The Playgroup

by Janey Fraser

  ‘After half-term.’

  ‘Which is when?’

  Sometimes Gemma forgot that Kitty’s world – now made up of recording sessions and trips to New York – was so different from hers.

  ‘Third week in October but I’ve got Parents’ Evening before then and mid-term reports, and you wouldn’t believe the paperwork . . .’

  ‘Right. Then this Saturday it is. We’ll go clubbing and you can meet some of my friends.’

  Gemma hesitated. Clubbing really wasn’t her thing but if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up like some spinster schoolteacher without any friends. ‘That would be great. Thanks.’

  Gemma couldn’t wait to get home. She’d tried. She’d really tried to be interested in what this tall, aquiline-nosed actor friend of Kitty’s was saying about the new ad he’d just been asked to do for skincare. He was clearly expecting a compliment but even if she could have forced one out, he wouldn’t have heard her anyway. The noise was too loud! She’d also drunk more than usual, partly because it gave her something to do and partly because the aquiline-nosed actor kept topping her up without asking.

  ‘Not my type, I’m afraid,’ she confided to Kitty as they both headed for the Ladies about elevenish, which was way past her usual bedtime.

  Kitty eyed her in the mirror. ‘Know your trouble? You’re still holding a candle for that man. It’s about time you woke up and remembered that he’s gone.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Vanished. Poomf! Maybe when you’ve done the necessary, you’ll be able to convince yourself of that.’ She patted Gemma’s shoulder kindly. ‘Now go on. I can see you’d really rather go home. No, it’s all right – honestly. Give me a ring next week.’

  The aquiline-nosed young man got her a taxi to Marylebone and even saw her on to the train before kissing her goodbye on both cheeks, very close to her mouth. As she watched him push his way back through the barrier, Gemma almost wished she could feel something for this well-mannered actor who would undoubtedly meet with her parents’ approval.

  ‘Excuse me?’ An incredibly tall, smooth-shaven, good-looking man with piercing blue eyes, who looked as though he was the rugby-playing type, leaped on the train just as the whistle was blowing. ‘Do you know if this is the right train for Hazelwood?’

  Gemma nodded, taking in the army kitbag. From his clean-shaven face and short haircut, not to mention the smartly pressed beige trousers and navy jacket, he was possibly in the services like her younger brother Tom. Every time she rang home, the phone would be answered by her mother whose voice would immediately soften in relief when she knew it was Gemma and not someone bringing bad news. Yet at the same time, they were all so proud of him.

  ‘Have you come far?’ She hadn’t meant to engage in conversation but the wine had loosened her up. Besides, you never knew with the army; people often knew each other. By some coincidence, Tom was serving with a cousin of one of the parents at Sunnyside. Maybe this gorgeous-looking man with the kitbag might have come across her brother too.

  ‘The Middle East and then a few weeks of training down in the West Country.’ He gave her a broad smile that lit up his eyes, unlike Joe Balls’s smiles, which were few and far between and never got any further than the edge of his mouth. ‘I’m in the services.’

  Just as she’d thought!

  ‘The paratroopers?’

  His broad face nodded. ‘You have someone there?’

  No. Tom was in another division and it turned out that the stranger on the train didn’t know him, but did know several of the places that her brother had been to. So they spent a very pleasant hour discussing all kinds of things, from world security to the funny things that children say. By then she’d already told him what she did, taking care not to mention any names or divulge parental antics. You never knew who was on the train!

  ‘I’m on leave until January so I thought I’d spend it with family, especially as my sister’s just had a baby.’ He patted the large carrier bag from Hamleys that was sitting next to his kitbag. ‘My mother’s on cloud nine at being a granny. She’s already been at my sister’s for a week but can’t stay away!’

  Baby? Mother away for a week? No. It would be too much of a coincidence if this was Joyce’s son. She’d look awfully silly if she asked him, and he wasn’t.

  ‘Looks like we’re here!’ He had seen the sign before her. ‘Please. Let me help you.’

  Gently he took her bag even though it was light compared with his, which he had hoisted on his back before cupping her elbow and helping her off the train. The touch of his hand made her skin tingle, as though she had grazed her funny bone.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Not at all. May I walk you back? I don’t like to see a lady going home on her own.’

