A WAG Abroad. Alison Kervin
is a deeply religious school and we operate by a strict moral code,’ she continues, and Dean and I just nod. ‘We believe that God was sacrificed for man and that each man should be willing to sacrifice himself for his brothers. We won’t tolerate selfish behaviour or bad community spirit.’
‘That’s right,’ says Dean. ‘Like in football – if a player keeps the ball too long, and doesn’t pass it, he’s not gonna score too often.’
‘Quite,’ says the Principal. ‘Now, do you have any questions?’
We don’t. Well, we do. I have tons of questions, but I’m too scared to ask them. Instead we’re offered the chance to take a walk around the grounds on our own.
‘If you can get back here by 11 a.m., that will assist us greatly,’ says Principal Cooper in a voice which indicates strongly that failure to arrive back by the allotted time will be punishable by death.
‘What do you think?’ I ask Pask when we get outside.
‘’s OK,’ she says, and I can’t resist it.
‘Sentences, Paskia-Rose, sentences,’ I say.
She gives me a half-smile and Dean gives her a hug.
‘Bit of a monster,’ says Dean.
‘Yes,’ we all agree.
The grass outside is now littered with girls playing, reading and talking intelligently to one another. Everyone looks rich and sophisticated but desperately dull. On Paskia’s instruction we walk towards the football pitches so she can have a look. We take the route round the side of the school where there’s a pavement and thus I won’t sink into the grass in my high heels. When the path runs out at the back of the school Pask and Dean head off to the pitch while I wait on solid ground.
That’s when I see them, like a dream – the school’s bad girls. There are three of them standing round the side of the building using a mobile phone (banned), wearing makeup (banned), with their skirts shortened (banned) and wearing high-heeled shoes (banned). They look amazing. I find myself transported back in time to my own schooldays when I was desperate to be friends with girls like these.
‘Here,’ I say, handing them a bottle from my bag. ‘It’s champagne. Enjoy it.’
‘Wow, thanks,’ they say. ‘That’s awesome.’
I hear the cork pop and I rush off, desperate to reach Dean and Pask despite the heel/mud situation. I need to tell Pask about the great girls I’ve just seen. ‘Sweetheart, I’ve found some lovely friends for you. They’re great. You’ll love them. Come and see,’ I shriek.
If I can get Paskia in with these girls, she’ll be sorted. Gosh how I longed to be one of the tough girls when I was at school. ‘You’re too soppy,’ they always told me. ‘Look at you, with your silly pink, frilly clothes and your mad mother.’
I tried so hard to be accepted into that group, but never was. Now Paskia has a real chance to live the dream. She’s not soppy – she’s tough and talented and lovely. She has to meet them.
I shout over again, but Pask and Dean don’t hear me at all – they remain where they are, locked away from the world as they talk about Arsenal’s performance last season and whether Cristiano Ronaldo is better than George Best, or some such nonsense.
‘Come on,’ I shout over, wishing that, just once, I could impress my daughter as much as Dean does.
The two of them begin walking. ‘Quickly,’ I cry. ‘I’ve found some lovely friends for you. Look!’
The three girls are slouching against the wall, necking the champagne. One of them is even running her heavily glossed lips up and down the neck of the bottle in a gesture which has the two other girls choking with laughter.
I march Paskia over to them in a whirl of excitement. Imagine if Pask could get herself in with the cool girls? She’d start accessorizing properly and having fun. I just want to see her happy, dressed up and made up like a prom queen. Maybe one day she too will perform fellatio on a champagne bottle, but let’s not run before we can walk. Such a hope remains a dim and distant wish.
‘This is my daughter, Paskia-Rose,’ I say, pushing Pask towards the girls entirely against her will, but knowing it’s in her best interests.
‘I’m Cecily-Sue,’ says the dark-haired girl. ‘Call me Cecil.’
‘Natasha-May,’ says the least groomed of the girls. She has long auburn hair that would benefit from a little glitter and a lot of bleach.
‘I’m Carrie-Ann,’ says the third girl, who’s perfect. She stands, menacingly, with her short skirt and her long legs. She’s tanned and has lovely blonde hair that hangs like a thick curtain across her face. She makes no eye contact, chews gum and drinks champagne at the same time. She’s got ‘troublemaker’ written all over her. I want to adopt her.
‘Come on,’ says Dean. ‘Let’s carry on having a look round.’
‘OK, but Pask, why don’t you stay here with the nice girls, and we’ll come back and get you later?’
The girls stand there, scowling and exuding menace through every pore. How I wish I were a teenager again. What fun they’re having!
‘I’ll come with you and Dad,’ says Pask, moving off towards the other side of Dean.
I say my goodbyes and tell the girls they’re all beautiful, and we walk off round the back of the school where there are tennis courts dotted around a huge athletics track. Across the courts, all dressed in white and bashing a little ball backwards and forwards to each other, are girls of all shapes and sizes. Why would they do that?
‘I can’t wait to start,’ Pask is saying as she takes in all the sports facilities. ‘This school is awesome.’
‘And you’ve already made some nice friends,’ I say. ‘Those girls seemed lovely.’
‘I think they were troublemakers,’ insists Pask. ‘You know – the way they were hanging around the back, wearing makeup and stuff. And drinking! Did you see that? I can’t believe they sneaked alcohol into school.’
‘They’re just having fun,’ I say, but my lovely, perfect, sports-mad daughter’s having none of it. She shakes her head and we wander off towards the pool block where she gets more excited than is appropriate at the thought of making it onto the swim team.
‘I think my times will be good enough,’ she says with glee as she studies the noticeboard. ‘I’m definitely going to the trials.’
We hurry back to the Principal’s office, Paskia and Dean delighted with the sports facilities and me feeling more hope than I’ve felt in a long time that my beautiful child may grow into the sort of teenager I can be proud of.
‘Principal Cooper please,’ we ask of the smartly dressed girl in reception, but it’s Mr Barkett who comes out to see us.
‘Sorry, Principal’s tied up at the moment. There’s been some very uncustomary and deeply regrettable behaviour that she needs to deal with immediately.’
‘Oh,’ we chorus because it doesn’t seem like the sort of school where deeply regrettable behaviour takes place. I’m tempted to ask what sort of behaviour we’re talking about here, when he volunteers the information.
‘Three girls. Caught drinking,’ he mouths. ‘Terrible. We’ve called their mothers to the school. Dreadful business.’
1.30 p.m.
‘The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain,’ I say, pronouncing each word as clearly as my Luton-laced accent will allow. We’re on Sunset Boulevard and all that stands between me and a stunning career as a glittering leading actress is Gareth managing to find the right building and me passing a simple audition. As far as I can see, the Oscar’s practically mine.
‘That’s