Page 283 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Yes, but she says I hold it too tight.”
“He does; it hurts my fingers,” Petal argues, holding up her tiny fingers as evidence.
Roman defends himself, and my heart melts. “The road is busy. I don’t want her to run into the road.”
“I won’t. I’m not silly,” Petal argues, sticking her tongue out at him.
“Maybe don’t hold so tight, and she’ll let you,” I offer.
“Let Roman hold your hand, Petal,” Mary interjects.
“Do I have to?” Petal pouts, her face is stubbornly set, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to change anytime soon.
Mary counters with seemingly magic words. “No. You can hold mine, instead.”
“Okay, I’ll hold Roman’s hand.” Petal grabs Roman’s hand as if it was the best idea all along. Fight avoided in record time.
Mary helps me with Madi’s stroller, down the steps to the pavement. Any trace of disgruntlement vanishes from both Roman and Petal as they fall into a fit of giggles, excitedly squealing and chattering about the serious topics that consume any five-year-old at this time of year. As we approach the school gate, I notice there is a larger gathering than normal. I feel their eyes on us even before they actually turn in unison toward me and Mary. Roman and Petal race off as soon as we reach the school fence. They disappear inside the gate, and we are faced with a wall of winter coats, fur-lined hats, and curious expressions.
“Here we go,” I mutter
“Just one more day.”
“Hi Sam. I’m Milly’s mum and just wanted to say wow.” Milly’s mum is the first to speak, and judging by the vigorous nodding of heads, she’s not alone in her sentiment.
“Yeah. Hi, I’m Sara. My daughter is in Roman’s class. Last night was incredible.” Sara gushes, even reaching for my hand to give it a quick if somewhat awkward shake.
“Stephaniesohad that coming. You know she’s had me baking cookies for three years every Thursday for the PTA and never once said thank you. My name’s Katie,” Katie mumbles, casting furtive glances over to where Stephanie is standing. Shehas fewer minions than normal and is currently giving me the stink eye. I wave, flashing a wide bright toothy grin, which causes a raucous outburst of laughter around me.
“I’m Barbara.”
“And I’m Philippa; this is Becky,” Philippa says when the laughter settles.
“And I’m Cheryl.” They each offer their hands, and I shake them. It feels like three years too late; it’s also quite nice.
“Why did you do it then?” I address Katie, the cookie baker.
“Because.” She shrugs.
“Because it’s Stephanie,” Sara adds.
“And she farts gold or something? She’s just a bully,” I say.
“We know. It’s just she’s co-head of the PTA and—” another woman chips in.
“And you give her that power. You’re parents, too,” I point out. Some of them nod; others exchange sheepish glances.
“We know, maybe not anymore, not now,” Sara says. There’s a strange silence, and just when I’m about to make my excuses and leave, Cheryl speaks.
“Where did you learn to do that?” She whirls her hand like she’s holding a wand, but I get the idea.
“I know a Master who is an expert with whips and… Well, let’s just leave at whips for now. He taught me.”
“Do you give lessons?” Milly’s mum asks.
“Excuse me?”
“Lessons, do you give lessons?”
