Meet Me at the Pier Head (12 page)

‘I’ll be paying you myself.’ He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to speak. ‘Maggie, I have two jobs. I have the school and another source of income. Miss Bellamy
and I can pay you for keeping the flats clean, and I shall pay you for working at the school. Just don’t tell the other cleaners.’

She swallowed. ‘What’s your other job?’

‘One I do from home; that’s all you need to know.’

‘Oh.’ Maggie smiled for what felt like the first time in hours. ‘How much?’

‘We’ll work that out. You’ll be well paid. Three after-school sessions, and a full day at the flats. Rosie will want for nothing.’

Her face changed, and she covered it with the tea towel. Unused to generosity, she wept behind the barrier of cloth.

‘Don’t cry, Maggie. I’ll look after you and Rosie, and I’m sure Miss Bellamy will help. She’s still only voluntary, but she’s got her fingers in more pies
than Simple Simon.’ He bent over her. ‘Sometimes, she makes me feel that she’s the boss. She put me in detention today for misbehaving in Miss Ellis’s class.’

The cloth was removed in a second. ‘No!’

He nodded. ‘Gentry, you see. She’s a product of the best girls’ school in England and damned cheeky with it.’

‘You like her.’

He nodded. ‘She’s brilliant, and Rosie will be in her class.’

‘Good.’

Theo made for the door. ‘Bye, Rosie,’ he called.

The child arrived at the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Is he really dead?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Rosie.’

She turned to her grandmother. ‘Nana, are we having the yellow cups and saucers or the flowery ones?’

‘Yellow, sweetheart. The flowered ones are for posh. Your granddad bought them for me years back.’

‘He’s dead, too,’ the child informed her soon-to-be head teacher.

As he left the house, Theo thought about Rosie’s almost non-reaction. This was how children became hardened; this was how delinquents were created. He allowed himself a moment to consider
his own past, his rebellion, the pain he had internalized until it had broken out like a rash on his soul, his shattered heart, his psyche.
Stop this, Theo. You lashed out, but you pulled
yourself together and got out of the hellhole. What you saw, what you heard . . . No. It’s over. The smoke has cleared and the screams have stopped. And you are on your way to an English
police station, so pull yourself together.

Ropers Park had become Roped-Off Park, a crime scene, a no-go area guarded by over-sized constables with unsmiling faces and shiny shoes. The Lady Streets had been invaded by a
plague of policemen who hovered like massive bluebottles as they questioned people for the second or third time. Did they know a tall man with a black beard and a newspaper? Who had a grudge
against Tunstall? Did they know Tunstall? Where had they been at the time of the murder?

The force had even arrived at the school, and its headmaster was not best pleased. A school needed to have a rhythm, and children should be warned if their day was about to be disturbed, but
this was murder, and murder was a serious business. ‘Just don’t frighten them,’ he told the sergeant in charge. ‘After all, they’re very young and
impressionable.’ He was glad to go home when the working day ended.

Tia looked through her kitchen window. Theo was sitting in the rear garden with his body language giving out the
Do Not Disturb
message, arms folded across his chest,
head leaning back against the deckchair, eyelids lowered, knees together, feet keeping close company with each other. He looked about as relaxed as a man positioned at the business end of a loaded
gun, so Tia wasn’t fooled. Within days of seeing Theodore Quinn at work and living above him, she had come to know him well. Why? Because she liked him.
Keep it at liking, Tia. For
God’s sake, don’t let it happen.

He opened his eyes, and she stepped away from the window immediately.
Did he see me? Does it matter? Because stuff like this doesn’t move in one direction only. Like two weather
fronts, we have collided and caused a maelstrom. He likes me, too, but there’s something; a part of him isn’t always open for business, which is why I must slow down. Yet he’s so
good with the children and the staff, though his moods seem to change so suddenly. Is there a chance he might be crackers?

She tackled her shepherd’s pie; if she had to force-feed him, she would do just that. The man was in shock, so food was probably off his list tonight. Having gone innovative again, she
wondered whether he would like her dash of nutmeg, her teaspoon of soured cream and the bouquet garni she
must
remember to remove before serving. Salad dressing, toss the salad around a
bit, smooth the potato over the pie, plough the surface with a fork and shove the lot under the grill. Except for the salad . . . phew. It was a warm evening.

