puddleducks sign. ‘Oi,’ she heard herself yell. ‘You lot there! Clear off! Do you hear me? This is private property.’

  Whipping out her mobile – they weren’t to know that her battery was dead – she pretended to talk down the phone. ‘Is that the police? I’d like to report some intruders at . . .’

  That did it! They were off, leaping over the fence and legging it down the road. Gemma felt a combination of shock (she hadn’t realised she could get so angry) and a sense of achievement. It just went to show what she could do when she really tried. If only she could have got angry like that in her personal life, she might not be in the mess she was in right now.

  Chapter 18

  HANDBAG DESIGN HAD been her first choice, but that was full so she needed to put down an alternative. What should it be? Belly Dancing? Hatha Yoga? Mosaic Marvels?