Meet Me at the Pier Head

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘The police know you have unusual strength in your arms and chest, Harry. They said it took a remarkably powerful pair of arms to do what was done to Tunstall. You’re powerful. I’m an accessory and so are your mates Billy and Jim. They took your legs down to Billy’s house on Ivy Lane. They picked you up and got you ready in Billy’s house. And I knew everything.’

  ‘Stop this now, love.’

  ‘I’m scared.’ She was near to tears.

  Harry shook his head. ‘Martha, I have no prosthetic legs. They went in the muck cart years back.’

  ‘They didn’t, though. And that sergeant looked straight through both of us. Your legs are weighted down in the river or under a road somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, so they’re no longer here. There was no rain, and I stayed off the grass and the soil, so I left no prints in the park. Can you imagine what a laughing stock Liverpool police would be if they accused me of murder? I put the legs and the beard on in Billy’s back kitchen, went to keep my date with Tunstall, did what I had to do, then walked as fast as I could back to Billy’s. I even wore surgeons’ gloves. We dressed my poor old stumps and an hour later I was back in the middle of the city. The legs are gone, and my stumps are healing well, thanks for asking.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said again, turning towards the kitchen where a whistling kettle demanded her presence. Her brother had pretended to have access to cheap alcohol and tobacco; Billy and Jim had arranged the hush-hush meeting between Harry and Tunstall. Martha scalded the pot and made the tea. Harry had saved Rosie by killing her evil stepfather, and he could hang for that.

  They drank tea and sat staring into an empty grate. ‘She’s worth it,’ Harry said eventually. ‘Neither of us has a kid, and Rosie’s a real little star. I reckon Quinn and Miss Bellamy will take over now, so she’ll be safe. Just try not to worry, and don’t get flustered if the cops come back. I can tell you this much, our little girl won’t forget us, Martha.’

  She offered him a slight smile. ‘Let’s hope the police forget us, Harry.’

  Juliet threw herself at Simon Heilberg, kissing him on his cheekbone. Behind her, a porter struggled with a trolley bearing the weight of four large suitcases.

  ‘Simon!’ she exclaimed, ‘I have never in my life been so happy to see anyone. Pa says he’s leaving the country, but one never knows. Have the newspapers found Ma yet? They were certainly looking for me in Canterbury.’

  ‘I think not. You are instructed – we are all instructed – to call your mother Izzy. For the time being at least, you must be an almost orphan. Delia will be there, too, so you’ll be the Blyton Three for a few hours. It’s a case of heads down and attract no attention, I’m afraid. The press has been very noisy about your father’s behaviour and the pending divorce.’

  She shook her head sadly. She was beginning to see her mother’s point of view, since Pa seemed to have behaved very badly. ‘How’s Tia?’ she asked as they walked along the platform with the porter on their heels.

  ‘She’s head over heels in love,’ he replied, trying to erase bitterness from his tone. ‘Not with me, needless to say. I was just her fallback chap in case she needed a partner and didn’t meet someone more interesting. Still, at least she was honest about it. She ordered me not to come up north, but I’m as wilful as she is.’

  ‘Delia and I suspected as much. It’s her boss, isn’t it?’

  ‘Boss and landlord. Nice enough chap, born in America, but volunteered at the beginning of 1940 and joined the RAF, rear gunner, survived the Battle of Britain. After the war, he trained as a teacher and was soon head of a school in Liverpool. He’s about twelve years older than Tia.’

  ‘So you moved here for no good reason?’

  He looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t say that. Things have a way of working themselves out. There’s something about this city that winds round your heart like a tight rubber band. It’s not a lonely place the way London can be; it’s magnetic, pulls you in and holds you. I work in a practice not far from Tia’s school, and one of our duties is to take turns in police stations if anyone gets ill in the cells. Even their criminals have charm. Yes, I like Liverpool.’

  ‘Won’t you go back to Kent?’

  He shrugged. ‘If my father needs me, I’ll go back.’

  A single tear made its lonely way down Juliet’s face. ‘My father will soon need me, Simon.’

  He stopped and held her arm, forcing her to stand still. The porter ground to a halt behind them, and Simon turned to give him a pound note.

  ‘Thanks, lad,’ the man said, backing off slightly.

