The Misadventures of a Playground Mother, page 7
The three of us filed out of the pew. I was relieved to be leaving the service. I was beginning to feel chilly and was looking forward to hugging a hot mug of tea. There were only so many cliché funeral songs and so much of BB that anyone could tolerate in one hour.
All of a sudden, Penelope halted. I bumped slap; bang into the Farrier’s back leaving a powdery foundation mark on the shoulder of his black jacket. I quickly tried to brush it off while glancing over it to see why we had unexpectedly stopped. Penelope was standing still and glaring at a woman who was blocking the aisle; the woman was staring back at her.
The Farrier looked up. ‘Hi,’ he managed to mumble even though he looked as if his mouth had suddenly become completely dry.
‘Hi there, back,’ the woman spoke warmly.
‘Melanie Tate,’ he breathed; his body radiated sudden heat.
‘It’s been far too long.’
‘This is a lovely surprise but what on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m back, permanently,’ she said gazing at him so intently that even I felt I could be hypnotised at any moment. One couldn’t deny that these two were pleased to see each other.
‘Out of all the funerals in all the land, you turn up at my father's,’ he joked.
Melanie cocked her head to one side throwing out a cheeky smile, and they grabbed each other in a bear hug with the Farrier stealing a kiss on her cheek in the process and smoothing his hand over her hair.
‘I can’t believe you are here. It’s been way too long,’ he stated with real pleasure. Their eyes locked.
‘You look well,’ she whispered, and reluctantly pulled away.
I could see from Penelope’s reaction and her raised eyebrows, that she was not in the least bit ecstatic about this reunion.
Swiftly turning towards the Farrier, her eyes now bulging with rage, she cleared her throat then demanded rather harshly, ‘How do you know her?’
‘Hi Rachel,’ Melanie greeted me, ignoring Penelope completely.
‘And how the bloody hell do you two know each other?’ Penelope snarled. She seemed to be stifling some strong emotion, but unfortunately, began to turn purple. Sherlock Holmes wasn't needed to reveal there was something going on here, but I was having a real problem trying to fathom what it was all about. Well, if I couldn’t beat them, I decided to join them in question time.
‘How do you lot know each other?’ I asked in turn.
However, no one was moving or answering any sort of questions.
The crematorium was nearly empty by now; the mourners were already on their way back to the house to be fed and watered. I noted BB had latched onto another ancient friend of Frisky Pensioner. Nevertheless, this man looked very different from him; he was tall and lean, with silvery grey hair; his suit looked tailor-made and his designer shoes were polished. He gave the impression he was a successful businessman. I overheard him saying that he couldn’t believe he had met a movie star. I watched her link arms with her new friend, no doubt blagging herself a lift back to the warmth of the Farrier's abode.
Penelope still muttering under her breath, pushed past Melanie, flounced out of the crematorium, and made straight for the Farrier’s car. The Farrier and Melanie seemed oblivious to her strop and were still gushing all over each other.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered. ‘So much.’
‘Have you? Really?'
‘You really don’t need to ask me that ... I can’t believe I have found you again.’ His voice was now trembling.
‘You didn’t find me,’ laughed Melanie. ‘I’d run out of milk and nipped to the local post office, only to find the postmaster was closing up early. He was all flustered and rushing to attend the wake of a local pensioner. I was shocked when I learned it was your father. Curiosity got the better of me and before I knew it I’d jumped into my car, and came, not having a clue of what to do or say, or if you were even here. I am sorry about your father,’ She added quickly.
‘A lot has happened since the day I saw you last,’ he said sadly.
The Farrier looked different; it was hard to describe. There was a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that I had never seen before. Unhesitatingly, he draped his arm around Melanie’s shoulders. I stayed silent; I still wasn’t up to speed on what the ins and the outs were, but I wondered if this was the same Melanie who the Farrier spoke about on New Year’s Day, it didn’t take a genius to know that this pair had a history – the sparks were flying – but where did Penelope fit into the equation?
