Meet Me at the Pier Head (14 page)

‘We’ll go to Clementine Street now,’ Theo said. ‘I’d like a word with Sadie Tunstall.’

She remained quiet.

‘Have you been struck dumb?’ he asked.

‘No. You should be so lucky.’

He started the car. ‘You do realize that our relationship at school will need to be more formal?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

He looked up to heaven before putting the car in gear. ‘What’s your problem now, Miss Bellamy?’

She couldn’t say anything, certainly dared not tell the truth.
How many girlfriends do you have, Mr Quinn? Is the welfare woman prettier than I am? Am I not good enough for you?
Perhaps I’m too tall. Many men prefer tiny women like china ornaments to be displayed and dusted from time to time.

She glanced sideways at him.
Are you one of those inverted snob types who hate Roedean girls? And why am I talking to myself like this, even in my head? I don’t just look fourteen,
I’m thinking like a fourteen-year-old.
She sighed. ‘I believe I must have put too much arsenic in the mash.’

Theo resisted laughter; he didn’t want to give her hiccups again. This was ridiculous, though. Why should a girl as beautiful as this one be upset by Jack’s joke about girlfriends?
Oh, it wasn’t necessarily that, he told himself, though part of him, a part he usually ignored, hoped against hope that this young woman liked him. Tia Bellamy was bright enough to understand
his dilemma, yet could she live with it? But it was too early for this kind of thinking; he’d known her for just a few days. So why did he remember her from the future?

He stopped on Ivy Lane. ‘We need to hatch a plot,’ he said.

‘Oh, goody,’ she replied smartly. ‘Do I get a gun and some bullets?’

‘I’m serious.’

‘So am I. Somebody was murdered here today.’

‘Miss Bellamy?’

‘Yes, Mr Quinn?’

She was adorable. A man might drown in those blue-violet eyes. ‘You get Rosie and Maggie together in the front room. Or take Rosie out for a while. I have to handle Sadie.’

‘I suppose she’s been handled by many men of late. One more shouldn’t be too much of a stain on her character.’

‘Tia?’

‘Yes?’

‘Be quiet and listen.’

Like a child in reception class, she placed an index finger against her closed lips.

‘I want Rosie out of earshot while I tackle her mother. Do you think you might take the child out to one of the late shops and buy her some chocolate? Maggie will be OK, because
she’s heard it all before.’

Tia nodded, the finger still in place over her mouth.

He continued. ‘I understand that Sadie was a nightmare from her teens; it was a miracle that she got to twenty before giving birth to Rosie. She became pregnant again, probably by
Tunstall, and had a back-street abortion that went horribly wrong, so her womb was removed in hospital to prevent her bleeding to death. She married Tunstall recently, and he became her full-time
pimp. Maggie knows all this. Rosie has seen enough already, and I want to protect her from now on.’

Tia took the finger from her lips. ‘You really care, don’t you, Teddy?’

‘About kids? Yes, I do. Of course I do. That’s why I’m in a job that pays a pittance. I can make ten times more in the summer vacation than I earn in a year at Myrtle
Street.’

‘Body parts?’

‘That’s the one. Now, are we ready?’

‘Tell me what you really do in that locked room.’

‘No. You aren’t old enough. And we’ve more important matters pending. Will you help with Rosie?’

She agreed readily. There was a stepladder in Teddy’s shed, and she would use it to peer through the window of the body parts room, as its bottom half was usually hidden behind
half-shutters. By fair means or foul – probably the latter – she would discover the secret that had enabled him to buy his enormous, beautiful house and turn it into two delightful
flats. Body parts, indeed. ‘I’m ready,’ she told him. ‘Let’s see what can be done, Mr Quinn. That little girl deserves a chance, and her mother needs the opportunity
to get sober.’

Maggie Stone was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief when she opened her front door. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I got something in my eye.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ Theo ushered her into the parlour, a small, clean room spoilt only by shabby furniture. Maggie was clearly a woman who made the best of things, and her
failure to make the best of her daughter probably sat heavily on her shoulders. ‘Where’s Rosie?’ he asked.

‘Back yard,’ she answered.

Tia walked through the front room, the kitchen and a tiny scullery. In the paved yard at the rear of the house, she found Rosie talking to a doll. ‘He’s gone,’ the child was
saying, ‘so we can make a noise now, and I don’t need to go in the coal shed.’

