Meet Me at the Pier Head

by Ruth Hamilton

  She simpered. Simpering didn’t suit her long, thin, freckled face. ‘Mr Martindale died,’ she explained. ‘The dog was howling, and Colin rescued her. We’re looking for a new owner. Colin brought her in to see if anyone wanted her. He didn’t know what else to do.’ She blushed, the colour of facial skin suddenly clashing loudly with her tight-curled ginger hair. Taking a handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse, Miss Cosgrove mopped her fevered brow. ‘Sorry, Mr Quinn, but I hadn’t the heart to throw the poor dog out.’

  Theo opened and closed his mouth twice. Occasionally, words failed him.

  Colin rose to his feet. His hair, similar in colour to the peel of a slightly decayed orange, had taken another walk on the wild side. The crowning glory stuck up on top of his head like a semi-halo, though the sides were flatter, darker, and showed signs of having been treated with hair cream. ‘Sir, it’s a shame, Sir. It’s not Miracle’s fault, Sir, but Mr Martindale died and Miracle’s got nobody, Sir.’

  Sir glowered. ‘Is this the right place to find a new adoptive owner, Colin? The dog does not belong in a school. Come here.’

  Colin, plus dog with a rope tied to her collar, arrived at the front of the school hall. Children fidgeted and whispered while the unusual scene arranged itself. Dog and Colin looked as miserable as mortal sin, heads drooping, hair messy, silent as the grave. Theo squatted down and stroked the dog’s head.

  ‘She’s called Miracle, Sir. She rescued a lad from the river when she was only one year old. I think she’s about six now, and she’s all on her own since Mr Martindale died. She hasn’t got nobody nowhere, Mr Quinn.’

  ‘Miracle, eh?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. She’s a miracle cos all her brothers and sisters was drownded, and she’s the only one what stayed alive. And she must have remembered nearly getting drownded, and that’ll be why she saved the boy. When he first got Miracle, Mr Martindale never slept proper for weeks, cos he had to feed her all the time, little drops of milk and stuff. Now she hasn’t got nobody, and she’s lonely. She wants somewhere to live, Sir.’

  Theo ran a hand through his own hair. ‘Go back to your classes, children,’ he ordered. ‘Assembly’s cancelled for today. Colin and Miracle, my office – now.’ Theo turned right and opened the door.

  He strode down the corridor, black gown billowing behind him, one sad child and one sad dog following in his wake. He was good with animals. He could make peace between Tyger and Miracle, but did he have the time to train a cat and a dog to be civilized? Isadora Bellamy plus one more female would arrive this evening, then Delia would fetch the rest of their stuff as soon as she got use of the van, probably tomorrow. He was trying to keep Rosie and Maggie calm and happy, was busy falling in love with an annoying woman who allowed messing about, was going to Kent on Saturday with aforementioned-in-thought exasperating female. And now, a dog had added herself to the ingredients. She was a beautiful animal with soulful eyes and a depressed tail, no lift in it, no life, not a hint of a wag.

  An idea struck as he sat at his desk staring at one upset lad and one grieving canine. ‘How old was Mr Martindale, Colin?’

  ‘About eighty. I used to walk Miracle for him, Sir. We can’t have her, because Mam coughs near animals; she’s adjerlic to them.’

  ‘Allergic.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  Theo sighed. ‘Stay here. If the phone rings, don’t answer it.’ He dashed off, leaving Colin with the bereaved animal.

  After knocking on the Athertons’ door, Theo opened it wide enough to poke his head into the room. ‘Tom, Nancy? Hi, Maggie. May I take up a few minutes of your time, people?’ He entered the house and explained about the dog and how she was used to living with a mature person. ‘If you’ll give her a home, I’ll buy her food and Colin Duckworth will walk her for you. And if you can’t manage her, I’ll find an alternative home for her, I promise.’

  Maggie stood up. ‘Oi, Mr Headmaster,’ she said, ‘we’re going on holiday on Saturday, aren’t we? What happens to the dog then?’

  Theo shrugged. ‘She gets a long ride in an ambulance. It’ll take her mind off her loss. She can run round in Kent for a change, chase a few rabbits and ducks.’

  Nancy and Tom stared at each other in silence. The only clue that they were taking notice lay in the fact that Nancy had actually stopped knitting and Tom had ceased to suck on his empty pipe. They both blinked a few times, but said nothing.

