Meet Me at the Pier Head

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘How dare you?’ he roared.

  She giggled. ‘Because I’m nearly dead, thanks to you.’ She grinned and winked at her eldest daughter. ‘Girls, you have many, many half-brothers and sisters all over the place.’ She waved a hand, spilling most of her wine on the tablecloth. ‘He rutted. He was a total rutter.’ After taking a few seconds to alter her focus, she spoke to her two seated offspring. ‘Get away as fast as you can, girls. Nanny Reynolds will look after me.’ A loud hiccup interrupted the flow. ‘I have more money than he does, so—’

  ‘You’re a drunken hag,’ he proclaimed, his tone ominously quiet.

  ‘A rich drunken hag,’ she replied. ‘And not a penny piece will come your way. It will all go to my daughters.’ She beamed at the rest of the company. ‘Do eat, children. I know it’s difficult with a tyrant in the room, but be comforted. You never had to share a room with him. His feet stink, and he farts frequently.’ She belched loudly, and everyone but the master smiled or giggled.

  ‘You are a disgrace,’ yelled the master of the house. ‘You have no control over your drinking, and you have turned our daughters against me.’ He glared at his wife before storming out of the room. He would deal with his family later.

  Tia sat and dug into the food; having driven almost non-stop for most of the day, she was starving.

  Isadora grinned broadly. ‘It hasn’t been terribly easy, girls. But it seems to be working quite well, wouldn’t you say?’

  All three froze in their seats. ‘Ma?’ they chorused.

  Her grin rearranged itself into a sweet smile. ‘Try to be quiet. I know I’ve gone rather a long way with the act, but it was the simplest way.’

  Delia closed her mouth so suddenly that she bit her tongue.

  ‘You see,’ Isadora continued, ‘it was a case of whither thou goest. We got the parts because we were a pair, and I could carry him. So I retired drunk. And I admit that I was a drinker for a while. Yes, I almost succumbed. He’s easily fooled, and he now believes me to be an alcoholic.’

  ‘But . . . but you’re not drunk,’ Juliet whispered.

  ‘No, I’m serfectly pober.’

  Tia shook her head and smiled. ‘Ma, you’re one hell of an actress.’ She jumped up, ran round the table and hugged her mother.

  ‘Yes, I am good, what? I snore and belch beautifully. Oh, and my divorce is being arranged. I am only fiftyish, and I shall rise anew, a phoenix from the ashes. Nanny Reynolds and I will ride again, possibly to Hollywood. My agent knows the facts of the matter, and good use will be made of my true story, the sooner the better. I am sick of the smell of gin, can’t wait to get back to Chanel No. Five. He won’t know what’s hit him, because I have evidence by the ton.’

  ‘So you’re not an alcoholic?’ Delia’s face remained a picture of disbelief.

  ‘I was on my way, Cordelia, no doubt about that. Then I had a word or two with myself and with Nanny Reynolds – Joan. I managed to overcome the demon with Joan’s help, and we hatched our plot. With the three of you away so frequently, I managed not to upset you by forcing you to watch me playing the dipsomaniac, so I kept on snoring and looking like an unmade bed. It drove him mad. Work is drying up for him. I’m the one they want, and I refuse absolutely to play alongside him again. Joan and I are going into hiding, so leave me your addresses.’ She looked at their blank faces. ‘Come on, eat up. Son of Satan may be back shortly.’ Smiling sweetly, she blew them a kiss and left the room.

  ‘Hell’s bells,’ Tia exclaimed. ‘That is one strong lady, sisters.’

  Juliet frowned. ‘What’ll happen to Pa?’

  ‘She’ll look after him up to a point,’ was Delia’s answer. ‘Ma is no monster. And she’s right – he is a terrible actor, still stuck in the 1930s, a stuffed shirt with big ideas and no discernible talent. The landlord at the Punch Bowl does a terrific imitation of him. Everyone mocks him behind his back while being polite to his face.’

  ‘Sad,’ said Tia, ‘but Ma needs her freedom. Let her achieve it her way.’

  They ate what they could manage before carrying dishes into the kitchen where Mrs Melia, cook and housekeeper, greeted them happily. ‘Girls, don’t you all look lovely? Tia, you should wear a headscarf if you’re going to drive with no lid on the car. Delia, I swear you’re still growing, while Juliet seems to have shrunk.’

