Why Mommy Swears. Gill Sims
having a key to put on it? You couldn’t have just left it for a FEW BASTARDING MINUTES?’
‘When you have to shit, you have to shit!’ said Simon. ‘So, what’s for dinner?’
‘Oh, go fuck yourself!’ I snarled.
Thursday, 22 September
Well, I went to the PTA AGM. I dragged Sam with me too, on the basis that if I was going down, I was taking as many people as I could with me. He objected strenuously to this, pointing out that I should really have known better than to have succumbed to the pressure of Perfect Lucy Atkinson’s Perfect Mummy and Fiona Montague, even though everyone knows how hard it is to resist them, especially when they are holding their Very Important Official-Looking Clipboards. He tried to wriggle out of it by sighing that sadly, as he was a single parent, he had no childcare. But I was prepared for that and had already told Simon that he would be looking after Sophie and Toby, as well as his own darling poppets, and so, finding himself outmanoeuvred, poor Sam had little choice but to accompany Katie and me to the school hall, down the corridors scented with an eternity of school dinners – that heady whiff of cabbage and the stale fat from fries – to find Lucy Atkinson’s Mummy and Fiona Montague presiding over a hall containing a grand total of eleven people, out of the approximately seven hundred parents at the school. I felt very bad about never coming along before – I had always assumed these meetings were brimming over with enthusiastic voluntary-type people who had filofaxes and liked organising things and knew how to use glue guns. I had never realised how poorly attended they were, which certainly shed some light on why Lucy’s Mummy and Fiona could be slightly militant when trying to drum up PTA support.
Lucy Atkinson’s Mummy kicked off proceedings by tendering her resignation as Chair and inviting someone to come forward to take her place. A deafening silence met her words.
Cara Cartwright was sitting beside me and whispered, ‘Don’t worry. She resigns every year, and no one has yet dared try and replace her. She just likes to feel needed.’
Lucy’s Mummy, however, shouted, ‘Come ON! Someone must be willing to replace me. I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE. If no one will step up and replace me, there will be no PTA. There will be no Halloween disco, no Christmas Fayre, no Summer Fete, AND NO FUCKING MONEY FOR SCHOOL TRIPS, NEW WHITEBOARDS OR ANY OTHER BASTARDING THING! This is my daughter’s last year at primary school and all I really want to do is spend ONE school event with her. Actually WITH her, not throwing another pound coin at her to go and have a few more shots on the tombola because I’m too busy running the event to do anything with her. Is that so much to ask?’
The silence was really quite awkward now.
‘RIGHT!’ bellowed Lucy’s Mummy, slamming her Important Clipboard down on the table. ‘FUCK THIS SHIT! I am out of here. Hell mend the lot of you!’
‘Me too!’ said Fiona Montague.
Ohhhhhh, this was MEGA awkward. I do hate a pregnant pause, and so before I really knew what I was doing, just to end the tense atmosphere, I somehow found myself putting my hand up and mumbling, ‘Errrr, I’ll do it. If no one else wants to, that is?’
Fuck it, I thought to myself. I clearly had blown all chance of the Dream Job and so I might as well do something useful with my time in between the eating cookies and inventing abortive apps.
‘Will you, Ellen?’ said Lucy’s Mummy, a slightly manic look in her eye. ‘Oh, that’s marvellous news! Now we just need a treasurer to replace Fiona, and a secretary.’
‘Umm, Sam?’ I hissed, nudging him in the ribs. ‘And Katie, you got me into this.’
Sam sighed. ‘I’ll be the treasurer then.’
‘And I’ll be the secretary!’ said Katie.
‘Oh wonderful!’ cried Lucy’s Mummy. ‘We’re FREE. I mean, that’s marvellous of you to offer. Technically you should be proposed and seconded, etc, but to be honest it’s so hard to get people to volunteer in the first place that we haven’t bothered about that in years. Now, would anyone else like to join the committee?’
‘Oh, go on then,’ said Cara Cartwright. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound!’
‘I’d like to join as well,’ said a new voice from the back of the hall. Everyone craned round to see who it was. A tall woman with immaculate hair and full make-up had walked in, with two very clean children in tow.
‘Sorry we’re late,’ said the new woman. ‘I’m Kiki. I was just taking some photos of Lalabelle and Trixierose playing outside. Yes, I would like to join. I think there’s a lot of things that could be improved.’
Lucy’s Mummy had looked nonplussed for a moment, but she ralled enough to interrupt. ‘Errr,’ she said, ‘I just need to stop you there. The thing is … sorry, was it Coco?’
‘Kiki. With two Ks.’
‘Right. Kiki. This is the PTA. We only deal with fundraising for the school, not school policies. You want the Parent Council for that.’
‘Oh,’ said Kiki with two Ks (it’s hardly Anne with a bloody E, is it? Also, isn’t Kiki a parrot’s name?). ‘Well, I’m here now, so I might as well stay, as I’m interested to see what the PTA funds are used for. I’m sure there are better ways of spending the money – for example, the playground is very grey. It’s really hard to get a decent photo of the girls out there. If some money could be spent on some nice paving, maybe some plants, and obviously a mural wall is a MUST.’
‘Why?’ asked Lucy’s Mummy.
‘Because everyone loves a mural wall as an Instagram backdrop!’ cried Kiki. ‘Instagram is the future. Schools really need to get on board with this.’
Lucy’s Mummy turned puce at this, as Fiona Montague nudged her, and I distinctly heard her whisper, ‘Let it go. Not our circus, not our monkey anymore! Let’s wrap things up quickly and go to the pub. She’s Ellen’s problem now.’
Kiki ploughed on oblivious. ‘While we’re on the subject, why isn’t the school on Instagram? Maybe I could help with that. I’m actually a social media influencer, with over 300 followers. I’m @kikiloveandlife if anyone wants to follow me – it’s about children and lifestyle and travel. People tell me I’m an aspirational inspiration, which is humbling!’
The first icy realisation of what I may have done began to dawn on me.
The rest of the meeting mainly consisted of the outgoing committee handing over to us, the new, slightly daunted committee, with proceedings only minimally held up by Kiki interrupting to tell us her latest Instagram stats, and asking for another pause while she took more photos of her daughters colouring in and then suggested a group selfie, which everyone politely declined, and reminding us again that we all really should follow her, as a lot of people have told her she is inspirational.
The only saving grace was that Kiki didn’t actually seem interested in volunteering for any position within the PTA other than starting an Instagram page, which I am pretty sure the school will veto.
When I got home and ’fessed up to Simon about how I was not only on the PTA committee, but was in fact the new Chair, he looked at me in disbelief.
‘So what you are telling me is that Perfect Lucy Atkinson’s Perfect Mummy actually gave her resignation by publicly shouting “FUCK THIS SHIT” and that was the point at which you decided it would be a good idea to take on the role that had reduced her to that?’
‘Ummm, well, it was such a very awkward silence. Someone had to say something. I panicked! I hate silences.’
‘Usually you fill any perceived awkward silences by babbling hysterically about how otters have opposable thumbs, not by volunteering for what appears to be the most thankless task in the history of humanity.’
‘I did consider my otter soliloquy, but it didn’t really seem appropriate. And how bad can it be, when I have Sam and Katie helping me? And Cara, she