After a quick, cold-water wash in the bathroom, she descended the stairs and turned left for the back garden. Placing a little finger at each corner of her mouth, she produced a whistle that had
confused many hockey teams, a netball coach and, on one occasion, even a policeman, who had whistled back before searching for a non-existent colleague.

Theo opened an eye. ‘What?’ He was not impressed by the whistle; he’d heard it before when she’d been practising playtime supervision. ‘What?’ he
repeated.

‘I’ve cooked a meal.’ She awarded him a winsome smile, one she reserved for special people.

‘Oh. You expecting the Congressional Medal of Honor? Purple Heart? Round of applause?’

‘An OBE and an appetite will suffice. Come on, Teddy. You must eat.’

He stood, folded his deckchair and put it in the shed before following her upstairs. She was a determined type and, yes, she was getting on his nerves.
You knew she’d get on your
nerves, Theo. She’s beautiful, elegant, common as muck in her own endearing way and, above all, a fusspot, as the English say.
‘I’m not hungry,’ he told her as he stood
at her table, pouring iced water into one of the tall glasses. ‘Murder seems to suppress the appetite.’

‘Did you have lunch?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ How the hell did she manage to make the most ordinary questions sound provocative?

‘And since then, a nasty, child-beating, wife-pimping toad has been killed within a few hundred yards of your school.’ She dished salad onto his side plate. ‘I’m not
God,’ she continued, ‘so I can’t judge, yet Mr Tunstall’s character sounds rather less than charming. No one has a good word to say about him. The world is probably cleaner
without him.’

‘I don’t like murder,’ he muttered, his voice almost a whisper.

‘It happens,’ she advised him. ‘You need only read a daily newspaper to find that someone or other has been removed.’

He fixed his gaze on her for several seconds while deciding what to say, how much to tell her. ‘I know.’ He paused for thought. ‘My mother was murdered,’ he said, his
voice still soft.

Tia sat down suddenly.
His mother? Oh God, no wonder he looks sad occasionally. If anything of that kind happened to Ma, I’d be permanently crazy.
‘I am so sorry,’ she
told him. ‘When? How old were you when it happened?’

‘I was ten – young enough to need a mom, old enough to want vengeance. My teenage years were difficult.’

She managed to close her gaping mouth. ‘I’m not surprised. Hell’s bells, Teddy, how did you hold yourself together?’

‘I didn’t. That’s one of the reasons why I like to see schoolchildren happy. A miserable child might never reach his full potential.’

For Tia, this explained so much. He went from happy to sad within an hour, from gregarious to isolated, from humorous to pensive – no bloody wonder. She swallowed, though the lump in her
throat was in no way connected to food. ‘Who killed her?’ she asked in a whisper.

‘Cowards. They wore masks; they were never caught, although two were shot dead at the scene.’

‘When? Where?’ The fact that he looked tired and hurt and troubled was no longer surprising. She placed a hand over his. ‘Sorry. I don’t need to know the
details.’

He nodded, retrieved his hand and began to eat. ‘Tastes good,’ he said. ‘Different, but good.’

He had changed the subject, and he had to be allowed that prerogative. ‘I can’t seem to obey recipes,’ she said, determined to concentrate on mundane matters. ‘Unless I
get my hands on a grater or a garlic press and put my own touch to the mix, I feel I haven’t been creative. Not all my cooking is well received, so don’t feel obliged to clear your
plate just to be polite.’ She paused. ‘Teddy?’

He looked at her again. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s not your fault. The neighbours turned on him, and you saw the little girl for yourself and became distressed, or so I was told. Did you hire someone to kill him? No. Did you
want him dead? No, you wanted him locked up.’

He put down his knife and fork. ‘I’m not sure that Rosie and her grandmother will be safe. It’s possible that Tunstall had cohorts and family who may seek revenge.’

‘Then they’re looking for a tall man with a dark beard.’

‘And if they think that Sadie or Maggie hired that man?’

‘Stop it, Teddy.’

He glared at her, though he was smiling internally. ‘You can’t follow recipes, don’t obey rules – God alone knows what you’ll do with my curriculum. What is it with
you, Portia? Are you naturally non-conformist and argumentative, or have you worked at it?’

For several seconds, she pretended to process his question. ‘Got a distinction in both subjects. Eat your dinner.’

For a reason he couldn’t be bothered to question, he did as he’d been told. Was this cook a woman who must never be gainsaid?

