The Playgroup

by Janey Fraser

  It was ruined. Absolutely ruined.

  THE PUDDLEDUCKS PLAYGROUP

  NEWSLETTER

  DECEMBER ISSUE

  Isn’t it amazing how time flies when we’re having fun? It doesn’t seem a minute, to us at Puddleducks, since term started in September. And now it’s nearly Christmas!

  As you know, we’ve got some exciting events planned in the lead-up to the festive season. However, we’d like to put out a gentle reminder that next Monday is the final dress rehearsal for the Nativity Play. So all you kind mums who have volunteered to do your own children’s costumes need to bring in the clothes by Friday.

  If you don’t list costume-making amongst your many skills, please let us know as soon as possible so we can find an outfit for your little Puddleduck.

  Meanwhile, Nancy Carter Wright has asked me to pass on her thanks for all the lovely cards and gifts you have sent to Danny. Thanks also to the mural team for all their splendid efforts. Fingers crossed that we win the award!

  One last thing. I know you are all busy but if you have time, please could you help your children learn the following song.

  THE PUDDLEDUCKS SHARING SONG

  We’re the little Puddleducks

  We’re trying to learn to share!

  It’s really hard to lend our toys

  But we know it’s only fair!

  Chapter 51

  WAS THAT OK? Gemma, flushed from her short walk with Barry when they’d bumped into Joe and his friends, reread the draft for the December Puddleducks newsletter that she was about to finalise and email out. It was later than usual but then again, as Barry said, she had every excuse.

  ‘I still think you should be resting instead of working,’ he chided gently as she sat on the floor, laptop on her knee and her head leaning back against him. ‘Sure you’re doing the right thing in going back tomorrow?’

  Absolutely! The doctor had said she could, providing she felt better. And she did. It was incredible, really. When she’d read about people donating bone marrow, she’d presumed they were hospitalised for weeks. But nowadays it was apparently a couple of days and then anything between two and four weeks off. She’d had more than a fortnight and that had been plenty. Now she was itching to get back to her small Puddleducks. Seeing Joe just now in the high street with his lovely godchildren made her even keener. It was obvious that they adored him – clearly poor Joe, who was still grieving for the baby he could have had, was a real hands-on godfather. She could just imagine him arriving at Christmas with his arms full of goodies from Hamleys.

  Still, enough of that. She had to get on. ‘I’m not sure whether I ought to refer to Lily in my newsletter,’ she mused out loud.

  ‘Lily?’

  She felt slightly irritated.

  ‘Lily,’ she repeated. ‘My little girl who went missing.’

  ‘Your little girl?’ Barry teased her. ‘I knew you were married, but you didn’t tell me you had kids.’

  Her skin began to prickle the way it had once when she’d put on an angora cardigan of Kitty’s. Your colour, her friend had said, but if it doesn’t feel right you shouldn’t wear it. The weird thing was that, usually, Barry did feel right. Really right. But every now and then he’d say something jarring, like just now. If there was one thing she couldn’t joke about, it was having children. She’d have thought he’d have understood that.

  ‘I see all the Puddleducks as my children,’ said Gemma, hurt. ‘Their parents put them in my care.’

  Barry wrapped his arm around her and she couldn’t help snuggling in to him; it felt so good to be loved. Besides, didn’t everyone have tiffs?

  ‘Someone clearly didn’t care very well for Lily or Natasha or whatever her real name is.’ He bent to kiss the top of her head. ‘It would have been different if you had been there to supervise.’

  Would it? Gemma had briefly wondered that. Joe wasn’t used to dealing with under-fours and Miriam was still in a post-natal stupor, from all accounts. She felt concerned for Joe. She’d heard through Bella that he had felt obliged to shoulder the responsibility himself, even though Lily (as she still thought of her) had been in Miriam’s group and not his.

  As for the Dilly Dalung story, she could hardly believe it. Sometimes mothers did some really irresponsible things.

  Gemma pressed Send and jumped up. ‘Right. That’s done. I went without mentioning Lily in the end. It occurred to me that as there are legal implications, it’s safest not referring to her.’

