Born to Be Trouble

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘I don’t know how our own daughter can do this to us,’ Kate said.

  ‘Ah – she didn’t do it to us,’ Freddie said wisely. ‘She didn’t do it to hurt us. ’Tis those reporters. They’re savages. Hell bent on ruining someone’s life. I hate ’em.’ He felt the colour rising up his neck and over his cheeks. He desperately wanted a cigarette. He’d given up smoking on doctor’s orders last winter, and it had been hard.

  ‘I’ll make us a cup of coffee,’ Kate said, ‘with a dash of rum in it and some cream. Don’t you go reaching for the fags again. You’re so much better without them.’ There was love in her bright brown eyes, love for him. He felt its warmth, and the moment passed. He sat down again at the table and watched Kate whisking the hot coffee. She had just put the rum into it when there was a tap at the door. ‘Now what?’ she said, and went to answer it.

  A girl with blonde hair stood there. She wore very high heels, neat stockings with straight seams, and a royal blue winter coat with the collar turned up. In her hand was a newspaper, and her eyes were full of indignation.

  Kate gasped.

  ‘LUCY!’

  Tessa walked briskly along a leafy avenue in North London. Her hair was rolled into a bun on top of her head, and she wore a navy blue pleated skirt belonging to Lou’s mother, a white nylon blouse with ruffles that Clare had lent her, and Lou’s black sling-backed patent-leather shoes. She hoped she looked neat and sensible, even though Lou and Clare had screamed with laughter at her new image. It had been good-humoured banter, and they’d let her stay the night in the empty house where they were squatting. There was no electricity or water, so it was candlelight, orange boxes, and mattresses on bare floorboards. But the mattress and pillow felt heavenly to Tessa after her nights of sleeping rough, and she’d slept deeply. Lou had given her a bowl of Cornflakes with milk and sugar, then coffee, and lots of advice. Tessa hadn’t listened to most of it, but one nugget had lodged in her mind. ‘Stop punishing yourself, Tessa,’ Lou had said.

  She felt like an alien. But different. The ruffles on the nylon blouse made her feel womanly and feminine. She’d unearthed her make-up bag from the bottom of the rucksack and done her face with the dwindling supply of Max Factor Crème Puff and Dusky Pink lipstick. The rucksack was left with Lou and Clare, and she carried only a small beaded handbag.

  Twenty-five past ten. Perfect timing. She paused outside the gates, admiring the lovely old white painted town house, now a school for children with special needs. Its walls echoed with the sound of their playtime – screams, laughter, running feet. Tessa felt unreasonably apprehensive. What am I doing here? I’m not even going to like these children, she thought.

  The playground had high wire fencing, and in one corner was a mature horse chestnut tree. Children were running everywhere, playing with the fallen leaves, and with skipping ropes and balls. Tessa opened the gate and went in, her eyes on the entrance door opposite, which was painted in bright reds and yellows.

  ‘Hello, Miss.’ A little girl ran to her. She had grey skin, and a grey vest under a cardigan that looked like a dishrag. Her blonde hair was pathetically thin and wispy, but her eyes shone up at Tessa like the eyes of a precious doll. ‘I’m Della, Miss.’

  ‘Hello, Della.’ Tessa squatted down and looked into the child’s eyes.

  ‘I love you, Miss.’ Della put her arms around Tessa and hugged her tightly. Tessa was astonished. She sensed Della’s desperate need to love and be loved. She felt her sadness, and her happiness, like pepper and salt next to each other on a table. But the ultimate surprise was the shimmering light around this unkempt little urchin.

  ‘What a lovely welcome,’ Tessa said softly, and Della just went on hugging her and beaming into her eyes.

  ‘You’re an angel, Miss,’ Della said. ‘I love you. Are you going to stay here, Miss?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Tessa said, and found herself using the kind of voice she used to heal animals. A low, musical, crooning voice. She didn’t know where it came from, but it was calming, for her and the recipient.

  Another child, a boy with lonely huge eyes, came close and touched her shyly. ‘Hello, Miss. You very pretty, Miss.

  Tessa was mesmerised by the inner beauty of these children. She straightened up, with Della still hugging her, and suddenly the playground went quiet and more and more children came to her as if drawn to her light. She felt like a big magnet. Wordless and strong.

