Chapter Two
I am still sitting in the same place when a little body comes flying into the room and jumps onto the bed.
‘Mummy, Mummy, I didn't mean it, and Fireman Sam has wetted the bed again with his hose.’
I look down at the gorgeous bundle of love that is my son Harry. Large gentle brown eyes look up at me, carrying the weight of the world in them as he looks at me anxiously. I just about understand what he just said, and pull him to me tightly, stroking his soft brown hair that never seems to sit straight.
‘Don't worry baby boy, we'll send in the cleaning troll. Do you need to use the toilet now?’
He grips me tightly and says quietly, ‘No thank you, I think that it's all gone now.’
My heart tightens as I sit holding my little boy. Six years old and about to discover that his little world has fallen apart. I blink back the tears and set my resolve in place. Not now, he can have at least one more day of happiness. I will make sure that he is fine, my momma bear is rushing to the fore and now my little boy is the most important thing in my life.
I paste a smile on my face and tickle him stupid. The sound of his laughter is like a knife to my heart and I feel a sudden rush of hatred for my soon to be ex-husband.
How could he do this to his son? The thought of what is now in my future is almost too much to bear, so I push it all away and start the process of totally overcompensating my son.
‘How about I make you loads of sticky sugary American pancakes for breakfast like they do on the television?’
His screams of joy give me the answer I need and he grabs my hand in excitement and bounds from the bed.
‘Can I eat them in my spaceman suit?’
I nod. ‘Of course, you can Mr Astronaut. While you get suited up I will head off to mission control and prepare for lift off.’
He hurries from the room and leaves me to get a grip.
I'm not sure how I get through the morning ritual of pre-school activity, which usually involves lots of shouting on my part, towards an unruly dog and an errant child.
However, this morning they could draw on the walls, rip up the carpet and slide down the stairs on a mattress for all I care, because there is only one thing buzzing around in my mind, ‘Why me?’
I mean couples separate all the time; in our village, the single parents outnumber the married ones. I have always felt somewhat smug as I looked around at my own cosy stereotypical middle-class family, and felt sorry for the more dysfunctional ones around me.
It's all coming back to bite me now with a vengeance, though, and the tears burn behind my eyes at how quickly my cosy bubble has burst.
Harry, doesn't appear to sense anything different and is more interested in gathering his Transformers together to take to school.
Soon we are somehow ready and I start the short walk to the village school.
Harry holds my hand and chatters incessantly on the way, while Mr Tumnus tries to stop at every wall and corner to sniff the evidence of his friends that have already made the journey. Normally Harry and I would be singing a little song as we go - usually the theme tune to Postman Pat, which I am strangely addicted to.
Today though I can't focus on anything else but the sound of my world coming crashing down around me.
We join the line of other parents heading towards the school gates, and I feel as if I am having an out-of-body experience because everything looks the same as usual, but it is now very different. It's as though I'm seeing everything through someone else's eyes and nothing appears real anymore.
Harry sees his friend Edward and drops my hand and races towards him. As I draw near I take in the welcoming smile of his mother, my best friend Simone.
Seeing her friendly face causes mine to fall and at once I can see the concern in her eyes. She leans forward and whispers, ‘What's the matter Sophie has someone died or something you look...well shell-shocked if I'm honest.’
I just stare at her in disbelief and then somehow manage to squeak, ‘Lysander wants a divorce.’
I see the shock register on her face and she grabs hold of my arm.
‘Right this is what you must do. Act normal and pretend you're someone else for the next ten minutes, I don't know Anthea Turner, or someone perfect like that. Do what you have to do, and then once the prison gates close, you and I are going to yours to work out the next step. Ok?’
I nod numbly and summon my inner Anthea to the fore, and paste a happy sugary smile on my face as I approach the battleground, otherwise known as the playground.
Simone walks next to me as if she is my minder, and with a similar expression on her face, we contemplate the dreaded Playground Mums.
All around us is perfect housewife perfection. Yummy mummy land with more cutting out stakes than an origami factory. These women take no prisoners. They smell out your fear and your insecurities and they gorge on scandal and gossip. If these women knew of my new situation, they would pounce on me and feed off of it, stripping me to the bone until there is nothing left of me. Simone is right; I need to keep up the appearance of Stepford perfection for as long as possible.
The noise of the children playing is almost deafening and the chatter of the mums adds to the chaos. I look around me at the sea of Cath Kidston and Boden-clad warriors, who use their designer prams as battering rams, to gain the coveted spot by the office doors- because that is where he lives.
Almost on cue, the door opens and there is an audible gasp of excitement as all eyes swivel towards the God that is Mr Rainford the year 2 teacher.
Simone tenses up beside me, and if we were in a film, this is the part that would appear in slow motion, cueing the latest love song as he emerges from his lair.
Mr Rainford is not your typical teacher. He looks as if he has stepped out of an advert for men's underpants. He has a chiselled jaw that shows a hint of stubble. His eyes are brown and sexy and when he looks at you, you feel as if you are the only person in the room. His clothes are immaculate and he moves with swagger to his step.
There is not a mother here, including me, who probably hasn't fantasised about him at some point. The trouble is I think he's gay.
He looks around him with amusement; and then rings the bell that he holds aloft as if it is an Olympic torch. There is a stampede of children as they fall into their lines. The mothers pull themselves up straight, and fluff out their hair, and thrusting their chests forward, they gaze at him with wanton desire.
He leads his flock inside like the pied piper, and only when the door slams behind him do the hormonal horde disperse.
Simone nudges me and quips, ‘...and breathe.’
I look at her and she winks and grins.
‘Do you know that keeps me going all day until the afternoon repeat? Lordy lord, we must have done something right to deserve such eye candy twice a day.’
I smile but don't feel much like laughing and I see the sympathy in her eyes.
‘Come on doll face, let's get you home, we need to sort this mess out.’
I nod miserably and gather up my wayward puppy as we go from his tether on the railings, as we set off for home.