Meet Me at the Pier Head (10 page)

When she emerged the yard was empty. The scullery was empty, too. After washing her hands at the slopstone and drying them on her skirt, which was cleaner than the stiff, grey towel hanging on
the back door, Rosie entered the kitchen. Nothing in the house was clean; it was all brown and messy and it smelled bad like rotted food and dirty rugs.

He was in the kitchen. He was spitting into the grate again.

‘Money’s on the table,’ he snapped. ‘You want twenty ciggies, my Virginia and a packet of papers. Get yourself some chips with the change. If there’s a queue at the
chippy, come back here first.’

‘Thank you, Unc— Daddy.’ She snatched up the coins and ran.

Outside, Mrs Atherton was wiping her window ledge. ‘All right, Rosie?’

‘I have to be quick, Mrs Atherton.’

‘I see. Run out of smokes, have they?’

Rosie nodded, turned the corner, and ran full tilt into her grandmother. ‘Nana,’ she breathed. They were standing next to Rosie’s back yard, and he could well be listening.
Maggie changed direction and followed in Rosie’s footsteps. When they were on safer territory, Maggie spoke. ‘I’ve got you socks, shoes, knickers, two blouses and a gymslip.
Nancy’s making you two cardies, one green, one navy. Dash round to mine every morning and I’ll get you ready. After school, come to my house again and change back into your rubbish. If
I’m at work, I’ll leave the key in the usual place.’

‘Thanks, Nana. I have to be quick.’ She ran to the corner shop, her steps hastened by fear.

Maggie Stone stood and watched the child who had to be quick, quick with the shopping, quick to get out of the way of visiting men, quick to avoid a kick from her mother’s pimp. Poor
little thing. No one was sure who her real father was. There was a possibility that even Sadie didn’t know who had fathered her daughter, because Sadie had been wild since leaving school.
Maggie had a vague idea, but she kept speculation to herself.

Rosie dashed out of the shop, not stopping to look whether there was a queue in the chippy. If Miles had no ciggies, the whole world might hear the fallout. She waved quickly at Nana before
dashing homeward; the faster she was, the better his mood would be.

But as she walked through the back yard, she heard an unfamiliar voice through the opened sash window. It was a bit posh, and it was female. Oh, no; he didn’t like visitors unless they
were jumping up and down men. With her heart in her mouth, she entered the scullery.

The woman was talking. ‘So we from the welfare department are visiting the families of all reception class children due to start school in September.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Miles drawled. ‘Are you visiting all them up Woolton, then?’

The woman cleared her throat. ‘That’s someone else’s concern, not mine. We are concentrating on families living in poorer areas. Rosie may qualify for a free school meal or a
clothing allowance.’

‘We don’t want nothing off you. We don’t want your bloody charity.’

Rosie crept into the kitchen and placed on the table a brown paper bag containing Mammy’s cigarettes and her stepfather’s requirements.

‘Thanks, love,’ he said. ‘Any change?’

Rosie nodded.

‘Keep it. Go and buy yourself something, eh?’ He smiled, displaying teeth of a muddy grey colour with several gaps. His lower jaw resembled unsteady gravestones in a long-neglected
cemetery. He was getting fatter and uglier by the day, it seemed.

‘Hello, Rosie. I’m Miss Garner. You’ll be starting at Myrtle Street, then?’

The child nodded again.

‘You’re a quiet little girl.’

Rosie shifted her weight from foot to foot.

‘Are you looking forward to school?’ Miss Garner asked.

Miles Tunstall emitted a grim-sounding laugh. ‘She’s as old as the hills, aren’t you, babe? She can read the
Echo
, count money, write her name, sing, paint pictures
and do a bit of tap dancing. Not all at the same time, like.’

‘Very clever, then? I’m sure you are, by the way.’

Miles waded in again. ‘Thirty pence, Rosie?’

‘Two and six.’

‘Forty pence?’

‘Three and four.’

‘See?’ he said. ‘School’s about education, not fancy frocks and free dinners. She’s a good head on her shoulders. Off you go, Rosie, while the weather’s
nice.’

When the child had fled, Emily Garner studied the man of the house. He was unkempt, possibly hung over, probably out of work. The report she had received from an anonymous source via a clergyman
was shut away in her office. Theo Quinn, headmaster of Myrtle Street, had begged Emily not to interfere at this point, but she had failed to understand why.