  Juliet giggled. ‘I must remember not to have such hot baths – I can ill afford to lose height due to shrinkage.’

  ‘I was listening,’ Mrs Melia mouthed silently. ‘Your mother’s a star.’

  The Blyton Three left the kitchen and repaired to Delia’s old room. Delia had a huge four-poster with drapes too ancient to be touched, so they remained tied open. During the years of childhood, the girls had all slept here in the large bed, although each had her own room. There was safety in numbers, especially when Pa was on a rant.

  ‘We could have sent your stuff by rail, Tia,’ Juliet said.

  The senior sister shook her head. ‘You don’t know what I want, because I don’t know what I want. Yes, I do. I want Ma up and about and doing what she does best.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘I wonder if he’d let Ma and Nanny stay with me for a few weeks while the divorce gets sorted?’

  ‘Pa?’ Delia raised her eyebrows.

  ‘No. My landlord. He’s also my boss. I’ve a three-bedroom flat, and he said I should use it as my home. He lives downstairs.’

  A knowing look passed between the younger girls. ‘Is he nice?’ Juliet asked, her tone nonchalant.

  ‘Yes,’ Tia replied. ‘Though he does have a locked room with body parts in it. And a very antisocial, geriatric cat.’

  ‘Handsome?’ was Delia’s question.

  Tia shrugged. ‘He was probably a pretty kitten, but these days he—’

  ‘The man,’ Delia snapped.

  ‘Oh, yes. Especially when naked.’

  Juliet blinked rapidly. ‘And he has body parts in a locked room?’

  ‘Joke.’ Tia poked out her tongue.

  ‘You’ve seen him naked?’ Delia wore her imitation stern face.

  ‘In shorts and an unbuttoned shirt, yes. He was mowing the lawn. Tanned, toned and terrific.’

  ‘Danger zone,’ chorused Juliet and Delia.

  Tia awarded them a withering look. ‘Don’t start Blytoning on me.’ The words danger and zone had been used whenever Pa came home. ‘We won’t be the Blyton Three for much longer.’ She sounded sad. ‘I miss this house. It’s impractical, cold, damp and adorable. Remember Christmases in the grand ballroom? Two log fires, two huge trees, all that glitter. Ma at the piano, choirboys at the door, Pa trying and failing to be human.’

  ‘We’re separated now,’ Juliet complained. ‘I get lonely.’

  ‘It’s the way of the world, Jules.’ Delia yawned. ‘And now, divorce. Ma is one brilliant actress, though. He thinks she needs drying out, but he’ll be the one hung out to dry. She’s a real trooper.’

  Juliet felt a bit sorry for him, and said so, but the others shouted her down. He was selfish, unpredictable, narcissistic, dictatorial, churlish, presumptuous and utterly without talent.

  ‘Heartless,’ Juliet mused.

  ‘Yes, he’s that as well,’ Delia almost barked.

  ‘No, we’re being heartless. He’s in his late fifties and—’

  ‘And he’s old enough to know better,’ Tia insisted. ‘Jules, I know you’re a good Christian, but stick to the facts. He wrecked Ma’s life, and he’ll try the same with us. He has a fear and a hatred of women. I blame his mother – she treated him like a prince one minute, a reprobate the next. Women confuse him. Stop worrying.’

  Juliet didn’t stop worrying, though she said no more.

  They chatted until sleep overcame them, all on top of the eiderdown, all fully clothed. When morning came, they giggled like five-year-olds, had a pillow fight and exchanged jokes. After attempting and failing to use a very old, creaking bed as a trampoline, they sat and regained breath. They all needed fumigating, so they se
parated and went to three bathrooms, each girl hoping against hope that the weary boiler would cough up a few gallons of hot water.

  After breakfast, Tia, in search of some privacy, drove to Chaddington Green’s sole telephone box and made an essential call. Suddenly nervous, she began to shake slightly. ‘Pull yourself together, Bellamy,’ she said, balancing a pile of pennies on the press-button-A-or-B box.

  He answered. ‘Theo Quinn, Myrtle Street School.’

  ‘Mr Quinn.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s Tia Bellamy.’

  ‘Ah, Miss Bellamy, of course. I recognized your voice immediately. I trust you are well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I need to ask a favour, and it’s a big one.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  Words tumbled out of her throat at high speed. She explained about Ma and Nanny Reynolds, about divorce and Ma needing to get away while it all happened. ‘She probably has photographic and witness evidence, so it might become nasty. Nanny looked after us when we were small; now she cares for Ma, so she’ll be with her.’

