Free The School Gate Survival Guide by Kerry Fisher Page B

child was still speaking to him.
    ‘We’d better go and let you get on,’ I said to Clover.
    ‘I’ve got nothing to get on with. I’m going to dig out a pair of swimmies for Harley, then I’ll get you a drink.’
    She found a towelling robe for herself and a pair of Speedos that would have been tight on Action Man for Harley. He stiffened beside me, backing towards the pool door like a dog on its last journey to the vet.
    ‘Have you got boxers on, Harley? You have? Why don’t you swim in those?’ I said.
    For once Harley did as I suggested, stripping off his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor and dive-bombing the girls. I envied and resented his ability to bounce back when the skin on my face was so tight and pinched that it felt like someone had tied my ponytail too tight.
    ‘Come on, I bet you need a drink,’ Clover said. I hoped Clover-speak was the same as Sandy-speak and that I wasn’t going to get a mug of stewed nettles and cat hair. Back in the kitchen she threw open the fridge and hooked out a bottle. ‘Drop of shampoo?’
    Champagne on a Monday night where I lived was because someone had got out on appeal. ‘Just a drop, thanks, cos I’ve got to drive back,’ I said.
    ‘We’ll call you a cab. You can leave the car here.’
    Clover must have seen the cash register tinging in my eyes. ‘Anyway, we can worry about that later. You can still have a glass.’
    I wiped the rim of the tumbler she gave me with the bottom of my sweatshirt while she had her back turned.
    ‘Bottoms up,’ Clover said. Just as we clinked glasses, the kitchen door opened and a tall, slim man with dark, curly hair came in. It had to be Lawrence, Clover’s husband. He was an older, more groomed version of Orion. In his suit, he looked as though he’d stumbled into Glastonbury by mistake. Clover introduced us and he said hello without really registering me, just raised an eyebrow at the champagne bottle. He poked about among the roasting tins, colanders and saucepans piled high in the butler’s sink, pulling out a rainbow-coloured welly before he found a mug.
    Although nothing suggested he was the least bit interested in who I was or what I was doing there, Clover filled him in. ‘Poor old Maia’s had a terrible day. Hugo was beastly to Maia’s son, and they got into a bit of a punch-up and Hugo came off worse. He’s an arrogant little sod, he had it coming to him.’
    ‘Like mother, like son. Jennifer’s pretty arrogant herself,’ Lawrence said. I was surprised to hear a Mancunian accent.
    ‘She’s not that bad. At least she does all the class admin like the fete and tickets for the school play that no one else wants to do.’ Clover topped up her champagne. I shook my head as she pushed the bottle towards me.
    ‘Don’t be so naive. She loves lording it over people. If Jennifer hadn’t managed to trap Leo, she would still be touting cheese and pickle rolls around Canary Wharf,’ Lawrence said.
    ‘That’s not fair. Lawrence works in the same department as Jennifer’s husband, Leo,’ she said, turning to me.
    ‘It is fair. You’d think someone who tracks Japanese investments for a living would have enough brains to remember the condoms when he’s shagging the sandwich trolley dolly.’ Lawrence tried to squash an empty jar of coffee into an overflowing bin.
    It was so rare for anything to surprise me in a mouth open, bloody hell sort of way, but Jen1 being from the wrong side of the tracks shot onto the list. I sieved through my dealings with her for the tiniest clue that her diamond studs had once been hypoallergenic lumps of glass from Topshop. Nothing. The woman had studied the middle-class stage and learnt her lines well. That accent. Christ, Jen1 could topple Queen Lizzie II off her throne if she got any posher. Still, the mean part of me would always want to start singing, ‘Prawns and mayonnaise? Bacon butty? Egg and cress?’ whenever I saw her now. On the other hand, if I ever managed to