Mum in the Middle: Feel good, funny and unforgettable. Jane Wenham-Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ quiet streets and the river nearby. With London now under an hour away, it seemed meant to be. I’d thought about Ben getting to uni and me getting to the office, and having somewhere to park and a garden. But somehow I’d overlooked the day-to-day reality of making new friends and who I’d talk to …

      The wind was cold and I could feel the make-up running from my streaming eyes as I reached the door, suddenly wishing I’d stayed at home with some biscuits and the box set of Downton Abbey.

      But, I reminded myself as I shoved my body across the threshold, I needed a social life.

      Visions of painting the place red with Fran had faded fast – the last time I’d dropped in, it was all baby yoga, organic dishcloths and making sure her four children got their ten-a-day. Apart from Jinni, the only person I’d spoken to at any length since I got here was the chap in the corner shop and that was only a thrilling exchange about my newspaper delivery and why he was fresh out of washing-up liquid.

      A woman with grey-blonde hair and some rather nice silver jewellery was sat at a table next to a cash box.

      ‘Wicked Wits?’ she enquired, consulting a list.

      ‘Sorry?’

      She repeated it, mouthing the words carefully as if I were in need of learning support. ‘Are you on a TEAM?’

      ‘No, I’m on my own …’

      She rustled the paper. ‘The Wits said they were waiting for one more.’ She beamed. ‘But if you’re a one-off I’ll give you to Brigitte …’

      Brigitte, a dramatically made-up lady with highly defined eyebrows, was, as she immediately introduced herself, chair of the Northstone Players –for which the evening was raising much-needed funds – and currently rehearsing Madame Francine for their forthcoming production of A Frenchman in Disguise.

      ‘Do you know the play?’

      I shook my head.

      ‘Ever done any acting?’ I shook my head again. She patted my arm. ‘We’re always looking for help with the scenery …’

      She led me across a room filled with round tables adorned with paper, pens and bowls of peanuts, through small groups of people holding glasses, to the far corner. A broad-shouldered, grey-haired man in his late fifties sat with a younger, bearded chap and a blonde girl of about twenty.

      ‘One for you, Malcolm,’ Brigitte said. ‘This is Tess – she’s new to Northstone and could be your secret weapon.’

      ‘I don’t know about that …’ I squeaked, embarrassed.

      Malcolm looked me up and down. ‘Neither do I,’ he said gruffly.

      Malcolm was the editor of the local paper, the Northstone & District News, as well as other regional publications; the young girl, Emily, was one of his junior reporters and the man, Adrian, another of the town’s thesps, who, he told me, had written a play he was hoping they would perform for their autumn production.

      ‘We’ll call ourselves the Odds and Sods, shall we?’ said Malcolm.

      When we’d got to the third round and I still hadn’t known the answer to anything except who’d played Deirdre in Coronation Street, I could feel myself sinking in my chair.

      My only consolation came from the fact that Emily didn’t seem to know much either and Adrian had only contributed the names of three Olympic gold medallists and the symbols from the periodic table for lead, tin and pewter.

      Malcolm, on the other hand, was grunting out answers like a one-man Wikipedia and was only seen to be flummoxed when a question came up about boy bands. ‘You must know that,’ he instructed Emily, who didn’t.

      By half-time we were sitting in third place. ‘And we haven’t done current affairs yet,’ said Malcolm, satisfied. ‘What do you do? And why did you move here?’

      I was halfway through regaling him with the highlights of my enthralling career as an office space planner, when I saw Ingrid bearing down on us with a beer mug full of money and two books of raffle tickets.

      ‘Hello again!’ she said briskly to me before putting the tankard in front of Malcolm. ‘How’s that paper of yours? Going to be any decent news in it for a change?’

      ‘You’ll have to fork out and find out,’ he countered. ‘For a change.’

      ‘I always do,’ said Ingrid. ‘Though why it doesn’t have a bit more online, I don’t know.’

      ‘Because then nobody would buy it,’ he said. ‘As it is they all stand there reading it in the shop.’

      ‘You want to cut out all the smut, then, and put in something worth paying for.’

      ‘The smut is why the few do pay for it.’

      Ingrid gave him a withering smile. I got the feeling this was a well-worn exchange. ‘Are you going to buy some tickets?’

      ‘No,’ Malcolm said. ‘I’ve already paid to do the quiz.’

      ‘This is to raise more funds. Lovely prizes.’

      ‘They won’t be.’

      ‘Go on. Another couple of pounds won’t hurt you.’

      ‘I like quizzes. I don’t like raffles.’

      Ingrid thrust the books towards me. ‘A pound a strip’, she said, surmising correctly that I wouldn’t dare refuse her too.

      ‘Settling in?’ she asked, while I fumbled for coins. ‘Despite the neighbours?’

      I felt Malcolm’s eyes on me. There was a small silence. ‘Jinni’s been very kind to me,’ I said eventually, keeping my voice even and smiling at Ingrid.

      Ingrid looked cynical. ‘I’m sure she has,’ she said shortly.

      ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she added to Malcolm. ‘But it’s off the record.’

      ‘Then don’t tell me,’ said Malcolm. ‘Come back when you’ve got something I can actually publish.’

      Ingrid grimaced. ‘It’s about the council. If I have my way, I’ll blow the lid off the whole lot of them.’

      Malcolm’s tone was dry: ‘I’m surprised they can sleep.’

      ‘Annoying woman,’ he said, when she’d moved off.

      ‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked him, disconcerted. Emily and Adrian had disappeared.

      ‘Not allowed to. Doctor’s a miserable bugger who said I’d got to give it up. Orange juice only.’ He looked woebegone. I laughed.

      ‘Shall I get you one of those?’

      Malcolm peered into his empty glass as if searching for an answer.

      ‘Why not.’

      ‘Ingrid СКАЧАТЬ