  The spell was broken by a voice of authority. A woman with cropped silver hair and vibrant blue eyes. ‘You must be Tessa.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Megan – Mrs Burns. I’m the headmistress – or trying to be!’ She laughed heartily and held out her hand to Tessa. ‘Let go of the lady, Della,’ she said, looking down at the clinging child. ‘You can hug her again later. And the rest of you – go and enjoy the playtime. Go on – shoo! Shoo, shoo, shoo.’ She clapped her hands humorously and pretended to be chasing them off. ‘This is a happy school,’ she said brightly to Tessa. ‘And I can see that the children clearly like you already. Shall we have a chat over coffee?’

  Tessa followed the dumpy figure into the spacious building, which was painted in vivid primary colours. The children’s artwork was splashed over the pin boards, each piece lovingly mounted and labelled.

  ‘I love children’s art,’ Tessa said. ‘These are fantastic.’

  ‘We’re very proud of them.’ Megan turned to smile at Tessa. She led her upstairs to the staff room. ‘This is our haven of peace,’ she said, switching on the kettle. ‘And it’s got an all too tempting biscuit tin.’ She prised the lid off. ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘I would – if this wasn’t an interview,’ Tessa said, eyeing the custard creams and bourbons.

  Megan laughed. ‘Well, at least you’re honest,’ she said, spooning Nescafé into two mugs.

  Something was happening in Tessa’s mind while she sat watching Megan make the coffee. I can be honest with this woman, she thought, and suddenly felt as if her dad was there with her, right inside her mind.

  Megan sat down next to her. She looked at Tessa’s sleek brown legs. ‘My goodness – is that a suntan? Or have you got stockings on?’

  ‘It’s a suntan. I spent the summer in Cornwall.’

  ‘In Cornwall. Lucky girl. What were you doing there?’

  Tessa took a deep breath and turned her pale blue eyes on Megan. ‘Being a hippie,’ she said. ‘I dropped out of Art College after my first year.’

  Megan’s eyes cooled a little. She looked thoughtful. ‘Tell me about yourself, Tessa, and why you want this job.’

  Tessa tried to draw on the collection of responses she’d mentally rehearsed. Instead, she found herself following a signpost her dad had put there. It said HONESTY.

  ‘I’m hypersensitive,’ she said, ‘and creative. I grew up in rural Somerset. I know quite a lot about the countryside – animals, birds, trees and wild flowers. I’m also quite practical – I can make bread, and willow baskets, grow seeds, look after animals. But—’

  ‘Go on,’ Megan said warmly, ‘the best bit usually comes last, I find.’

  ‘I feel – I can understand people,’ Tessa said. ‘I’m intuitive – and, because I’ve suffered a lot myself, I can relate to other people’s difficulties and needs. It’s something I want to develop. That’s why I was drawn to this job. I feel I can really give something to these children – something they’re searching for and not getting at home. I understand, deeply, how children get hurt and emotionally damaged. And,’ she added, quoting directly from her dad’s wisdom, ‘that knowledge hasn’t come from books – it’s come from LIFE.’

  Megan stared at her. She nodded her head slowly. ‘Hmmm – an old soul,’ she said, and studied the handwritten CV Tessa had given her on a single sheet of lined file paper. ‘You’ve had a good education. What made you drop out of Art College?’

  ‘It was irrelevant to the kind of life I wanted,’ Tessa said. ‘I do enjoy art – but I wanted to be out there inte
racting with people, at the grass roots – and when I saw this job it just seemed perfect.’

  ‘Have you had any experience with children?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘This job is for a full-time classroom assistant,’ Megan said. ‘You would work mostly with one teacher. The children here have a variety of special needs. We have children with autism, aphasia, dyspraxia, epilepsy and some with undiagnosed, deep emotional problems – children from difficult backgrounds, some of them heart-breaking. They can be VERY challenging, and very surprising. We need someone with a big heart and lots of love to give. Do you think you’re that person, Tessa?’

  ‘I’d like to give it a try. It isn’t just because I need a job. I need THIS job – and I believe you need ME,’ Tessa said firmly. She was secretly amazed at how the right words were coming out of her mouth with such quiet strength. ‘I’m lucky that I’ve got a wonderful dad,’ she added. ‘He was incredibly kind and patient with me, and tolerant. I want to do that for children who haven’t had a kind person in their life.’

