The Playgroup

by Janey Fraser

  Chapter 49

  THE CLEANER WAS named Anna. Her story was so remarkable that Joe could hardly believe it.

  ‘I want no reward,’ she kept saying. ‘I just tell truth. Natasha tell me her story. Then I see her at my church and I ask the mother, “Is it true?” She swears me to secrecy.’ She crossed herself. On her chest two small gold crosses already hung on chains. ‘May God forgive me for telling you now.’

  Speaking rapidly, the cleaner explained that Natasha/ Lily came from the same Eastern European country as she, Anna, did. So too did her real mother, who was not Dilly Dalung, but a young girl who worked as an assistant cook for the singer. She happened to have a daughter who was not only the same age as the celebrity’s child but also looked quite similar, with dark hair and very white skin.

  Dee-lee, as the cleaner called her, was terrified of her daughter being kidnapped by her estranged and possibly violent husband and whisked off to the Middle Eastern country from which he came. So Ms Dalung hatched this elaborate plan whereby she enrolled her real daughter Lily in a nursery on the border of Bedfordshire under another name and paid her assistant cook a large sum of money to substitute her own child, Natasha, as a decoy.

  ‘She even tell newspapers about this place,’ Anna had said, stabbing her finger in the air. ‘Dilly Dalung wanted the papers to think her daughter was here, at Puddleducks, so she gave them anonymous tip-off. She thought it would take attention away from her real daughter.’

  Somehow Joe persuaded Anna to come with him to the police station. ‘We need to tell them about this,’ he urged.

  The cleaner looked scared. ‘I no want to get into trouble.’

  ‘You won’t, I promise you.’

  Even so, he felt a wave of concern for her when they got to the police station and he explained to the tight-faced policeman on the desk that Anna had some information about Dilly Dalung’s so-called daughter. ‘We’ll need to take a statement, madam,’ said the officer. Anna was escorted into another room, looking back at Joe, who felt as though he had delivered her into the hands of the enemy. Naturally, he waited for her – her interview took over an hour – and then made sure she got home safely.

  The following day a best-selling tabloid ran the whole story under the headline SCANDAL AT SUBURBAN PLAYGROUP.

  Why, it demanded, hadn’t anyone checked that the adult enrolling a child was indeed its legal carer? Joe had asked himself the same thing before finding out that a carer only had to produce a birth certificate on registration, and to obtain nursery vouchers. He/ she wasn’t required to show proof of parentage.

  There was also a piece written by the women’s page editor, about peer loyalty and how touching it was that Lily had been trying to take her sick friend a present.

  Then there was a scathing article in his own broadsheet, asking why and how Natasha’s mother could have put her child at risk by allowing her to be a decoy. The journalist had gone into considerable detail, portraying the mother as a woman who had come from a difficult background and entered Britain with papers that possibly weren’t legal.

  Joe’s stomach began to churn when he read that. What would happen to Lily now? Proceedings were bound to be set in motion.

  There was something else, too. Something which he didn’t want to allow himself to think about, but he had to accept. None of this was good publicity for Puddleducks in its bid to win the Top Ten Playgroup Award. As the implications began to sink in, his mobile went.

  ‘Joe. Are you all right? I’ve just seen the papers.’

  It was Gemma.

  ‘What are you doing on the phone? You’re meant to be resting.’

  ‘I know, but like I said, I’ve just seen the headlines. Look, I know what you’re thinking and I’d feel the same but you don’t have to worry, Joe. You honestly don’t.’

  Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn’t help smiling. ‘How do you know what I’m thinking?’

  ‘Because any decent person would wonder if they had done everything they could to make sure that none of the kids went missing, and I just know, Joe, that you would have. Lily wasn’t on your list of children; she was on Miriam’s. You mustn’t beat yourself up, Joe. You really mustn’t.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Her words made him feel better. She was right. Of course he felt responsible, but only another teacher – a kind, caring one like Gemma – would have understood this. Why hadn’t he realised at the beginning of term that she was such a genuinely nice person? Why had he been so determined to see the worst in her, and indeed in everyone else?

