Chapter 58
Of all the things I’d rather not have to do the following day, hosting a PTA meeting is right up there at the top. As I potter around the kitchen diner, serving white wine and Kettle chips to twelve other parents, I can hardly bring myself to engage in any of it.
Not the endless debate about how to maximise profits from a sponsored Crazy Hair Day. Not the passive-aggressive chat about the correct price point for a speakeasy-themed Gin Night. And certainly not the arm-wrestle I was convinced would break out earlier – over whether we’d ever be able to make a ‘Fun Healthy Tuck Shop’ work at the school production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream , or should we just go for broke and stock up on Starburst and Skittles?
There are only two things I can think about right now. Number one is Rose, who should have had her scan by now and whom I’d hoped to have heard from about her results.
Then there’s Zach. Given the choice, I’d spend every spare moment in his arms before he steps on a flight and out of my life, the day after tomorrow. Not just to make the most of the limited time we have left. But to try and find some clarity over where we go from here. He really wants us to try and continue this, long-distance. He said he was prepared to beg. In his eyes, when you have feelings this big about someone, there’s no alternative.
I haven’t said no, but I can’t stop thinking about how unworkable it feels.
I have tried to convince myself that he could be right. That absence could make the heart grow fonder. That it works for those daft women who marry men they’ve never met on Death Row. That maybe the limited time we would spend together could be enough, even if he only gets 10 days paid vacation, which, I’m sure, will be devoted to Mila. And what about the physical side of things? While meeting Zach has opened my eyes to certain ideas – not least falling in love – I just can’t ever see myself performing a striptease in front of Zoom, no matter how good the lighting.
In my heart of hearts, I already know I’m going to miss him too much for this to work. That it would be better to end things now, pull off the sticking plaster – hard and fast – then get on with our lives.
Know what the worst thing is?
I think he knows it too.
‘So that’s two non-uniform days, a talent show, a balloon raffle, a half-term disco, Bonkers Bingo, a drive-in movie and, to kick it all off in September, a Gin Night.’
Denise Dandy peers at the Year 2 mum next to her – who she chose as her ‘volunteer’ to take minutes – to check she’s got it all down.
Denise looks immaculate tonight. Glowy skin. Silky, blow-dried hair. Lips plumped with pink gloss. She’s even ditched her trademark athleisurewear and is wearing a silky, safari-style jumpsuit.
‘There are still several outstanding jobs for the upcoming Gin Night and it would make far more sense if they were all done by one person. Lisa, I think you’re the only one who knows how to use that special shareable spreadsheet thingy, so I’ll put you down.’
I look up, snapping out of my daze.
‘Isn’t Lisa already doing the communication?’ Jeff leaps in. Nora is next to him, giving me a look. A glare. One that says, Don’t you agree to do this, Lisa. Do. Not. Dare.
‘We all have to pull our weight, Jeff,’ Denise says sweetly, though I can’t help but notice that since she created the new role of ‘PTA CEO’ – and promoted herself into it – the only thing she actually does is come up with more jobs for the rest of us to run around fulfilling. ‘I was going to ask Lisa to phone the council about the alcohol licence, but maybe you could do that?’ she adds.
Jeff starts sucking an invisible lemon. ‘Sounds right up my street, Denise.’
‘Excellent. So, Lisa, that just leaves the posters, the e-flyer, touching base with the school secretary, sourcing raffle prizes, speaking to the class representatives, updating the PTA Facebook page and Twitter. Are you around on the night itself too? We need someone to clean the toilets beforehand.’
I realise I have been my own worst enemy.
The first to raise my hand. To offer my help. I am one of life’s doers, someone who prides themselves on being capable, indispensable and absolutely not afraid of hard work. I’ve always told myself that the school needs people like me.
But this is not indispensability.
This is being a mug.
Well, enough is enough.
‘The thing is, Denise. I’ve been trying to find a moment to tell you but . . . I’m out .’
I didn’t intend to sound like Deborah Meaden but, once the words are out of my mouth, I realise I quite like it.
Her beautiful eyebrows twitch in consternation.
‘What do you mean? The Gin Night is the first big event of the PTA season. Who else is going to be able to design the posters?’
‘I did them on a free app and it’s really easy to pick up. I can show you how if you like, Denise?’
From the look on her face, she does not like.
‘To be honest, it’s not just the Gin Night,’ I continue. ‘I didn’t appreciate when I got involved in this PTA just how demanding it would be. I’ve got a lot going on at the moment and I’m afraid, once this term is over, I’m not going to be joining you next year. I’ll help you with the tickets for this event, but I’m afraid it will be my last.’
I’m not saying that the last few months have made me realise that I’d much rather spend the rare pockets of free time I have enjoying pleasures of the flesh with a super-hot man (though, come to think of it, I would). But it has made me realise just how easy it is for women like me to put themselves last. And while it’s one thing making sacrifices for my kids, this is quite another.
I’ve done my bit. Now it’s someone else’s turn.
Denise clearly does not see it this way.
‘Well, this is far from ideal, I must say.’ From her clipped tone, you’d think I’d just cleared out the PTA bank account and run off to Mexico. ‘Let’s hope everyone doesn’t take the same attitude. After all, it is our children who are going to benefit. Still, if you feel happier sitting around and leaving the rest of us to do everything . . . that’s fine .’
I’ll admit it. Her speech nearly breaks me. Nearly.
‘Look, I’m sorry—’
‘You don’t need to be, Lisa,’ Jeff interjects.
‘Can I make an observation?’ Nora says. ‘Look, I haven’t been a member of this group for a long time. But it strikes me that what the PTA really needs is more people doing less . There’s too much of a burden on too few people.’
There is an explosion of agreement, though nobody says out loud that the way Denise has managed things – by running a small group of put-upon individuals into the ground – has done absolutely nothing to help recruitment.
‘Well, I don’t see how leaving helps!’ she protests, her voice rising a pitch. It’s a fair point, but I know I’ll regret it if I let her sway me.
So I stick to my guns until the end of the meeting, when I see everyone out. I even offer to carry my crate of Bounce-a-thon socks out to the boot of Denise’s Range Rover Sport, though she declines, snatches it from me and staggers along the path instead.
Afterwards, Nora and Jeff stay for a glass of wine so we can deconstruct the evening’s events.
‘I hope you can live with yourself after leaving us to the mercy of Denise and her raffle tickets,’ Jeff teases.
‘I’m sorry. I do feel guilty about leaving others to deal with all this.’
‘You mustn’t ,’ says Nora. ‘You’ve got to do what’s right for your family.’
‘I know but—’
The doorbell rings. ‘God, I hope Denise hasn’t changed her mind about the socks,’ I mutter.
But when I stand up and open the door, it is Rose and Angel standing on the step.
‘I . . . I expected you to phone. Come on in,’ I urge them.
‘Has your PTA meeting finished?’ she asks, stepping inside. There’s something about the way she says it that makes my blood vessels contract.
‘Yes, only Jeff and Nora are still here. Do you want a drink?’
‘I think we could both do with one,’ Angel says.
They wander in to join the others as I close the door. By the time I’ve gone through myself, I can already see the concern in Jeff’s eyes.
‘So what happened?’ I ask, bringing over two glasses.
I pour one and hand it to Rose, who takes a sip.
‘Maybe I should’ve bought fizz . . .’ she says, smiling at Angel.
Nora and I exchange a glance. ‘Does that mean—’
‘It’s just a post-viral cough, apparently.’ She shrugs but her voice is trembling with relief. ‘A bit of inflammation, that’s all. The scan was clear. The cancer hasn’t spread. I’m going to be absolutely fine.’