  ‘Good point. Now come here and allow Dr Barry to check if you really are on the mend.’ He put his hand in his pocket. ‘Actually, I’ve brought you a present.’ I saw it in the antique shop on the high street and thought it was perfect for you. May I? Here, let me take off that old silver chain.’

  But I’ve always worn it, she wanted to say, although at the same time she could almost hear her grandmother’s voice in her head. It doesn’t belong to you any more, just as Sam can never belong to you. Not now he has a partner and child.

  ‘Thank you.’ She stood in front of the mirror with Barry behind her, fastening the pretty pale-pink coral necklace round her neck. It felt different from the chain. Heavier.

  ‘It suits you!’ Barry’s eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’

  As he spoke, there was the sound of footsteps running up the stairs and children’s voices. ‘I’ll knock first.’

  ‘No. Me. Me.’

  Barry’s voice was firm as he opened Gemma’s door. ‘Wrong one, mate. Your godfather lives next door.’

  The pair of freckled faces stared up at both of them. ‘We know that. Uncle Joe is on his way up behind us. He needs to tell Gemma something.’

  The other one nodded. ‘’Shreally important.’

  Joe was puffing slightly as he came up the stairs, something that Barry – who worked out twice a day in his mother’s sitting room – clearly noticed too.

  ‘Gemma.’ His eyes flickered across to Barry and then back again. ‘I’m sorry to bother you. But we’ve just been up to see the mural.’

  His voice was wobbling. Joe never wobbled. ‘I’m afraid it’s been vandalised.’

  ‘No!’

  Gemma was aware of someone putting their arms around her. Not Barry. Not Joe. They belonged to a woman who sensed her distress and knew that she was trying hard, so hard, not to break down in front of the children, because an adult should never do that.

  ‘Tell you what, Gemma,’ the kind auburn-haired woman was saying. Gemma remembered her name was Lynette. ‘Why don’t we all walk up and you can see for yourself? Then maybe we can work out what to do.’

  Barry wanted to drive her there, but she refused politely. It was only a ten-minute walk and she needed the time to come to terms with what she’d just been told. But nothing could have prepared her for the huge red slashes of paint on the mural that had been so close to completion.

  ‘Vandals again,’ she said in disgust. ‘They smashed up the front window of the chemist last week. And a newsagent the week before.’

  Mike looked shocked. ‘I didn’t think this sort of thing happened out here in Hazelwood.’

  She smiled sadly. ‘I’m afraid it does.’ She looked at Joe. ‘What are we going to do?’

  He didn’t sound optimistic. ‘Mike’s already rung a decorator friend from Dorset who’s suggested a few things. He’s going to come up tomorrow to have a look.’

  Barry’s deep voice cut in. ‘Dorset? That’s miles away! I’ll see if I can find someone local. We must be able to salvage it somehow.’

  ‘Doug the mosaics tutor might have some ideas too,’ Gemma said, as they all stood looking sombrely at the mural. Whoever was responsible had been thorough. The red paint had been smeared on thickly, while the obscenity had probably come from an aerosol can and was unlikely to come off easily.

  ‘Mum, what does that mean?’ asked Charlie, pointing to it.

  Lynette put her arm around both her sons’ shoulders and drew them to
her, an action which made Gemma’s heart churn. ‘It’s a very rude way of saying go away.’

  How calm she was. And honest, too. If she ever became a mother, thought Gemma, she’d like to be like that. ‘The deadline for the award is in a week’s time,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll never get another one done by then.’

  The taller boy piped up brightly. ‘Don’t worry, Gemma. Uncle Joe will think of something! He always does!’

  Chapter 52

  IT TURNED OUT that restoration would be almost impossible. Both the local tradesman whom Barry found and the decorator who came up from Dorset had shaken their heads and said that if a different kind of paint had been used, the mural might have been saved. This stuff, however, dried almost immediately.

  Doug, a nice steady man who asked Gemma to pass his best on to Nancy, spent some time observing the damage and said he’d put his thinking cap on.

  Meanwhile, Gemma and her team had to reassure the horrified parents and Puddleducks who were met by the red mess when they came in on Monday morning.