  No, really, she was about to say. It was very kind but she didn’t want to put him out. Besides, she was always telling the children not to talk to strangers. So why on earth was she now telling him where she lived? Too late, she wished she hadn’t had those three glasses of wine at the club. This really wasn’t like her; not like her at all!

  ‘Hazel Road?’ He grinned. ‘It’s where I’m going too. My mother lives at number 43.’

  So she was right! ‘I rent a room at the top of your mother’s house.’

  His face beamed in recognition. ‘Then you must be Jane . . . Jean . . .’

  ‘Gemma,’ she corrected him.

  ‘I know we’ve never met but I feel as though we have. My mother’s always talking about you.’ He put out his hand. ‘I’m Barry.’

  I know, she almost said. Your mother’s always talking about you too, although she didn’t say you looked more like a Daniel Craig than a Barry.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he continued, ‘as we’re going in the same direction, let’s get a taxi. I insist. My treat.’

  Taxis were a luxury she could ill afford on a teacher’s salary. How nice to be treated and looked after for a change!

  ‘Evening, Gemma!’

  Her heart plummeted as she spotted Joe Balls at the head of the queue, still with the one crutch he’d been using since being taken to hospital after passing out at the Parents’ Social. Blast! Judging from the disappointed look on Barry’s face, her new companion obviously thought that Joe was a boyfriend. Somehow she felt the urgent need to put him straight.

  ‘Barry, this is Joe Balls, my boss at school.’ She accentuated the last few words so the relationship was quite clear. ‘He also rents a room from your mother during the week.’

  Joe gave a sharp, short nod which could hardly be described as friendly. Typical!

  Barry nodded at the crutch in an almost reverent way. ‘Been in the wars, have you?’

  Joe looked uncomfortable. ‘Just a fall.’ He shot a look at Gemma that seemed to beg her not to tell him what had really happened.

  She almost felt sorry for him, but not quite. ‘I hope your wife is looking after you,’ she couldn’t help slipping in.

  He frowned and to her surprise, she saw a look of hurt flitting across his face. ‘Ed is my ex-wife actually. We’ve been divorced for a couple of years now but we still keep up contact.’

  Clearly! ‘Been to see her, have you?’ She couldn’t help slipping that one in.

  ‘No. I was actually staying at my flat in London this weekend.’

  ‘Want to share a taxi?’ Barry was saying. ‘Makes sense, doesn’t it, if we’re all going to the same place? Here’s one now.’ He stepped ahead of them smartly and held out the door. ‘After you, Gemma.’

  She took her seat, feeling a tingle running through her. Barry wasn’t just devastatingly good-looking. He had excellent manners, too, which fitted in with the nice things his mother was always saying about him. Things finally seemed to be looking up!

  Chapter 25

  WHEN GEMMA WOKE the next morning, she felt an unusual lightness in her chest. Then she remembered the previous evening. Don’t be so silly, she told herself. Just because Barry made polite conversation and gave you a taxi ride home, it doesn’t mean
he fancies you. Besides, he’s in the army, which means he will go away. And did she really want to play the waiting game all over again?

  ‘Gemma!’

  Joyce stood at her door, beaming.

  ‘Hope I didn’t disturb you, dear, but I just wondered if you were going to be around today? I believe you met my Barry on the train. Such a coincidence, isn’t it? Anyway, I thought you might like to join us for lunch. Nothing fancy. Just a roast.’

  Gemma hid her smile! Joyce’s attempts at match-making were so obvious as to be worthy of Mrs Bennet, but she felt it would be rude to refuse. Besides, she really wanted to see Barry again!

  ‘Guess who I’ve met?’ she texted Kitty. ‘Joyce’s son. The one she’s always going on about. He’s v dishy and I’ve been invited to lunch 2day!’

  Kitty’s reply came back almost immediately. ‘Is this variation on boy next door? Wear smthing nice. Not 2 casual bt not over top either!’

