No wonder Denise had been so insistent on a prompt start. It was an Alan meeting, and she was always fluttery about an Alan meeting. Alan, who owned the playgroup premises and liked to sweep in every month or so with a PowerPoint on something he felt we needed explained. Today he was inexplicably dressed in a brand-new high-vis jacket, stiff creases on the neon-yellow fabric.
“Emma,” he pointed me to a chair at the head of the small table, “we wanted to wait for you.”
Across the Formica table Catrin rolled her eyes.
Denise’s response was clipped. “The minutes, Emma. Let’s not keep everyone waiting. Alan says he has timed his casserole and can’t stay long and I for one don’t want to make him late.”
“A slow cooker waits for no man,” Catrin called out. Alan shot her a look.
“We have a rota for minute-taking, Alan,” Denise was simpering at him, “and tonight the lucky lady is Emma,” she explained, as though Alan didn’t understand how a rota worked.
“Oh,” I feigned regret, “I left my laptop at home.”
Denise however had already motioned for Lena, her lapdog in a pale pink Hermès scarf, to push her notepad across the table to me.
“Great,” I thanked her weakly.
Catrin snorted and Denise glared at her.
Lena rummaged in her handbag. “Would you like to borrow my pen, Emma?” she offered, passing it across the table. “It’s a Montblanc. Limited Edition.”
At least if I handwrote the minutes I could also produce a moving love letter? And clearly this pen was expensive so it would look good: classy ink. Dan might be impressed by that at least. He loves stationery.
“Item One,” Denise started, “the all-important Christmas party. The children are eager to have us make a decision,” she said, her words laced with meaning. “With the party on in just over two weeks, we need to send out the theme for parents to organize things. As you know, last time the theme of gymkhana was rejected.”
Alan tutted. “Oh. Shame.”
“Apparently some of our members believed it to be too ‘elitist,’ Alan,” she said with a sigh.
“I just thought we could probably land on something a bit more mainstream?” I said through my teeth.
“Well, I remember you also put your foot down over anything homemade so I’m not quite sure what you think the children should be wearing? Peasant garb?”
“Oh, I’m sure the mums will enjoy making gorgeous outfits for their children,” Alan said, beaming at Denise.
Behind his back, Catrin signaled a gunshot to the head. Lena was too busy nodding agreement to notice.
“Parents,” I stressed, “have more than enough on their plate without having to create a costume from scratch.”
“You’re being a kill-joy,” Alan sing-songed at me, wagging a finger. “I’m sure many women would want to give up their time for their children.”
Lena found her voice, “I could send round a mood board from Pinterest of some ideas to be of help.”
“Excellent,” Alan said, beaming at her. Lena went pink.
“I would like the theme to be superheroes,” Denise said. “Bertie desperately wants to go as Mr. Incredible.”
“Well, that sounds excellent. And if that’s the theme the children could always go as their mums,” Alan said, beaming around the room. “Superheroes all of you. Right,” he said, his chair scraping, “I have a lentil casserole to eat and you have plenty to keep discussing so I will take my leave.” He straightened his high-vis jacket. “Just wanted to check in on my favorite ladies.”
The door shut behind him, and Denise’s voice was suddenly as cold as the outside air that blew the paper cups from the table. “We have a great deal to get through this evening,” she snapped, “so let’s minute a decision. Superheroes,” she said quickly. She raised her eyebrow at me, “Any complaint?”
The fight left me as I shook my head and noted it down.
“Oh, and Emma, do note Alan’s appreciative comments. If only all men were as understanding.”
Catrin gave me a sympathetic grimace. I hope Alan’s lentil casserole burned through.
“Now to another vital agenda item.” Denise breathed out slowly, “The Teddy Bear Raffle . . .”
I sat back deflated as Lena talked us through it.
Dan was right about this committee. Why was I still on it? Why couldn’t I stop the guilty voice that compelled me to take these things on? I needed to say no.
“What if the teddies have parts missing? We have an adorable bunny but she only has one eye.”
“We should be inclusive,” Catrin called out. “Bunnies with one eye should not be discriminated against. In fact, we should source as diverse a selection of teddies as we can. Be representative.”
I glanced up, a weak smile across at her. “Not helping,” I mouthed.
Catrin looked back at me, a more serious expression on her face, asking if I was OK. Normally I sat next to her, shaking at the absurdity of the whole thing, but tonight I kept my head down, robotically finishing the notes, my handwriting as lackluster as my mood.
My numb hand was cramping as the minutes dragged by, the hall colder by the second. I wrapped my coat around me, missing things about the tuff tray or a sunny day or a funny seesaw—I zoned out. And throughout it all my phone was flashing and buzzing and I dreaded seeing what had happened now. I just wanted to be at home, in front of the wood burner, my slipper socks on, a blanket draped over my legs, snuggled into Dan.
Finally I was outside, Catrin at my side.
“All right?” she asked. “You seemed quiet tonight.”
“Sorry, yeah,” I said. “Just the usual. Too much to do, too little time. Dan’s annoyed with me,” I admitted, one eye on my phone.
Catrin had met Dan a few times, always made him laugh. “A bit miffed or all-out proper annoyed?” she asked.
“More than miffed,” I said, then I sighed. “This is going to sound silly but today is the anniversary of the day we first met and it has always been really important and . . .”
“You forgot.”
I grimaced, “I forgot.”
Oh God, Hayley had sent me an email, something attached. It was all kicking off at Charter. What had Linda done?
“Want a drink? I brought the car so could drive us?”
“Sorry, Catrin, I’ve got to run,” I said, turning, barely meeting her eye.
“Hey, take care, OK, and remember,” she called after me, “you can’t do it all!”