I was beginning to feel ravenous. I found myself thinking that flaky-pastry sausage rolls were equivalent to the best sirloin steaks from Jamie Oliver’s restaurant. We drifted towards the car. Penelope, who now looked like a sour rhubarb and custard, was slouched against the car door with her arms crossed in toddler-like fashion. Her behaviour wasn’t lost on Melanie but this wasn’t the time or the place to acknowledge Penelope’s petulance.
‘Come and join us back at the house, you will be more than welcome,’ suggested the Farrier hopefully. Judging by the look on Penelope’s face, she would make Melanie as welcome as a new mother attending a PTA meeting.
I’d thought about making my excuses once the wake was over. I was happy I had done my good deed for the day by accompanying the Farrier to the funeral, even though I felt like a trussed-up chicken in the dress I was wearing and I really needed to change out of my shoes and put some flats on my feet. However, things were starting to get interesting. Something had rattled Penelope’s cage and I was intrigued to find out what that was.
10
We drove back to the wake in complete silence. Melanie followed us in her car. The journey was agonisingly painful, as I was dying to ask questions, but judging by the look on Penelope’s face, I didn’t dare speak first.
Then, I decided enough was enough, and in a bold move, I blurted out, ‘Well is someone, anyone going to enlighten me as to what is going on?’
The Farrier frowned, and glanced in his rear view mirror directly at Penelope; her eyes widened glaring back at him. I felt ridiculous now as the silence continued. I wondered how long they could keep up this childish behaviour. If I was reading the signs correctly, they both had issues and I wasn’t sure they were actually connected to each other. I got the impression that neither of them had quite worked out how the other was connected to Melanie. We pulled up at the house and the wake was in full swing. It seemed the house had been invaded by the local retirement home; every pensioner within a ten-mile radius must have been there. There was an abundance of headscarves, blue rinses and grey angora knitted cardigans. Every woman over 70 years of age in the room wore thick tan tights, fur-lined zip-up shoes, cream polyester petticoats that hung lower than black skirts with elasticated waistbands. Glasses were clinking and cheap plonk flowing. Penelope was the first to swipe a glass off the silver tray placed by the front door to welcome new arrivals. I wasn’t far behind her, followed by Melanie, who had parked her car and who was now standing beside us.
‘Come on we’d better go through,’ the Farrier suggested, reaching out and holding Melanie’s hand whilst escorting her into the living room.
I lingered, standing inside the doorway to scan the room. I noticed BB was already in her element, a sausage roll in one hand, and booze in the other. She had disposed of her Joan Collins spectacles and her coat. Her eyes were furiously flitting around the room surveying the area, no doubt identifying who her next target would be; the man she picked up at the ceremony was nowhere in sight. He didn’t realise how lucky he was, escaping with his life to live another day. BB seemed hell-bent on capturing a man today – any man to be precise. She grabbed another drink from a passing tray and swallowed the entire glass in two mouthfuls not even having time to taste whether it was red, white or water. She knew how to work a room all right and I noticed she had studied her prey well.
She handpicked a distinguished man from a small group that had gathered near the fireplace – the one wearing the Rolex watch; whom she had clocked parking his Bentley outside the front window on the lane.
BB sashayed over to him, the demon drink giving her courage. Obviously not understanding the concept of personal space, she interrupted the conversation and invaded his. Her voice was beginning to rise, and I realised she must be quite tipsy. She started to discuss her new movie career with the man wearing the expensive watch. He didn’t seem to be listening to a word she was saying; but his eyes lingered on her black dress with the plunging neckline that left nothing to the imagination. They moved closer, laughing and whispering to each other, and he tilted his hips towards hers. It was more of a scene that one would witness in a nightclub, certainly not at a wake. If they got any closer, they may as well just drop to the floor and have sex. I saw him place a business card into her red-painted talons, which she accepted and pushed into her bra. She lifted one of her immaculately manicured fingernails and traced the rugged stubble across his jawline. He placed a hand firmly on her backside in a sleazebag way and together; they disappeared out of the living room towards the stairs.BB probably knew this house like the back of her hand and was undoubtedly leading him to a vacant bedroom; perhaps she was hoping to drive off in his Bentley after hoodwinking him into believing she had some sort of movie career.
