Happy Families Read online

  Now, a few days later, she and Rob weren’t even doing that. Just speaking to each other in terse sentences. They were sleeping at opposite sides of the bed. It wasn’t good, Bobbie told herself now as she joined the queue of late drop-and-run mums. But she was damned if she was going to make up without her husband apologising too!

  ‘Why is it very silly to smoke?’ piped up Jack again just as she missed a parking space thanks to a dinky little car with a ‘Granny On Board!’ sticker that had nipped in first.

  ‘Because it can give you cancer.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I know! I know!’ Daisy was bursting with enthusiasm. ‘It’s something that we can avoid if we eat five a day and do lots of healthy stuff. We’re doing it in Pee Ess Eee.’

  ‘It’s not quite that simple,’ began Bobbie but her words were obliterated by hooting behind. ‘Quick, out, both of you! Don’t forget your lunch box, Jack, and don’t pinch anyone else’s again, will you? Or commit any more football fouls. Daisy, here’s your recorder. Kiss?’

  Briefly, their little warm faces collided with her nose, one at a time. ‘Love you, Mum,’ said Jack and her heart lifted. It was moments like this that made it all worthwhile.

  ‘Love you!’ replied Bobbie just as a tall, well-built man came striding up to the car. ‘Not you. Sorry. I mean I love my son!’

  As a newish parent, Bobbie was still getting used to everyone’s names, including the teachers. But everyone knew Mr Balls, head of primary. A decent, fair man, according to the school-gate gossip. Not afraid of giving praise or of telling someone (whether it was a child or parent) when they were stepping out of line.

  ‘Mrs Wright, I wonder if you’d mind coming in to school for a minute?’ He glanced at her car, which had, by now, caused quite a backlog of irritated parents at the wheel. ‘It might be an idea to park somewhere sensible first.’

  Bobbie followed her children’s headmaster meekly into the reception area, feeling as though she was back in school uniform herself. She had rarely got into trouble when she’d been at her local grammar, apart from one detention when she and a friend had bunked off for a music festival. Consequently she’d assumed her own children would behave too. Some hope!

  ‘Shall we go into my office?’

  It wasn’t so much a request as a command. Bobbie took a seat opposite Mr Balls’s desk, feeling like a condemned woman.

  ‘Cup of tea? The kettle’s just boiled.’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  He stood up and went to the side of his room where there was a little kitchen. Somehow, she had expected a secretary to do the honours. ‘Bourbon biscuit?’

  Her favourite! Maybe this man wasn’t so forbidding after all.

  ‘Now,’ he began, putting a KIDS R GREAT mug in front of her, ‘I know it’s not easy when children start a new school. But we still have some teething problems here, don’t we?’

  Oh God. ‘Has Jack been biting again? I’m sorry. I thought he’d got through that stage although I’m afraid he still does it every now and then to his sister.’

  ‘Actually it’s not Jack I want to talk about. Although, now you mention it, I did hear that he’s still trying to turn the sandpit into concrete.’

  Bobbie went bright red. ‘By, er, weeing in it again?’

  It had been Jack’s party trick as a toddler: one that he hadn’t really grown out of.

  ‘Afraid so. Bit too old for such behaviour, don’t you think? Mind you, change often makes us act in a childlike manner.’

  That was true enough. ‘I’ll have another word with him.’

  ‘Thanks. Otherwise I’m afraid he’ll be banned.’

  ‘From school?’

  ‘Just the pit!’

  Thank heavens for that. Home schooling would completely tip her over the edge. Imagine having the kids at home all day, every day!

  Mr Balls put down his mug. ‘It’s Daisy I really want to talk about.’

  Bobbie groaned. ‘What’s she done?’

  ‘It’s not her.’ He looked apologetic. ‘It’s us, the school, that needs to pull its socks up.’

  Bobbie stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Your daughter is very bright, Mrs Wright. We did some IQ tests the other day and she came out streets ahead of the others! That’s why, in my opinion, she’s sometimes seen as being “outspoken”.’

  Mr Balls’s voice grew excited and he began to tap his fingers on the desk as though playing a musical tune. ‘She’s bored. Needs stimulating. I’d like her to join our new Gifted and Talented stream, if that’s all right with you. Best to start after Easter when there’ll be a couple of other new faces too.’