  She had a point! Gemma rifled through her wardrobe looking for something that wasn’t too dull (like that grey knee-length skirt) or too revealing (like one of Kitty’s cast-off tops). In the end, she settled for a crisp white shirt and pale blue designer jeans that she’d bought in the sales, plus a pair of soft brown ankle boots. Somewhat nervously, she walked down the stairs and knocked on Joyce’s door, feeling as though she should be there to pay her rent instead of arriving for Sunday lunch.

  ‘My dear girl, come on in!’

  Joyce, joined by Barry, ushered her in, past the kitchen, to the rest of the house where the tenants never went. She hadn’t seen this part before. ‘What a lovely sitting room,’ she exclaimed, admiring the beautiful French windows that led out on to the garden.

  ‘Thank you, dear. Now Barry, do get Gemma a drink.’

  Joyce waved her hand towards a cocktail cabinet in the corner that reminded Gemma of an almost identical one owned by her parents. Its surface, like every other piece of furniture in the room, was covered with photographs of Barry and certificates ranging from those for school swimming to the Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award. ‘What would you like to drink, sweetie? Gin, vodka, Pernod? Just name it and my Barry will sort you out.’

  She gave Gemma a wink. ‘Men in uniform know how to pour a girl a drink, I expect, and much more! Besides, we all deserve a celebration drink to welcome back my boy.’

  Not sure whether to feel amused or embarrassed, Gemma watched as the diminutive Joyce tried to put her arm around her son’s enormous waist. ‘Our men in the forces are so brave. So very brave.’

  ‘Mum!’

  Clearly poor Barry didn’t know where to look. ‘I’ve only been diving in South America.’

  ‘Yes, darling, but before that you were in that terrible place. Now what was it called again?’

  He gave her an affectionate squeeze and then disentangled himself. ‘Let’s not talk about that now, shall we. I’d much rather hear about Gemma’s work at her nursery school.’

  If that had been Joe, Gemma found herself thinking, he would be asking her why she did pyjama drama at Puddleducks or what was the point of making hedgehogs out of baked potatoes and matchsticks, but Barry seemed genuinely impressed.

  However, by the time they all sat down at the dining-room table, laid with gleaming silver cutlery and sparkling crystal, Gemma had run out of small talk and so, she suspected, had Barry. She needn’t have worried. Joyce was more than happy to take over.

  ‘One slice or two, Gemma? You need building up, sweetie. You girls are so thin nowadays. Needn’t ask how many slices for my boy, need I? Just look at him, Gemma. He eats like a horse but never puts on an ounce.’ She winked again across the table. ‘It’s all those exercises they make him do. Up at 5 a.m., my Barry is, even when he’s home, to do his press-ups.’

  Barry gave her an ‘I’m sorry about this’ look across the table, and she tried to make a reciprocal face to show that she understood.

  ‘Sprouts, Gemma, or broccoli, or both? Barry, pass her the gravy, would you? By the way, that girl round the corner rang this morning to see if you were back yet.’ Joyce sighed. ‘She’s one of many broken hearts that Barry has left behind over the years. Of course, it was a long time ago but they don’t forget, these girls, and it’s not surprising when you look at how handsome and brave he is.’

  ‘Mum!’

  This time there was a warning in Barry’s voice that startled Gemma and actually managed to stop Joyce in her tracks. ‘Sorry, dear. I can’t help it.’ She gave a shrug. ‘There’s nothing quite like the bond between mother and son, you know, Gemma. You’ll find out that for yourself one day if you have one. I can’t wait to see little Ashley again next week. You’re going to adore him, Barry. In fact, he looks a bit like you. I think it’s the ears. Wouldn’t be surprised if it got you broody at last. Now, more wine anyone? By the way, dear, do you have a special man in your life?’

  The last question, coming on the heels of all the previous gabble, took Gemma by surprise. ‘No. Not now. I mean, I did but . . .’

  Her voice tailed away and she felt herself colouring up. Joyce, however, was beaming. ‘Isn’t that a coincidence? Barry’s single too. Poor dear, I do worry that he doesn’t have enough time to relax in between his assignments. In fact, I was wondering if . . .’

  ‘Mum.’ Barry laid a hand on his mother’s. It was a large hand, Gemma couldn’t help noticing: the type with black sprouty hairs in between the fingers. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your flower-arranging class that you mentioned in your last letter? It sounded absolutely riveting.’

