Trouble at the Little Village School

by Gervase Phinn

  I can’t explain it

  But I feel really good inside.’

  The class clapped and the boy coloured up.

  ‘Very good,’ said Mr Steel. ‘Perhaps I might have a copy of your poem too.’

  In the head teacher’s office at lunchtime, Mr Steel gave Elisabeth the feedback on what he had observed that morning.

  ‘The boy Malcolm who read the poem about football,’ said the inspector. ‘I remember seeing that young man when I visited the school when Miss Sowerbutts was the head teacher. He was a particularly difficult boy, as I recall.’

  ‘Yes, he has had his moments, has Malcolm,’ said Elisabeth, ‘but he’s settled down now and football has been the making of him. His one ambition is to become a professional player, and the way he’s performing I think it’s very likely he will achieve it.’

  ‘Well, it seems there’s been something of a transformation in the boy,’ said the inspector.

  Mr Steel went on to tell Elisabeth he had been most impressed with the high standard of the work, the quality of the teaching, the children’s behaviour, the range of extra-curricular activities and the bright and cheerful state of the premises. He thanked her for the copies of the poems he had heard that morning, and promised to write to the children to thank them too.

  ‘And where is your next port of call?’ Elisabeth asked.

  ‘Just down the road,’ Mr Steel replied. ‘I have an appointment at Urebank. I have heard it is proposed that it will be amalgamated with this school some time later this year.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Elisabeth.

  ‘And do you know Mr Richardson, the head teacher there?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘I can’t say I know him,’ Elisabeth replied, ‘but I have spoken to him on a number of occasions.’

  ‘Well, I hope things work out for you, Mrs Devine,’ Mr Steel said. ‘I shall of course send a copy of my written report of my visit to yourself, the Chair of Governors and to the Education Office.’

  On his way out Mr Steel passed Chardonnay, in her PE kit and bright trainers, heading for the school hall. ‘The vicar’s in today,’ she told the school inspector. ‘He’s teaching us how to do pole dancing.’

  The inspector’s mouth dropped open. ‘Pole dancing!’ he repeated.

  ‘Chardonnay means maypole dancing,’ explained Elisabeth.

  The school inspector threw back his head and guffawed with laughter.

  Elisabeth called a staff meeting after school to discuss the inspector’s feedback. It was a good-humoured meeting, since Mr Steel’s comments were entirely positive, save for a few minor issues and suggestions. Miss Brakespeare was in an unusually jaunty mood. She was wearing a new outfit which was a fraction too tight for her: a powder-blue, polyester two-piece suit which crackled when she moved. She had also had her hair neatly permed and her nails painted a pale pink. Elisabeth smiled when she recalled again the time she had first met her deputy head teacher, that dowdy, dumpy little woman. How she had changed.

  ‘Although he looks so dark and daunting,’ Miss Wilson was saying, ‘I found Mr Steel quite nice. Rather more sympathetic than that Ms Tricklebank, who hardly said a word and never smiled. Mr Steel wasn’t as stuffy as I first imagined. I have to admit that I was a little wary when he came into the classroom, after what happened the last time he came in and a child was sick all over him.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Robertshaw, ‘when he arrived in my room on his previous visit you might guess that it was Oscar who drew everybody’s attention to the smell. And I agree with you, Rebecca, he was a whole lot more encouraging than that Ms Tricklebank. I don’t think she was particularly impressed with what she observed in my room.’

  ‘Anyway,’ continued the teacher of the infants, ‘he was talking to one of the children for quite some time. I could see little Stevie was getting upset but he just stood there looking up at the inspector as if glued to the spot. Then he burst into floods of tears.’

  ‘Well, I suppose he was frightened, a big man like that all in black,’ said Miss Brakespeare. ‘I know when I first met him he put the fear of God into me.’

  ‘Anyhow,’ continued Miss Wilson, ‘he told Stevie to go back to his seat but the child just stood there crying his eyes out. So I told him to go and sit down. “I can’t, miss,” he sobbed, “this big mister is standing on my shoelaces.” Well, even Mr Steel had to laugh.’

  ‘In my room,’ said Mrs Robertshaw, ‘he spent most of his time interviewing Oscar or the other way round. They sat in the reading corner chatting away like old friends.’