‘We’ve had a report, Mr Tunstall. It implies that this house is sometimes rowdy at night. If the house is rowdy, Rosie will not get enough sleep for a youngster of her
age.’

‘She could sleep through a world war,’ he replied smartly. ‘Yes, we have parties, play cards and dominoes, drink some beer.’

There was something completely unsavoury about this man. Emily Garner gathered thoughts and briefcase, picking herself up off the chair, to which her skirt had stuck in parts. The house seemed
to wear a layer of grease on all surfaces. A further covering of dust decorated the base coat, and the room stank of historically aged dirty washing, rancid fat and tobacco. No child should be
forced to live in such conditions, though she knew of happy children who came from homes similar to this one. Cleanliness was not next to godliness; a child needed love more than he or she needed a
palace to live in.

So the extra factor here was likely to be a neglectful mother, plus a stepfather who thought giving change to a little girl while a welfare worker was present might be enough to provide him with
a halo. ‘Where’s Mrs Tunstall?’ she asked as she reached the doorway.

‘In bed. A bit of a stomach upset,’ he answered.

‘I’ll come back next week,’ was her parting shot before she stepped outside to breathe in sweeter, cleaner air. Things in Rosie Tunstall’s house were not right.

As she strode past the rest of the Lady Streets, she noticed a tall, bearded man standing at the bottom of Myrtle. He leaned casually against a wall, reading a newspaper. Emily Garner turned and
walked towards the school while the man made his way down Ivy Lane, the road onto which all local terraces led. He walked past the end of Isabel Street just as Emily went through the school gate on
Myrtle Street. She marched up to the head teacher’s office and rapped on the door.

Theo welcomed his visitor. ‘Hello, Emily.’

She sat down opposite him. ‘It’s a pigsty,’ she informed him. ‘Now, I know children who live in similar circumstances, but there’s something else there. The
stepfather reminded me of a snake, though I’m sure that’s an insult to the reptile population. Mother was absent, supposedly in bed with a stomach problem. There’s fear in
Rosie’s eyes, in her stance. She has bruised arms—’

‘I know. May I ask who told you about Rosie?’

‘A vicar. He can’t disclose his source, but it must be someone who lives near enough to hear and see things.’

He studied her closely. ‘Can you leave it alone for a few days? There’s a plot on. We have neighbours onside, and Tunstall won’t be granted bail.’

‘You’re getting him arrested?’

He nodded just once.

‘For what?’

He tapped the side of his nose. ‘If I told you, you’d mess it up. We want him red-handed, you see. Please, please trust me, and trust the good people of Isabel Street. He’s a
repeat offender, and we’re praying that he’ll be passed on to Crown Court this time. I’m begging you, Emily.’ He delivered one of his most delicious smiles, broadening it
when she shifted in the chair. Some women were easily distracted, and he was more than willing to take advantage of weaknesses when necessary.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘How long do you need?’

‘Until Friday night next week. Oh, you must come to our staff end-of-year party in a couple of weeks. We’re having a quiz and a buffet.’

‘How can I possibly resist?’ she asked sweetly.

‘And I promise we’ll deal with Tunstall. Well, the police will.’

She stared hard at him. ‘Is the mother fit to look after Rosie?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sometimes, truth was best. ‘But the maternal grandmother’s nearby, and she’s an excellent woman.’

Emily stood up. ‘I’ll hold back my report until you’ve had your pound of flesh, Shylock.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Must dash and check in at the office, or
they’ll think I’ve emigrated.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Oh, and good luck.’

He stood and shook her hand. ‘See you soon, Emily.’

When she had left, he sank back into his chair. ‘The battle of Little Big Horn had to be easy compared to my job. I’ll go and see Tia.’

He was thrilled with her. Miss Ellis was thrilled, too. Tia Bellamy wore bright, colourful clothes at school. It was all part of her plan to stimulate children. She was
unconventional, imaginative and completely unafraid. Three times, she had come in; three times, the class of five- and six-year-olds had learned through drama, poetry, well-chosen prose and
fun.

For a couple of minutes, he watched through a glass panel in the door.

The children pretended to be asleep while she sang to them.

Theo entered quietly and sat at the back. Part of his brief was to observe and comment on probationers, and he felt he might have been happy watching this one five days a week, full time. She
reached the end of a song about Christopher Robin saying his prayers.

