Meet Me at the Pier Head (2 page)

Availability would have to suffice, but would she stay? The current reception class teacher had spent her whole working life at Myrtle Street and was due to retire. Miss Ellis
was part of the building, and she would certainly be missed. But a new eye might be a good thing, so he would keep his mind open until the interview. He shook his head. One applicant. Oh, well. God
was good, according to Dad. There again, Dad was an alcoholic, though he refused to acknowledge the fact. ‘I’m a drunk,’ he always said. ‘Only the rich can afford big words
like alcoholic.’

Theo rose to his feet and walked across the room, reaching to push a button above a filing cabinet. The end-of-school bell rang throughout the building, prefabs included. It was Friday, and two
empty days lay ahead. Soon, there would be six lifeless weeks, but he would cope, no doubt, by concentrating on his main source of income, one that paid so much better than teaching.

He removed his Blackbird wings and hung the gown on the door. There were relatives in Liverpool, decent people from his dad’s family, but he didn’t like to impose on them too
frequently, so a different occupation would keep him busy for yet another weekend – and for the summer break. Perhaps he might have a few days in London or Paris, but travelling alone was
seldom fun.

Standing at the outer double doors of the main school, he watched the children as they jumped and whooped their way towards two days of freedom, a freedom he had never experienced at their age.
Don’t go there, Theo. You know it only drives you wild; you can do nothing to change it, and little to improve the future. Except here, of course. You might make a difference for the
pupils at Myrtle Street School, but . . .

‘Mr Quinn?’

He turned to his left and looked into a pair of impossibly violet eyes in a face that was truly lovely. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Tia Bellamy. I chopped the P, the O and the R off my name, but I applied under the full terrible title.’

‘Miss Portia Bellamy?’ he asked, feeling rather stupid. She was tall, elegant and striking. Her hair was either dark blonde or light brown, and she was beautifully dressed in
garments far too precious for Myrtle Street. ‘Your interview’s next week,’ he reminded her. ‘You’ve arrived a little early.’

Undaunted, she smiled broadly and displayed perfect teeth. ‘I don’t do late. I’m here to explore Liverpool,’ she said. ‘After all, should I be fortunate enough to
be offered the position, this city would become my new home, so I need to look at it.’

He closed his slightly gaping mouth. The woman spoke in perfect, BBC-here-is-the-news-style English. ‘Would you like to look round inside the school?’ he asked after a sizeable
pause. She wore the air of a woman in charge, and he felt somewhat daunted by her obvious self-certainty.

‘Thank you, yes.’ She continued to smile. ‘You’re American,’ she added.

He nodded. Miss Tia Bellamy seemed to be a forthright, outspoken and relatively fearless person, so perhaps she was fit for Liverpool after all.

‘Am I right?’ she asked.

‘You are indeed, though I’m also a British citizen, so it’s a two-passport job. I guess I’m a hybrid. When I’m in the US, they think I’m English, so I’m
a foreigner both sides of the Atlantic. You’ll be something of a stranger here, too. The children may well understand you, though you might need someone to translate when they start
chattering. They talk almost incessantly and very rapidly. We have a strong accent in these parts.’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Yer what? I done dialect and all that kinda stuff at college, like, Mr Quinn.’ The K in the word
like
emerged guttural, right from the back
of her mouth. Pleased with herself, she nodded at him. ‘See? I can manage, Sir.’

Stunned, he gasped again. This time, instead of closing his mouth, he laughed. ‘Drama?’

She nodded and giggled simultaneously. ‘I do two kinds of Irish, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Liverpool, inner Lancashire, Cockney, Somerset and Birmingham. The North-East defeated me completely,
I’m afraid.’

She reminded him of someone . . . someone famous. It was the eyes, he decided. ‘Are you by any chance related to Isadora Bellamy?’ he asked.

Tia grimaced. ‘I am, but I’d rather people didn’t know just yet. Yes, I’m the product of Isadora and Richard Bellamy. The dynasties probably date all the way back to
Shakespeare’s days. I have a feeling that some scruffy little ancestor of ours made tea and ran the box office at the Globe or some such dreadful hole. These days, we train for different
occupations as fallbacks during resting times, but we were all expected to join our parents as actors.’

‘All?’