  ‘What about?’ asked Miss Brakespeare.

  ‘I did happen to overhear,’ admitted Mrs Robertshaw. ‘He asked Oscar how he felt he was getting on with his studies.’

  ‘And what did Oscar say?’ asked the deputy head teacher.

  ‘The boy was very complimentary actually,’ replied the teacher of the lower juniors, ‘and said he was progressing – and that’s the word he used – very well. Then he said that he had suggested certain improvements but they were not being taken up.’

  ‘That sounds like Oscar,’ said Elisabeth. ‘And what improvements were these?’

  ‘He said he was into conservation at the moment, having read a book on carbon footprints, and thought the school should install double glazing, install a heat pump (I have not the slightest idea what one of those is) and solar panels, fit low-energy light bulbs and place bricks in the cisterns in the boys’ toilets to conserve water. He also mentioned that it would be a good idea to have a windmill on the school playing field to utilise wind power.’

  Elisabeth smiled and shook her head. ‘He’s one in a million, is Oscar,’ she said.

  ‘He also mentioned something about putting ping-pong balls down the toilet bowls,’ added Mrs Robertshaw. ‘I don’t know what that was all about.’

  ‘I do,’ Elisabeth told her, ‘but it’s a long story and one not to be raised with the caretaker. Well, the school inspector certainly seems to have taken Oscar’s words to heart, because he does mention in his report that we might consider being a little more environmentally friendly. Now if there is nothing else—’

  ‘There is, actually,’ said Miss Brakespeare, smiling widely. She looked the epitome of happiness.

  ‘Yes, Miriam, what is it?’ asked Elisabeth.

  ‘I shall be retiring at the end of next term,’ she announced. ‘And I’m getting married.’

  Dr Stirling could sense that things were not right when Miss Parsons and her colleague came out of the office to greet him that morning. He could see it in their eyes. Miss Parsons’s solemn voice confirmed his unease.

  ‘Good morning, Dr Stirling,’ she said, shaking his hand. She turned to the boy. ‘Hello, Danny.’ She gave a weak smile.

  ‘’Ello, miss,’ he replied cheerfully. His eyes shone like polished glass.

  ‘Dr Stirling,’ said Miss Parsons, ‘may I have a word with you by yourself? Danny, I’m going to ask you to sit for a moment with Mrs Talbot. You remember Mrs Talbot, you met her the last time you were here?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ A sudden anxiety darkened the boy’s face.

  ‘She’s going to look after you for a moment in her office next door while I have a word with Dr Stirling. All right?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Dr Stirling touched Miss Parsons’s arm. ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked when Danny had gone.

  ‘I afraid something has come up,’ he was told.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you would like to come into my office, I’ll explain.’

  There was a woman in the room staring out of the window. She had scarlet lips and startling bright blonde hair that was black at the roots. She wore a coat as red as a pillar-box.

  ‘This is Dr Stirling,’ said the social worker. ‘Please take a seat, Dr Stirling.’

  The woman glanced at him and gave a small nod. It was a momentary look, level and unblinking.

  ‘Good morning,’ said the doctor, wondering who this strange-l
ooking woman could be.

  The social worker sat at her desk and turned to the woman. ‘As I mentioned,’ she said, ‘Dr Stirling has been taking care of Danny since the boy’s grandfather died.’ She turned to the doctor. ‘This is Mrs Stainthorpe,’ she said.

  ‘Stainthorpe?’ repeated Dr Stirling.

  ‘That’s right,’ said the woman. ‘I was married to Les Stainthorpe. Daniel’s my grandson.’

  ‘I thought that you had remarried and moved away,’ said the doctor.

  ‘I moved away but I never got remarried,’ the woman told him, with a hard, impenetrable expression on her face. ‘As I said, Daniel’s my grandson and I’m here—’

  ‘One moment,’ interrupted Miss Parsons, ‘if I might just come in here and explain the situation to Dr Stirling?’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said the woman, reaching into her handbag and producing a packet of cigarettes.

  ‘This is a non-smoking building,’ explained Miss Parsons. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not as sorry as I am,’ replied the woman with a faint twist of the lips. ‘I’m dying for a ciggie.’ She thrust the packet back in her bag.