  ‘Shocking, Miss Merryfield. Absolutely shocking.’

  ‘Mrs Merryfield, can Father Christmas order another muriel?’

  ‘Mrs Merryfield? Why are walls hard?’ Good question, Sienna.

  ‘Just as well I took some pictures of your mural, Gemma. We can always send them in instead,’ said Annie.

  Gemma and Joe, who had come down from Reception to help her with the inevitable questions, stared at each other. Of course!

  ‘I took pictures right up until Friday morning,’ Annie announced proudly, handing over her memory stick. ‘Feel free to use them as you like. Don’t forget to credit me, though. It might help.’ She smiled shyly. ‘I’ve decided to set up as a part-time photographer. I’ve been looking for something to do and now I think I’ve found it.’

  Good for her! Meanwhile, something else was troubling Gemma as she set about sorting out costumes for the rear half of a cow and front half of a sheep, not to mention finding a wise man’s missing staff and a shepherd’s robe.

  Danny’s temperature was still up. ‘It might mean,’ Nancy had said in a trembling voice during a message she’d left earlier on Gemma’s answerphone, ‘that he’s rejecting the bone marrow.’

  The local paper picked up the news of the vandalism first, and then the nationals. Gemma hadn’t thought it was the kind of story that would attract such wide attention, but she was wrong. At this time of the year, Joe informed her, newspapers were keen to plug anything with a heart-tug factor.

  It might seem calculated, he went on, but he had a friend on the Sunday Telegraph (for someone who was a Colin Firth with attitude crossed with Mr Grumpy, that man seemed to have influential friends) who had written a piece which had been picked up by other papers. The results were mixed.

  THUGS DESTROY PRIZE-WINNING MURAL AT DILLY DALUNG SCANDAL PLAYGROUP!

  OK, so it hadn’t won a prize yet, but it caught the eye.

  RED PAINT PUTS PAID TO PLAYGROUP’S BID FOR TOP AWARD

  That was more like it.

  PUDDLEDUCKS LAND IN HOT WATER WITH RED PAINT VANDALS

  Another eye-catcher. It would be good publicity, Joe assured her, and, judging from the sympathy letters and cheques for new equipment, it seemed to be working.

  Meanwhile, Joe had sent in his own entry for the Reception year, which apparently he’d been working on with Brian. Gemma hadn’t known about that until Di at the big school had let it slip. ‘Oh yes, the two of them get on like a house on fire,’ she’d assured Gemma importantly. ‘Joe visits him regularly, he does. In fact, he’s a much nicer man than we gave him credit for. Such a shame he’s leaving.’

  Talk about hypocrisy! Di had always been one of Joe’s biggest critics, constantly dissing him to Beryl.

  Mind you, hadn’t she, Gemma, thought he’d been difficult at times, until she’d found out about the tragedy in his past? Even so, that only went some way towards condoning the head of Reception’s critical attitudes, which, it had to be said, weren’t nearly so critical nowadays. It was so confusing!

  Still, perhaps she should try to push her mixed feelings to the back of her mind. There was too much else to concentrate on. For a start, Lily had been taken into care. The staff at Puddleducks had been asked to write reports on whether, in their view, she had been properly looked after at home, which hadn’t after all been the Dilly Dalung mansion, but a canal boat without hot water or heating.

  Gemma and Bella had no hesitation in writing glowing reports. Lily had always come into playgroup looking immaculate and had perfect manners, which said a lot for her upbringing. She was also extremely bright, and should be allowed to stay in an environment in which she’d clearly thrived and made friends.

  There was another thing that Gemma mentioned in her report, and that was Lily’s feverish excitement at being a twinkling star in the nativity play. And now it wasn’t going to happen. Gemma’s heart lurched at the thought of Lily being in a foster family somewhere while her mother was still in custody.

  Honey, who had been the front end of the third cow, was now going to replace Lily, while Edward the Second, as distinct from Edward the First (there were two Edwards in the playgroup), was going to replace Honey.

  As Gemma checked her cast list while Bella sorted out the Pyjama Drama session that morning, she knew that despite everything, hers was the only job in the world that could ever make her happy. This time of the year in pre-school was manic, and yet she loved it.

