Precious Time (23 page)

Anastasia had never made a drama out of anything that went wrong - not even when the tower had been struck by lightning while he had been in Canada. No doubt about it, they were two of a kind, and perhaps that was why he had felt compelled to seek Miss Costello’s help. He had known instinctively that because she saw things so simply, she would be able to cut through the chaos of Mermaid House so that he could take control again.

But while he could appreciate her many strengths, he realised that he knew little about her. What did she do when she wasn’t roaming the countryside in a campervan with her young son? Where did she and the boy live? How did they live? Where was the boy’s father?

Was he her husband? And why had he himself made the assumption that she wasn’t married? He tried to picture her left hand to see if he could recall a ring. He couldn’t, but observation had never been his strong suit.

He knew he shouldn’t do it, but with his curiosity fully aroused, and with the means to satisfy it sitting opposite him, he saw no reason not to ask a few questions.

‘Finished!’ Ned said, sitting back in the large chair and admiring his handiwork. The circular table was now a patchwork of blue and green tartan. ‘Shall I go first?’

‘As Granda would say, be my guest.’

A short while later when Ned’s pile of successfully matched cards was greater than his own, Gabriel said, ‘You’re not bad at this. You sure you didn’t look at the cards before you put them down?’

‘No!’ Ned’s voice rang with indignation. ‘I just have a better memory than you.’

‘Depends what one uses one’s memory for. I can remember things very clearly a long time ago—’

‘But not where the Queen of Hearts is!’ Gabriel turned over the wrong card and Ned claimed the pair. ‘I’m beating you, aren’t I?’

‘Do you play this a lot at home with your mother?’

‘I do now. But not when we were at home. Mummy was too busy then.’

‘Oh? Busy with what?’

‘Work. She had a very important job. She told lots of people what to do.’

Gabriel caught the past tense - had a very important job.

Redundancy, eh? Well, there was a lot of it about.

‘She gave up her job to be with me,’ Ned said, with unashamed pride. He claimed another pair of cards. ‘She said she wanted to give me an adventure I wouldn’t forget.’

‘And here you are playing cards with an old man who can’t

remember where the nine of clubs is … Aha, got it.’

‘You’re getting better, Mr Liberty. But I’m still winning.’

‘So who looked after you when your mother was busy telling people what to do?’

‘Nanna and Granda. And I went to nursery too. Nanna and

Granda are in Australia.’

‘You said. Do you miss them?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. But not so much now.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I see Mummy all the time now.’

‘And you prefer that, do you?’

‘Ooh, yes. I wish it could be like this for ever and ever. I wish I never had to go to school.’

‘But you’ll have to go home some day, won’t you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘And your mother will have to go back to bossing people about. I can see she’d be good at that.’

‘She’s not bossy with me.’

‘She isn’t? You sure?’

‘She loves me.’

When he heard the boy express himself so simply and honestly Gabriel was jolted by something he didn’t understand. It was a faint stirring of an emotion that was buried deep. There was a squeal from across the table.

‘Look! I’ve found the Jokers.’

‘And what about your father?’ Gabriel ventured, after he had watched Ned rapidly unearth another series of pairs. There was hardly anything left on the table now: the child’s memory was extraordinary. ‘You never speak of him.’ As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. The boy, normally so bright and open, looked confused, as though he didn’t understand the question or, perhaps, didn’t know how to answer it. Gabriel suddenly felt horribly unworthy. Supposing his father was dead?

‘There’s lunch on offer if anyone’s interested,’ said a stiff voice.

It was the boy’s mother and Gabriel reddened with shame. Damn! How long had she been standing there? And just how much had she heard?

His guilt was multiplied many times over when he stood in the kitchen and saw the transformation.

The surfaces were all cleared and scrubbed to a high sheen and the cupboard doors were so shiny that reflections bounced off them. The floor was no longer sticky underfoot, the windows looked as if the glass had been removed, and the cobwebs that had been hanging from the ceiling like last year’s Christmas decorations were gone.

