Fly in the Ointment (20 page)

‘No, really,' I told George again. ‘It was a pleasure. I'm really glad you came. You were a good start to the day.'

Better than what came after. As I was getting in my car I heard the howls begin, and Janie Gay's attack. ‘Foul little jerk! You did that on purpose, just so I'd have to clean you up. Well, I'm not going to bother. You can just sit in your own disgusting mess all day. Filthy, stupid boy!'

The door slammed shut behind him. He didn't dare sit on the step and spread whatever was in his pants, so he just stood. His cheeks were pink with distress. He'd thrown up a chubby arm to hide his streaming eyes and it was squashing his pretty little nose flat as a button mushroom. I could have folded my arms over the steering wheel, laid down my head and
wept
. For this was not my job. I wasn't paid to save the children of the world from their inadequate mothers. Oh, Mrs Kuperschmidt could spout the official line – imply that things had to be truly terrible before it was right for her and her sort to step in and intervene. But a mere forkful of brain could
tell you this was a policy born only of empty coffers. Not enough money in the pot? Then not enough care. For all the dozens of phone calls that filtered in from people worried about the way that things were going in the house next door, how many children ended up with close attention? Four, maybe? Five at the most. So, if the rest of us were not prepared to harden our hearts and keep on pretending, like Mrs Kuperschmidt, that things were ‘not quite bad enough', then the problems of children like Larry would forever remain problems for people like me. Look at the mite now, standing utterly abandoned on his own doorstep. A little accident. A bit of mess in his pants. Big deal! You'd think from the demented shrieks that had accompanied his ousting that Larry had at the very least smothered a baby, or spread kerosene all round the house and then set fire to it. What was the
matter
with the woman? Why did she have to go into hysterics over the slightest thing?

The child had still not moved. And I was paralysed as well. While he was standing there, feeling so trapped and forlorn, I couldn't drive away. All
right
, I finally snapped at myself. Do something else. Get out of the car, go back inside the house and give it one more try. Phone Mrs Kuperschmidt.

But, really, what would be the point? Already I could hear the conversation we would have. ‘So, Lois,
you don't think the boy's in any actual
danger
?' ‘Not by your standards, I suppose.' ‘Nobody's beating him?' ‘I suppose not.' ‘And he gets regular meals?' ‘Thanks to my efforts.' ‘I take it the house is not in any state we could term “squalid”?' ‘No. Not quite squalid enough for your lot. Pity about that.' ‘And it does seem he's doing fine in all his clinic check-ups.' ‘No thanks to Janie Gay.'

But that was not the point, of course. What does it matter who looks after a child? The only thing that counts is how that child turns out. And Larry was turning out all right – perhaps not quite the confident, happy child he could have been, but still all right.

The problem was that I was turning too. Turning resentful. Just those few minutes with George had brought back such a flash of the old Lois. The Lois who had so successfully climbed out of the box of her marriage and built a new life. The Lois, indeed, who had spent hours cheerily flirting with her own reflection in hesitant Italian. The Lois who'd spun through her salsa classes with a will, and wept with laughter when her lump of clay shot off the potter's wheel into her neighbour's lap. That laid-aside, but not-forgotten Lois.

The trouble is, you act a part too long and you will almost certainly become that person. George might
have come across me with freshly washed hair not yet twisted up in a roll, wearing the bright loose gown I'd bought so cheerfully in another life. But if I looked at myself with more dispassion, I could see that two years of exile in Limmerton Road had turned me into someone else entirely – someone so dull and dependable and middle-aged. A doormat of a woman.

Sighing, I climbed out of the car and called to Larry. The poor lamb didn't even pull his arm from his face as he stumbled blindly towards me.

‘Hi, Buster. Time for a change?' I asked him gently.

He was hiccuping back his sobs so violently he couldn't answer. What did it matter? As I led him up the path I realized it was to myself that I had posed the question.

Time for a change?

A POINT BROUGHT
home when trevor caught me next day coming into the hall. ‘Ah, Lois . . .'