‘Hello,’ Tia said softly. ‘I’m your new teacher. My name’s Miss Bellamy.’

The child blinked. ‘Hello,’ she said shyly. ‘This is Dotty, my doll.’

‘Dotty Dolly.’ Tia squatted nearer to the ground. ‘Is Dotty Dolly a good girl?’

Rosie frowned. ‘She never got shut in the coal shed.’

Tia blinked hard. ‘I don’t like coal sheds,’ she said. ‘They’re dark and dirty.’

The child nodded, her expression grave. ‘He’s dead now. He’s dead and my mam’s drunk. It’s the gin.’

The knife returned to Tia’s chest. Perhaps these horrible truths, spoken by an infant, were trying to escape from the child’s soul before having the opportunity to take root.

‘He put me in the shed when the jumping up and down men came.’

Tia closed her eyes for a few seconds. This little girl, this baby, had witnessed the act of sex, and was probably aware of money changing hands while she was locked in a miserable, dark hole.
So here sat Teddy’s reason for working in the state system; he could give a child a life better than the one he had endured himself. There were good people in the world, and he was one of
them. ‘Shall we go to the corner shop, Rosie?’

The child nodded and, when Tia stood, placed her trusting hand in that of her new teacher. The teacher sniffed back emotion, wondering how this beautiful child had managed to retain some faith
in humanity. She made a game of going to the shop; they marched, skipped and hopped before performing the do-not-step-on-the-cracks-between-paving-stones competition. And Tia’s opinion that
women were the stronger sex was reinforced, because even this small, ill-treated female child retained her sense of fun.

They bought chocolates for Maggie, dolly mixtures for Dotty Dolly, a big lollipop for Mr Quinn, and a mixed bag for Rosie, whose eyes shone like jewels. ‘What about you, Miss
Bellamy?’

‘I’ve no sweet tooth, Rosie.’

‘Oh. Has it fell out?’

‘I suppose it must have.’

The child frowned. ‘I could ask Nana to make you a bacon butty.’

And there it came again, the attitude, the benevolence of northerners. No matter what, the kettle went on, tea was brewed, and even the poorest of pantries got raided. People who lived alone
were seldom lonely, and the afflicted were almost always catered for. ‘I’m not hungry, thank you. I had a meal before coming to see you. Shall we buy something for your
mother?’

Rosie shrugged. ‘She doesn’t eat much. Food makes her sick.’ The child studied her adult companion. ‘You talk dead posh, Miss Bellamy.’

Tia grinned. ‘I know. We all do. I have two sisters, Cordelia and Juliet. Cordelia plays drums in a band, and Juliet’s a nurse.’ She wondered how long Teddy wanted her to keep
Rosie away from the house while he attempted to deal with Sadie. ‘Shall we take a walk?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Rosie said. ‘There’s only the park, and the police won’t let nobody in yet. They have to find out who killed him, you see, cos it was murder.’

‘Run back to the shop and get some chalk.’ Tia handed over a sixpenny bit. While waiting for Rosie, she picked up a piece of slate from the pavement. She would return to
Maggie’s, but keep the child in the street out of harm’s way.

It didn’t work out quite as she had expected. She drew the hopscotch and showed Rosie how to play. Doors opened, and children spilled out into the street, all clamouring to join the game.
Tia organized an orderly queue and, like a big kid herself, stood in line to await her own turn. She watched Rosie, noticing how well she interacted with others, the breadth of her smile, the joy
when she won.

‘Well done,’ Tia said. ‘You were the first to get all the way to number eight without falling over or standing on the wrong square.’

While Tia watched the children, Theo watched her from an upper window. With her plaits and ribbons and little white socks, she was just another child playing hopscotch. Behind him on her
mother’s bed, Sadie Tunstall lay almost comatose with drink. Two women of approximately the same age, one full of life and imagination, the other in danger of inhaling her own vomit.

He opened the sash window. ‘Miss Bellamy?’

‘Mr Quinn?’

‘Take Rosie for a ride in my car, please. You can play another time.’

‘Very well.’

‘About half an hour,’ he suggested.

The young of Clementine Street watched enviously while Rosie Tunstall was driven off in an open-topped sports car. They decided that she was a lucky girl, though opinion changed when the
ambulance pulled up and Rosie’s mother was carried into it on a stretcher. But they were soon engrossed in a new game of hopscotch.