  ‘Bored? Needs stimulating?‘ she repeated. ‘So it’s my fault?’

  ‘Not at all!’ For a moment, Mr Balls looked as though he was going to pat her hand. ‘It’s natural for parents to blame themselves. My wife and I do it all the time. But no, you’ve done a great job. Bright children aren’t always easy to handle.’

  Bobbie thought back over the litany of disasters she’d gone through with her two. That behaviour at Pamela’s lunch party had been just the tip of the iceberg. ‘Is Jack bright too?’ she asked hopefully.

  Mr Balls made a sympathetic face. ‘Actually his IQ was average.’

  Blast. So she couldn’t blame his bad behaviour on that.

  ‘But he’s a real character, isn’t he?’

  Phew! He said it in a way that was a compliment rather than a criticism. ‘My wife and I have got one of those too – always into everything!’ He glanced at the family photograph on his desk, showing a clutch of glowing faces in matching blue anoraks. ‘In our experience, it helps if you can find something to channel a child’s energy into. Is there anything that might make him feel him feel good about himself? Like a sport, for example? Our eldest is really into skateboarding.’

  Jack might be great at throwing vases but he was only average at football, unless it came to illegal moves. Still, maybe she’d try his suggestion: it might help him let off steam.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said Mr Balls as the school bell clanged, ‘I’ve got to take assembly now. Getting back to Daisy, we’d like to move her up next term. Obviously you’ll need to discuss this with your husband so perhaps you could email me?’

  Then he paused. ‘By the way, I gather you’re on the Perfect Parents’ course. How’s it going?’

  Bobbie was torn. If she admitted it really wasn’t doing very much for her at the moment, he might think it was her fault – especially after what he’d just told her about Daisy. ‘Fine, thanks. Fine.’

  ‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Judith Davies was very keen on running the younger group. I was a bit worried, between you and me, as she isn’t a parent herself. Nice to know it’s working out.’

  So Daisy was gifted! Well, very bright! Bobbie almost skipped out of school. If that was the case, she could put up with any amount of bad behaviour. Well, up to a point. She couldn’t wait to tell Rob – it might help to mend bridges. Nor could she wait to tell Princess Pamela! That would wipe the smile off her face along with the news about the cannabis-smoking daughter.

  Oh dear. That wasn’t very nice. Parenthood made you so horribly competitive at times. She should resist the urge to join in, Bobbie told herself as she headed for the dry cleaner’s to drop off Rob’s suits. Shouldn’t be smug about her daughter’s status, tempting as it was to plaster it over Facebook. But she was dying, absolutely dying, to tell someone! No good trying to get hold of Rob: he was always in a meeting. And Sarah’s phone was going through to a new, unusually chirpy, message: ‘Hi! You know what to do! Leave your details and I’ll ring you back.’

  Not for the first time, as she dumped the suits on the counter and put the ticket away in her bag, Bobbie wished she had a friend in Corrywood. Someone to confide in. Someone who would understand her problems.

  Turning round in the queue, she almost bumped into a small pretty blonde clutching a bag of clothes in each hand.
‘Vanessa!’

  ‘Oh. Hi, Bobbie.’

  She didn’t seem that thrilled to see her, which made Bobbie feel stupidly hurt. She’d grown to like this woman whose granddaughter idolised Daisy. Bobbie had thought Vanessa liked her too. Maybe she was one of those women who blew hot and cold.

  ‘Sorry.’ Vanessa’s face was flustered. ‘I was miles away.’ She had her mobile in her hand and kept checking it as she spoke. ‘Look, I don’t suppose you could do me a huge favour, could you?’ She touched Bobbie’s arm. ‘I’ve got to shut the shop early to sort out some, er, personal business. Would you be able to step in, just for today?’

  It was very short notice and she was meant to be finishing off that list of phone calls for Research Trivia, but Vanessa really did look distressed. ‘I’ll pay you,’ her new friend added, naming a figure that was far more than she got paid for her interviews. Still, that wasn’t the point. Bobbie wanted to help out. And maybe she could make her calls between pick up time and Rob getting home.