Just from the way he said my name I knew he'd come to some decision. I thought fast. ‘Oh, good! You're here! I wanted you to be the first to hear that I'll be back. Very soon.'

I'd really hoped to fob him off with this half-promise, but he still looked anxious. ‘
Very
soon?'

Better face facts. ‘Has something come up?'

He pawed the ground. ‘The thing is, Lois, that what with Dana going into hospital next month –'

News to me. But rather than remind him of just how detached from the office I'd become, I simply nodded.

‘And the fact that she'll be gone for quite a while—'

I kept the act up. ‘Well, it's quite a business.'

He lowered his voice. ‘The thing is, Lois . . .' Waving me backwards into the privacy of his small room, he picked up more confidently. ‘I'm not sure she'll be wanting to come back. And even if she does, it'll be weeks.'

The way he said ‘weeks' made it clear that he meant months. He turned towards the window. ‘I'll be blunt, Lois. As you'll have realized, we're getting busier all the time. So much work's coming in and we've been barely stumbling through for long enough.' He turned to face me. ‘Dad never likes to change things, but I've decided.'

‘Decided?'

‘We need a proper office manager. I wanted you. If you'd been—' He picked his words with care. ‘If you'd been fully available, I would have offered you the job. Audrey's not up to it. She would admit that herself.' He spread his hands. ‘But as things are, I fear I'm going to have to bring in someone from outside, and Dad is not at all sure –'

Hugely embarrassed, he stared at the floor as once again he searched for the most delicate way of putting the problem. ‘Not sure they're going to feel as happy as we do dealing with someone who has to spend quite so much time out of the office.'

So that was it. Come back at once, or face the sack.

I made the decision instantly. ‘Early next month, you say?'

His head shot up. ‘So, when you told me “soon” . . .?'

‘Yes. I meant
that
soon.' I forced myself to sound entirely confident. ‘Things are more settled on the home front. We've had to take a lot of big decisions. It's all taken time. But I think things are set up nicely now.'

He clearly hadn't forgotten Janie Gay. ‘Really? You honestly believe that poor child will be able to manage without you there?'

‘Oh, yes. I think so.' I beamed. ‘And if I'm honest, Trevor, I've really missed the office. You. And your father. I shall be so delighted to be back, and if, as you say, you're looking for someone to take on a few special duties –'

‘No, it's a proper step up, Lois. Office manager.'

‘I think I'm up for it.'

‘Dad and I agreed you would be excellent.' He gave me one last worried frown. ‘So when could we expect you back full-time?'

What had he said? That Dana was going into hospital early next month?

‘Well,' I said briskly. ‘Obviously Dana and I will need a couple of days at least for a smooth handover. So how about a week on Monday?'

His face lit up. ‘You're sure? I can tell Dad?'

I nodded. I could almost smell my bridges burning behind me, but I still nodded. Then I was in a bear hug. I do believe that, if I'd given Trevor half a chance, the dear man would have kissed me simply from his delight at slipping out of the responsibility of sending me packing. I can't imagine how on earth I thought I might keep my promise. Perhaps in the back of my mind I thought it possible I might persuade some other neighbour with an ounce of heart to take on Larry. Guy didn't come to mind till I was driving home. But once that idea hatched, it seemed to me there was no other possibility. I couldn't wait to get to the petting zoo and track my victim down.

We were in luck. It was Larry who spotted him tipping some grainy grey foodstuff out of a sack into the llamas' trough. I called, and Guy turned, pushing back his mop of hair.

‘We need to talk,' I told him.

Did he look guilty? Certainly he couldn't turn back to the llamas fast enough. ‘I'll meet you up there,' he said in such a shifty way I almost expected to sit in the cafeteria for an hour or so, and then come out to find he'd vanished. In fact, he joined us only a few minutes later. But you could tell his mind was somewhere else as he went through the old routine of
sharing his cake with Larry (‘You get this crumb, and I get all the rest. Right?' ‘Not fair!'), and he was obviously relieved when I suggested we should take a walk down to the turkeys so Larry could once again show us how brave he had become near those unpleasant birds.

