Meet Me at the Pier Head (54 page)

‘Yes, when I’m six.’

‘And you want to live until you’re six? Get him up the stairs now, David.’

Both boys fled. From tomorrow night, they would sleep in a dormitory in the hall, and their parents would occupy a teacher’s flat. Isadora might help at the school, visit friends in the
village, or spend time with Nancy, Tom and Martha. More importantly, she would have Rose Cottage, her bolt-hole for many years, all to herself.

The three adults flopped onto the cottage suite. Theo was the first to find words. ‘Why is it that I can manage a school, but my own boys are impossible?’

‘Different hat, different costume,’ Izzy answered. ‘At home, you’re a daddy; at school you’re Blackbird. It’s all a play, as Shakespeare said. We have our
work selves and our home selves. Simple. Each and every one of us is an actor. And it’s a well-circulated rumour that teachers and nurses make the worst parents. Doctors are in a similar
league, but it’s probably nonsense.’

Tia expressed the opinion that Dr Simon Heilberg was an excellent father, as was Nurse Juliet, his wife.

‘It must be just teachers, then.’ Izzy yawned behind a hand. ‘I’m going to wedge myself into that cupboard of a third bedroom.’

‘Just for one night, Ma.’

‘I know.’ She smiled at them. ‘You are excellent parents, and you know it. Goodnight, sweet prince and princess. I’d do a grand exit, but my legs are aching.’

They stared at healthy flames born of a fire set earlier in the evening by Martha or Nancy or Tom. Cuddling up to each other, they dozed. Tia had a nightmare about trying to buy shoes for
Michael, who hated the process; Theo dreamt of a summer’s day in the back garden at home, a picnic with his children, Tia, Izzy, Joan and Jack. Tia had made ice-cold lemonade, the real deal
brewed from fruit and sugar with slices of lemon floating about in it.

They endured a rude awakening by Rosie accompanied by a gust of cool air that was a pale imitation of weather further north, though it wore the scent of a December night. ‘Mum?’ she
called. ‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were asleep.’

The couple could see that she was bursting with news. ‘Out with it,’ Theo said sleepily.

‘Martha’s going on a course if the board agrees. The headmaster’s thinking of taking in a couple of handicapped boys if you and Izzy-gran’ll allow it. Martha would be a
great help, and she’s happy to study for her certificate.’

‘Interesting idea,’ Theo mumbled. ‘Trust Pete Wray to come up with it. I sometimes think our headmaster is on a mission to save the world.’

‘A bit like you, then,’ was Rosie’s pert answer. ‘And there’s something else – well, somebody else
and
something else. He’s a
surprise.’

‘Wheel him in,’ Tia ordered.

And in he came, all six feet of him, a grand-looking young man with brownish-reddish hair, twinkling eyes and decent clothes.

Theo blinked. ‘Colin?’

The visitor grinned. ‘Was you in the war, Sir? Did you come over before all the other Yanks, like? Did you kill Germans?’

Tiredness forgotten, Theo leapt up and hugged one of his star pupils. ‘How’s life?’ he asked.

Colin Duckworth shrugged. ‘It’s OK as long as I ignore the public school lunatics. They’re not right, you know, not right in the head. I’m managing to keep up with them
well enough, and they find my accent charming. I wish they didn’t. Sometimes, I feel like a pet animal or some rare exhibit in a museum – caveman, Neolithic man, then
Scouser.’

‘I’m sure you manage to confound them.’

The younger man laughed. ‘Well, I’ve won two debates on the nature of socialism and one on the rehabilitation of recidivists.’

‘How did you find us?’ Tia asked.

Rosie blushed. ‘We write to each other,’ she admitted.

Both parents remained stock still and silent for several seconds. ‘So you’re penfriends?’ Tia asked at last.

Rosie stared down at the floor. ‘We like each other.’ The chin rose not in defiance, but in respect for her parents. ‘A lot. We like each other a lot.’

Colin took Rosie’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, Mr and Mrs Quinn. I know she’s only fifteen, so nothing untoward will happen.’

Theo grinned. ‘This isn’t the football all over again, is it, Colin? Sleepwalking, tearing the downspout off a prefab and telling me a load of hogwash?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘And where are you staying?’

‘With Mam and Dad at the Punch Bowl. Everybody else is at Auntie Bertha’s. It’s terrible at Auntie Bertha’s. I think she peels her sprouts in September and boils them for
a couple of months. But Mam, Dad and I have read so much about what you’ve achieved here that we decided to see for ourselves.’