  The chaos also helped to take her mind off the legal documents that had arrived that week, which she had duly signed with a slight pang, it had to be said, and sent off to the lawyer. With any luck, Sam would have managed to sign his bit too without Nancy knowing.

  ‘Rather ironic that you’ve finally found each other,’ the lawyer had said crisply, after her talk with Sam, as though it was her fault. ‘If you had done so earlier, you could have had a divorce in two years, instead of waiting five.’

  But if they had, she thought, they might not have tied up the loose ends during the last extraordinary three months.

  Yet had those loose ends really all been tied up? She wasn’t sure.

  Chapter 53

  IT WASN’T LONG now until the play, and excitement amongst the Puddleducks was rising to fever pitch.

  ‘Mrs Merryfield, Mrs Merryfield, are we doing the play today?’

  The staff were on edge, too. Would Beth’s mum get those alterations to the star done in time? Would Joseph wet his pants again? And, oh dear, Bella’s broken a nail!

  Johnnie, who kept getting his singulars and plurals muddled, thanks no doubt to his au pair who did the same, only had one line. But you never knew what it was going to be until it came out. Yesterday, during practice, he announced that he’d lost his ‘sheeps’, and then looked around with a delighted beam, as though knowing that might raise some laughs in the audience.

  Clemmie was beside herself with excitement because she was playing Mary. ‘My daddy’s coming with his new girlfriend and their baby,’ she said, tugging at Gemma’s black Topshop trousers to make her point.

  Poor Clemmie’s mum. Did she know? Edward the Second had been word-perfect until he’d come down with a cold and lost his voice. Still, as Bella pointed out, even if he wasn’t well enough for the big day, it shouldn’t be too difficult to coach someone else to go ‘Moo’.

  Tatiana, who had dreams of going on Britain’s Best Talent when she was old enough, was hyper hyper because Miss Merryfield’s friend Kitty was coming down to play the part of the fairy queen. In order to take in other religious beliefs and accommodate non-believers, the nativity script which Gemma and Bella had written between them had become somewhat unorthodox.

  ‘Was that the same Kitty Macdonald whom I saw on television the other night?’ asked Tatiana’s stepdad. ‘She was singing like an angel and playing that recorder of hers like a flute.’

  Yes, it was! Since the summer, when her first album had been released, Kitty’s career had soar
ed off the ground. She was everywhere! Gemma couldn’t have been prouder of her friend. She deserved a break, she told her. ‘So do you,’ Kitty had replied sternly during their latest phone conversation. They both preferred phoning to texting or email, which were, they agreed, so impersonal. ‘Now what’s happened to that handsome paratrooper of yours?’

  Gemma, who was sitting as usual with her back against the wall dividing her from Joe’s room, hoped, for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, that he couldn’t hear. ‘We’re having dinner tonight,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Speak up, Gemmie. I can’t hear.’

  ‘We’re having dinner tonight,’ she said, wondering why she felt slightly awkward.

  ‘Anywhere posh?’

  Gemma named a new restaurant in the town that had just opened.

  ‘Wow! That’s impressive. We’ve got one in Chelsea too. Have fun and don’t forget to tell me all about it tomorrow morning, providing you’re not snuggled up in bed together.’

  Gemma tried to laugh this off, not entirely successfully. Since Sam, she hadn’t allowed herself to have a ‘proper’ relationship with anyone, partly because, deep down, she couldn’t help wondering if he might come back. But now, things had changed. Hadn’t they?

  Two hours later, Barry knocked on her door to see if she was ready. Every time she saw him, she was struck by his height and piercing blue eyes. When he looked at her, he made her feel special, something she hadn’t experienced for a very long time.

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, taking in the classic cut of her violet shift dress, which she’d found in the second-hand designer shop in town. The style suited her, the manageress had assured her, although it wasn’t easy walking in the heels which the woman had suggested she wore with them. As they went into the restaurant, Gemma felt slightly embarrassed when one, no two, men smiled at her.

  ‘It’s because you look stunning,’ whispered Barry, who’d noticed their reaction, quickly pulling out her chair before the waiter could get there first.