Trouble at the Little Village School (40 page)

‘Knowing her, she won’t be sad and lonely for long. She’ll be sharpening those red nails of hers to dig them into another unsuspecting dupe. Always had her eyes for the main chance, did Maisie Proctor. Anyway what was the emergency, Dr Stirling? You rushed out of the house like a cat with its tail on fire, so you did.’

‘It was Miss Sowerbutts,’ he replied.

‘She’s had an accident?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ the doctor replied. ‘Quite a nasty fall. She’s in Clayton Royal Infirmary. They’re keeping her in for observation.’

Dr Stirling then related the events and why he had been called out that morning. Miss Sowerbutts, negotiating the narrow and steep stairs in her cottage with a tray of morning coffee, had not seen her cat stretched out on the top step. She had tripped and fallen headlong down the stairs, banging her head and breaking her arm in the process. She had lain there dazed and in pain. It was fortunate that Malcolm Stubbins, on his way to school, had heard the woman’s cries for help. Staring through the letterbox, the boy had seen the prone figure at the foot of the stairs and, finding the door unlocked, had gone to her assistance. With great presence of mind the boy had placed a cushion under her head, put a blanket over her, dialled 999 for an ambulance and then, having looked in the address book on the hall table, had phoned Dr Stirling.

‘And how is Miss Sowerbutts?’ asked Mrs O’Connor now.

‘She’s a very lucky woman. If young Malcolm hadn’t heard her shouting for help or ignored it she could very well have been there for quite some time. I gather she doesn’t have many visitors, and in this weather she could have developed hypothermia. The boy kept calm and did exactly the right thing. He may have saved her life.’

‘Well I never,’ said the housekeeper, shaking her head. ‘I must say I take back what I said to Danny about Malcolm Stubbins.’

‘What did you say to Danny about Malcolm Stubbins?’ asked the doctor.

‘Oh, something and nothing,’ she replied evasively.

‘Anyway, as I said, had it not been for the boy’s quick thinking and the way he kept calm and stayed with Miss Sowerbutts until I arrived, it could have been a lot worse. Sometimes this kind of sudden emotional stress can send people into shock.’

‘I can’t say that I like the woman and although I wouldn’t wish an accident like that upon my worst enemy, as my owld grandmother used to say, “Pride comes before a fall,” and there’s none prouder than Miss Sowerbutts. How long will she be in hospital?’

‘I can’t say,’ the doctor told her. ‘I think she suffered some concussion and her arm is broken. She’s certainly been in the wars lately.’

‘Well, she won’t be claiming compensation for
this
accident,’ remarked Mrs O’Connor, ‘not like the last time when she slipped in the supermarket and got that big payout. Of course, knowing her it won’t be her fault. Probably blames the cat.’

‘I think you are being a little harsh, Mrs O’Connor,’ said the doctor. ‘She’s another rather sad and lonely woman and has become rather sour and embittered in her old age.’

‘Well, as my grandmother used to say,’ replied the housekeeper, ‘“When the milk turns sour, make cheese”.’

‘There really is no answer to that,’ replied Dr Stirling, having not the slightest idea what she meant.

Mrs O’Connor headed for the door. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. I’m sure you would enjoy a cup of tea.’

‘There is something else,’ said Dr Stirling.

‘Yes?’

‘I said I would do something for Miss Sowerbutts.’

‘Do something, doctor?’

‘I said I would look after her cat.’

‘Her cat?’

‘Evidently it’s a rare breed,’ said the doctor, ‘some strange sort of Siamese cat, and Miss Sowerbutts asked me to look after it.’

‘You’re too soft-hearted, Dr Stirling, that’s your trouble. People put on your good nature, so they do. However, I suppose we could look after it until she’s out of hospital.’

‘She was insistent that it has to have a special diet of fish and chicken,’ the doctor told her.

Mrs O’Connor sniffed. ‘Well, Miss Sowerbutts isn’t in any position to insist on anything at the moment, is she, Dr Stirling?’ she replied. ‘So it’ll get what it’s given.’