I noticed that Melanie and the Farrier had moved into the only vacant space in the corner of the kitchen. The buffet was declared open and the kitchen was busy with hungry mourners forming an orderly queue, waiting their turn. I could hear Melanie and the Farrier’s conversation while I queued near them, and I leant against the units in the kitchen waiting for the pensioners to load up their plates first.
‘I can’t quite believe this happening,’ I heard Melanie say.
I watched as she took the Farrier’s hand and cupped both her hands around his. ‘My heart is skipping beats never mind the butterflies that are fluttering around my stomach at the rate of knots. You haven’t aged at all; you are just how I remembered you.’ She glanced up at the Farrier, who smiled at her, eyes sparkling.
‘It has been nine years, three months and two days to be precise since you disappeared out of my life. I thought you’d gone forever.’ He gently replied.
Melanie gasped, ‘I can’t believe you counted the days.’
The Farrier continued to stare into Melanie’s eyes. ‘I can’t take my eyes off you in case you disappear out of my life again as quickly as you have just reappeared.’
‘I am back, permanently back, not a day has gone by that I didn’t think about you. I dream, I dream I will be one day back in your arms, please tell me you still feel the same way.’
‘Of course I feel it. It’s unquestionably there and it will always be there.’
Piling sausage rolls and cheese sandwiches on to my plate, I saw the Farrier wrap his arms around Melanie and pull her in close to him. She didn’t attempt to pull away. ‘You still smell the same; your aftershave, it’s the one I bought you before I left.’
‘And why did you leave me Melanie Tate? One minute you were there and next gone, I don’t understand.’
Melanie looked up, ‘I had no choice, you chose Camilla and I couldn’t hang around and watch you love someone else right before my very eyes.’
I noticed the Farrier pull away and place his hands on both her arms, ‘I wasn’t in a relationship with Camilla that came about after you left. I was so distraught. What in heaven’s name made you think that?’
‘She did. She told me you were together.’
‘What! Why didn’t you come and ask me?’
‘Maybe I was just young and stupid, but Camilla was also my friend at the yard, she had no reason to lie to me. I didn’t want to put anyone in an awkward position and most of all I couldn’t face being rejected by you.’
The full extent of his wife’s deception must have suddenly dawned on the Farrier, for his face darkened. He tilted her chin towards his face, ‘I promise I was never with Camilla until you left, I was a broken man. She picked up the pieces at the time. But you are here now and that is what all matters.’ The Farrier pulled Melanie back in close again.
I walked out of the kitchen and left them to it. They already looked like a couple, so very at ease with each other.
I on the other hand was now stuck with a sour-faced Penelope who was, unquestionably, not in the best of moods. She collared me on the way out of the kitchen. Discreetly, I kept glancing at my watch, planning my escape, when Penelope opened her mouth.
‘Melanie is not new to the village,’ she told me, pulling out a chair, propped up by the patio windows, for me to sit on. ‘Far from it,’ she whispered, beginning to frown again. I had no idea why she felt the need to whisper; we were on our own as most of the mourners had now gathered around the kitchen table wildly spooning the fresh cream trifle into paper bowls as if it might suddenly be rationed.
I had thought this wake would be insufferably boring but on the contrary, it was keeping me very much entertained. I noticed BB hadn’t yet re-entered the room; she was no doubt, having her cake and eating it – I hoped she didn’t want any trifle.
‘Once upon a time, Melanie was my best friend.’
This statement didn’t take me by surprise. It seemed everyone in the village had been Penelope’s best friend at one time or another; there was nothing unusual about the story so far.
I was suddenly distracted by BB sloping back down the stairs swinging her sling back shoes in her hand looking rather like a naughty teenager. Her long hair was ruffled, her make-up was smeared around her face, and there was a reddish rash above her top lip. Her low cut dress appeared lower cut than it did before she sneaked up the stairs with the distinguished man. Observing a white mark below her chest area I realised the label of the dress was sticking out, BB’s dress was on back to front – probably an occupational hazard for her.