  Joyce made a face. ‘Well, it’s all right, dear. But frankly, it’s nothing more than something for me to do until you come back on leave. Now, Gemma, I do hope you have room for trifle. Barry helped me make it. He’s a man of several talents, you know!’

  Afterwards, feeling bloated with food and the sheer volume of conversation, Gemma thanked Joyce and explained that she really had to go in order to get ready for school the next day. ‘But you must let me help you clear away and wash up first.’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear, I won’t hear of it. Now if you must get back, Barry will walk you.’ Joyce spoke as though she had miles to go instead of a flight of stairs.

  ‘Of course.’

  Immediately he was at her side, helping her into her cardigan which she had brought in case it was cold (no need, since Joyce’s part of the house was absolutely baking, with the radiators turned up high). ‘I’m sorry about my mother,’ he said as they walked up towards her bedsit. ‘She does get carried away at times and with my father dead and my sister safely married, she does tend to focus all her energies on me.’

  Gemma gave him an understanding smile. Poor man. He must have felt awful. ‘I totally understand. My mother is always asking me if I’ve met Mr Right yet. They don’t understand that these days, we don’t all get married at twenty like they did.’

  Barry put his head slightly to one side as though considering it. ‘Mind you,’ he said while she was fishing for her key in her bag, which needed a bit of a clear-out, ‘if you find the right person, there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’ He touched her lightly on the arm as she finally managed to open the door. ‘I really enjoyed your company at lunch. Thank you. I do hope I see you again soon, Gemma. Actually . . .’

  He stopped.

  ‘Yes?’ asked Gemma.

  ‘It’s just that . . .’ Barry appeared to be hesitating. ‘Well, if you don’t think it’s too forward after my mother’s rather pointed suggestions, I wondered if you’d like to come for a walk along the canal with me.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she really ought to be getting on with her lesson preparation for tomorrow, but it was a lovely bright crisp day outside and somehow she found herself saying yes.

  ‘Don’t you just love it here?’ Gemma said as they walked down the hill towards the canal. ‘Just look at those boats!’ She pointed to one which had the name Valiant Sailor painted in a gold scroll on its side.

  ‘They ha
ve such magical names, don’t they?’ agreed Barry.

  ‘Exactly!’ Her eyes shone. ‘I talked to one of the owners the other day. She used to run a shop and then she threw it all up to spend her life on the Grand Union.’

  ‘Brave,’ smiled Barry. ‘I like the way you can look through the window and see them brewing up tea in those galley kitchens.’

  Gemma pointed to the flower pots on the roof of another boat, which were spilling over with herbs and geraniums left over from the summer. ‘Wouldn’t you just love a garden like that?’

  He nodded and as he did so, accidentally brushed against her. ‘Sorry.’ He moved away. ‘I’ve always rather liked the idea of living in a boat like that, actually.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked at her as though surprised by this. ‘I thought most women dreamed of bricks and mortar.’

  ‘I’m not like most women,’ she said before she could stop herself, but he was nodding again.

  ‘I can see that.’

  His hand brushed hers as he spoke. Somehow, that didn’t feel like as much of an accident as the way he had bumped into her before.

  ‘Mrs Merryfield, Mrs Merryfield!’

  A tot with bunches on either side beamed up at her from her tricycle. Jogging towards them was a rather frazzled mother in a blue and white tracksuit and no sign of the usual twin baby slings on her chest.

  ‘Hello, Daisy!’ Gemma knelt down. ‘Is this the new bike you were telling me about? What a beauty!’

  The Puddleduck nodded solemnly and looked up at Barry. ‘Is this your husband?’

  Hot and cold flushes of embarrassment surged through her. ‘No. This is Barry. He’s a friend.’

  ‘But friends can get married, can’t they, Mummy?’ Daisy was looking up at her mother, who had arrived now, puffing and panting. Gemma remembered that she belonged to a slimming and exercise circle that some of the other mums went to as well. ‘You were friends with Daddy first, weren’t you?’

  Help me, Gemma wanted to cry, and the mum nodded as though she immediately took in the situation.