Chapter 4
Hate to brag, but I’m actually killing it this morning. I’ve made a stack of pancakes even though Poppy, who requested them, is still snoring. Lila dive-bombed the two of us at the crack of dawn, as per, but Poppy rolled over and went back to sleep. So we left my sister snoozing and I decided to use my time wisely, whipping up pancakes and a batch of raspberry oat muffins because I’m basically next-gen Mary Berry.
Lila’s wearing her little chef’s hat and happily dolloping raspberries into the mixture, which gives me this lovely sense of satisfaction. Maybe I’m doing an okay job at motherhood after all? Today St Barnaby’s is having a bake sale to raise funds for a new playground. An email came round a couple of weeks back, and I actually read it and made a note in my calendar to send in a bake.
‘What’s going on here?’ Poppy pads into the kitchen with a yawn, eyeing up the mess of pots and pans. She has a silk sleep mask pushed up on her head which she wears to stave off early signs of wrinkles, she told me last night as she climbed into my bed. Given that she’s still in her twenties, you can imagine how I felt about that.
‘School bake sale!’ Lila cheers while her auntie helps herself to the pancakes.
‘Would you mind taking these muffins to reception once you’ve dropped Lila off?’ I ask.
Poppy’s face falls. ‘I forgot to tell you last night, I’ve got a class first thing this morning so I can’t do drop-off.’
After quitting her high-flying job, Poppy moved back here to live with her old friend Adam and is now studying photography. She wants to be a wedding photographer because, naturally, my little sister LOVES weddings, romance and mooning over Keats poems. Which makes it all the more ridiculous that she has yet to figure out that she’s living with the love of her life. Mum and I are convinced that she and Adam will eventually get together because they make the cutest pair. But we know Poppy. And we know not to push.
‘Oh. No problem,’ I say, mentally wading through my to-do list and figuring out how I can reshuffle my morning. It is a bit of a problem, if I’m honest, because Thursdays are my main get-shit-done days. But Poppy does so much for us already.
‘Shall I call Mum and see if she can help out?’ Poppy asks, concerned.
‘Honestly don’t worry, there’s nothing I can’t rearrange.’
This is what you get for smugly boasting about killing it, I think as I trip over a pair of discarded wellies in the hall in my rush to get Lila out the door on time.
‘Ready?’ I ask as Lila wriggles out of her gloves. What is it with my child and her aversion to keeping warm? ‘Let’s go.’
We walk to school, her little hand in mine as she earnestly tells me everything she knows about caterpillars, which is a surprising amount for a four-year-old. It’s only when we reach the school gates and I see Joe, the jackass from yesterday, that I am reminded about Thirsty Thursdays.
The mums look even more pristine than usual. I swear Celeste has been for a blow-dry this very morning. She has brought cupcakes decorated with dinosaurs which she definitely did not make herself, Mel’s baked a banana loaf, Frankie is apologetically explaining that she’d forgotten about the bake sale, Tally has an enormous cake in the shape of a rainbow while Joe has both a tray of cookies in his hand and the other mums swarming around him like flies on …
‘Morning!’
Mrs Flowers, Lila’s teacher who has a strong commitment to her own brand and is never not wearing florals, opens the classroom door and beckons the children inside. Just as I’m about to leave, she calls out to us all.
‘Parents and carers, could I ask a quick favour please? I need volunteers for this afternoon’s bake sale.’
I briefly calculate. I’ve not exactly got the time to spare but this could be an excellent way to get in with the mum clique and maybe even secure Lila an elusive playdate? Before you can say the words ‘but Sophie, what about your massive to-do list’ I lean in.
‘I can help.’ It’s only once I’ve spoken that I sense the collective lull around me as everyone else tries to rapidly gather excuses.
‘Mrs Flowers,’ Celeste chides. ‘This is short notice. Usually I would but I have brunch commitments with Douglas and these things do tend to go on.’
‘I’m a doctor,’ says Mel, ‘so obviously …’ She dashes off.
‘Mrs F babes, I’m way too busy,’ says Tally. ‘Got an IG live and so much sponsored content to film you would not believe.’
‘I don’t think I’d be much help with a screaming baby in tow.’ Frankie yawns.
Joe clears his throat. ‘I’ll help.’
‘Oh!’ Tally, who had turned to leave, lingers. ‘You know what? I can make it. Filming can wait.’
Wait. What?
Celeste appears to have had a change of heart, too. ‘Having said that,’ she says, eyeing Joe, ‘brunch doesn’t always drag. And it is important to put the children first. I’ll make sure I’m back in time to help.’
A domino effect ripples through the group with all the mothers suddenly finding themselves miraculously able to make the bake sale now that Joe will be there. Honestly, this lot! Only Frankie, who looks thoroughly amused at this blatant ploy, doesn’t change her mind.
