Meet Me at the Pier Head (33 page)

‘So you moved here for no good reason?’

He looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t say that. Things have a way of working themselves out. There’s something about this city that winds round your heart like a tight rubber band.
It’s not a lonely place the way London can be; it’s magnetic, pulls you in and holds you. I work in a practice not far from Tia’s school, and one of our duties is to take turns in
police stations if anyone gets ill in the cells. Even their criminals have charm. Yes, I like Liverpool.’

‘Won’t you go back to Kent?’

He shrugged. ‘If my father needs me, I’ll go back.’

A single tear made its lonely way down Juliet’s face. ‘My father will soon need me, Simon.’

He stopped and held her arm, forcing her to stand still. The porter ground to a halt behind them, and Simon turned to give him a pound note.

‘Thanks, lad,’ the man said, backing off slightly.

‘Juliet, don’t cry.’ Simon handed her his handkerchief, as that single tear was now in the company of others. Compared to Tia, this Bellamy girl was like a little doll, as
beautiful as the eldest sister, but a miniature version. He lowered his tone to an almost-whisper. ‘Your mum wants you all safe from him and from journalists. It will be a nine-day wonder
before press attention wanes and they go off and find someone else to crucify. Journalists have poor long-term memories, thank goodness. By next week, it’ll be “Richard who? Isadora
who?”, so be strong. Be strong for your mother and for your sisters.’ He looked down at her. ‘And for yourself, too.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘Travelling by train always tires me.’

‘Don’t apologize. When things settle, you and I might go out for a meal one evening. I can show you why I love this city. There are some decent restaurants and pubs in the centre and
on the outskirts.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re most welcome, Juliet.’ He led her out of the station to his car.

Juliet looked up at him. ‘Simon, I pity the poor reporter who gets hold of Delia. She’ll separate him from his breath, his notebook and his pen. Delia takes no prisoners. She’d
perform one of her drop-kicks.’

Simon laughed. ‘I know where she’d aim, Juliet. Tia’s similar, though she’d emasculate a man with words.’

The porter, well pleased by the generous tip, loaded the suitcases into the boot and the rear seat of Simon’s car. He spoke briefly to Juliet. ‘I know you’re not from here,
love, but listen to him.’ He waved a hand at Simon. ‘All are welcome in Liverpool. The other bits I heard, I didn’t hear.’ He touched the neb of his cap, winked, and
disappeared into the bowels of the station.

‘He was nice,’ she remarked.

‘He was typical,’ Simon told her. ‘There are places a damned sight worse than here. Come on, do your face up a bit and I’ll take you to Tia and Izzy.’

‘And Delia and Nanny.’

‘Yes. A full house.’

‘Do I get a prize for a full house?’

‘I’m afraid not.’
No, I hope to be your prize, Juliet. Tia and I noticed when you were young, how you watched us, how you envied your sister. You had a teenage crush on me,
Baby Doll. Maybe Louisa M. Alcott wasn’t so wrong after all. We’ll give it a whirl and see how it works out. You are lovely, quieter, a nurse and a clever little soul. Time will
tell.

Theo sometimes did playground duty, thereby giving all his teachers a break. He often had several from reception class hiding under his cloak, but he didn’t mind; he was
Mr Blackbird looking after his brood. After a few minutes, he would send them away while he chatted with the older children. He loved each and every one of them, the ugly, the pretty, the
well-behaved and the cheeky.

Colin Duckworth invariably fastened himself to Theo. He wore an air of ownership, as if the boss belonged to him and only to him. ‘Sir, you know smallpox?’

‘I’ve heard of it, yes.’

‘Can you have bigpox or largepox or massivepox?’

Theo sighed. Colin had recently added ‘doctor’ to his list of careers, and he was heavily into diseases. ‘I think not.’

‘Then why is it smallpox?’

‘Because it isn’t chickenpox.’ Oh, no; he knew what was coming next.

‘Chickens don’t get that. Why is it not peoplepox?’

The head teacher had to admit that he had no real idea. ‘It may be because the skin of a sufferer from chickenpox resembles a newly plucked chicken ready for the oven, but I’m not
sure.’

He had a ready answer for Colin’s next query. ‘The appendix is part of the bowel we don’t use any more.’

‘Then why do we have them, Sir?’

‘To digest chlorophyll.’

Colin cocked his head sideways. ‘Is that what puts people asleep?’

