The Misadventures of a Playground Mother Read Online Free PDF Page B

hot chocolate glugged down, the children all went back upstairs. I felt awful, not only in the physical sense, but because I had abandoned the children all day and wasn’t even sure if they had eaten any proper food. Eva settled down with a book to read. Little Jonny and Annabel shared Samuel’s room for the night while he lay down on the camp bed in Matilda’s room. My youngest child Daisy was fast asleep before I could even kiss her goodnight on her forehead.
    As birthdays go, I was glad it was drawing to a close – one dead pensioner (Mr F-P), one prostitute (Botox Bernie) and one new best friend (Penelope) who I didn’t want. Taking the wastepaper basket, which was overflowing, I wandered back downstairs and grabbed the equally full recycle bin from the kitchen, and then ventured onto the drive to empty them. The snow was still falling lightly all around me. Looking over towards the Farrier’s house the street lamp opposite lit up his front window. I could see him sitting in a chair in his living room; his daughter, now back from her friend’s house was perched beside him hugging a warm drink; he was reading her a story. Even though today, he had lost his father, I had a feeling this would be a new start for them both. The house might be a little too big for them both, but at least there was no mortgage so they would probably have enough to live on. Over the years, he had visited his parents infrequently. Today, he had seemed a gentle, caring soul and I really warmed to him. I genuinely hoped the coming year would bring him happiness.
    The dog decided to leave the cold conservatory as Matt lit the fire in the living room. Penelope had poured herself a glass of the Malibu and was looking extremely comfortable and very much at home watching television with her feet perched on top of my footstool.
    Matt had a strained looked on his face as he mouthed across the room at me, ‘but it’s your birthday.’ I knew it was my birthday, but what was with his disappointed look and sad puppy-dog eyes. I shrugged my shoulders back at him and mouthed, ‘I know, it’s the same date every year.’
    Penelope was unaware of our silent conversation going on around her; she was glued to the television watching the New Year’s episode of Morecombe and Wise. Matt stared down at his feet sulkily. Then it hit me; I knew exactly what his sulk was about; it was his wife’s birthday so what would that mean to any living bloke with a pulse? That would mean, if he was a betting man, Paddy Powers’ odds would be a dead cert – he expected sex tonight. Typical bloke, it could be the anniversary of your dead goldfish’s birthday, the one you won at the fairground, the one that only survived two days in the plastic bag, but was now a part of the family, and your husband would still expect sex. The pressure on any woman on birthdays, anniversaries and bar mitzvahs was just excessively much.
    â€˜Well, let me tell you,’ I mouthed back at his sulky face, ‘it’s my birthday, not yours, so huff away.’
    Suddenly, Penelope bolted upright as if she had caught sight of a ghost. It would be just my luck that Frisky Pensioner had returned in spirit for one last visit before he entered through the gates up above. But no, she had remembered she had forgotten the children’s bags and clothes for their return to school in the morning. I noticed she had remembered a full wardrobe for herself though, judging by the overflowing holdall at her feet no doubt consisting of numerous outfits – thinking about it – way too many outfits for just one night’s stay.
    â€˜I need you to go back to the house and retrieve the children’s clothes,’ she piped up.
    Why me? It was her children, I had not one ounce of enthusiasm to roam out into the cold, dark night. Why did I need to do anything? A hot sweat started to rise up my body again but I convinced myself it was