‘The older boy,’ she pretended to chide. ‘We are asleep. You, too, must sleep.’

He folded his arms and leaned back, his head against the wall. The children started to giggle when he began to make exaggerated snoring and whistling sounds.

Tia tutted. ‘You – yes, the big boy at the back – go at once to the headmaster’s office. Go now, immediately, no dallying. He will deal with you sternly, because
he’s not a man we want to cross.’

He slunk out of the room with his head hanging low.

The children erupted.

Tia put a finger to her lips and the class quietened almost immediately. ‘Shall we follow him?’ she whispered. ‘We can see whether he did as he was told. If he didn’t, we
must keep him in detention.’

She crept along the corridor with just under forty of Miss Ellis’s children following behind her. Quietly, she opened his door to find him sitting quietly at his desk. ‘Good
boy,’ she said before closing the door. She knew that he would be in no way diminished by the prank. He loved his children, and they loved him.

‘Creep back,’ she told the children. ‘He’s in detention.’

A little boy put up his hand. ‘Miss?’ he whispered.

‘Yes?’

‘Who’s in charge of him?’

‘He is. Silly, isn’t it?’

She led Miss Ellis’s class back to their room. He thought he was in charge. But was he? Since the skiffle night, a thaw had set in; they had even shared a fish supper last evening. Smiling
a secret smile, she settled the reception class at their base where, in a near-perfect West Country accent, she delivered the words of Worzel Gummidge and Earthy Mangold. Thank goodness for Barbara
Euphan Todd. Humorous books for children were few and far between. Perhaps she might write some.

Sir, in solitary detention, knew that Tia Bellamy would rise to the top of the tree within a very few years. She had instinct, performing skills, organization and dedication to her work. Maybe
the latter characteristic would keep her at the coal face, but he knew that she was already capable of running a school. ‘Our Roedean girl,’ he whispered, a smile broadening his lips.
‘Precious metal.’

Delia had left for London, where she and the band did the rounds of pubs and clubs. He missed her. Delia was one of the boys, a good drummer, an excellent woman who probably preferred partners
of her own gender. ‘Wish I did,’ he mumbled. These days, he lived half in heaven, half in a warmer place where Lucifer ruled. ‘Oh, Mom,’ he groaned. No, he wouldn’t
think about . . .

Heaven was wherever Tia was. This had never happened to him before. Yes, there had been a few women, but none like this one. Thus far, relationships had been careful, had involved ruinous,
clumsy contraception and fear. ‘I am stupid,’ he whispered. She wasn’t even a probationary teacher yet – she was a mere volunteer, yet he was drawn to her like a suicidal
moth to a lighted candle. It had been too quick, too fierce, and he knew that she was attracted to him, too. Delia had made a few remarks when her pretty sister had been out of earshot . . .

‘Oh hell,’ he said to the empty room. ‘Why did she have to be so—’

Without knocking, she opened his door and insinuated her beautiful face. ‘Am I in trouble, Sir?’

‘Aren’t you always?’

She came in. ‘Sometimes I’m “when she was bad, she was horrid”.’

‘Close the door and sit here where I can keep an eye on you.’

She sat, wishing that he would keep more than an eye on her . . . No, no, she was becoming vulgar. ‘Sir?’

‘Teddy will do.’ She had changed from Theo to Teddy after making a gift to Tyger of a little brown bear. ‘You are brilliant with the children,’ he told her. ‘Miss
Ellis says you have the gift of tongues, though not in the biblical sense.’

She shrugged. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’

‘The . . . er . . . the young man who calls on you at the flat – he’s Simon, I take it?’

She puffed up her cheeks and blew out the air. ‘I told him again and again not to come to Liverpool, but he seems not to understand negatives like “No, I don’t want to marry
you”. He thinks it’s because Pa’s prejudiced against Jews, yet he knows I ceased to obey my father years ago. The best way to get me to do something is to tell me that Pa
wouldn’t like it.’

Your father certainly wouldn’t like me if he looked into my provenance, then
. ‘You’re the best teacher I’ve had here.’
And the best woman I never had,
can’t have, mustn’t have
. ‘Will you be coming to the end-of-year party?’

‘I’d love to.’

‘Adults only.’

Tia frowned. ‘So you won’t let me in?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m open to bribery.’

‘OK, I’ll raid my bank account.’