  Maggie shook her head and sat down again. ‘Does the dog have to keep quiet about Kent in case our Sadie comes round, goes back to her old ways, and tries to get hold of Rosie? This bloody plot thickens by the minute. Don’t say where you’ve been or who you’ve been with, kidnap your granddaughter in case your suicidal, alcoholic, whoring daughter wants her back, tell Nancy and Tom to say nothing, and look after a great big dog. It’s a grand life. I’m supposed to be having a rest, you know.’

  Theo stood in front of the empty grate. ‘Look, I’ve a school to run, and I’ve left a young boy in my office with a very sad German Shepherd bitch. Colin Duckworth could start a war in a garden shed, so will you let Tom and Nancy speak for themselves, Maggie, then I can get back to my job?’

  Tom opened his mouth at last. ‘We could give it a try,’ he said.

  Nancy was her predictable self. ‘You’re right, love. We could give it a try.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Theo said, heaving a sigh of relief. ‘I’d better get back and see if Colin’s managed not to destroy my school.’ He left in a hurry.

  ‘Do you like dogs?’ Maggie asked the bemused couple.

  ‘No idea,’ Tom replied.

  ‘That’s right,’ his echo chimed, ‘because we’ve never had one. We never had kids, neither, but we like them.’

  Maggie blinked. Coming from Nancy, that sentence equalled a full paragraph. ‘What if it bites?’ she asked.

  Tom sniffed back some emotion. ‘Sammy Martindale was a good lad. Older than me, he was. At school, he stopped Chuffy Briggs kicking the shi— the life out of me. He was a bully, Chuffy Briggs. Collected train numbers; that’s why we called him Chuffy. Well, Scruffy Chuffy, because his neck was always as black as the fire back. Me mam always said she could have grown spuds on Scruffy Chuffy’s neck. Sammy Martindale stuck up for me, because he was on the side of bullied kids, so I can pay him back now by looking after his dog.’

  ‘That’s right, love.’ Nancy picked up her knitting. ‘This green’s hard on my old eyes.’

  Rosie and Tia happened upon Dr Simon Heilberg in Freeman, Hardy and Willis; he was over on the men’s side paying for a pair of shoes. With his transaction complete, he joined Tia in Ladies and Children. He sat next to Rosie, who was wearing brand new black shoes with ankle straps, but her gaze was fixed on the same shoes in red. They were in the window, and she couldn’t take her eyes off them for a second.

  ‘Can we try them in red?’ Simon asked. It was clear to him that the child was head over heels with the scarlet footwear.

  Tia stared at him. ‘Black goes with everything,’ she advised him.

  ‘She can have both, can’t she? Why are you looking at me like that? Have I committed a criminal offence?’

  Tia dragged her gaze away from the ceiling. ‘Have you any idea of how quickly a child’s feet grow? They get new shoes not because the old are worn out, but because feet grow like weeds at her age.’

  ‘Yes, I’m a doctor, so I know all about growth rates, thank you.’ He asked the assistant to bring a pair of red ankle-straps. ‘She deserves them,’ he muttered at Tia. Smiling at the child, he said he had an idea. ‘Set a trend, Rosie. Wear a right red one and a left black one, then a right black one and a left red one.’

  ‘That’s daft,’ Rosie told him. She seldom accepted silliness from adults.

  ‘Listen to the child,’ Tia suggested. ‘She’s wise for her age.’

  ‘I’ve already got wellies and sandals and gym shoes,’ said Rosie, pointing to a bag.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Wellies are good; they let y
ou jump in puddles.’

  ‘Miss Bellamy’s spent loads of money.’

  ‘No more than you deserve.’ He stroked the child’s head. ‘I shall buy the red shoes. There’s a film called The Red Shoes and a fairy tale with the same title. Red shoes are for dancing.’

  Rosie studied him. ‘Is that true, or is it something grown-ups say to kids, like “Be good or a bogeyman will come and get you”?’

  Simon’s face almost split in two, so wide was his grin. ‘You are a bright little one, aren’t you?’

  ‘She has the measure of most,’ Tia said. ‘Will you do us a favour, Simon?’

  He nodded. ‘If at all possible.’

  Rosie realized that this man liked Miss Bellamy; so did Mr Quinn.

  The assistant arrived and fitted the shiny red patent leather shoes to Rosie’s feet. ‘Can I keep them on?’ the child begged. ‘Please, please let me wear them. I won’t scrape my toes, I promise.’