  ‘There’s one more thing. Don’t start worrying about the Playgroup Award. I know this might affect it, but if we don’t get it, we don’t get it. The most important thing is that Lily is safe.’

  He nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see him. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Good.’ The relief in her voice was audible. ‘I thought you might try to argue me down like you used to do.’

  ‘Argue you down?’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean.’ She sounded as though she wished she hadn’t said that. ‘Listen, I must go. Kitty’s coming up the stairs with dinner – aren’t I being spoiled? Now, keep your chin up, OK?’

  After she rang off, Joe felt considerably better. Gemma was right in everything she’d said, including the fact that he used to argue her down, as she put it. She was honest, kind and generous. Ed would be having a right old moan if she’d been a donor. In fact, she wouldn’t have volunteered in the first place. Meanwhile, there was one vital phone call he had to make which might just help, although he knew how painful it would be.

  There was so much to do that week that Joe almost forgot that Mike and Lynette were coming up for the weekend with the boys. The fevered atmosphere both in the main school and at Puddleducks, where the Lily/Natasha saga was even surpassing the bulletins on Danny, had to be calmed down. There was also the nativity play to sort out. Miriam, who had stepped in to ‘help’ during Gemma’s recuperation, had managed to give the part of Joseph to two different boys, and had increased the number of wise men to five in order to prevent tantrums.

  ‘What’s wrong with wise women?’ Di had asked, in what was meant to be a jokey aside. Brilliant idea! Joe patted her on the back, which almost made her choke on her custard cream, and promptly enrolled three girls from his year. If they were going to do a nativity play, he might as well make it different.

  Then there was the not-so-small matter of the deadline for the award. The mural could have been abandoned altogether, but Nancy’s tutor, a man called Doug who seemed to have taken a bit of a shine to her from the admiring way in which he spoke, had organised a working party. They had all made gargantuan efforts, and the project was almost finished.

  That was another thing he had to admit he’d been wrong about. The mural was most impressive, and completely recognisable. There was the canal wending its way through the north side of town. There was the high street with its row of shops, both pretty and practical. There was the park with the sports centre on the other side of the road. And there was Puddleducks, round the corner from Corrybank.

  Annie had been doing a photography course and had taken pictures during the making of the mural. The plan was that when it was finished – hopefully by next Monday, said the workers – the final pictures would be taken and sent off to the award organisers.

  Meanwhile, he and Brian had almost finished the MY SKOOL! book. Joe had been going to find an online publisher but, with everything else going on, hadn’t had the time, so Brian had volunteered to check some out.

  ‘It’s not as though I’m rushed off my feet, lad,’ he said with a twinge of regret in his voice. Then his eyes twinkled. ‘Mind you, did I tell you I’ve started going to salsa class? Two ladies, not so distantly connected to Danny, insist on escorting me every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. I always wanted to dance but my Mavis, bless her, wasn’t that keen on account of her bunions.’

  On the whole, Joe told himself as he mentally totted up his Pr
os and Cons columns, life wasn’t going too badly. And then he received the letter.

  Chapter 50

  ‘I AGREE,’ SAID Mike as they walked along the towpath after a very filling lunch at one of the warm, busy pubs on the high street, which was already adorned with Christmas decorations even though there were a good three weeks to go. ‘It does seem a blow, especially when they had all but promised you the job.’

  Joe felt a wrench just under his ribs. It still hurt as much as when he had opened the envelope on Friday morning. He wasn’t used to rejection in his working life, and this had come as a surprise.

  ‘Unfortunately, the position which we originally discussed is no longer available . . .’

  There was no reason given, but Joe couldn’t help wondering if it was because his name had been in many of the reports about Lily/Natasha vanishing from the farm trip.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Lynette as she fell into line next to him. Joe’s arm accidentally brushed against hers, and he stiffened in case she had thought it was intentional.