As Larry charged ahead, Guy finally made his confession. ‘Lois, I have to tell you. I've applied for a job.'

‘A
real
job?'

‘Yes.'

So much for the idea of him becoming Larry's saviour. My heart sank. ‘What, with proper horses? Like you had before?'

‘That's right. At Todmore.'

‘The racing stables?' That at least was a relief. It wasn't back down south. But it was still no use to me.

Guy saw my face. ‘I'm sorry, Lois. I wasn't out there looking. But somebody here happened to mention me to one of the people there – you know, about my old job. And then this phone call came in just a couple of hours ago – Can I get there by three? – and I thought, it's what I always wanted. So why not?' The guilty and distracted look was back in force. ‘Except, of course, it's going to be a whole lot harder to—'

He tipped his head towards Larry.

I'd only just chosen my own job over the welfare
of the child. How could I try to make this boy feel bad? ‘No, no. You must do what is right for
you
.'

He kicked morosely at the gravel path. ‘They probably won't want me anyway.'

‘Well, we must hope they do,' I told him virtuously, and kept the show up all through the visit to the turkeys, writing his current address down ‘just in case', encouraging and praising until the moment when he had to leave. As he strode off towards the gates, I even told him again, ‘I really hope that it works out and you get the job.' But after that I couldn't wait to leave. It took a while to drag an excited Larry away from the pen that held the newborn baby chicks, but it could not have been more than a quarter of an hour before, crossing the car park, I noticed Guy at the bus stop, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.

A car swept past, but not before I'd seen Guy stick out a thumb to try to stop it. Hastily strapping Larry in his seat, I took no notice of the arrows telling me which way to leave the car park, and cruised up behind him. I wound down the window. ‘What's happened to the bike?'

‘Buggered. I've just been trying to start the bloody thing and sod all happens.'

His cheeks were burning. He was clearly close to tears of frustration.

‘Hop in,' I said. ‘We'll take you.'

Out came a little flash of petulance, Malachy-style. ‘No point. I'd cut it fine in any case, to see those bloody turkeys. We'll never make it.'

‘Just get in, Guy.'

Given the circumstances, anyone else would have climbed in the front. But even at a time like this, Guy took the place by Larry. ‘Hey, fella! How come you get that comfy seat with straps and I just get to sit on this old boring flat bit?' All the way there, they played some stupid little slapping-hands game while I drove fast. He'd panicked quite unnecessarily. By ten to three we'd reached the stable entrance. A wrinkled ancient in a sentry box took his time finding Guy's name on a list, then put a tick beside it and pressed the gate switch.

‘Good security.' Guy nodded so proprietorially I knew that in his dreams he was already wearing the stables' dark-green livery. ‘Some of the racers here are worth the earth.'

We were waved through. A long, long shady drive finally spilled us out in sunlight. In front lay a wide stable block with elegant white-painted trim. Behind it was another and, for all we could see, there were more behind that.

Guy stared, appalled. ‘Jesus! I knew the place was huge. But . . .'

I pointed to a leafy glade that bore the sign
Visitors' Parking
. ‘We'll meet you there.'

Guy hurried off, and I took Larry round the other way to look for horses. Security stayed tight. Twice I was challenged in that urbane, ‘Can I help you?' fashion, and had to explain our presence. I asked the third man who stopped us, ‘Would it be better if we waited in the car?' and he denied it. Still, after we'd taken a moment to admire a couple more of those noble nodding heads, I thought it wiser to steer Larry back.

A shortcut lay between two low-roofed buildings.

‘Lolo, look! Ducks!'

Larry was right, so we went closer, towards the slope down to a little pond. Just as we reached the corner, I heard a rising babble. A door behind us opened and several children Larry's age rushed out to the play equipment in a fenced yard.

Swings. Sandpit. Tricycles. A climbing frame. Even a little merry-go-round with three painted horses.

Forlornly, Larry stood and watched. After a moment, the young woman supervising this outdoor playtime happened to turn. ‘Oh, hi! You've come to have a look? I'll let you in.'