  ‘Mrs Stainthorpe,’ continued Miss Parsons, ‘would like Danny to stay with her.’

  ‘To come and live with me,’ corrected the woman, seizing on the remark with alacrity. ‘Stay with me? Sounds as if he’s coming on holiday. I want Daniel to come and live with me for good.’

  Dr Stirling bit his bottom lip and was about to reply, but thought better of it and looked down at his feet. The social worker remained silent.

  The woman, seizing the opportunity afforded by their silence, continued. ‘I’m his only blood relation, after all, and I don’t think it’s right that he should be brought up by a single man.’

  ‘That is of no consequence, Mrs Stainthorpe,’ said the social worker. ‘It doesn’t matter whether adoptive parents are married, single or gay, just so long as they can provide a child with a safe, secure and loving home.’

  The woman sniffed and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Mrs Stainthorpe has recently moved back into the area,’ Miss Parsons told the doctor.

  ‘After Frank – he was my partner – passed on,’ explained the woman, ‘I decided to come back to my roots.’ She smoothed her dyed straw blonde hair and sniffed again. ‘I’ve bought a brand-new, purpose-built property in Clayton, in De Courcey Apartments, state of the ark it is, overlooking the river and the cathedral with all mod cons. Very select. Frank left me well provided for. He was well insured. There’s a spare room what Daniel can have.’

  ‘I thought his grandfather’s wish was that he should come and live with me and my son?’ said the doctor quietly, looking at the social worker.

  ‘Well, it might have been Les’s wish,’ said Mrs Stainthorpe, ‘but he’s no longer here, is he? I’m Daniel’s grandmother and by rights the lad should be with me.’

  ‘But as I understand it, Mrs Stainthorpe, you haven’t seen Danny since he was a baby,’ said Dr Stirling.

  The woman’s face distorted into an expression of chill disapproval. ‘There were reasons for that. I wanted to keep in touch and see how the lad was getting on, and many was the time I thought of getting in contact with him, but, as I’ve said, there were reasons.’ There was a silence as both the doctor and the social worker looked at her. ‘Not that I have to explain myself to either of you two. If you must know, Frank didn’t want kids about the place and anyway there wasn’t the room and I had a full-time job. I couldn’t take care of Daniel, but now I can. I’ve retired and I’m in a position to give him a good home and that’s what I intend to do.’

  ‘But you have never been part of his life, Mrs Stainthorpe,’ said Dr Stirling.

  ‘I’ve explained why,’ she said.

  ‘But the boy doesn’t know you,’ said Dr Stirling.

  ‘He soon will,’ she retorted. ‘Frank didn’t want kids, as I said, and he was not keen on me keeping contact with Les. Now Frank’s dead and Les’s dead, the situation is different and I want my grandson to come and live with me.’

  ‘But Mrs Stainthorpe—’ began Dr Stirling.

  ‘Anyway, Les Stainthorpe was not his real grandfather,’ she interrupted. Her face flushed with a kind of triumph as she played her trump card. ‘So he wasn’t in any position to say what should happen to the lad. It was Frank who was Tricia’s real dad. Les went on the birth certificate for appearances’ sake but he never fathered Tricia, not that I ever told him as much. He always thought she was his daughter. ’Course there were those what thought different. That big-mouthed gossip in the village store for a start. Anyway, Frank was Tricia’s father and Daniel’s grandfather, though he never knew it either.’ She turned to Miss Parsons. ‘I don’t see why we are talking about this. Danny should be with me. End of discussion.’

  ‘Danny is very settled where he is, Mrs Stainthorpe,’ said the social worker. ‘He took his grandfather’s death very badly and is now just about getting over it. He is doing well at school, has a close friend in Dr Stirling’s son and is very happy.’

  ‘I’m not as green as I might look,’ said the woman. ‘I have a right to have my grandson with me. I’ve taken legal advice and there’s no way a court of law will give custody to a single man not related to him, instead of his grandmother.’

  ‘It’s not quite as cut and dry as that,’ said Miss Parsons. ‘The law does not recognise any rights grandparents think they might have. What it does do is take account of the child’s wishes and also of my recommendation.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see what the court says, won’t we, if you try and prevent me from looking after my grandson.’

  ‘What about Danny?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘What about him?’ she asked.