Theo had suspected for some time that young Master Duckworth was playing games with him. ‘No, that’s chloroform. Chlorophyll is green stuff. It’s in green vegetables. I believe
a rabbit has a working appendix, but there again, I’m not completely sure.’

‘My mam makes me eat green stuff, Sir. Why do I have to eat green stuff if me appendixes don’t work?’

‘Appendix. You have only one. Greens are good for the system.’

‘But what if it splodes, Sir? Mr Pilkington’s sploded—’

‘Exploded.’

‘That’s what I said. And he got poisoned in his belly. See, if you eat too much chloro-stuff, your appendix might try to work and burst like Mr Pilkington’s and get septic
seams.’

‘Septicaemia.’

‘Is it?’

Theo nodded solemnly. ‘The green stuff we eat bypasses the appendix, so don’t use that as an excuse for not eating your vegetables and salad. That’s enough for now, Colin. Help
me to break up this small squabble near the prefabs.’

Thus Colin became a sort of prefect, assistant to the teacher in charge of playground. From this day, he would deputize himself to any of the supervising staff and keep an eye on children who
were misbehaving or in danger. His attendance had improved in these final weeks of the summer term, and he even brushed his hair occasionally.

Theo blew the whistle and lined them up, before sending each line back to class. Colin was growing up, and Theo didn’t know how he felt about that.

As he turned to follow the stragglers, he saw Tia coming through the gate. ‘Mr Quinn,’ she opened, straight-faced. ‘Delia has gone, Pa’s in Ireland so there are no
photographers or reporters in Chaddington, Juliet is settled and . . .’ she looked round as if making sure no one was listening, ‘and she has a date with Simon tomorrow night. I am so
pleased, because they’re perfect for each other and she’s always had a crush on him.’

Why was she here? ‘Why are you here, Miss Bellamy?’

‘For next term’s hall timetable, a look at your physical education equipment,’ she offered him a winning smile, ‘and I need to check out the reading scheme for my flash
cards and wall work.’

‘OK. Follow me.’ He led her into the main building. As they passed through the hall, which doubled as gymnasium, he felt Miss Cosgrove’s heated gaze pursuing them across the
floor. Her class leapt about on the apparatus while she stared at her beloved. Friday night’s end-of-year party promised to be interesting, one deputy head, one welfare worker and the new
reception class teacher all vying for his attention.

He closed the door of his office, dug out a timetable for use of the hall, gave Tia the published precis of the school’s reading scheme and pointed to the door through which they had just
entered. ‘I think you’ll find the hall is yours for two periods each week.’

‘I need drama time, Mr Quinn.’

‘Fine. I’ll bring in some men from the building sites and get them to stretch the length of our working day. I’m sure they have suitable tools.’

‘Permission to speak, Sir?’

‘Fire away.’

She tutted. ‘I forgot my gun. May I ask permission to institute an out-of-hours drama class?’

‘I’ll put it to the parents, though depending on numbers, you’ll need extra supervision.’ He took pity on her. ‘I’ll stay behind if you like.’

Tia pursed her lips. ‘Thank you, Mr Quinn. And the gym equipment?’

‘Miss Cosgrove will show you the gym equipment, Miss Bellamy.’

A new smile played at the corners of her mouth. ‘She doesn’t like me. When you invited me to that staff meeting, she was giving me daggers. Miss Ellis says that Miss Cosgrove has
designs on you.’

‘We’ll discuss this elsewhere, yes?’

Tia made no reply.

‘Miss Bellamy?’

‘I’m going, I’m going.’ She left.

I am grinning like the Cheshire Cat. If I leave this room now, the smile will linger here, hovering over my chair. She’s even pushing poor little Juliet into the arms of Simon
Heilberg, one of her rejects. In three days, I’ll be in Kent hoping to hide Rosie and Maggie from the glare of publicity right where the glare of publicity may well be burning at its
brightest, though the pack of rabid dogs might pursue Pa Bellamy to Ireland instead. I am annoying myself by doing as I’m told by Madam Gorgeous.

He walked to the window and watched Standard Four playing rounders, which was a bit like baseball with a flat bat. The children in this top class would not return in September; they would move
on to Ivy Lane Secondary, and very few would return to visit the ‘baby’ school. Next year or the year after that, Colin Duckworth, self-elected head boy, would go to
‘grown-up’ school. Would it be a case of
et tu, Brute?
Theo hoped not. Theo hoped that Colin would pass his eleven-plus and gain a place at grammar school.
And he must
visit us.