There was no sign of grease or burnt-on stains on the cooker, the fridge door looked as if it had been given a coat of white gloss paint, the rubbish that had covered the table had vanished, and lunch had been set for three. There was a white embroidered tablecloth he didn’t recognise, and in the centre of the plates of sandwiches and glasses of orange juice, there was a small vase containing some purple flowers. He could just about discern their delicate scent above the more powerful odour of cleaning fluids.

It was as if he had walked into someone else’s kitchen. He wouldn’t have thought that just a few hours could have wrought such a change. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he murmured. A lump was firmly wedged in his throat. The more he looked, the more he was staggered.

‘“Thank you” would be a start.’

He could hear in her voice just how very cross she was with him.

‘Ned, do you want to go to the loo before we eat?’ she said, in a more kindly tone. ‘It’s down by the laundry room, where Mr Liberty keeps his empty bottles. Be sure to wash your hands. I’ve put a clean towel in there.’

Gabriel walked awkwardly over to the Aga, which had also been given a clean and a polish. He ran his hand over the smooth green enamel and caught a distorted view of a bulbous-nosed face in the shiny chrome of the hot-plate cover. ‘Miss Costello, I’m truly amazed at what you’ve done. Thank you very much.’

She gave him a steely glance and turned off the radio, which she had moved from the top of the fridge to the windowsill. ‘And if you want me to stick to our agreement I’ll thank you not to interrogate my son. Got that?’

He hung his head. It was a long time since he had felt so ashamed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.

‘At least have the decency to look at me when you’re apologising.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, more clearly this time and looking straight at her. ‘Shouldn’t have done that to the little lad. Not on at all. Not my business.’

‘Good,’ she said briskly. ‘Should you feel the disreputable need to play the part of grand inquisitor, please just ask me what you want to know. Okay?’

‘Agreed.’ Contrite. Meek. These were strange feelings to him, but that was exactly what he felt. That and the need to put things right with another person, whom he’d clearly upset. But how?

What could he do to make her think better of him? And when was the last time he had ever been concerned with what anyone thought of him?

Still beside herself with barely controlled fury over Mr Liberty’s scurrilous behaviour, Clara was putting the surge of energy to good use. After lunch, and after she had instructed him - rather curtly - to wash up the plates, cutlery and glasses, she took the grimy curtains she had earlier unhooked from the kitchen windows and took them outside into the courtyard. She wanted to get the worst of the dust and sticky cobwebs off before washing them. The fine misty rain had stopped, and as she shook the curtains her anger began to subside.

‘Just let him try a stunt like that once more,’ she muttered, ‘and I’ll be out of here faster than … well, faster than anything he’s ever seen move!’

Marching through to the laundry room, she threw the curtains onto the floor. Then, with the contents of the toolbox she had fetched from Winnie, she started to take the washing-machine apart.

To her satisfaction, her diagnosis was correct. Fortunately nothing was damaged and in no time at all she had it in working order. Not only that, but she soon had two loads of washing pegged on a line she had rigged up in the courtyard. While a third load was sloshing around inside the machine, she went outside to catch her breath. The sun was making a valiant effort to shine now, and while she stood in the courtyard, watching the clothes and curtains billow in the light breeze, the skip arrived.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ the man said, when he had lowered it into position and she was signing the form confirming its delivery, ‘but it’s been one of them days.’

‘Tell me about it,’ she said, with feeling.

Ned and Mr Liberty came to investigate just as the man was driving away. ‘You don’t do anything by half do you, Miss

Costello?’ Mr Liberty said, when he surveyed the scene - a large yellow skip and a line of his freshly laundered clothes, including some items he would perhaps rather not have had on show quite so visibly.

‘Not if I can help it,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to thank me for mending your washing-machine?’

‘I was just about to. But why aren’t you using its dryer?’

‘No need - not when we can dry your unmentionables for free.

Looks to me as if you could do with investing in some new ones.’

He scowled in embarrassment.

Enjoying his discomfort, she said, ‘Now, then, as you’re both here you can help me ditch some of the rubbish I’ve collected. First to go will be those boxes of bottles from the laundry room.’

Under her directions, they worked steadily for the next hour and a half, until Mr Liberty suggested he made some tea. ‘Got to keep the workers happy,’ he said, and sloped off.

