Normally Formally Parents Evening

[Prissypro78]

Chapter 1: (Norma's POV)
Parents Evenig
The kitchen light was a buzzing, fluorescent parasite. It hummed at a low, electric frequency that seemed to vibrate through my very teeth, matching the dull, rhythmic thrumming behind my eyes. I poured the last of the Gordon's into a tumbler--cracked at the rim, just like everything else in this house. The liquid was clear, medicinal, and smelled like a promise I knew I couldn't keep. I didn't bother with a mixer; I needed the raw burn to settle the shaking in my hands.
#
I stood before the hallway mirror, and for a fleeting, drunken second, I saw her. I saw the woman the estate used to fear, the one who didn't have to ask for respect because she wore it like a weapon. At 47, I still had the bones. I had blonde hair and a Beutuful Beverley Turner architecture--the high, razor-sharp cheekbones, the long neck, the jawline that could cut glass. But I had refined that elegance with a decade of estate grit. I was 5ft 9in of lean, pale creamy, and even after two kids and a long time on the dole, I carried a disciplined 10st. My measurements --34C-24-34--were a source of pride.
#
I reached for the denim mini skirt. It was tight--a frayed, bleached scrap of fabric that barely clung to the curve of my hips and long legs. Then came the cropped denim levi jacket, its stiff fabric straining against my 34C chest as I pulled it on. Underneath, I left on the thin cream mini nightdress from the night before. I couldn't be bothered to make an effort, and at my age, I still had enough to make the thin fabric dance,  my nightdress  had the bra built into it, when I turned I hitched the skirt up, checking my ass in the  mirror, I caught the pale, creamy reflection of my beautiful behind. It was a bold choice  i made some times, It felt powerful i got aroused by myself as I looked in the draw for some knickers,
#
My skin was a natural, startlingly creamy white, but it wasn't a blank canvas. I looked  at my arms and legs, tracing the dark ink that had cost me over £200 over the last year. The tattoos were my true armour--jagged black-ink daggers running down my forearms, and thorny, aggressive roses winding up my shapely pale calves. They were the only things in this life I truly owned. I was inerrupted
#
"Mum, please... just listen."
My son's voice drifted from the shadows as he entered the room, sounding so small. "Richie texted me. His mum, Barbara, wants that twenty-nine quid for the school trip she covered last month. She told him you promised to pay her back tonight at parents' evening." ::: "What" as
I look at him. I can't Im  skint son" I said broke
#
 "She can wait till next week son", I slid my feet into my black high heels--those three-year-old, four-inch stiletto spikes. They hissed against the floorboards as they pushed my height to a staggering 6ft 2in.
"Mum, please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Don't go there like this. Don't go there drunk and cause a scene."
Ignore Richie, hes pkaying you up ill speak to Barbara tonight, im ok, see u later, . I adjusted my denim jacket, , and walked out the door, towering and reckless,
#
The classroom was a sea of pastel cardboards and "Parents Evening" banners, smelling of floor wax and cheap instant coffee. To an outsider, we were a picture of suburban harmony. There I was in the middle, towering over the others at 6ft 2in, [i had totally forgot to put knickers on,] flanked by the two women who defined my social existence on the estate.
#
On my left was Barb a PTA suoervisor with her clipbourd, a compact powerhouse in an all-pink, skin-tight gym set. She looked like a petite, sculpted ginger Amanda Holden, her muscles coiled with a hidden aggression she masked behind a tight, practiced smile. On my right stood Pam, my closest friend, squeezed into a blue denim zip-up dress that matched the blue of my own jacket.
For the benefit of the other mums and the teachers, we kept the peace. We stood for the  photo--a bizarre trio of denim and neon. Barb even leaned in, her hand resting near my rear, but I could feel the heat of her hand, She hadn't mentioned the twenty-nine pounds yet, but every time her eyes met mine, I saw the "Amanda Holden" mask slip, replaced by the predator waiting for the crowd to thin.
#