What is it about that child with his rusty hair, accidentally lost adult teeth, Spoonerisms and silly questions that charms me? What is it about Portia? Is it her cut lead crystal voice, her
face, her body, her silken hair, her naughtiness? Or is it all of the above?

At his desk, Theo sat and opened the books sent to him by Miss Cosgrove. Colin Duckworth had skipped a class. In mathematics, the lad was now doing algebraic equations and some geometry. His
composition book was incredibly untidy, since the writing failed to keep pace with the boy’s speed of mind, but misspellings were few, and the construction of English betrayed him as a keen
reader. Theo, realizing at last that Colin’s Spoonerisms were deliberate, smiled broadly. Two could play that game.

It was clear that the roof-ball-drainpipe saga had been a huge joke. There was a possibility – no, a probability – that the crudely presented notes from home had been deliberately
malformed. And in this precious moment, Theo smiled and shook his head. Colin Duckworth was treating Blackbird like one of his family. ‘He likes me,’ Theo whispered. ‘He tries to
keep me occupied.’

He found proof.
In the long holidays, I miss school. Mostly, I miss Blackbird, who talks to me and listens. My dad is Roy and he’s a good dad, but if I didn’t have him, I’d
choose Mr Quinn. He laughs at me and tries to hide it. I know he likes me.

Further on:
It was deliberate today when I told him I’d been sleepwalking. He knew that I knew I was making it up, and I knew that he knew I knew. I hate geography and history and
French, but detention with him is a laugh a minute. He’s not like the other teachers.

He scared me a bit when he mentioned my dad, but he said he wanted to see him about something else. Mr Quinn doesn’t hit children, doesn’t believe in it. My dad and mam are the
same. I wonder if kids can adopt an uncle? Uncle Theo, Uncle Blackbird, Uncle Quinn.

A few pages later:
Sitting on the stairs, I listened to Mam and Dad talking. The new teacher in Infant One is very pretty. Dad said nobody else stood a chance because compared to Miss
Bellamy, other faces looked like smacked arses, so he may have meant that Miss Bellamy might marry Blackbird. I hope she’s nice. I wouldn’t like to adopt a not nice auntie.
Theo
chuckled. It was plain that Miss Cosgrove hadn’t bothered to read Colin’s diary portion of the compositions book.

He kept the dog and called her Mickle. The dog chose him, just like I did. That dog has brains. The educational psychologist Dad saved up for
. . . What? Theo shook his head to clear
it. ‘What happened to cycle-ology, Colin?’

He says I’m roughly top four per cent for brains and should do well. My reading age is sixteen and I have something called a high IQ. He did tests and Mam and Dad were proud until I
went fishing last Saturday without asking first.

Miss Cosgrove is sending my books to Mr Quinn to show how clever I am, so the game is over. Are you reading this, Sir? I didn’t done it, I did it. I never got borned, I was born.
It’s a game, you see, because you never make me bored. If I’m clever, you done it for me, Sir. (DID IT.)

Theo’s eyes were suddenly wet. Once or twice in a teacher’s life, a miracle happened, a happenstance that tossed a genius from poor streets into the educational arena. This
impossible boy was just that, a rare orchid in a bed of pretty wildflowers. Thus far, most of the precious ones had been female, since a girl’s learning speed was usually faster than that of
her male counterpart until the teenage years. But when a true two-percenter male popped up – and Colin was no mere four-percenter – the result was amazing. ‘I suspected you,
Colin, but you’re cleverer than I am. Well done, you. But boy, am I gonna getcha.’

The restaurant was small, though each dining table had its own permanent screens, wooden at the bottom, decorative stained glass privacy panels in the upper half.

Prices were geared towards the select few who could afford the cost of food prepared under the guidance of an imported French chef, and the business was situated in the village of Woolton, a
part of Liverpool coveted by all who wanted to keep pace with the Joneses. Most Joneses were professional people with decent salaries and substantial properties, though the self-made man in
property development or retail was beginning to encroach. This factor made for the beginnings of a happy mix, most on nodding terms, at least.

After the nods, groups of two or four settled into the privacy of a booth. Larger parties were catered for upstairs in a room large enough to provide for a wedding breakfast or a Christmas
office get-together, so the Par Excellence was a success story, certainly good enough for Simon’s first date with Juliet.