  Megan put the lid on the biscuit tin. ‘I’ll take you down to see the class you’d be working with – see how you feel. Finished your coffee? Bring it with you if you like.’

  Tessa followed her down the stairs and through the building to a spacious annexe full of light and colour. There were just eight young children, and they were not sitting at desks as Tessa had imagined, but happily occupied with brightly coloured toys. A wooden railway set was laid out in one corner, with two boys totally engrossed in it. There was a Wendy House and a dressing-up box, a cosily carpeted book corner with beanbag cushions, and an art corner where a boy was carefully painting a curious labyrinth on blue sugar paper.

  A boy with crossed eyes and a beguiling smile came up to Tessa and claimed her straight away. She squatted down to talk to him.

  ‘This is Billie Ku,’ Megan said. ‘He’ll look after you – won’t you, Billie? Can you show Tessa around the classroom?’

  Billie beamed. He took Tessa’s hand. ‘I like you, Miss,’ he said. Tessa smiled back. His eyes were astonishing. Old, she thought, like a little old man. Yet here he is in the body of a handicapped child. ‘Where shall we go first?’ she asked, and Billie led her to the book corner. He picked a book called Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel and gave it to her. ‘Read me a story, Miss? Please.’

  Tessa glanced at Megan.

  ‘Please, Miss!’

  ‘I’ll leave you here for half an hour,’ Megan said. ‘Is that okay, Tessa? This is the teacher – Diane. Okay, Diane, if I leave Tessa with you? She needs to know what she’s letting herself in for!’

  Diane grinned at Tessa and said, ‘Hi – make yourself at home,’ and Tessa was surprised to see she wore jeans and a flowery smock. She could have passed as a hippie! She was sitting at a desk with a silent, solemn little girl cuddled on her lap. ‘We’ll chat in a minute,’ Diane said. ‘I’m kind of occupied.’

  ‘That little girl is Zoe,’ Megan said, ‘and she doesn’t talk at all. She chats at home, but in school she’s silent. So far. We live in hope!’

  The half hour flew by. Tessa felt completely at home and interested in the children. One by one they sidled up to her as she read stories, her eyes looking up, pausing to make contact with the eyes looking at her. Before long there was a child on her lap, and another two with their arms around her neck. She could read the emotions in their eyes. There was anxiety, loneliness, disappointment, confusion, all of it overlaid with hope and waiting to erupt into fury. Tessa felt as if her father was there with her, inside her mind. Now, at last, she was using the rich storehouse of patient, silent love he had given her. I really want to do this, she thought, and I can, I know I can.

  When Megan came to fetch her, Billie Ku had a monster tantrum. He flung Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel on the floor, planted his legs a yard apart and jumped up and down, his face contorted with rage. Diane waded in and tried to restrain him, but he pushed her away angrily. ‘I wanted Tessa to stay,’ he roared. ‘It’s not fair! I hate you. I hate all of you.’ He collapsed against the wall, rocking and banging his head.

  ‘I’ll come back and see you, Billie,’ Tessa said gently, trying to get him to look at her. He pushed her away.

  ‘Leave him, Tessa. I’ll deal with him. It’s pretty standard behaviour,’ Diane said.

  ‘I could calm him down,’ Tessa said. ‘I know how he feels.’ She wanted to tell them that not so long ago she herself had been like that, a child full of frustration, a child forever trapped in the wreckage of her crushed dreams, a child confronted with the dark holes where hope and light had died.

  Instead, she followed Megan out into the corridor, the sound of Billy Ku’s rage and Diane’s very loud voice echoing after her.

  Megan turned and looked into her soul. ‘The job is yours, Tessa, if you’d like it. We’d love to have you.’

  CHAPTER 7

  A Soul in Exile

  Kate watched Lucy walking away down the path, a lump in her throat. She’d been moved by the way Lucy had defended her sister. ‘Tessa isn’t THAT bad, Mum,’ she’d said, ‘you should ring the paper and complain. Or I will.’

  Her words had fired Kate up, but it had hurt when Lucy declined her offer of tea and biscuits. ‘Some other time, Mum, I’m really busy.’

  Kate picked up the phone and dialled the Gazette.

  ‘I am beside myself with fury,’ she told the startled girl who answered. ‘I want a word with Robin Tell – now, please.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s out of the office.’

  ‘Then who can I speak to?’

