Miss Purdy's Class (8 page)

A shadow seemed to fall across the boy’s face. ‘Nowhere, Miss.’

‘Nowhere?’ she spoke teasingly. ‘Well, that can’t be a very interesting place to be.’ She wanted him to laugh, to show some sign of being a child. ‘Where’s nowhere?’

‘Just . . . about, like.’ He looked up, but not at her. He stared at the blackboard. That morning she had drawn the parts of a flower on it, with a bee drinking the nectar.
Proboscis
she had written, with an arrow pointing to the bee’s long tongue.

‘I see.’ She stood up. There was no getting to the bottom of it, that was clear. ‘Well, don’t do it again, that’s all. You don’t enjoy getting caned, do you?’

‘No, Miss.’ She couldn’t help noticing the utter indifference in his voice.

‘Let me see your hands.’

He held out his wizened hands, in a way which reminded her of an organ grinder’s monkey. They were grubby, of course, and the left palm was red and sore.

‘Bathe it in some salty water when you get home,’ she advised him. ‘All right, Joey. You’d better go and get your dinner.’

She watched him go to the door with an awkward, stiff gait. Gwen frowned.

‘Joey, are you in pain?’

Over his shoulder he replied, ‘No, Miss.’

Six

‘Cripple, cripple!’

Gwen heard the shouts across the girls’ playground. A group of them, including Dora Evan, the class bully, had surrounded Lucy Fernandez. They had a long skipping rope and were swinging it, faster and faster.

‘Go on, cripple – get in and jump!’

Gwen hurried over, saw Lucy standing, arms by her sides, her head down. Close to her was Alice Wilson, her eyes screwed up tight as usual, looking frightened and upset. The rope was a blur of movement.

‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ Gwen demanded. They stopped abruptly and the rope hung still in the air for a second then sagged to the ground. No one answered. She saw Dora Evans sniggering behind her hand.

‘You think it’s funny, do you, you wretched girl!’

She was infuriated by the ignorant look Dora gave her through her slitty eyes and had to hold tightly onto herself not to lose her temper. ‘You think it’s amusing to bully someone who can’t do the things you can! How would you like to wear a caliper on your leg? Go on – away with you. Leave the poor girl alone!’

She chased them away and they went up the other end with the rope.

‘Just try and keep out of their way, Lucy,’ she said.

The two little girls linked hands and slunk off to stand by the blackened wall away from the bullies. Gwen watched them for a moment. What was it about Alice Wilson? The girl was obviously not as stupid as she appeared. Sometimes when Gwen asked her a question she was very quick off the mark. At other times she looked completely vacant.

Late that afternoon it began to rain hard. The sky turned deep smoky grey, and rain drummed on the roof and ran in streams down the long classroom windows. The last lesson was arithmetic. Gwen set the children to measure various objects in the room with the spans of their hands, so they were busy sizing up the desks and benches, the size of their friends from knees to the floor and writing the results in their exercise books. Joey Phillips had once again gone missing from school. Gwen was uneasy. He had been there for the afternoon register. During the first period he had asked to be excused to go to the toilets out across the playground. He never came back. Well, the boy would have to be taken in hand. But if only she could deal with it without Mr Lowry having to know.

Gwen looked out at the rain and wondered if it was raining at home. Edwin might be out on his bicycle. She thought of him with a sudden pang. He was so safe, so kind. She’d be able to see him again as soon as the half-term holiday came.
And I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him
. The idea came to her as strange and unreal. Her mind wandered back to Joey Phillips. Was he out in this? He’d be drenched. She felt very uneasy. Why did she feel so worried about this particular child?

‘Have you recorded all your results?’ She collected herself and spoke to the class. ‘All right, finish up now!’

There was a scurry of activity as final figures were written down. They were all finding their way back to their desks when Lucy Fernandez went down again.

‘Miss Purdy – Lucy’s having a fit!’