Smiling to myself, I leaned over to the small old-fashioned cocktail cabinet next to me, and picked up one of the small glasses. As I blew on it, a cloud of dust leapt into the air. The glasses looked as if they hadn’t been used since the 1960s. I poured myself a drink and swigged back the potent spirit, which burnt my lips, while I continued to listen to Penelope. I watched another pensioner shuffling around the room offering leftover egg sandwiches to anyone with an empty plate. The alcohol from my sneaky tipple entered my bloodstream and instantly made me feel slightly lightheaded.
‘Are you listening to me?’ Penelope demanded.
I turned quickly to face her. ‘Sorry, yes,’ I apologised, ‘I’m listening carry on.’
‘I met Melanie at night college, years ago, I’d already had Little Jonny and felt my life was becoming so mundane, I carried out the same routine day in and day out so I decided to sign up to a night school course to expand my mind and embark of a new social life with like-minded people. This is how I met Melanie.’
‘What course did you sign up for?’ I enquired.
‘Some sort of business studies course.’ She replied.
I nodded my head and she continued.
‘I was furious with myself; I’d missed the connecting bus to the college and was already terribly late for my first lecture. When I finally arrived, I stood outside the college feeling anxious and nearly turned round to go straight back home. I can remember staring up at the gigantic building in front of me with its colossal stone lions and railings that surrounded it.’
I wondered how much more of this story there was to hear. I glanced around the Farrier’s living room, which was emptying; the swirly patterned carpet was a sea of white paper plates, and flakes of pastry, and every surface was covered with empty glasses abandoned by the mourners who had returned to comfort of their own tartan wingback chairs. Melanie and the Farrier were still in the kitchen with a few old pensioners patting him on the back, telling him they were sorry for his loss...
‘I approached the battered green door classroom door with caution, pulling down on the handle I juggled my new brightly coloured A4 files and pushed down on the door. I scanned the room quickly and was fully aware that the whole room of people were looking at me, watching my every move. I hurried over to the only vacant seat in the room and sat myself down next to a friendly, smiley person.’
‘Melanie?’ I asked.
‘Yes, Melanie. She pulled a chair out for me to sit down and at that very moment all my files slipped out of my hand and went crashing on to the floor, I felt humiliated, my hands were trembling and everyone was still watching me. I can remember muttering an apology for the disruption whilst Melanie helped to pick up the scattered files.’
I could imagine fresh-faced Penelope turning crimson with embarrassment.
‘Then the battered green classroom door swung open again, the leaflets pinned on to the tatty cork boards that were fixed to the equally shabby walls flapped in the ensuing draft. Everyone’s eyes swivelled towards the door; they were no longer interested in my arrival, as the lecturer strolled in as large as life ...’
The Farrier’s living room was becoming very warm and stuffy; my eyelids were beginning to droop. Desperately trying to stay awake, I began to fiddle with my bracelet. There just wasn’t the opportunity to escape, well not anytime soon it would seem. Penelope continued with her story.
‘The lecturer was a bloke named Rob who had a relationship with Melanie, but they split up when Dotty was born.’
‘But Penelope how did you fall out with Melanie,’ trying to cut to the chase.
‘I’m just getting to that,’ she answered annoyed,
‘It was all down to Melanie’s underhand ways that we fell out,’ stated Penelope.
‘I’d given birth to Annabel shortly after Dotty and we decided to share a small gathering at my house for their first birthday.’
Alarm bells were already starting to ring in my head. Shared kids’ birthday parties should be avoided at all costs; that’s a cardinal rule in the mother’s handbook, as it will only end in disaster. The kids will be disappointed over the lack of parity between the two cakes and the parents will fall out from the constant one-upmanship over the party bag contents. Why some parents insist on shopping at Selfridge’s for the giveaway gifts is beyond me; the whole lot can be sourced for a quid a head in Home Bargains.