  ‘Juliet, don’t cry.’ Simon handed her his handkerchief, as that single tear was now in the company of others. Compared to Tia, this Bellamy girl was like a little doll, as beautiful as the eldest sister, but a miniature version. He lowered his tone to an almost-whisper. ‘Your mum wants you all safe from him and from journalists. It will be a nine-day wonder before press attention wanes and they go off and find someone else to crucify. Journalists have poor long-term memories, thank goodness. By next week, it’ll be “Richard who? Isadora who?”, so be strong. Be strong for your mother and for your sisters.’ He looked down at her. ‘And for yourself, too.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘Travelling by train always tires me.’

  ‘Don’t apologize. When things settle, you and I might go out for a meal one evening. I can show you why I love this city. There are some decent restaurants and pubs in the centre and on the outskirts.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re most welcome, Juliet.’ He led her out of the station to his car.

  Juliet looked up at him. ‘Simon, I pity the poor reporter who gets hold of Delia. She’ll separate him from his breath, his notebook and his pen. Delia takes no prisoners. She’d perform one of her drop-kicks.’

  Simon laughed. ‘I know where she’d aim, Juliet. Tia’s similar, though she’d emasculate a man with words.’

  The porter, well pleased by the generous tip, loaded the suitcases into the boot and the rear seat of Simon’s car. He spoke briefly to Juliet. ‘I know you’re not from here, love, but listen to him.’ He waved a hand at Simon. ‘All are welcome in Liverpool. The other bits I heard, I didn’t hear.’ He touched the neb of his cap, winked, and disappeared into the bowels of the station.

  ‘He was nice,’ she remarked.

  ‘He was typical,’ Simon told her. ‘There are places a damned sight worse than here. Come on, do your face up a bit and I’ll take you to Tia and Izzy.’

  ‘And Delia and Nanny.’

  ‘Yes. A full house.’

  ‘Do I get a prize for a full house?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ No, I hope to be your prize, Juliet. Tia and I noticed when you were young, how you watched us, how you envied your sister. You had a teenage crush on me, Baby Doll. Maybe Louisa M. Alcott wasn’t so wrong after all. We’ll give it a whirl and see how it works out. You are lovely, quieter, a nurse and a clever little soul. Time will tell.

  Theo sometimes did playground duty, thereby giving all his teachers a break. He often had several from reception class hiding under his cloak, but he didn’t mind; he was Mr Blackbird looking after his brood. After a few minutes, he would send them away while he chatted with the older children. He loved each and every one of them, the ugly, the pretty, the well-behaved and the cheeky.

  Colin Duckworth invariably fastened himself to Theo. He wore an air of ownership, as if the boss belonged to him and only to him. ‘Sir, you know smallpox?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it, yes.’

  ‘Can you have bigpox or largepox or massivepox?’

  Theo sighed. Colin had recently added ‘doctor’ to his list of careers, and he was heavily into diseases. ‘I think not.’

  ‘Then why is it smallpox?’

  ‘Because it isn’t chickenpox.’ Oh, no; he knew what was coming next.

  ‘Chickens don’t get that. Why is it not peoplepox?’

  The head teacher had to admit that he had no real
idea. ‘It may be because the skin of a sufferer from chickenpox resembles a newly plucked chicken ready for the oven, but I’m not sure.’

  He had a ready answer for Colin’s next query. ‘The appendix is part of the bowel we don’t use any more.’

  ‘Then why do we have them, Sir?’

  ‘To digest chlorophyll.’

  Colin cocked his head sideways. ‘Is that what puts people asleep?’

  Theo had suspected for some time that young Master Duckworth was playing games with him. ‘No, that’s chloroform. Chlorophyll is green stuff. It’s in green vegetables. I believe a rabbit has a working appendix, but there again, I’m not completely sure.’

  ‘My mam makes me eat green stuff, Sir. Why do I have to eat green stuff if me appendixes don’t work?’

  ‘Appendix. You have only one. Greens are good for the system.’

  ‘But what if it splodes, Sir? Mr Pilkington’s sploded—’

  ‘Exploded.’

  ‘That’s what I said. And he got poisoned in his belly. See, if you eat too much chloro-stuff, your appendix might try to work and burst like Mr Pilkington’s and get septic seams.’