  ‘All you have to do is to make a note of all the clothes that customers bring in to sell. There’s a book on the desk to write down details. Explain I’ll come back to them with a price when I’ve been through everything. As for the selling, just let them browse, although you could add an encouraging word.’ Vanessa gave her a pleading look. ‘Is that OK?’

  Bobbie nodded nervously. The last time she’d worked in a shop was when she was seventeen and then someone had walked out wearing an outfit without paying for it, declaring she was going to ‘show my husband’. Perhaps that was something she wouldn’t mention to Vanessa.

  ‘Thanks so much! If you come with me now, I’ll let you in and show you the ropes.’ Her voice was close to tears. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’

  Bobbie took her hand. ‘Vanessa, are you all right?’

  ‘Not really, to be honest. But I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.’

  Bobbie had a brilliant time at Vanessa’s. No wonder kids loved ‘playing shop’! Quite a few women came in with carrier bags stuffed with some gorgeous stuff. ‘I don’t need them any more,’ they’d say with a slight tinge of regret in their voice. Then they would add, ‘How much do you think you can sell this for?’

  It was amazing how many well-dressed, would-be sellers seemed to need money. Others clearly had an eye for a bargain, like the woman who clicked through the rails with a decisiveness that suggested she was a pro before pouncing on a pale pink cocktail dress. ‘Is this a genuine Ghost label?’ she demanded.

  Bobbie was a bit taken aback. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Think or know?’

  Talk about being sharp! ‘I couldn’t tell you, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Hmmmm.’ The woman, in high heels and soft elegant tapered beige trousers, slammed down a crisp twenty-pound note. ‘Then I’ll give you that for it.’

  What! ‘The label says forty pounds.’

  ‘That four looks like a two to me.’

  Rubbish!

  ‘If you don’t want it, I’ll have it!’ declared a small woman, homing in.

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want it!’ Tapered trousers snatched the hanger away from her rival. ‘I was just checking it was an original. All right, I’ll take it. Here’s the other twenty.’

  Nothing like a bit of rivalry to push a sale along! Two other customers were having a similar tussle by the size-16 rail. With any luck, it would result in another ringing up of the till. At least she hoped so. Maybe Vanessa was worried because of money. If so, this morning’s takings, which were really quite good, should help.

  Bobbie spent the rest of the day chatting to customers, some of whom seemed startlingly candid about their private lives. ‘That colour really suits you,’ she said to a middle-aged woman who was trying on a clingy red jersey dress. It did too; made her skin look less sallow.

  ‘Do you think so?’ The woman eyed herself doubtfully in the mirror. ‘That’s the first compliment I’ve had since my husband left me for his secretary. I used to buy her presents, you know, at Christmas! I never dreamed anything was going on. And to think that’s what he was doing when he was having late meetings! I tell you, my dear, if I had my life again, I wouldn’t be so trusting.’

  Late meetings? Bobbie felt a cold chill go through her. No. Surely Rob wouldn’t do that. Would he? Pushing aside the thoughts, Bobbie distracted herself by sorting out the rails after the woman had gone. That was better! Now what else could she do? Vanessa hadn’t asked her to rearrange the window display but it seemed to Bobbie that the black dress was a bit severe to pull customers in. With the warmer weather, that yellow skirt would look rather jaunty, and perhaps she’d put the hyacinth-blue silk top next to it.

  ‘That looks wonderful!’ said Vanessa when she got back after lunch. She still seemed a bit flustered but not quite as bad as this morning. Maybe she’d sorted out whatever it was that had upset her.

  ‘So you didn’t mind me changing the window display?’

  ‘Not at all. It shows initiative.’

  ‘I dropped a couple of the prices too. Not much but it helped one or two customers to make up their minds. Hope that was all right.’ She showed Vanessa the figures.

  To her relief, her ‘boss’ nodded approvingly. ‘Listen, I know this is putting you on the spot again but I’ve got to go up to London tomorrow to see someone. Are you able to help me out? And maybe over future weeks too?’

  Bobbie had been partly hoping for this. ‘I’d love to. But I need to be free for the school run.’