Mrs Flowers looks a little overwhelmed. ‘Crikey, that’s fantastic!’
Joe now has an unreadable expression as he says, ‘Actually, I think there may be too many of us. I’ll bow out.’
He’s barely taken a couple of steps away from the group when Tally shamelessly pipes up. ‘Oh phew, me too. Takes the pressure off. Sorry, Mrs F!’
My mouth drops open as Celeste begins her own U-turn, announcing that perhaps she is giving herself too much to do after all. The domino reverses faster than you can say ‘we’re all just in it for the eye candy’.
How am I suddenly the only mum taking part, again?
The rest of them have buggered off so now it’s just Joe and me left with Mrs Flowers, who looks as bewildered as I feel.
‘Sophie, thank you,’ says Mrs Flowers, today in floral dungarees with a flowery shirt underneath. ‘With just one volunteer now, I’d better see if the teaching assistant can help out.’
I turn to give Joe a pointed look. He seems completely oblivious to the fact that he created this entire farce. When he catches my eye, he gives me an angelic smile that I find deeply annoying. Is this just my week for being surrounded by dubious men? First Joe downplaying the sheer load of single parenting, then Paul and his peen on display and now this?
‘No need, Mrs Flowers.’ Joe steps in as if he’s saving the day, smooth as you like. ‘I can still help.’
Mrs Flowers is visibly melting while I positively seethe with annoyance. Of course Joe has changed his mind, again. I mean, I do know that I wanted him to help but it’s just the way he’s going about it. Urgh. He just loves being a saviour, doesn’t he? After all, the challenges of fatherhood are so easy for him! Why not chuck in an afternoon spent farting about selling cakes for good measure? Does the man not have a job?
I realise I’m staring at him. He’s fixed me with his unnervingly blue eyes and a small smile plays around his lips like a challenge. I can’t back out now.
‘Wonderful!’ Mrs Flowers is thrilled. ‘Could you meet up at the school hall at three p.m. to help set up? You guys are stars.’
‘See you then, Sophie,’ is Joe’s parting shot.
Bugger off, I don’t say back.
I work relentlessly, fuelled by coffee and the couple of Babybels I found lurking in the fridge earlier. There’s one last job that I know I won’t finish but, when it’s time to head back to school again, I feel vaguely satisfied that I’ve got as much as I can get done in such a short window.
Naturally Joe has arrived before me. I find him lining up trestle tables in the school hall.
‘Hello,’ I say briskly, intent on Getting Through This.
‘Hi,’ he replies, amused.
Have I done something funny?
‘You just missed Mrs Flowers, she’s asked us to get the tables lined up, clear the chairs and then start displaying all the bakes.’ He nods in the direction of another table piled high with cakes.
‘Great, I’ll stack the chairs. And, um, thanks for helping me out,’ I add, somewhat begrudgingly. I swear his chest puffs out at this.
I busy myself with setting up but every now and then I catch Joe looking over in my direction. Eventually I stop stacking and stare back.
‘Do I have something on my face?’ At this specific moment my stomach rumbles emphatically. ‘It can’t be food because as you can probably hear, I didn’t have time for lunch.’
‘Nope. I just haven’t seen a person carting chairs about in heels that high before.’ He grins irritatingly.
‘Yes well, there’s a lot I can do in heels,’ I reply, before recognising that this sounds mildly suggestive.
Joe looks thrilled at this admission.
‘I bet.’ He practically smirks. ‘Do you have any gaffer tape?’
‘Pardon?’ I splutter. Is this man making some kind of sex joke? Because there will be no role play with gaffer tape at this afternoon’s bake sale, thank you very much, Joe.
‘This table has a huge crack in it, look.’
Oh, right. Not an innuendo then. Just me jumping to conclusions.
I stalk over to see what he’s talking about. ‘So it does. Alas I don’t have any heavy-duty Sellotape about my person today.’
‘Wow, easily irritated I see.’ He spikes up an eyebrow.
I am NOT easily irritated. It makes me want to goad him further.
‘Do you have any red and blue Sharpies on you? No other colour or brand will do. I’m writing out cake labels.’
‘Actually yes.’ Joe grabs his rucksack and pulls out a handful of colourful pens. He looks so pleased with himself I find my eyes narrowing. Damn it.
‘Thank you,’ I say curtly as he hands them over. Then he finds a roll of Sellotape on a nearby desk and starts tearing off strips with his teeth.
‘Sidney talks about Lila a lot,’ Joe says after a pause, and I find myself softening at the thought of Lila making friends at school. I’m also still very prickly what with Joe being Extremely Annoying and therefore too stubborn to reply.