‘Where do you like to go?’ Tia asked Rosie as they rode down Ivy Lane.

‘Library and pictures.’

‘The cinema?’

Rosie shook her head. ‘Paintings. They’re in a quiet place.’

‘But you like playing hopscotch, too, don’t you?’

‘Yes. That’s a different kind of nice.’

This was the point at which the teacher realized that she was in the company of an extraordinary child, one who, having endured abuse, had emerged with good humour, a strong sense of proportion
and a more than adequate concept of her own intrinsic value. ‘You can read, Rosie?’

‘Yes, Miss. Big words are hard unless you can break them up. Some can’t be broke up, so you just have to learn them.’

Tia blinked back some mixed emotions before taking Rosie to Otterspool, a place neither she nor the child had ever visited. Like most of the indigenous, Rosie clearly loved her river. After
running back and forth near the railings for a while, she returned to Tia’s side. ‘I can do money as well,’ she announced proudly.

‘Good for you. You seem to be a very clever girl. I’ll be pleased to have you in my class.’

When they returned to the house, Maggie put Rosie to bed. Tia sat in an uncomfortable armchair, while Theo stood with his back to the fireless grate.

‘Where’s Sadie?’ she asked.

‘Hospital. Alcohol poisoning. I’m happy to pay her fees for a private drying-out clinic, but she’d have to give written consent. Unless she can be certified insane due to
alcohol, that is.’

Tia offered no reply. She was not in the mood for talking.

He studied her. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I scarcely know.’

‘What is it, Tia? Do you think working around these parts is going to be too much for you?’

Again, she gave no answer.

He gazed down at her. She looked pale and drawn.

‘Portia?’

She shrugged and continued to stare at the floor.

Theo walked through to the kitchen, the room from which the concealed staircase ran behind a door. ‘We’re leaving, Maggie,’ he called up the flight. ‘Miss Bellamy’s
rather tired, and I have a few things to do.’

Maggie shouted her thanks, as did Rosie.

He returned to the front parlour and took hold of Tia’s hands, pulling gently until she was standing. ‘Come on, now. Let’s get you home.’

During the drive, she didn’t say a word. Instinctively, he recognized her need for silence; sometimes, even a fool didn’t set foot in a place avoided by angels. He parked the car
next to hers on the villa’s front courtyard between the lawn and the rockery. She didn’t move, so he walked round to her side and opened the passenger door. ‘Hey,’ he said
softly.

She looked through rather than at him. ‘Hey,’ she replied eventually.

‘Come.’ He took her left hand with his right and led her into his flat, placing her on a comfortable chair. He picked up Tyger and put the kitten on Tia’s lap. If she
wouldn’t open up to a human, perhaps she might talk to an animal, just as he did when facing life’s more difficult junctures.

She stroked Tyger, though her faraway expression remained in situ.

‘What is it?’ Theo asked.

Tia didn’t know where to start. ‘She’s older than I am,’ she managed at last. ‘Five years of age, and yet . . .’ Her voice faded away.

‘That happens in areas like this one. Look, if you want to go home to Kent, I won’t blame you for a second. I’d be disappointed, because I can see what an asset you’d be,
but you mustn’t stay if you’re unsure.’

She leaned her head to one side. ‘Look, I’ve never been near murder before, I’ve never seen people in real need, in houses so small—’

‘Oh, stop this,’ he said. ‘It’s not about you and what you’ve seen; it’s about them. If you’re too precious to cope, so precious that your feelings are
getting hurt, you shouldn’t be here. They’re needful. Not all of them by any means – most kids in these parts could run circles round you and leave you breathless. It’s the
odd one like little Rosie that stands out, because the rest of them are magnificent. I’m here because of Rosie and a few others. And I’m here for the rest, whose parents have climbed
out of the quicksand of self-pity, found work, found pride, found ambition for their kids. I’m sorry.’ He passed her a handkerchief. ‘I didn’t intend to make you
cry.’

She handed over the kitten, grabbed the offered square of linen, dried her eyes, threw the handkerchief on the floor, jumped out of the chair and left the room.

He heard his door as it slammed home, heard her running upstairs to her own flat, flinched as her upper door banged. She was angry. He was angry with himself for making her angry. This was a
whole new life for Tia Bellamy, and he should understand that, since he’d crossed the Atlantic to escape his past. And she was lovely and sensitive and . . .
God help me.