Rosie chipped in. ‘Is it OK if they come to Christmas lunch at Bartle Hall, Dad?’

‘Fine,’ Theo replied. ‘They’re great people.’

‘It’s all right,’ Colin advised them, ‘I’ve taught them knives and forks and spoons, and they’re nearly up to toothpicks and finger bowls. They’re past
the chip butty stage, and Dad doesn’t wipe his mouth on the tablecloth any more. He even goes to the bathroom to break wind these days – limbering up to come here, you see.’

Rosie dug him in the ribs. ‘Go and get it.’

‘No, you go and get it before it gets too cold.’

‘It’s your present as well, so you fetch it, Col.’

‘Bossy boots,’ he muttered before leaving the house.

Tia took the chance to grab her daughter’s hand. ‘Don’t get serious, sweetie. Be young. It’s too early for steady boyfriends. Grab your youth and enjoy it.’

‘We’re not steady. We just like each other and we both love writing letters about how silly and sad life is.’

Colin returned with a basket. ‘We decided – Mam, Dad, Rosie and I – that it was about time to get you one of these. She’s eight weeks old, and her ears haven’t
decided what to do with themselves yet, but she’s a little cracker and her mother was best of breed at that Crufts dog show.’

Theo raised the lid and lifted out the baby Alsatian. ‘Welcome back, Mickle,’ he said, his voice unsteady. ‘Welcome home.’ And for some reason he couldn’t explain
even to himself, he suddenly knew that Rosie was safe with Colin.

It was chaos. Worse still, it was chaos in a very small house.

Izzy had stalked off in the direction of Lilac Cottage after declaring her intention to take a bath among civilized people. Theo was cleaning up puppy mess, Tia was battling with her hair,
muttering darkly about having it cut short, Rosie was playing with Harriet, whose name she had chosen in honour of Harry, while the boys were at war in the bath.

Theo waved a mop in his wife’s direction. ‘Do not cut off your hair without a papal dispensation from me. I’d have nothing to wipe my nose on in bed, and I don’t want to
be forced to soil the sheets. Harriet is leaving enough deposits to open a savings account, and that bath will come through the ceiling if those two don’t stop fighting.’

Tia walked to the foot of the stairs. ‘I want the pair of you dry, dressed and down here in ten minutes, or you’ll have to sleep in the flat with me and Dad tonight.’ She
turned her attention on Rosie. ‘Get yourself dressed, missy, and put away the folding bed.’

‘At least I won’t have to sleep in the same room as those two tonight,’ Rosie said. ‘David talks even in his sleep, and Michael snores.’

Tia sighed. ‘He’ll be better once his tonsils and adenoids are gone, but there’s nothing we can do about David, I’m afraid. Give Harriet to me, please.’

Introduced to Tia’s mane of hair, the pup started to chew it. Rosie’s footfalls echoed from the stairwell, the boys were running about in the second bedroom, and Theo washed his
hands in preparation for making breakfast. ‘Glad we have a big house?’ he called.

She placed the puppy in her basket and walked through the kitchen and into the dining area. ‘Sometimes, I think this must have been a quieter place when the pigs lived here.’

‘I agree,’ he said.

‘And pigs are cleaner than boys.’

Theo took the hairbrush and pins from the pocket of his wife’s robe. Like a true expert, he shaped her hair into a chignon. ‘You’ll do,’ he pronounced. ‘Go sort out
our litter of piglets while I cook the eggs.’

A lecture was delivered by Dad at the breakfast table. ‘This is a dog, not a toy. You may stroke her and help train her on a leash, but do not fight over her, do not chase her while
she’s a pup, and do not stand on her or slap her. She is a sentient creature, so she feels pain and reacts to it. Michael, put the salt down – there is enough salt in the food on your
plate, and too much salt can kill.’

The parents shared a glance that teetered on the brink of despair.

‘She’s young,’ Theo continued, ‘and she needs a lot of sleep, just like a human baby. If you are rough with her, she may grow up nasty, because this breed is endowed with
huge intelligence and Alsatians will deal with you the way you deal with them. She will learn from us. Listen to me, Michael!’

The younger boy switched on his I-am-attentive expression.

‘If humanity hurts her, she will hurt humanity and the police will have her put down. Bad dogs are not born bad; they are made bad by bad people. We are good people. Finish your breakfast,
then go play somewhere. Preferably outside and beyond earshot.’