‘May I come in?’ At first Dr Stirling didn’t recognise the muffled figure on the doorstep, encased in a dark-red duffel coat with a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. ‘It’s Miss Parsons from the Social Services,’ she explained.

‘Come in, come in,’ said the doctor.

The visitor came into the hall and shivered. ‘It’s so cold out there this evening,’ she said, removing her scarf and rubbing her gloved hands together.

‘Do go through into the sitting-room,’ he said, ‘and warm yourself by the fire. Here, let me take your coat.’

The social worker removed the duffel coat. She was wearing a thick, shapeless grey jumper, a long patterned skirt and the sort of heavy boots a hiker might wear.

‘Well now,’ said Dr Stirling, ‘I hope you are not the bringer of bad news?’

‘No, no.’

‘I assume it’s about Danny that you have called to see me?’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry for the late hour, but I was passing through the village on the way back to Clayton after a conference and thought I’d call in. I am sorry it’s unannounced. I hope it’s not inconvenient.’

‘No, not at all. It’s fine,’ the doctor told her. ‘Do sit down.’ He picked up a pile of papers and magazines from a chair.

Miss Parsons was a handsome woman with a wide intelligent face and large bright eyes. Small rectangular spectacles dangled on a cord around her neck. She sat by the fire and warmed her hands.

‘May I offer you a coffee?’ asked Dr Stirling.

‘No, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I’ve had a surfeit of coffee today. I’m afraid if I drink more than four cups in a day I suffer some ill-effects. I get palpitations, so I try to ration my intake of caffeine.’

‘Very sensible,’ said the doctor. ‘Now what is it you wished to see me about?’

‘Firstly I want to say how very sorry I am that things did not work out with the adoption. I am sure it’s been an upsetting time for Danny and I guess an anxious time for you too.’

Dr Stirling nodded. ‘It has,’ he replied.

‘Of course I heard about Danny running away,’ said Miss Parsons. ‘It’s our policy to follow things up and to see why.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

‘Did he say anything to you as to why he ran off like that?’

‘Actually he said very little.’

‘I called to see his grandmother yesterday,’ said Miss Parsons, ‘and then I visited Danny at his new school to talk to him.’

‘I see.’

‘His grandmother claims he is not an easy child and—’

‘Nonsense!’ snapped the doctor. ‘He’s the easiest child in the world. He’s no trouble at all and—’

‘If I might finish, Dr Stirling,’ said Miss Parsons. ‘His grandmother, as I have said, finds Danny not an easy child. He’s not misbehaved or disobedient but he is very quiet and only speaks to her when he has to, and he spends most of his time, according to her, sulking in his room.’

‘Danny does not sulk.’

‘I’m merely telling you what his grandmother told me. She says she is doing her very best but she’s not finding it easy. The boy has his own bedroom, has plenty to eat and is not neglected.’

‘It’s not about that,’ said the doctor. ‘Danny loves the country. He’ll be like a caged animal in a small apartment. He wants to be out in the open air. And it’s not like the boy to sulk,’ said the doctor. ‘He’s a bright, good-humoured and chatty little boy.’

‘Well, he doesn’t appear to be like that for his grandmother.’

‘That’s because he’s probably very unhappy,’ the doctor told her. ‘He’s still grieving for his grandfather and misses everything he’s familiar with. He’s homesick for the countryside.’

‘Yes, I think he is,’ she agreed. ‘I spoke to Danny and it is clear he doesn’t like living in Clayton. I think you are right that it’s more to do with the change in his environment than anything else. He loves the freedom which I’m afraid he doesn’t have in Clayton. I can see that. When he got to talking about the countryside he got quite animated – how he liked to roam in the woods, build hiding-places and hidden dens, climb trees, hunt, fish, pick flowers, watch birds, set traps. Of course, he misses you and James and his friends at the village school too. I did say to him that I thought he had to give this a chance, to try a bit harder to get on with his grandmother.’

‘Mrs Devine was telling me that she had contacted his school in Clayton,’ said Dr Stirling. ‘She was not very happy with what she heard.’