  ‘Apply for something else, I suppose, although there’s not much being advertised at the moment. I may have to wait until after Christmas and, if necessary, take a few months off until the autumn.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Was that a hint of envy in Lynette’s voice? ‘I can’t remember the last time Mike and I had a holiday.’

  You don’t need one when you live by the sea, he was about to say, but then, as he looked ahead and saw the boys swooping and diving in some make-believe game near the canal edge, stopped himself. That visit to Danny’s hospital had taught him quite a few things. One of them was that you needed to appreciate what you had. Another was that you couldn’t really understand a parent’s hopes and fears until you were one yourself. A proper one. Not a nearly one.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he began, but then there was a splash.

  Lynette was there before either he or Mike moved, yanking out Fraser, who had tried to push his brother into the water and then fallen in himself.

  ‘It was your fault!’

  ‘No, it was yours!’

  ‘It was both of yours.’ Lynette’s voice had a tone in it that he hadn’t heard before. It was relief mixed with anger. How did parents do it? It was such a responsibility, making sure that a small person stayed alive all day.

  ‘It’s OK.’ He put a reassuring hand on Lynette’s shoulder before remembering, and taking it off quickly. ‘No one is hurt. How about going back to my place and drying off in the bathroom?’

  Joyce loved an emergency. It made her, as she told them all, feel useful, especially now she didn’t have any small children at home to look after. If she wasn’t mistaken, she had some spare clothes left over from when Barry had been that age.

  Both boys emerged dry and slightly subdued in warm jerseys and jeans that had once been worn by the perfect Barry. Joe found himself feeling slightly irritable.

  ‘Uncle Joe, Uncle Joe! You promised to take us to the ice-cream parlour on the high street. The one with the chocolate fountain.’

  Mike cut in. ‘I’m not sure you deserve that now.’

  ‘Pleease, Dad. Pleease, Mum.’

  Joe glanced at Lynette as though seeking approval. Ever since that misunderstanding on the beach he’d been feeling horribly awkward in front of her, and somehow he sensed she felt the same.

  ‘If Uncle Joe wants to treat you, that’s up to him.’ She gave him a quick smile, and Joe hoped that meant he was forgiven.

  ‘We could go on to the Puddleducks mural after the ice-cream parlour,’ he suggested as they walked down Joyce’s stairs, the boys leaping down two at a time. ‘I’d like to show it to you. You know I wasn’t very keen at first, but actually, it’s turned out to be amazing.’

  Mike sounded amused. ‘Like the book you showed me, the one you and your predecessor have been writing? Boys, don’t do that. You’ve got so many bruises that I’m amazed social services haven’t been on to us.’

  He turned back to his friend. ‘You might say you want to leave this place, Joe, but to my mind, you seem to have settled in rather well. By the way, you were going to tell me something about Ed. You said she’d done something really surprising.’

  Lynette’s nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘After what you told me about her complete lack of regret for . . . for what she did, I’ve lost any sympathy I might have had for her. Think I’ll let you two walk ahead and have some boy time while I get the kids their ice creams.’

  ‘No, please let me,’ Joe insisted. ‘It’s my treat.’ He gave an affectionate look at the boys, who were trying to arm-wrestle as they walked along the street. ‘They may be the closest I ever get to having children of my own.’

  After a good fifteen minutes at the ice-cream shop (‘Yes, you can have a double scoop if that’s all right with Mum and Dad’), Joe finally got a chance to walk side by side with Mike while Lynette hung behind with the boys. His heart began to thump as he tried to work out the best way to talk about what had been eating away at him ever since that day on the beach. It had been a mistake. A silly mistake. At first he had thought he could just brush it over but since then, every time he’d spoken to Mike, he had felt a horrible burning guilt that wouldn’t go away.

  He didn’t know what he would do without his two closest friends. But at the same time, he knew they couldn’t have the relationship they’d enjoyed before unless he came clean.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ he began as they walked along the high street.

  Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘There is?’

  ‘It’s about . . .’

  ‘Hi, Joe!’

  He almost didn’t recognise her. She was sporting a sweet white hat that clung to her head, looking rather like a twenties flapper. She also wore high black boots under a white coat and was hanging happily on Barry’s arm.

  ‘Gemma! Are you feeling better? Did you get my flowers? How is Danny?’

  He felt his words spluttering out of him like an awkward, embarrassed adolescent.

  ‘I’m much better, thanks. The flowers were lovely. Thank you.’ Then her face darkened slightly. ‘Nancy phoned me this morning to say that Danny has a bit of an infection, but that happens sometimes. I’m so relieved about Lily, though.’

  Joe nodded as Barry made to move on, but Gemma stopped him as Lynette and the boys caught up. ‘Are these your godsons?’ she grinned, looking down at two faces smeared with chocolate and ice cream.

  ‘Yes, we are!’ announced Charlie proudly. ‘Uncle Joe’s the best. He got me a bigger ice cream than Fraser.’

  ‘No he didn’t.’

  ‘Yes he did!’

  Gemma laughed. Barry, Joe noticed, was squeezing her arm again as though to move her on, but she was holding out her hand to Lynette before he could properly introduce them. ‘Hi. I’m Gemma. I work with Joe; he’s my boss and also my next-door neighbour.’

  ‘Really?’ Lynette’s voice had an interested lilt to it. ‘So you’re the Puddleducks playgroup leader! I’m a teacher – maths – and so is my husband, Mike.’

  Barry was looking bored now. Couldn’t Gemma see that this was the kind of man who needed the conversation to revolve around him? thought Joe.

  ‘I’ve always admired pre-school teachers,’ Lynette was saying.

  ‘And I’ve always admired anyone who can teach maths!’ laughed Gemma. She gave him a wicked look. ‘It’s not one of my strengths, is it, Joe?’

  Barry was looking really impatient now.

  ‘Got to get back to write the next newsletter – maybe see you back at Joyce’s later,’ Gemma called out over her shoulder as she allowed herself to be moved on.

  The boys had already shot ahead in a running race with Lynette close behind them. ‘Better catch them up or they’ll get lost,’ said Joe, glancing at Mike. ‘What are you looking at me like that for?’

  ‘If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d say you secretly fancied that girl.’

  ‘Rubbish! We have noth
ing in common apart from our jobs, and besides she is at least ten years younger than me.’

  ‘I know the signs.’ Mike’s voice took on the ‘I’ve got something to tell you’ tone that Joe had learned to spot over the years. ‘It’s different from the way you look at Lynette.’

  Joe’s blood froze.

  ‘That’s what you wanted to talk to me about, isn’t it? It’s all right. Lynette told me. We don’t have any secrets. She gave you a comfort hug on the beach the other month and when you went to kiss her cheek, you accidentally brushed her mouth. Is that the long and the short of it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Joe mumbled.

  ‘It’s OK. Honest. I know you’re not after my wife. You’re not that kind of guy.’

  Joe didn’t know what to say. Mike and Lynette had talked about the kiss? He wanted to curl up with embarrassment. And now Mike thought that he had the hots for Gemma? Ridiculous!

  But, somehow, what really haunted him, as they made their way down the hill towards the playgroup and its mural, was that Mike and Lynette had a relationship where they could talk about things like that.

  And that was just the kind of relationship he wanted with someone. Whoever she might be.

  ‘Uncle Joe! Uncle Joe! Are we nearly at the mural?’

  ‘Nearly. Just round the corner and . . .’

  No. He couldn’t believe it.

  Aghast, the five of them stood there, staring at the wall. Yesterday it had been virtually completed, apart from one square where the team were still working on the cinema.

  Now it was an awful indistinguishable mess, smeared with red paint and an obscenity which Joe could hardly bear to look at, sprayed in big sprawling letters.