  ‘Supposing we share? I’ll pick up your children – although I like to walk rather than drive if that’s all right with your two – and you collect Sunshine. I wouldn’t ask anyone else but she adores Daisy.’

  She and Rob could certainly do with the extra money. She’d just have to squeeze in the market research too.

  ‘Great.’ Vanessa’s phone began to vibrate and instantly that worried look returned. ‘See you tomorrow then.’

  Bobbie almost felt like dancing when she drove home with the children. She had a job – a proper job, outside the home! OK, so she might be over-qualified, but it fitted in with the kids. And that’s all that mattered. At least it was when you were a working mum.

  ‘How was your day?’ she sang.

  ‘I was the spelling-bee queen today,’ said Daisy casually, ‘although I was told off for talking. It wasn’t fair. I was just helping the others.’

  It didn’t matter. Daisy was bright. She could forgive her for anything. Well, almost. ‘How about you, Jack?’

  ‘I saw him fighting in the playground,’ cut in Daisy importantly. ‘He had to go and see Mrs Davies.’

  ‘Miss Davies,’ corrected Bobbie. Great. The leader of their parenting class. That would really help her reputation. ‘Why were you fighting, Jack?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘There must be a reason.’ She glanced in the driver’s mirror to see her son shrugging. Right, she told herself. Let’s use a bit of perfect parenting here. Empathy. ‘I can understand why you might want to hit someone…’ she began.

  No. That wasn’t right.

  How about the three-card method? ‘If I hear you’ve been in a fight again, I’ll …’

  She stopped, wondering which punishment to use this time.

  Maybe this was a case for positive praise instead. ‘It sounds like you’re rather good at fighting, Jack.’

  Both children were staring at her in amazement as she parked outside the corner shop. ‘Are you feeling all right, Mum?’ asked Daisy sharply as though she was the adult and Bobbie the child.

  ‘Yes. No. Just stay there. I’ve got to pop in to get a tin of something for dinner.’

  A good mother, Bobbie told herself, as she stood in the queue with her basket of baked beans and cheddar, would have had a proper meal ready. But working outside the home meant it was difficult to do that. As for …

  Oh my God! Where was the car!

  ‘Are those your kids?’ shouted a man tearing past.
To her horror, Bobbie saw the Volvo slipping steadily down the hill with Jack at the wheel. She’d left it in reverse, she clearly remembered, with the handbrake full on. The little devil must have crept into the front seat.

  ‘It’s all right, he’s got them,’ yelled someone else as Bobbie raced past. Thank God! Somehow the stranger had caught up with the car, opened the door before it had gathered any more speed and yanked on the brake.

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she said, tears in her eyes, before turning to her son. ‘You naughty, naughty boy!’

  ‘It’s not the lad’s fault, it’s yours!’ The man, with the bald head and thick neck with tattoos, glared at her accusingly. ‘I wouldn’t leave my kid in the car. For two pins, I’d call social services.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I won’t do it again. Honestly.’

  ‘Don’t tell Dad,’ she instructed both Daisy and Jack firmly when they’d got home.

  ‘Why?’ they chorused.

  ‘Because. That’s why. No, don’t ask any more questions. Just go and take your tea and eat it in front of the television. Have you washed your hands?’

  ‘I’m trying to build up my immunity,’ flashed back Daisy. ‘We’re doing that in Pee Ess Eee.’

  Was it any wonder that the kids played up, Bobbie asked herself as she fitted in a couple of work calls. Something had to give when you had two parents who were working their socks off to pay the bills, and discipline was top of the list. Ah! At last! There was Rob’s key in the lock. Finally.

  Jack flew through the door and into his arms. ‘Daddy, Daddy, I drove the car today!’

  ‘Really?’ Rob frowned. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘He’s making it up, Daddy!’ Daisy beamed at her. ‘Isn’t he, Mummy?’

  Oh God. So much for her so-called honest approach to life. Now she’d turned her daughter into a liar!

  ‘We’ll tell you about it over dinner.’ As she spoke, Bobbie realised she’d been so busy with work calls that she’d forgotten to make anything, just as she’d forgotten to get the kids to bed. ‘Baked beans all right?’