  ‘Walk up and down the carpet, love,’ suggested the saleswoman.

  Rosie did as asked. ‘They fit,’ she pronounced. ‘Please let me keep them on. Please, please,’ she implored again.

  Simon gave his permission, and Rosie flung her arms round his neck.

  Tia grinned. Why couldn’t she love this special man? He would make a great husband and father, an ideal care-giver for children.

  Rosie finally released him. Her face shone like Christmas, twinkling eyes and glowing cheeks. She was going to be a great beauty, Tia believed.

  ‘Your favour?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Ah, yes. Come for supper tonight, about seven. Ma and Nanny Reynolds will be there. They’ll be pleased to see someone they already know.’

  ‘She’s finally done it, then?’

  ‘She has. I just hope he isn’t running round like a bear with a sore head. Don’t forget the letter for your dad.’ She glanced at Rosie. ‘We have to get the examination done for old . . . old damage.’

  He nodded. ‘Is Sir going south with you?’

  ‘Yes. We won’t all fit into the cottage, so some will stay at the inn.’

  ‘I see.’ He saw, all right. She had finally fallen, but not for him; she was perilously near to the brink with a man who wanted no children.

  Rosie was trying to dance in her red shoes. They were no different from any others when it came to dancing, so doctors made up stories, too. But the shoes were so pretty . . . Miss Bellamy and Dr Heilberg paid while Rosie skipped about in red shoes outside the double-fronted shop.

  The adults found her and took her off for lunch in a hotel. They had wine, while she had pretend wine made from blackcurrant and apple juices. She had it in a proper wine glass with a stem, and she made up a story in her head about these two people being her mam and dad. This made her feel slightly guilty, because her real mother was ill in hospital, but Mammy hadn’t looked after her properly, so making up a story about belonging to nice people wasn’t really bad, was it?

  They had cream of chicken soup, poached salmon with Jersey potatoes and sauce, and a cold salad on a side plate. The bread was flaky on the outside and soft on the inside, and tonight she would have more good food with Miss Bellamy’s mother, who was a secret film star.

  For pudding, she enjoyed vanilla ice cream with hot chocolate sauce, and she had never tasted anything so wonderful in the whole of her life. She saved a bit and mixed it round with her spoon until it was a thick, tepid, chocolate and cream sort of custard. Delicious.

  Simon watched her, humour in his eyes. ‘Adorable,’ he mouthed at Tia.

  She inclined her head in agreement. If Sadie wanted her daughter back, and if the mother and grandmother should both be judged unfit, Simon would probably be looked upon as a very suitable adoptive father. But was that reason enough for Tia to marry him? No. He would make a lovely daddy, though.

  ‘You have a lot of parcels,’ he commented as they left the hotel.

  ‘I bought fents to make Rosie a few more dresses.’

  ‘Fents?’

  ‘Come north and embrace the culture,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘A fent is the end of a weaver’s run, sometimes with a tiny flaw, often perfect.’

  Simon took the packages and spoke to Rosie. ‘Miss Clever Clogs, isn’t she?’

  Rosie found no answer. Miss Bellamy was clever, but she didn’t wear clogs. ‘We’re going to see Harry,’ she told him. ‘He’s got no legs. When they got blowed off, he could still feel his feet itching.’

  ‘That’s quite common,’ Simon told her.

  ‘He’s not common,’ was Rosie’s swift reply. ‘He has nice furniture and a big plant nearly fifty years old called an aspiduster and a sister called Martha and no stairs. I sing with him and get pennies and Martha keeps them for me.’

  Simon’s grin widened; the child was beyond price. How had she survived thus far? He squatted down. ‘You are precious,’ he said, his voice thickened by emotion. ‘One day, I’d like a daughter just like you.’ He walked with them and placed the parcels in Tia’s boot. After locking it, he handed the keys back to Tia. ‘See you later,’ he said. ‘Is the plan in place?’ He mouthed the word ‘kidnap’.

  Tia nodded just once.

  ‘Good luck with it. I know nothing, of course.’

  ‘Thanks, Simon. You’re precious, too.’

  Rosie looked them up and down. ‘She loves Mr Quinn,’ she stated baldly. ‘Nana thinks so, and Nana’s always right. She never told me, but I heard her talking to herself in the kitchen, and she called them the lovebirds.’