‘There are three of us, mere females, named after Shakespearean heroines. We are one nurse, one teacher and one wild child. The wild child plays drums and other percussive items in a
skiffle band, and none of us wants to act. Pa is distressed, but we’re sticking to our guns. Cordelia – we call her Delia – is lost in the bowels of London with some disgraceful
boys, strangers to soap and water, who wield laundry washboards and guitars. Juliet’s a qualified nurse, currently training as a midwife, and I’ve just avoided the immediate wrath of my
father by disappearing while he was away being Mark Antony. My mother’s been sulking in the bath for several days. She’ll shrink if she doesn’t pull herself together.’

‘Whoops.’ Theo found himself grinning. She had humour, and she seemed not to mind laughing at herself and her family. ‘So will you disappear again during term time to play
Ophelia?’

She snorted in a way that fell well short of ladylike. ‘No. I’m a teacher to the marrow, Mr Quinn. But if I get the post, I shall do your pantomime, your nativity play –
whatever you wish. I like writing for children. As for the community, it can take me as I am, warts and all.’

‘Good.’ In Theo’s opinion, warts would do best to steer clear of so decided and confident a young woman. He opened one of the twin doors and followed her inside. She stopped to
study Work of the Week, a wall covered by children’s efforts in most subjects. ‘You wear your gown, then,’ she remarked while looking at a painting entitled
Blackbird
.

‘Yes. The little ones think it’s magic. Older pupils know better, of course, but this artist is only six. Note that I am depicted in flight. She probably believes I emerged from an
egg the size of a house in a nest as big as Texas. It’s fun.’

The sole applicant nodded. ‘We appear to share a philosophy, then, Mr Quinn. My number one rule involves making children happy. I find they learn and remember more in a relaxed
atmosphere.’

‘Did you apply that theory at the college, Miss Bellamy?’

She awarded him an are-you-crazy look. ‘Not at all. A worker in a sausage factory makes sausages. I followed the curriculum before following my instincts and getting out of
there.’

‘To Liverpool?’

‘I have three interviews; Southport, St Helens and here.’

Theo frowned; he had competition, then. ‘Southport’s rather elegant. If you’re looking to make a difference, here would be better.’

‘Or St Helens,’ she murmured.

He agreed, but with reluctance. ‘The land’s owned by an earl, and many of the townsfolk belong to a glass magnate. It’s a bit grim, but so is my catchment area.’

‘I noticed.’ Boldly, she faced him. ‘Are you prepared to fight over me, Mr Quinn?’

Without flinching, he met her gaze full on. ‘No, but I’m almost ready to make an offer for you.’ Chortling internally, he watched her blush. ‘There will be an interview
with a board, but if I want you, I’ll get my way.’

She walked into a classroom, angry with herself. Why had she blushed? Yes, he was attractive; yes, his words could be interpreted on more than one level. But surely he was married? He
wasn’t old, wasn’t young, took his job seriously, and—

‘This is Junior Standard One,’ he said from the doorway.

‘Yes, I read that on the wall in the corridor,’ she replied smartly.

‘Good. I like my teachers to be literate.’

She tapped a foot. This was a confrontational man, and she liked a challenge. He was laughing at her. What would Ma have done? She ran through a list of Ma’s films. Ah, yes;
To the
Ends of Earth
sprang to mind. Tia turned and gave him her haughty look. ‘I’ve been reading for twenty-three years, Mr Quinn. My date of birth is on my application form and, if you
are numerate, you’ll work out by simple subtraction the age at which I began to read.’

He grinned again. ‘Touché, Miss Bellamy. Shall we proceed to the infant department? At this point, I’ll inform you that my children come, for the most part, from poor but
ambitious families. Many arrive able to read a little and to write their names. They can dress and undress themselves, count, draw and sing nursery rhymes. Rhythm is important. Poetry is a good
tool.’ He led her to the infant classrooms and left her there. ‘I’ll be in my office,’ he told her.

He marched off. No. It mustn’t happen again, because it shouldn’t happen again. Perhaps it would be better if she took up the post in St Helens or Southport, because she was too . .
. too interesting. He didn’t want to be interested. Interested meant complicated, and he was no longer fit for complicated.