‘How’s Tyger?’ she asked.

Theo swallowed. ‘Terrible. I’m thinking of changing his name to Ivan. He eats socks and waste-paper baskets. Oh, and he tries to climb drapes. I found him hanging by a thread and
screaming like a human baby in the dining room. I’m going to replace the drapes – I mean curtains – with shutters.’

‘Like the ones you wear?’ As soon as the words were out, she wished she could bite them back. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

He gave her a forgiving smile. ‘No, you’re not. You speak your mind instead of pussyfooting around like so many people and my darned cat. Though he’s lovely when asleep with
the bear you gave him.’ He paused. ‘Now you know why I am as I am, but you must tell nobody. At school, I manage to remain on an even keel, but that’s my role, you see.’

Tia agreed about non-disclosure. ‘Both our mothers have to remain out of the public domain. As for your role, I understand. Teachers are actors.’

‘True. When do you expect your mother?’ he asked. ‘I can’t wait to meet her.’

‘No idea. When the divorce papers are about to be served, I expect. But my little sister Juliet is still at home occasionally, so Ma must make sure she’s all right. Pa will be a
nightmare once his philandering is broadcast. And yes, you’ll love my mother. Everyone loves her – except for Pa, of course.’

‘Is he violent?’

She shook her head. ‘Not so far, but he’s verbally abusive, full of himself and always in the right. Ma started to drink, then stopped, but carried on pretending to be an
alcoholic.’ Tia grinned. ‘She’s a great actress. Pretending to be drunk meant she didn’t need to work with him any longer.’

‘They did seem to come as a pair,’ Theo commented.

He found himself relaxing. Her humour was similar to his, as were her story-telling skills. Apart from his father’s family, this was the first person in Britain he’d told about Mom.
Perhaps he was beginning to trust her; or was it because she lived here and would be working with him, too? Or was there a reason about which he preferred not to wonder? ‘Will your mom go out
while she’s in Liverpool?’ he asked. ‘Or will she be a prisoner up here?’

Tia waited until her mouth wasn’t full of food. ‘She has wigs and sunglasses and all kinds of weird clothes. She’ll be out and about, I dare say.’

Unsurprised, he grinned. ‘Does she skiffle?’

‘Not as far as I know, though nothing would surprise me.’ She pondered. ‘No, I can’t imagine Ma with a washboard and metal thimbles.’

‘Well, if she overspills too much with her clothes and wigs, she can keep some of her stuff in one of my spare bedrooms.’

‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’

Theo beamed. ‘Colin Duckworth might not agree with you.’ He set down his cutlery before regaling her with tales of his red-haired tormentor. The football on the roof was delivered
first; after that came accounts of truancy to go fishing, roller skating and looking after our Denis. ‘He seems to nurture the opinion that school is optional. He writes notes from his
parents, all capital letters and misspellings. I knew there was no chance that Roy or Trish would leave Colin to care for a goldfish, let alone a younger sibling. But there’s something about
that kid . . .’

‘You’re fond of him.’

Theo nodded. ‘There’s a strange innocence about him.’

‘In spite of the lies?’

‘Because of the lies, Tia. Colin would make a terrific lawyer.’ He stood up. ‘Mind, he’d have to stop blinking. Blinking’s his “tell”; it gives him
away. He’s not in your class, but if you follow the sound of trouble, he’ll be closely attached to it.’

‘Are you going now?’

‘To see Jack, yes, then to Maggie’s.’

She was about to ask if she might accompany him when her doorbell rang. ‘Bugger,’ she whispered. ‘That’ll be Simon. Oh, sh— shine a light. I’ve lost count of
the times I asked him to stay in Kent.’

‘He’s in love with you, Portia.’

She blinked at him. ‘Why do you sometimes give me my full name?’

He raised his shoulders. ‘I like it. It’s a beautiful name.’

‘Oh. OK, abandon me and let him in on your way out.’ She was scowling. ‘Have you ever proposed to anyone?’

He paused for a few beats of time. ‘Yes, but she accepted. I was young and foolish, far too young for marriage, I suppose. But Hitler saw her off along with most of the rest of Bootle.
Alongside other American, Canadian, Polish and Australian early volunteers, I was allowed to join the forces. By the time I was demobbed, Sally had been dead for over three years.’