The moment Jonah had driven through the school gates that

morning and the exhaust had dropped off on to the Tarmac, he knew that it was going to be one of those days.

Now it was three o’clock and he was accompanying Jase O’Dowd to the doctor’s surgery in Deaconsbridge. He had been in the staff room, drinking a cup of coffee while standing over the temperamental photocopier and thinking about year eleven’s parents’ evening next week, when Larry Wilson, the design-technology teacher, poked his unwashed head of grey hair round the door and asked if anyone would mind taking O’Dowd to the vet’s to be put down. ‘The bloody idiot’s tried to chisel off a finger,’ he grumbled, when Jonah agreed to forgo his hour of free time. ‘If I’ve told him once not to muck around in my lessons, I’ve told him till I’m blue in the face. Serve the time wasting blighter right if he’s done himself some serious harm.’

Jonah found Jase waiting outside the secretary’s office, and while he looked his normal cocky self as he leaned against the wall, kicking it idly, his face was as white as the notices on the board behind him.

He raised his temporarily bandaged hand at Jonah. ‘I’m gonna sue,’

he said. ‘It’s not safe making them chisels so friggin’ sharp. I’m gonna get the best lawyer Legal Aid can give me.’

‘A cracking idea, but first things first. Let’s get you stitched up, shall we?’

Exhaustless, they roared unceremoniously through the school gates, through the town and into the surgery car park, where Jonah pulled on the handbrake, switched off the engine and said, ‘I’m not doing much for your street cred, am I, Jase?’

‘Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been old Ma Wilson bringing me here.’

‘I was referring to my car, not the status and quality of one of my colleagues.’

‘Yeah, but you agree with me all the same, don’t you? He’s a right poxy old woman.’

Jonah kept his expression unreadable. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’

They

reported to the receptionist, then took a seat in the empty waiting room. Jonah said, ‘By the way, Mr Wilson did contact your parents, didn’t he?’

‘Nah, I told him there was no point.’

Jonah sighed. ‘Jase, school has to let them know. You know that as well as I do. We have to do things by the rule book or that hotshot Legal Aid lawyer of yours will be down on us like a ton of bricks.’

His face set, Jase said, ‘Leave it, sir.’ Then, ‘How long do you think it will take for this to get better?’

Jonah looked at Jase’s bandaged hand. ‘Depending on how badly cut it is, a week or two. Why? Worried it might get in the way of your love life?’ He knew from corridor and playground gossip that, since last Christmas, Jase was devoting less time to fighting on the estate where he lived and more to Heidi Conners, an anxious girl who was painfully thin - Jonah thought she might be anorexic.

Jase’s face coloured, all the way to his sharp-curled quiff. He got to his feet and went over to a table where there was a pile of pamphlets on family planning. ‘Friggin’ hell, sir, you ain’t ‘alf got a filthy mind!

I was thinking of my exams next term and whether or not I’d be able to write.’

Suitably put in his place, and mildly surprised, Jonah apologised. ‘I expect it’ll be fine by then.’ He knew that Jase could now put together a history essay that covered enough salient points to get him a C grade, possibly even a B with a bit more attention to detail and the wind blowing in the right direction, but as to his other GCSE

subjects, he wasn’t so sure. Occasionally he heard mutterings in the staff room that Jase O’Dowd was nothing but a load of trouble and Jonah was annoyed that the youngster could be so easily written off.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘What d’yer think my chances are of getting a job when I leave in the summer?’

‘Do you have something in mind?’

Jase gave him a withering look. ‘I thought with the qualifications I’m likely to get I’d start off with something easy - investment banker, summat like that.’

Jonah ignored the sarcasm. ‘You don’t think you might want to stay on in the sixth form, then?’

‘What? Me? Have you flipped or what?’

‘Heidi’s staying on, isn’t she?’

Another flush rose to Jase’s face. ‘Yeah, well, it’s okay for her, she’s got brains.’

‘And so have you, Jase. You’re just a bit more selective about how you use yours. I think you should consider it.’

He came and sat down again. He chewed at a grubby thumbnail.