Pam squeezed my arm, her expression a mix of loyalty and worry. She knew I was three drinks deep; she knew I didn't have the cash. Beneath the surface of our smiles, the fuse was already lit.
#
The smiles for the other parents lasted exactly as long as the camera flash. As the crowd drifted toward the refreshment table, Barb caught my eye and tilted her head toward the quiet corridor near the Maths department.
"Got a minute, Norma?" she asked, her voice low and sharp, dropping the "Amanda" sweetness instantly.
I followed her, my four-inch stiletto spikes clicking loudly on the linoleum, making me tower over her 5'4" frame. But as soon as we were alone, Barb didn't look intimidated. She planted her feet, her "petitely sculpted" arms crossing over her neon-pink chest, her muscles taut and vibrating with irritation.
#
"The twenty-nine quid, Norma," she said, her eyes boring into mine. "Richie said you'd have it tonight. Well?"
I looked down at her, my head buzzing from the drinks I'd had before leaving the flat. I tried to find that 'Beverley' poise, but it was gone. "I don't have it, Barb. I'm skint. I'll get it to you next week, I swear."
Barb's face went rigid. The fake friendliness evaporated, replaced by a cold, hard sneer. She stepped into my personal space, her compact, gym-hardened frame looking like a coiled spring.
#
"Next week?" she hissed, her voice trembling with genuine fury. "I paid that a month ago out of my own pocket so Neil wouldn't miss out. Don't you dare 'next week' me."
She pointed a manicured finger at my chest, her voice dropping to a dangerous, deadly serious simmer. "Don't you even breathe in my direction until you have that cash. I'm not joking, Norma. You better go find someone to lend it to you, or sell those ridiculous shoes, or something. Because if you show up at the gates tomorrow without my money, things are going to get very, very ugly for you."
#
She gave me one last, "evil" look of pure intimidation--a promise of the violence I knew she was capable of--before turning on her heel. I stood there, 6ft 2in of shaking, drunken mess, watching the "pink powerhouse" strut back into the classroom like she owned the place.

#
I leaned against the cold brickwork of the Maths department corridor, my vision swimming slightly from the gin and the sheer, cold weight of Barbara's threat. My four-inch spikes felt like stilts on a sinking ship.
Pam scurried out of the classroom, her denim dress rustling as she found me. One look at my face and she was at my side, her hand gripping my arm.
"Norma? What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost," she whispered, her eyes darting back toward the door where the 'Parents Evening' banner hung like a mockery.
"She's going to do it, Pam," I managed, my voice cracking, the "Beverley Turner" poise I tried so hard to mimic completely shattered. "She told me not to even breathe near her. She said if I don't have that twenty-nine quid at the gates tomorrow, she's going to make it 'very ugly' for me. She... she terrified me."
Pam's face went pale. She looked back toward the room where the "pink powerhouse" was currently laughing with a teacher, the perfect picture of suburban charm.
#
"Oh, Norma," Pam breathed, her grip tightening. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now. Truly. When Barb gets like that... she's scary. She's not just talking, she's got a mean streak a mile wide."
She looked around to make sure we were alone, her voice dropping to a frantic hiss. "Listen, I can't get to tonight, but I'll lend it to you. I've got some put away for the car insurance. I'll give it to you tomorrow morning at the school run then I'll take you for some lunch and a drink? I could do with some dresses, my treat, I promise. Just... go back in there, find her, and tell her you'll have it tomorrow 9pm. Don't let her goad you. Just give her the promise so she settles down."
#
I swallowed hard, the alcohol in my system making the fear feel sharper and jagged. I looked down at my three-year-old stilettos, then back at Pam. "You think she'll believe me?"
"She has to," Pam said, looking genuinely worried. "Because if she doesn't, Norma... I don't think either of us wants to see what happens at the school gates tomorrow."
 

[FLStud4U]

Interesting

[Prissypro78]

Currently in the process, of putting pen to paper for chapter 2, 

[Prissypro78]