  The pips sounded, and she fed more copper into the greedy box. ‘Just for a week or two. Liverpool’s quite a distance from Kent, and he won’t look for her there.’ There was a pause. ‘Mr Quinn?’

  ‘I’d be proud and delighted to have Isadora Bellamy in my house,’ he said.

  Tia swallowed. ‘Don’t be delighted, please,’ she begged. ‘It has to be a secret.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m good at secrets, Miss Bellamy.’

  ‘I expect you have much to hide, Mr Quinn, with all those body parts. Just two more bodies, intact and probably disguised.’

  ‘OK. Don’t waste any more money. I shall see you soon.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed before replacing the receiver. She gathered up her remaining pennies and returned to the car. His voice was so pleasant, and he seemed to have humour, which was an absolute necessity in teaching. Body parts, indeed. She giggled as she started Evangeline, her precious MG, wondering whether Mr Quinn had named his car. Did Americans christen cars? Rumour had it that Mr Ford’s company was about to launch a vehicle named after his son, Edsel.

  Why wasn’t Mr Quinn married, she wondered. He was handsome, capable – look how he’d made one house into two flats. He had a decent job, dressed well unless gardening, owned a pleasant personality . . . Perhaps he preferred men, though she suspected not. Why did she suspect not? ‘No idea,’ she said aloud as she drove homeward.

  When she reached Bartle Hall, she ran straight up to Ma’s room. Ma was on the chaise, being ‘drunk’. ‘Hello, Tia,’ she slurred. ‘If you want your father, he’s in his dressing room.’ She waved a hand towards the other door.

  Unfazed, Tia sat on a stool and whispered to her mother, ‘I’ll leave my address with Nanny. My landlord says you can come and stay, both of you. Get out of here before the nasty stuff starts flying about.’

  Richard made an entrance. He glared at his wife, sniffed at his daughter, then stalked out like a disgusted pantomime dame. In his silky smoking jacket, he looked every inch the ageing, never-quite-made-it thespian.

  Isadora sat up. ‘He didn’t finish what you started at dinner last night, then? Didn’t we all think he was going to argue with you?’

  Tia shrugged.

  Joan Reynolds came in, closing the door quietly. Tia hugged the woman who had cared for her, Delia and Juliet. ‘He’s up to something,’ Joan said. ‘Keep an eye on the car and the van, because he knows about batteries and the rotor something or other, so he may disable them. He’s been staring at both.’

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ Tia gasped.

  Isadora disagreed. ‘I think he’s ready to give up on Juliet, but you and Cordelia remain in his sights. Look, he’ll be back to dress shortly, because he’s going up to London to see his agent. Find Cordelia and take both vehicles to the village. He’ll be on the one o’clock train, and he won’t be back until this evening. He believes you and Cordelia are home until the weekend is over, but you must leave this afternoon. Go on, shoo. Joan will help you pack when the coast is clear. By the way, don’t worry about Rose Cottage. Joan and I will take care of all that.’

  Tia ran to get her sisters, explaining to them in a whisper that they had to save their engines from sabotage. They spilled out of the house and found that both vehicles remained in working order. ‘Why is he like this?’ Juliet asked. ‘Why can’t he just let us get on with the lives we’ve chosen? So you have to leave today, both of you?’

  ‘Get in the van and shut up,’ Delia hissed quietly. ‘We return at one, pack the van, then yes, Tia and I must go.’

  ‘I can’t get time off,’ Juliet moaned. ‘I’m on a split duty tomorrow.’ She climbed into the van, and both vehicles moved slowly down the drive, turning left at the gates and heading sedately towards Chaddington Green. Undue haste within Pa’s sight might make him suspicious, so they travelled at a leisurely pace, parked, and went for coffee in a small and comfortable cafe.

  ‘I like this village,’ Juliet said. ‘I love Kent. That’s why I chose to train in Canterbury. But with Ma gone, will we still have Bartle Hall? Pa can’t afford to save it, can he?’

  They all stared through the window at the square of common land that had given Chaddington Green its name. It was the stuff of picture postcards, with a duck pond, clusters of cottages, some of them thatched, a short stretch of pretty little shops, a church, just one inn, and friendly inhabitants.