The boys bolted their food and left.

‘We shouldn’t have bought her,’ Rosie said sadly. ‘I forgot about the daft duo.’

But Theo’s thinking in the matter was miles away from Rosie’s. ‘The pup will make them grow up, you’ll see. They have a little, four-legged and furry baby sister.
Remember Mickle and how you became responsible for her? Take Harriet outside and stay with her until she performs.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’ She went into the back garden with the puppy in her arms.

Both parents slumped into a relaxed state once all the young ones were out of the house. They drank more coffee and sat in welcome peace for a few precious minutes. Sometimes, however rarely the
chance arrived, it felt good to be child-free and carefree lovers.

Tia broke the spell. ‘I wonder what they’re up to out there?’

Theo walked to the window. ‘Perhaps they’re playing with razor blades on the railway lines.’ He paused. ‘Come look,’ he said after a moment or two.

And there they were, all three of them with their new puppy. Rosie was teaching them how to stroke the little dog, showing them how Harriet’s ears would look when she was older, how to
praise good behaviour. ‘I’ve never seen Michael so still,’ Tia said. ‘Even asleep, he wriggles like a fish on a hook.’

‘We must enjoy them, Portia. They will grow and go, because that’s how it works. Come on. We are going to be late for school.’

The residential school was beautiful, since much thought and a great deal of money had gone into its creation. Attics had been reinforced to contain two dormitories, plus
accommodation for some staff and four fire exits which, though hardly things of beauty, ran down the sides and the back of the building.

The first floor was mainly for residential staff, and two student flats had been created, one at each end of the level. Older pupils could win a place in a flat, thus gaining the ability to live
in a smaller commune where social and life skills might improve of their own accord. It didn’t always work out, though Pete Wray had taught staff and students to be forever hopeful.

The ground floor boasted a music room, a science lab, a domestic science kitchen, a library and a large art department. Small study rooms were used for individual tutorials for older children.
Wood- and metalwork classes took place in large sheds at the back of the house, and Portia indulged her love for carpentry every time she visited.

Within days of opening, the place was full. Until further notice, only thirty places existed at Bartle Hall, though that number would probably increase in time. There were just three home rooms,
as the classrooms had been named. Since there were just thirty children, the homes were labelled Infant, Junior and Senior. Each home room held roughly ten pupils, so individual attention was
easier for every home-based teacher, and all three were residential with staggered weekends off.

There were day staff who came in to teach their specialist subjects for a few hours, but the three deputies had been chosen by Theo Quinn and Pete Wray, a rotund, excitable little man with a
positive attitude and a great sense of humour. Homers, as Pete named them, had to be a near-impossible cross between parent and educator.

He hugged every member of the Quinn family, Theo included. ‘You’re looking so well, all of you. Isadora’s upstairs wearing a curtain as a cloak and giving a lesson in acting. I
left her to it – she can be quite fierce with adults.’

‘We know,’ chimed the Quinn parents.

‘And with kids,’ Michael muttered. ‘She was going to do grieving bodily harm on David because he stood on his bucket.’

Tia looked at the ceiling. ‘Pete, don’t ask.’

He didn’t ask. ‘I’ve given you Tommy Gallagher’s flat. He’s gone home to Ireland to do war with a cousin about a racehorse. As you just said, don’t
ask.’

‘OK. What about Rosie?’

‘She can have the guest room next door to Tommy’s flat.’

He led them to the grand ballroom, which was partitioned into three home rooms for much of the time. Now, the partitions had been drawn back, and a fire blazed in each of the two fireplaces.
Magnificent Christmas trees covered in decorations stood a few paces away from each of the log fires.

‘Wonderful,’ Tia said, remembering her own Christmases in this massive room. She ‘saw’ Ma dressed as Fairy Clodhopper in a beautiful dress, all floaty and graceful, a
sparkling tiara in her hair, twinkling wings on her back and black Wellington boots on her feet. ‘I fell out of my tree,’ she had moaned, throwing glitter dust over her girls.

Pa had been Santa with a cushion stuck under his clothes, while Portia and her sisters were often elves. This was a house for magic, and Tia hoped with all her heart that the residents would
enjoy it.

‘You heard about the idea for a couple of disabled students?’ Pete asked.

‘Yes. Once certificated, Martha Foster would be a boon. Are the disabled kids affected only physically?’