Chapter 8
Gemma woke early on the second day of term, conscious that she’d just had a really weird dream. As she rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom that she used to share with the other lodger – so nice to have it all to herself now! – it came back to her in bits. There’d been something about a motorbike. A red and black bike with a metal wing-like structure that swept up at the back behind the seat as though it belonged to a rocker …
In her dream, the bike had taken off all on its own but as she’d begun chasing it down the road, she’d suddenly realised there was a child sitting on it. A very pale girl with dark hair and solemn blue eyes. Just at that point, she started to fall down a hole in the pavement.
Falling, according to Kitty, who was big on dream interpretation, meant a fear of losing control.
Gemma shivered as she peeled off her pjs and stood under the shower waiting for the hot water to kick in. No prizes for guessing why she’d dreamed of a bike like the one that belonged to Joe Balls (wow – had they got off to a wrong start there!) and a pale, dark-haired girl who looked like Lily.
Personally, she’d thought Joe’s idea of talking to the parents about the need for discretion had been a good one, but Beryl had vetoed it by email late last night, saying it would draw attention to the situation. After all, not all the parents realised exactly who Lily was. Gemma closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the water finally surging over her. Even so, the niggling worry in her chest remained as she drove to work. Something didn’t feel right, she thought, which was why she wasn’t totally surprised when she arrived at Puddleducks to find the American mum with short spiky hair waiting at the door, clutching the other end of her son’s Velcro wrist harness.
We don’t start for another half an hour, she wanted to say, but the distraught look on the woman’s face stopped her.
‘Sorry I’m early. Danny, stand still ! You can’t go inside right now. Mrs Merryfield isn’t ready for us yet.’
Miss Merryfield, please! Sometimes it just wasn’t worth correcting.
‘It’s just that …’ Her hands were twisting in an anguished fashion. ‘I needed to make sure … You’re new, aren’t you?’
Gemma was taken aback for a second. ‘I’ve been at Puddleducks for three years. But I’ve only just taken over as acting playgroup leader, if that’s what you mean.’
The woman was nodding energetically. ‘That’s exactly what I meant. I don’t mean to be rude but I wanted to make sure that you’ve been checked. Danny, I said stop fidgeting like that.’
Checked? Visions of an infectious diseases clinic shot into her head.
Mrs Carter Wright was still nodding furiously. ‘That you’ve had your security checks.’
Was this what it was all about? Some people, thought Gemma, might have been affronted. Put yourselves in the parents’ shoes, Granny had always said. If she’d been a mother in a strange country with different rules, she might be worried too.
‘Yes I have.’ Gemma almost wanted to pat the woman’s hand comfortingly. ‘We all have to. Everyone does who works here, including the cleaners. So you don’t have to worry on that score.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘I know you’re early but if you want, why don’t you come in with Danny now and you can watch us get ready. It might reassure you to see what we do.’ She squatted down beside Danny, who was trying to yank off the wrist harness. ‘Shall we show Mummy that lovely Wendy house you were playing in yesterday with your new friends? We could do some letter outlines too!’
Bella arrived shortly afterwards to find Mrs Carter Wright standing awkwardly over her son while he played peekaboo behind the playhouse curtains.
‘Is that our new FM?’ she hissed.
Gemma gave her a disapproving look. One thing she hadn’t liked under Miriam’s leadership was her boss’s penchant for labelling mums. FM stood for Fussy Mum. There was, Miriam used to say heavily, always one . Then there was AW Mum, which stood for Always Working, like Freddie’s mum who sent her son pictures of herself in the office via his kiddy iPhone, which he wasn’t meant to have at school.
Occasionally there would be a DM (Drunk Mum) after the social evening. Usually they had a very watered-down punch on offer, containing more orange and lemon squash than anything else. Last term one of the mothers had brought along her own bottle of ‘water’, which turned out to be vodka.
‘I’m sho shad that Oliver is leaving to go to the big school,’ she had said, hiccuping into everyone’s ear. Gemma had just hoped that, for Brian’s sake, Oliver and his weak bladder would mature at Big School.
Sometimes Gemma wished she could pick up all the parents and roll them into one so they came out with each other’s pluses and minuses. Fussy Mum could give some of her worry to Couldn’t Care Less Mum. Pushy Mum who had been going on at her about extra counting lessons after school could lose some of her pushiness to Forgetful Mum who had forgotten, again, to bring in her emergency contact form. And Helpful Mum (‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help you put everything away?’) could be balanced with Untidy Mum who had left a trail of chewing gum and dirty tissues on her way out.
‘I’ve done the register and everyone’s here,’ said Jean importantly, coming up to her.
‘See you later, Danny,’ the American woman was saying.
‘Poor thing,’ whispered Jean. ‘Did you see how our new boy didn’t even give his mum a second look? Just like my lot when they went off to college.’
Bella sniffed. ‘Better than yelling for their mums if you ask me. Now, bags I don’t go on messy corner this morning. I’m still trying to get green jelly off my new bootlegs. By the way, have you seen what Lily is wearing? I’m sure I saw that silk dress in Junior Vogue .’
Gemma sighed. Bella was definitely in the wrong job. Anyone who wore new clothes to a nursery shouldn’t complain if they got ruined.
Gemma clapped her hands, giving Bella a sharp look. ‘Time to practise Puddleducks songs, I think, everyone!’
Sienna pouted. ‘Why?’
‘That’s a good question,’ said Gemma, ignoring Bella’s rolling eyes. So what if Sienna was always asking ‘why’? It was normal at this age. ‘It’s because singing is fun! Right, everyone. I’d like all the Puddleducks who were here last term to help the new ones with the words. Clemmie, can you stand next to Danny? Lovely. Off we go then.’
Gemma was rather proud of her Puddleducks songs, which she herself had made up. Singing was a great way of releasing emotions and also of helping children to learn how to do things. She was pleased to see Danny, his eyes bright and excited, nudging Lily in enthusiasm.
Automatically, Gemma’s hand went up to her neck to touch her silver chain in the way she often did when feeling emotional. But a cold chill struck through her. It wasn’t there.