Granny’s pick-up day
‘I’m sorry you have to go and find their new school on their second day but I’ve got an important work meeting.’
‘That’s no problem at all. I’m sure I’ll find it. On the main road isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I’ll send you driving and parking instructions.’
‘Do I need to take snacks?’
‘Yes please. And Max will get picked up for cricket?
Several hours later I arrive, about half an hour before pick-up time. The instructions tell me where to park – tick – and to walk up the road to school and wait outside until the gate opens at 15.20. OK, I’ve got this. I can’t see any sign of a school building, just shops, trees, a park, houses, a pub. Oh, I can see a Lollipop Lady, that must be it. The school buildings are set back from the road so I can’t see them. As I approach, I see the gate is already open. But it’s only 3.00 – is my watch working? My mobile can’t be wrong. I rush in through the gates. It’s pouring with rain, so I put up my hood and look a bit like a very old hooligan, dashing about looking for loose children.
‘Hey, come back,’ I hear behind me. It’s the Lollipop lady.
‘You here for pre-school or school?’
‘Mmm, school.’
‘They don’t come out yet. It’s just pre-school. You got permission? They don’t like just anybody turning up. Could be a kidnapper.’
‘Yes, oh, sorry. They know.’ I go back outside and stand with a couple of other grannies in the rain. We all get even more soaked.
‘Seventeen years I’ve been working here, and if I’s going to rain, it’s always at coming out time, you can guarantee it,’ helpfully remarks the LL.
By now, I can hardly see for water dripping off my head into my eyes. Then, suddenly the sun comes out as if to mock us all.
‘That’s it.’ says LL, as the gates open again like magic and a hoard of parents, carers, grannies, and associated other child collectors rush in to the playground as though hot bread is for sale.
I walk to the left, as instructed and wait by the wall. I see a huge crowd of ‘Reception’ pupils emerging from their classrooms with a couple of women, who must be their teachers. It takes a while but I spot Max in the crowd, a little blonde boy, with his eyes down towards the ground. I begin waving gently. He doesn’t take any notice. I try waving a bit harder. Still no recognition. What am I going to do? By now, I am waving my arms frantically and shouting his name.
One of the teachers sees my agony and touches Max on the shoulder. ‘Is that woman in the blue mac your Granny?’ she asks.
No response. He just runs out of the gate and stands next to me.
‘Hello Max, hello,’ I shout, bending down to his height and giving him a, clearly unwanted, hug. ‘Did you have a nice day at school?
‘Yes. Have you got any snacks?’
‘I have. But let’s go and get Izzie first. Can you show me the way?’
He takes over as Director – clearly his mother’s son- and after a few corners and plenty of people walking the narrow path the other way, we reach Izzie. Thank goodness she recognizes me and gives me a hug. She’s even willing to hold my hand as we exit the school.
‘I’ve parked up the road,’ I say. ‘It’s not far’.
Actually, it’s very far. Everyone else has a nearer parking spot because they are familiar with the school.
‘Are we walking home?’ asks Max. Eventually we reach my car and they get in and put on their belts like true professionals, without guidance. I think it must be the lure of the paper bags stuffed with snacks that makes them behave so well. I don’t hear a peep out of them all the way home as they are busy chomping through sausage rolls, crisps and cookies, as though their lives depended on it. They emerge from the car and only leave a few crumbs behind.
‘Do you know how to open the front door, Granny?’ asks Izzie. Before I can answer, she’s got the key in the lock and we’ re in.
‘Have you been tidying up?’ asks Max. A strange comment from a five -year-old boy, but I’ll take it.
‘No. Let’s find your top and your cricket bag shall we? Need to rush as your lift will be here soon.’ We all scoot round looking for the pale blue cricket shirt.
‘No, can’t find it,’ announces Max as he changes into a red ‘Messi’ football shirt. Needs must. His lift arrives.
‘Peep,peep.’ It’s my phone sending a text: ‘All OK? Has Max gone to cricket?’
Before I can respond there’s a second text: ‘Yes, I can see that he did. Got a camera on the front door.’ What is this, a Granny spycam?
Izzie and I decide to go and have a milkshake in the café while Max is out and before Mummy and Daddy get home. We have a lovely Granny-grand-daughter bonding stroll through the village.
‘What did you learn at school today?’ I ask.
Izzie pauses.
‘All sorts. English, Maths, oh and we learned about penises and vaginas. You mustn’t laugh.’
I wasn’t going to laugh. I might have gasped in astonishment at her loud voice, but certainly wasn’t laughing.
‘You don’t laugh when you talk about your hand so it’s the same with these body parts,’ she adds in explanation. Just then we spot one of her little friends stroking a cat on the pavement, so the conversation is, fortunately, curtailed.
We have a lovely drink in the café and then go home to find all the family waiting for us.
‘How did it go?’ asks Mummy.
‘Very well thank you.’ I respond.
‘Oh good. You’ll be able to do it again soon then?’
I’m shattered. Not too soon, I think.
About the author
lly Storr recently retired from her work as a coach at The Open University. She has always been equally fascinated by human behaviour and by figures from literature. She’s been writing all her life but especially enjoys writing about quirky things that happen to ordinary people like herself. the author the oher half goes to expense se.g.
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