  Tia spoke. ‘Ma won’t let our home go. She’ll buy it from him, I think.’

  ‘He won’t part with it,’ was Juliet’s opinion. ‘It’s proof of his identity, property of the Bellamy dynasty.’

  ‘The place is falling to bits, and everybody has a price,’ Tia said. ‘He’s spent his money in his London clubs and on women. Ma will shift him.’

  Delia nodded sagely. ‘She saved; he didn’t.’

  ‘And the Duncans were always richer than the Bellamys,’ Tia mused aloud. ‘When she stops pretending to be blotto, our mother will be a force to be reckoned with. But while it’s all going on – the divorce, I mean – she may need us. I know she can afford hotels, but she may become anxious about being noticed. We back her up, girls.’ The Blyton Three balled their right hands, elbows on the table, three fists meeting in the centre above a sugar bowl. ‘Victory,’ they said in unison.

  The owner of the cafe laughed, while other customers grinned. They all remembered the Bellamy sisters riding through the village on bicycles or ponies, always up to mischief, always loved.

  With an hour to spare, Tia rang Theo again to warn him of the change of plan, and then the three girls repaired to the green, spending twenty minutes or more in the children’s cordoned-off section where they played on swings, a seesaw and a metal slide. While each sister feared that this might be goodbye to the village, each one hoped and prayed that she was wrong. But the trio were certain of one thing: it was adieu to childhood.

  With that in mind, they did racing round the duck pond, leapfrog, and the four-legged jog. Based loosely on the three-legged race, it meant that the girl in the centre had minimal control, as each of her legs was fastened to a limb of one of her sisters. Juliet, who had learned long ago that being the youngest, the shortest and the lightest meant pain and distress, was tied to her siblings with two scarves, and the fun began. Supporting their baby sister with arms across her back, Tia and Delia dragged her across the green.

  Old people seated on benches began to chuckle. Even the ducks stopped begging for crusts when the strange, three-headed, four-legged creature passed by. Juliet, churchgoer and angel to the sick, allowed a few choice words to emerge from her pretty lips.

  ‘I’m gonna tell the vicar you swore,’ Delia said.

  ‘Shut up,’ snapped the victim. ‘And stop. I shall be of little use to patients when you’ve managed to break both my legs.’

  They stopped, released her from captivity and sank to the grass.

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever grow up completely?’ Tia asked. />
  ‘I hope not,’ was Delia’s answer. ‘If I grow any upper, I’ll be too tall.’

  ‘Too tall for a man?’ Juliet asked mischievously.

  Delia shrugged. ‘Too tall for me,’ she answered.

  Tia held her tongue. For some years, she had suspected that Delia was different. Unlike the other two Bellamy girls, she kept herself plain, unadorned and in clothes that might be termed neither feminine nor completely masculine. She wore jeans, shirts, socks and flat shoes, no makeup and no perfume. Boyfriends had never appeared on the scene, though she was very close to the lads in the skiffle group.

  ‘You’re pretty if you’d just clean up your act,’ said the innocent Juliet.

  ‘I am what I am.’ There was an edge to Delia’s tone.

  Tia jumped up. ‘Time for my escape, girls. The London train should have left by now, so we’d better make hay before sundown.’

  Juliet sat with Tia for the ride back to Bartle Hall. ‘What’s the matter with Delia? Why does she get so . . . so surly?’

  Tia kept her eyes on the road. Surely Juliet, a nurse, must have read about people’s differences? ‘It’s just the way she’s made, Jules. I want you to find Kingsley the bear and Charlie, my blue rabbit. They’ll be in the nursery.’

  ‘Taking them with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about books?’

  ‘I’ll get them.’ There. That was the subject changed, thank goodness.

  The afternoon became a blur of activity. Two ancient trunks were retrieved from the attic and placed empty in the van, as they were heavy enough without Tia’s extensive collection of clothes. She dealt with her own books and clothing, while Delia and Juliet concentrated on memories, which included a rocking horse bought for Tia’s third birthday and a large dolls’ house, including furniture and battery-powered lighting.

  Joan Reynolds supervised proceedings and collected Tia’s jewellery, handbags and large assortment of hats and shoes. The cook, Daphne Melia, packed sandwiches and drinks for both drivers before bidding them a teary farewell.