‘It’s okay if Lila hasn’t mentioned Sid,’ he carries on. ‘You don’t need to feel bad.’
This man! The nerve of making assumptions and forgiving me for something that hasn’t actually happened!
He starts up again. ‘Listen, Sophie—’
‘Here I am!’ Celeste bustles in, cutting him short.
‘We knew you’d be here.’ Tally beams at Joe, whose demeanour switches to alarm.
‘Didn’t want to miss out on this,’ Celeste breezes. They are followed by another alpha mum called Olivia. They’ve come for more perving, and I bet Joe will love that, I think to myself with an inward eyeroll.
He’s already enveloped by the clique and I’m left on my own setting up the cash register.
Soon parents and children are filing in to buy a bake. I spot Lila’s class coming in and when she catches my eye, she waves. She’s with Sidney – Joe’s son – and they rush over to check out the till, so I decide to get them involved with helping to take people’s money. In spite of other annoying parents, it’s really interesting to be here and see Lila in her school setting. I find myself glancing up to see if Joe’s spotted Sid, too.
In fact he’s surrounded by a swarm of randy mothers and appears to be lapping it up. Celeste, Olivia, Tally and the others have appointed themselves cake tasters to decide on today’s star baker, and at one point Tally tries to feed Joe a slice of cake from her plate. I overhear him saying something about being gluten intolerant. Don’t worry, pal, I’ll look after your kid!
‘Mummy,’ says Lila, pulling on my top. I bend down to give her my attention. ‘Sid says he’s going for pizza with his daddy tonight. Can we go too?’
‘I don’t think we should interrupt their plans, sweetheart,’ I reply, which is my child-appropriate way of saying, hell no.
‘But Mummy, we never go out for tea! Sid says his dad takes him out all the time.’
Typical Joe.
‘That’s lovely, Lila, but we haven’t been invited so it wouldn’t be polite.’
Lila hops up and down excitedly. ‘Sid’s invited us! He checked with his dad and everything.’
I glance over at Joe, who catches my eye and gives me the thumbs up. Oh GOD. If that smug shite is taking his child out ‘all the time’ I’m going to have to accept, aren’t I? It’s like a red rag to a bull. And Lila’s right, we don’t eat out all that often.
‘Okay,’ I concede as Lila, triumphant, clatters off.
Eventually the queue dwindles, the bake sale finishes and, with the other volunteers still doing resolutely no volunteering, I divide up what’s left of the bakes and clear away the trestle tables, feeling sidelined again.
A brown paper bag is thrust in front of my face.
‘For you,’ Joe says, looking windswept.
‘A sick bag?’
‘Cookies. I kept them to one side since you said you missed lunch.’
It’s a surprisingly sweet gesture but then he has spent the bake sale hanging out with his groupies while I did all the work.
‘And you did all the work this afternoon,’ he says, reading my mind. ‘Sorry about that.’
I’m vaguely blind-sided by the apology and take the cookies. ‘Thanks. You look like you’ve just come out of a wind tunnel.’
Joe’s back is turned to the mums and he nods his head in their direction with a grim look which I don’t understand.
‘Is the pack of wolves causing you a problem?’
‘I’m more of a lone wolf, myself,’ he replies, picking his coat up from a chair.
‘You could have fooled me,’ I say as Celeste arrives by his side, quick as a flash.
‘You’re not leaving are you, Joe?’ she asks.
Joe swallows, hard.
‘You should stay because the girls and I were just discussing what meals to make for you next week. It’s so good to have your input.’
Joe sounds like he’s about to protest. ‘I really don’t—’
‘Nonsense, come on!’
Whatever’s going on here, I know I can’t handle being in this school hall for much longer. And if I don’t eat something soon I might pass out. I remember that, according to Lila, we’re invited out for pizza with Joe and Sid. And though the thought of spending any more time with this premium douche weighs heavy on my mind, even a quick dinner with Joe seems preferable to heading home to an empty fridge with a hangry four-year-old.
‘We’re going for pizza, right?’ I remind Joe.
‘Oh sure, we’d love to.’ He beams, making it sound like I’m the one to extend the invite, which for some reason gets my hackles up even more.
Celeste eyes me up and down.
‘What, the four of you?’ She blurts this out before she can get the better of herself.
‘The four of us,’ Joe says. And his initial grin turns into a dazzlingly charming smile. ‘Bye, Celeste,’ he says and he waves his hand in front of us both. ‘Lead the way, Sophie.’
We step out into the biting February air, the kids bouncing up and down at the prospect of being set free. And even though I’ve lumbered myself with a night out with Joe, I feel pleased to be making some progress with the parents for Lila’s sake.