‘No, I too had a word with the head teacher,’ Miss Parsons told him. ‘I’m afraid Danny doesn’t seem to like that either. The head teacher described him as a sad and quiet boy who doesn’t mix with the other children. He’s no trouble and does what is asked of him but, despite his teacher’s efforts, Danny seems distracted and not interested in his work. Of course it’s always a bit stressful for a child starting a new school. He may well settle in time.’

‘So Danny is not happy at home or at school,’ remarked the doctor.

‘No, not at the moment,’ replied Miss Parsons.

‘So what is there to be done?’ asked Dr Stirling.

‘As I have been at pains to point out, the boy’s welfare comes first in all things. Now I appreciate that at the moment Danny is unhappy, but I am pretty certain that he is not neglected or ill-treated, and his grandmother, despite what people might think, is doing her best. I know she might not be the easiest person, but she would not have wanted Danny to live with her if she didn’t love him. He is well fed and clothed and looked after. He is certainly far better off than some of the children I have to deal with who have very little, some of whom lead quite desperate lives. In my experience children are very resilient, and I think for the time being we should see how things go. I therefore think that Danny should remain with his grandmother.’

‘I see,’ said Dr Stirling. ‘For the time being.’

‘Yes. We assess all cases on their merits, and running away is not sufficient reason for Danny to be taken away from his grandmother and put into care. We will, of course, monitor the situation, make more visits and see how he is getting on and we will keep you fully up to speed. Maybe after a few weeks he will settle there.’ She got up. ‘Thank you for seeing me at this late hour. Now, I really must go. It’s been a long day. I am afraid I’m not a very good delegate on these courses. All the lectures and discussion groups and plenary sessions make my head swim.’

‘I appreciate you calling round, Miss Parsons,’ said Dr Stirling. ‘It was good of you to keep me informed. Please keep in touch and let me know how Danny is getting on.’

‘I will indeed.’

When the social worker had gone Dr Stirling poured himself a large brandy. He cradled the glass in his hand, took a gulp and then opened the letter Danny had left on the bedside table and read it again.

Dear Doctor Stirling

I’m sorry to have caused all this trouble. I shouldn’t have run off like that. I won’t do it again. It’s not that bad in Clayton though I do miss the village and the country and you and James and Mrs O’Connor and Mrs Devine and school and Ferdy. I hope Ferdy is OK by the way. I’d like to see him sometime. Maybe I could get a bus one Saturday and come and see you all. I know I should be glad that I’m not in a children’s home and I know that there are a lot of kids worse off than me. Don’t worry about me.

From Danny.

Chapter 19

‘And what are you looking so pleased with yourself about?’ asked the school secretary.

Mr Gribbon, standing at the office door, certainly appeared in a better frame of mind than usual.

‘To be honest, Mrs Scrimshaw, I am pleased,’ he replied. ‘Mrs Pugh, the part-time cleaner, has turned out to be most satisfactory. She’s gone through them toilets like a dose of salts.’

‘I’m very happy to hear it,’ replied Mrs Scrimshaw. ‘And no more foreign objects down the toilet bowls?’

‘No, touch wood,’ the caretaker replied. ‘But I’m keeping my eye on that Oscar. He’s a pain in the neck, that lad, and has far too much to say for himself.’

‘Perhaps now you have Mrs Pugh we can look forward to less comment about all the work you have to do and how your back is always playing you up. How’s your foot?’

‘Not too bad,’ replied the caretaker. ‘You found the money then?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The money you lost. You found it?’

‘Yes, it had been pushed under the typewriter,’ she told him. ‘So you were wrong about little Roisin. The trouble with you, Mr Gribbon, is you jump to conclusions. It’s a good job the girl wasn’t accused of taking it.’

‘I never said she’d took it,’ replied the caretaker. ‘I said she might have. Anyway, I called in to tell you something which concerns both of us about this amalgamation.’

‘Well, make it quick because I’ve lots to do,’ said the secretary.

‘Mrs Pugh told me something very interesting,’ said the caretaker, sitting on the corner of the desk. ‘You know she works part-time at Urebank as well as here? Well, she told me that the caretaker there is intending to pack it in before this amalgamation. He’s going for early retirement or redundancy. This means it leaves the field open for me for the job in the new set-up.’