  Simon chuckled; he’d never before seen Tia blush. ‘Don’t try to keep a secret from this one,’ he said. ‘I’m throwing in my cards, Tia; I’ll probably be back in Kent by Christmas.’

  ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Not as much as you’d miss Quinn, the lucky devil.’ He walked away to his own car. Although the day was sunny and quite warm, he felt as if the main source of heat and light had been removed from his life.

  Rosie slipped her hand into Miss Bellamy’s. ‘He loves you, too, doesn’t he? Can you have two husbands?’

  ‘No. It’s a crime.’

  ‘Is it? Like killing Uncle Miles was a crime?’

  ‘Not quite. Come on. Now we’ll visit the library and the gallery.’

  ‘Then Harry?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Then Harry. I have a little picnic for him.’

  When Theo returned to his office after delivering Miracle to the Athertons, the dog was already back and waiting for him. Oh, God, it was happening again. All his life, he’d been a magnetic force as far as animals were concerned. Even the crazy horses in America’s southern states had slowed down to avoid trampling him or knocking him over. ‘Miracle? Did they leave a gate open? OK. In the office and sit. Stay there.’

  The dog sat, her eyes fixed on him, her tail wagging hopefully. It was clear that she had adopted a new master. How did she know? Did he have something printed on his forehead, a message visible only to animals? ‘I have a kitten,’ he announced. ‘He’s small and useless when fighting geraniums, but he’ll go for you, I’m sure. Very territorial creatures, cats.’

  Theo left his office and locked the door, marching briskly to the deputy head’s class. Miss Cosgrove was his second in command, so she was sent to inform the Athertons that Mr Martindale’s dog was sufficiently intelligent to require formal education and had returned to school.

  ‘What happened, Sir?’ Colin Duckworth asked.

  ‘I seem to have won a dog, Colin, and I didn’t buy a raffle ticket.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh is right. I have a feisty kitten who will scratch poor Miracle. Thank you for bringing trouble to my door yet again, Colin.’

  He sat with the class and waited for their teacher to return. Colin looked so crestfallen that Theo awarded him a wink. ‘What are you all working on, class?’ he asked.

  Colin was self-elected spokesman, of course. ‘Project, Sir. The slave trade and Liverpool. Loads of black slaves died, Sir. They got buried at sea – that means chuck
ed over the side, Sir.’ Colin shrugged. ‘Really interesting, it is. We done some terrible things, didn’t we?’

  The girl next to Colin used an elbow to dig him in the ribs. ‘It was Bristol, too, and London.’

  He rubbed his injury. ‘Girls have dead pointy elbows,’ he complained. ‘Liverpool done the most. Miss Cosgrove said it wasn’t nothing to be proud of.’

  ‘We’re not responsible for the sins of our ancestors, Colin. Carry on with the work.’

  A flushed Miss Cosgrove re-entered the fray. ‘I met Mr Atherton. He was looking for the dog, Mr Quinn, so I told him that you were looking after her.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Cosgrove.’ He left while the going was good. If she started batting her eyelids at him again, he would probably blow a fuse, bust a gasket or throw a box of chalk.

  Things were stacking up somewhat. His feelings for the beautiful Portia were stronger than he had been prepared to admit to himself, and it had all moved too quickly. Visitors were arriving; he already had Maggie and Rosie as guests, and he now had a large dog standing next to him holding her own makeshift lead. She pushed the end into his hand. ‘OK, Mickle. If you think I’m going through life shouting “Miracle”, you can think again. Let me ring the playtime bell.’

  When the bell had sounded, Theo Quinn, head of Myrtle Street, allowed himself to be led out of school by the dog. They reached Mr Martindale’s house and passed it, because Mickle wanted the next door, which opened after a couple of woofs. ‘There you are,’ cried the woman of the house. She picked up a box. ‘Her lead, her blanket, her toys and some tins of food. Are you looking after her, then, Mr Quinn?’

  ‘She chose me. I’ve had no say in the matter.’

  ‘Well, she knows what she’s doing. Had her photo in the paper when she was just a pup, saved a drowning boy.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘I’d keep her meself, but she’d be sad here right next door to where she’s lived all her life. Hang on.’ She disappeared for a moment. ‘Here’s the list he left; he knew he was dying. Miracle likes egg on toast for her breakfast. At night, she’ll eat just about anything, and he’s written down her most favourite foods. Our cat will miss her. Best of friends, they were.’