  ‘Our senior manager is here, but he’s in a meeting.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Kate said icily. ‘You bring him to the phone, right now, or I will be on your doorstep in fifteen minutes with a tin of red paint, and I shall paint LIARS across your door.’

  The girl sighed. ‘I’ll see if Mr Swithins will talk to you.’

  Kate waited, feeling her temples bursting with a hammering pulse, her hands ice cold, her stomach in a tight knot. She wasn’t well. Desperate for news of Tessa, she’d spent the last few nights in a chair by the phone, terrified it would ring in the night and she’d miss a vital call. Freddie had been exasperated with her, and he’d gone to bed grumpy and alone. But Kate couldn’t help it. She feared that Art’s betrayal would destroy Tessa. And whatever Tessa had done, Kate wanted her home safe in her pink bedroom.

  She could hardly stop herself from screaming at Mr Swithins when he came to the phone. His voice was cultured, cold and intimidating.

  ‘I’m disgusted with Robin Tell’s ridiculous and grossly unfair report on my daughter, Tessa,’ she began. ‘He came here to see us, and I don’t know why he bothered. He didn’t listen to a thing we said. He just reprinted the lies from the tabloids – the gutter press.’

  ‘And can you substantiate that allegation, Mrs Barcussy?’

  ‘My daughter is not a sex-bomb for a start. She is innocent and wary of men, and she doesn’t deliberately flaunt herself. She is not a narcotic – how DARE you label her like that when you don’t know her. You are damaging a young girl’s life with your LIES.’

  ‘But I assure you Robin Tell is—’

  ‘Don’t even think about defending that WORM,’ Kate ranted. ‘My daughter is trying to recover from a broken heart. She’s a caring, sensitive girl, and to have this – this hideous scandal perpetuated by your guttersnipe newspaper in her own home town is appalling. To accuse her of being a narcotic! She’s never taken drugs in her life. This is libel, Mr Swithins, libel, and I want to know what you intend to do to put it right.’

  ‘But, Mrs Barcussy—’

  ‘Don’t you dare Mrs Barcussy me!’ Kate felt like a huge cat with a mouse twitching at the end of the phone. One wrong move and she’d have him. She pictured a grey little man, bald and bewildered.

  She was hyping herself up for the kill when his calm voice oozed down the phone. ‘Excuse me but I have a meeting to att
end to. I suggest you ring back when you have calmed down.’ It was followed by a click, and the big black telephone in Kate’s hand felt empty and useless. She put it down with deliberate care.

  Freddie was hovering in the doorway.

  ‘Are you here or not here?’ Kate asked.

  Freddie just looked at her, and steered her to the cottage sofa which stood in the sunny window. He sat down with her.

  ‘I don’t really want to sit down,’ she said. ‘I’m seething.’

  ‘’Tis no good upsetting yourself, Kate,’ Freddie said. ‘Let ’em get on with it. It’ll all blow over, you’ll see.’

  But Kate shook her head. ‘I can’t stand by and let them destroy our daughter.’

  ‘They won’t destroy her. Tessa’s stronger than that. She probably doesn’t even know she’s in the papers.’

  ‘If only I could talk to her,’ Kate leaned on his comforting shoulder, ‘but I’d probably say the wrong thing right now.’

  ‘Ah – you’re not yourself at all, I can see that.’ Freddie’s steady blue eyes still had that secret sparkle. Kate let herself gaze into the rejuvenating sanctuary where Freddie seemed to keep his soul, intact in a mystic land beyond the sparkle.

  They both jumped when the phone rang.

  ‘Leave it,’ Freddie said. ‘Let it ring for once.’

  Kate couldn’t. She darted into the hall and picked it up, shaking with a lethal blend of anger and anxiety.

  ‘Will you accept a reverse charge call from a London telephone box?’ asked the exchange.

  Her heart leapt. It had to be Tessa. ‘Yes,’ she croaked, and beckoned Freddie to the phone.

  ‘Go ahead, you’re through,’ said the voice, and after a few clicks and bleeps, Kate heard what she had longed to hear for the last few terrible days. Tessa’s voice.

  ‘Hello, Mum.’

  ‘Hello, dear – oh, I’m so glad to hear your voice.’

  ‘Sorry I left like that,’ Tessa said. ‘I’m really sorry, Mum, I was utterly desolate – because Art just finished with me.’