  ‘Septicaemia.’

  ‘Is it?’

  Theo nodded solemnly. ‘The green stuff we eat bypasses the appendix, so don’t use that as an excuse for not eating your vegetables and salad. That’s enough for now, Colin. Help me to break up this small squabble near the prefabs.’

  Thus Colin became a sort of prefect, assistant to the teacher in charge of playground. From this day, he would deputize himself to any of the supervising staff and keep an eye on children who were misbehaving or in danger. His attendance had improved in these final weeks of the summer term, and he even brushed his hair occasionally.

  Theo blew the whistle and lined them up, before sending each line back to class. Colin was growing up, and Theo didn’t know how he felt about that.

  As he turned to follow the stragglers, he saw Tia coming through the gate. ‘Mr Quinn,’ she opened, straight-faced. ‘Delia has gone, Pa’s in Ireland so there are no photographers or reporters in Chaddington, Juliet is settled and . . .’ she looked round as if making sure no one was listening, ‘and she has a date with Simon tomorrow night. I am so pleased, because they’re perfect for each other and she’s always had a crush on him.’

  Why was she here? ‘Why are you here, Miss Bellamy?’

  ‘For next term’s hall timetable, a look at your physical education equipment,’ she offered him a winning smile, ‘and I need to check out the reading scheme for my flash cards and wall work.’

  ‘OK. Follow me.’ He led her into the main building. As they passed through the hall, which doubled as gymnasium, he felt Miss Cosgrove’s heated gaze pursuing them across the floor. Her class leapt about on the apparatus while she stared at her beloved. Friday night’s end-of-year party promised to be interesting, one deputy head, one welfare worker and the new reception class teacher all vying for his attention.

  He closed the door of his office, dug out a timetable for use of the hall, gave Tia the published precis of the school’s reading scheme and pointed to the door through which they had just entered. ‘I think you’ll find the hall is yours for two periods each week.’

  ‘I need drama time, Mr Quinn.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll bring in some men from the building sites and get them to stretch the length of our working day. I’m sure they have suitable tools.’

  ‘Permission to speak, Sir?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  She tutted. ‘I forgot my gun. May I ask permission to institute an out-of-hours drama class?’

  ‘I’ll put it to the parents, though depending on numbers, you’ll need extra supervision.’ He took pity on her. ‘I’ll stay behind if you like.’

  Tia pursed her lips. ‘Thank you, Mr Quinn. And the gym equipment?’

  ‘Miss Cosgrove will show you the gym equipment, Miss Bellamy.’

  A new smile played at the corners of her mouth. ‘She doesn’t like me. When you invited me to that staff meeting, she was giving me daggers. Miss Ellis says that Miss Cosgrove has designs on you.’

  ‘We’ll discuss this elsewhere, yes?’

  Tia made no reply.

  ‘Miss Bellamy?’

  ‘I’m going, I’m going.’ She left.

  I am grinning like the Cheshire Cat. If I leave this room now, the smile will linger here, hovering over my chair. She’s even pushing poor little Juliet into the arms of Simon Heilberg, one of her rejects. In three days, I’ll be in Kent hoping to hide Rosie and Maggie from the glare of publicity right where the glare of publicity may well be burning at its brightest, though the pack of rabid dogs might pursue Pa Bellamy to Ireland instead. I am annoying myself by doing as I’m told by Madam Gorgeous.

  He walked to the window and watched Standard Four playing rounders, which was a bit like baseball with a flat bat. The children in this top class would not return in September; they would move on to Ivy Lane Secondary, and very few would return to visit the ‘baby’ school. Next year or the year after that, Colin Duckworth, self-elected head boy, would go to ‘grown-up’ school. Would it be a case of et tu, Brute? Theo hoped not. Theo hoped that Colin would pass his eleven-plus and gain a place at grammar school. And he must visit us.

  What is it about that child with his rusty hair, accidentally lost adult teeth, Spoonerisms and silly questions that charms me? What is it about Portia? Is it her cut lead crystal voice, her face, her body, her silken hair, her naughtiness? Or is it all of the above?