  ‘He wants to stay where he is.’

  ‘Well, in my book, adults know what’s best for children. He’ll soon settle in at Clayton and when he gets to know me he’ll like it. We’ll get on like a house on fire, see if we don’t.’

  ‘I am going to suggest that we take things slowly,’ said Miss Parsons. ‘I think to move Danny from his familiar surroundings at the present time could be very stressful for him. He’s been through quite a lot lately and is still grieving for his grandfather. I think we should leave him where he is for the time being and let him get to know you, Mrs Stainthorpe. You could take him out for the day, and perhaps he could stay at your flat overnight and later at weekends.’

  ‘Apartment,’ she corrected. ‘It’s an apartment.’

  ‘Apartment,’ repeated Miss Parsons. ‘As I said, I think it would be very disruptive for him to move at the moment. In a situation like this,’ she said calmly, ‘Danny must come first. His interests are paramount. His welfare, his emotional well-being and his happiness are the most important considerations. Dr Stirling has provided for Danny a very stable home and—’

  ‘Has he?’ interrupted Mrs Stainthorpe. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

  ‘Yes, of course he has.’

  ‘Well, from what I’ve heard it’s not that stable.’

  ‘And what have you heard?’ asked Dr Stirling, bristling.

  ‘I believe your own son ran away because he was unhappy,’ said Mrs Stainthorpe levelly.

  ‘James ran away because he didn’t want to start his new school,’ explained Dr Stirling, his face becoming flushed. ‘Everything’s fine now. It was just a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Well, he can’t have been that happy if he ran off, could he?’

  ‘Look Mrs Stainthorpe—’ began Dr Stirling.

  ‘And from what I’ve heard you’re never at home, what with dealing with all the medical emergencies, and the boys are left unsupervised. That’s not very satisfactory in my book. Perhaps Miss Parsons wasn’t aware of that.’

  The senior social worker sighed and shook her head. ‘This is getting us nowhere,’ she said. ‘As I suggested, I think Danny should get to know you, Mrs Stainthorpe, before any decisions are made about his future. Half-term is coming up, a
nd this might be a good time for Danny to spend a few days with you.’

  ‘I can’t be shuttling over here taking him out for day trips and getting to know him,’ said the woman. ‘For a start I can’t drive, and I’m not forking out on taxi fares every time I want to see him.’

  ‘Perhaps Dr Stirling might—’

  ‘I should be happy to bring Danny over for visits,’ said the doctor, forcing himself to stay calm. ‘I do agree with Miss Parsons that it seems sensible for Danny to get to know you, Mrs Stainthorpe.’

  ‘I am sure Mrs Stainthorpe appreciates that, Dr Stirling,’ said Miss Parsons. ‘I know that she, like you, has the boy’s best interests at heart.’

  ‘Do you mind not talking about me as if I’m not here!’ snapped Mrs Stainthorpe. ‘Of course I want the best for Daniel. I don’t need you to tell him that. As I said, I think the best place for him is with his grandmother. Having said that, I’m not unreasonable and I’ll agree to a few visits for us to get to know each other if that’s what it takes.’

  ‘Shall we get Danny in and see what he thinks?’ asked Miss Parsons.

  ‘There’s nothing you or any trumped-up social worker can do to stop me having my grandson live with me,’ said the woman aggressively when Miss Parsons had left the room.

  Dr Stirling listened in helpless anger. He looked out of the window, refusing to meet her eye.

  Chapter 12

  Danny came into the office accompanied by the two social workers.

  ‘Now, Danny,’ said Miss Parsons cheerfully, resuming her seat behind her desk. ‘Sit down over here.’ The boy looked confused. ‘I think you know this lady?’

  ‘Hello, Daniel,’ said the woman.

  ‘’Ello,’ he mumbled. He sat on the edge of a chair looking lost and bewildered.

  ‘I wasn’t aware that you knew your grandmother, Danny,’ said Dr Stirling gently.

  ‘We met in the churchyard the other day,’ said the woman. ‘I went to pay my respects at my husband’s grave. We had a nice little chat, didn’t we, Daniel?’

  The boy didn’t answer. His fists were clenched tightly with anxiety, for he knew by the expressions on the faces of Dr Stirling and Miss Parsons that something was clearly wrong.