After switching on his Dansette to play Humphrey Lyttelton’s
Bad Penny Blues
, Theo sat at his desk and listened. He liked Lyttelton, especially this piece, which was jazz with
humour. Yes, humor had a U in it these days.
Am I losing my sense of humo(u)r? What’s the matter with me? How many times must I go through these stupid hormone alerts? She’s lovely;
live with it, Theodore. And she’s knocking on your door in more than one sense. Pull yourself together and deal with the immediate.

He lowered the Dansette’s volume. ‘Come in.’

In she came. She had pearl earrings and a big smile; she had leather shoes, a grey suit, and a charm bracelet that tinkled when she moved her right arm; she also had a large diamond solitaire on
the third finger of the left hand. ‘You’re engaged to marry?’ The words emerged of their own accord from his dry throat.

‘Ah.’ Without waiting to be invited, she sat on the chair facing him across the desk. ‘No. It was my grandmother’s. She was Dame Eliza Duncan. The ring is very useful for
warding off predatory males. Sometimes, I wear her wedding band with it.’

Theo’s disobedient right eyebrow arched itself. ‘Drastic measures, then?’

She shrugged. ‘Men in Kent guess who I am, smell money and become nuisances. I look like my mother and my maternal grandmother, so I attract unwanted attention.’ She shrugged.
‘I deal with it my way.’

He decided to change the subject. ‘What do you think of my school?’

Tia met his steady, dark brown gaze. ‘It’s old,’ she replied.

‘And?

‘I like old. It’s as if all the teaching has soaked into the walls – the learning, too. A school in London where I practised was similar. I missed three days due to head lice
and fleas, but I went back once I’d deloused myself. The children were needful and great fun.’ A frown visited her face. ‘Pa got me the post at the Abbey College. Friends in low
places, you see.’

He nodded. ‘The money may be less, and you’ll have to serve probation if you move into the state system.’

‘I’m aware of all that, thank you.’ Her smile returned. ‘I want to live in Liverpool.’

‘So you’d rather work in my school?’

‘Probably. Though I do have a car, and the other towns are near enough.’

‘When are your interviews?’

‘Southport Monday afternoon, St Helens Tuesday, here Wednesday.’

Theo rose to his feet and held out his right hand. ‘Time to go home, Miss Bellamy. Delighted to have met you.’ And that was the truth.

She stood up and took his hand. ‘I have no home yet, Mr Quinn. I’m staying in a small hotel overlooking the river, but I’ll be searching for somewhere more permanent. Liverpool
appeals to me. They’re friendly here.’

He smiled and retrieved his hand. ‘They are. But, as in every city, you must keep an eye on your belongings. Oh, if you’re looking for a place to live, buy the evening
newspaper.’

‘I’ve applied already through lettings agencies.’ She turned to leave.

‘Miss Bellamy?’

‘Mr Quinn?’

‘How would you deal with a child suffering physical and psychological abuse at home?’

Tia turned and froze. ‘Tell the welfare people? Get the National Society on to them?’

‘And if you feared that such actions might lead to the further injury or even the death of that child?’

‘Couldn’t he or she be removed immediately?’

‘Not always,’ he replied.

She frowned. ‘I’m a member of a gun club. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of it. I’d move him or her.’

‘She’ll be in your class if you take the post. We’ve had the new intake here on visits, just four or five of them at a time. Rosie Tunstall’s her name. You’d move
her to where?’

‘Any bloody where I could find, Mr Quinn.’ She shook her head slowly, sadly. ‘Why do people hurt small children?’

Don’t think about it, Theo. Forget it; it’s ancient history.
‘Moving her might be illegal,’ he said quietly. ‘It would be kidnap.’

‘Better than a funeral,’ she almost snapped. ‘Why are you smiling?’

‘You echo my thoughts, Miss Bellamy. Let’s see what September brings, shall we? I’m doing research on the family. We may have a clearer idea by the beginning of the next school
year.’

Once again, she tapped a foot. ‘So the job’s mine?’

‘Probably. I’ll see you on Wednesday unless you accept another offer. Will you let me know if you do?’

‘Of course.’

‘Until then, Miss Bellamy.’

‘Until then, Mr Quinn.’ She left.

Breathing was suddenly easier. He removed Humphrey Lyttelton and listened for a while to Debussy’s
Clair de Lune
. Resting his head on folded arms, he tried to relax. Miss Cosgrove
of Junior Standard Three fame had set her cap at him months ago. Not that she ever hid her corrugated ginger hair under a cap, though she did bat invisible eyelashes at him.