  At his desk, Theo sat and opened the books sent to him by Miss Cosgrove. Colin Duckworth had skipped a class. In mathematics, the lad was now doing algebraic equations and some geometry. His composition book was incredibly untidy, since the writing failed to keep pace with the boy’s speed of mind, but misspellings were few, and the construction of English betrayed him as a keen reader. Theo, realizing at last that Colin’s Spoonerisms were deliberate, smiled broadly. Two could play that game.

  It was clear that the roof-ball-drainpipe saga had been a huge joke. There was a possibility – no, a probability – that the crudely presented notes from home had been deliberately malformed. And in this precious moment, Theo smiled and shook his head. Colin Duckworth was treating Blackbird like one of his family. ‘He likes me,’ Theo whispered. ‘He tries to keep me occupied.’

  He found proof. In the long holidays, I miss school. Mostly, I miss Blackbird, who talks to me and listens. My dad is Roy and he’s a good dad, but if I didn’t have him, I’d choose Mr Quinn. He laughs at me and tries to hide it. I know he likes me.

  Further on: It was deliberate today when I told him I’d been sleepwalking. He knew that I knew I was making it up, and I knew that he knew I knew. I hate geography and history and French, but detention with him is a laugh a minute. He’s not like the other teachers.

  He scared me a bit when he mentioned my dad, but he said he wanted to see him about something else. Mr Quinn doesn’t hit children, doesn’t believe in it. My dad and mam are the same. I wonder if kids can adopt an uncle? Uncle Theo, Uncle Blackbird, Uncle Quinn.

  A few pages later: Sitting on the stairs, I listened to Mam and Dad talking. The new teacher in Infant One is very pretty. Dad said nobody else stood a chance because compared to Miss Bellamy, other faces looked like smacked arses, so he may have meant that Miss Bellamy might marry Blackbird. I hope she’s nice. I wouldn’t like to adopt a not nice auntie. Theo chuckled. It was plain that Miss Cosgrove hadn’t bothered to read Colin’s diary portion of the compositions book.

  He kept the dog and called her Mickle. The dog chose him, just like I did. That dog has brains. The educational psychologist Dad saved up for . . . What? Theo shook his head to clear it. ‘What happened to cycle-ology, Colin?’

  He says I’m roughly top four per cent for brains and should do well. My reading age is sixteen and I have something called a high IQ. He did tests and Mam and Dad were proud until I went fishing last Saturday without asking fir
st.

  Miss Cosgrove is sending my books to Mr Quinn to show how clever I am, so the game is over. Are you reading this, Sir? I didn’t done it, I did it. I never got borned, I was born. It’s a game, you see, because you never make me bored. If I’m clever, you done it for me, Sir. (DID IT.)

  Theo’s eyes were suddenly wet. Once or twice in a teacher’s life, a miracle happened, a happenstance that tossed a genius from poor streets into the educational arena. This impossible boy was just that, a rare orchid in a bed of pretty wildflowers. Thus far, most of the precious ones had been female, since a girl’s learning speed was usually faster than that of her male counterpart until the teenage years. But when a true two-percenter male popped up – and Colin was no mere four-percenter – the result was amazing. ‘I suspected you, Colin, but you’re cleverer than I am. Well done, you. But boy, am I gonna getcha.’

  The restaurant was small, though each dining table had its own permanent screens, wooden at the bottom, decorative stained glass privacy panels in the upper half.

  Prices were geared towards the select few who could afford the cost of food prepared under the guidance of an imported French chef, and the business was situated in the village of Woolton, a part of Liverpool coveted by all who wanted to keep pace with the Joneses. Most Joneses were professional people with decent salaries and substantial properties, though the self-made man in property development or retail was beginning to encroach. This factor made for the beginnings of a happy mix, most on nodding terms, at least.

  After the nods, groups of two or four settled into the privacy of a booth. Larger parties were catered for upstairs in a room large enough to provide for a wedding breakfast or a Christmas office get-together, so the Par Excellence was a success story, certainly good enough for Simon’s first date with Juliet.

  She looked beautiful, of course, in an emerald green silk suit with navy blue accessories. Like Tia, this youngest of the sisters knew how to dress; like Tia, she wore very little makeup. As the pair walked the central aisle overlooked by the open end of all occupied booths, Simon noticed male heads turning to gaze at the little princess, while female companions of these men did not look best pleased by their partners’ ogling.