Gwen rushed between the desks to the child’s side, panic rising in her. Miss Monk had said something should be put in her mouth to stop her biting her tongue. Was that right? It had looked so harsh and cruel the way the other teacher did it. Gwen knelt by Lucy and held her hand under the girl’s head as she began to go into spasm, surprised by the wiry force of her body.

‘Our Mom says you have to put a spoon in their mouth,’ a voice said. ‘D’you want me to go and ask for one in the staffroom?’

Gwen tried to sound calm. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary. Just sit down all of you.’

The bell rang out across the assembly hall then, signalling the end of school.

‘Go along all of you,’ Gwen said. ‘Go home. I’ll see to Lucy.’

The children all hurried out, except little Alice Wilson, who hung behind. She peered down at Lucy.

‘Will she be all right, Miss?’

The worst of the fit was passing and Lucy was growing still again and sleepy.

‘Yes, she will, Alice, don’t you worry,’ Gwen said, intensely relieved. Thank heavens, she didn’t seem to have swallowed her tongue! Once again, though, the pool of urine was seeping from under her on the floor. Alice didn’t seem to notice this.

‘How’s Lucy going to get home, Miss Purdy?’

‘D’you know where she lives?’

‘Number fifteen, Alma Street.’

‘Thank you, Alice. That’s not far. You run along home now. I’ll look after Lucy.’

‘Yes, Miss,’ Alice said, though with apparent reluctance. Once she had gone there was silence, except for the wind and spattering rain outside, the classroom clock’s ticking and the quiet breathing of the skinny, dark-haired child. Then Mr Lowry put his head round the door.

‘What
are
you doing, Miss Purdy?’

When Gwen explained, Mr Lowry came closer and frowned at the child, prone on the floor. He tutted impatiently. ‘Oh goodness, what a nuisance. There’s not a child left in the building we can send for the mother.’

Gwen felt her hackles rise. Anyone would think the child had fits on purpose! ‘Don’t worry, Mr Lowry. She lives very close by. And she’s only a little scrap of a thing. I’ll take her home myself.’

Mr Lowry raised his eyebrows. He seemed to disapprove of any act of kindness. He and Miss Monk deserved each other, Gwen thought sourly. They’d be a perfect match, those two. After a moment’s thought he said grudgingly, ‘Well, I suppose that might be a solution.’

‘Yes,’ she muttered in the direction of his departing back, ‘and thank you for taking the trouble, Miss Purdy.’

She put her coat on and scooped up the child into her arms. Lucy’s back and legs were wet with urine. Gwen wondered if she had a coat, but guessed that she probably didn’t. Hardly any of the children had top coats to wear, but ran along to school in the same clothes, rain or shine.

It was pouring again. She hesitated by the door, but realized she could wait for ages and it didn’t seem about to let up. She stepped out, cursing that she hadn’t brought a hat, the rain seeping through her hair, cold on her scalp. It was raining so hard that when she turned out of the school gate she could hardly see her way along the road. A cyclist loomed out of the murk, head down, battling against the wind.

Gwen’s hair was soon drenched, the cold water running down her face, dripping from her nose. A few people passed her, hurrying home. The splash of water from roofs and gutters was all around. Gwen leant forwards as far as she could, holding Lucy close to her, trying to protect her, and staggered along. Lucy slept on, undisturbed by the wet. Although she was a skinny child, her weight was still enough to be an effort and Gwen’s arms soon began to ache. She was glad to see the turning into Alma Street and the Alma Arms looking like a warm haven on the corner.

The houses at that end of the street were small terraced ones. Some of them appeared quite cosy, though in others the windows were dark and desolate looking. She passed a few, then crossed a side street, realizing that number fifteen must be the shop on the opposite corner. The windows were lit up but with advertisements stuck all over them and so full of shelves of tins and packets that she could not see in. She also couldn’t manage the handle without putting Lucy down, though she managed to hoist Lucy up in such a way that she could knock.

There was a pause, then she saw someone coming and the door opened with a ‘ting!’ To her surprise, a man opened the door. For some reason she had automatically assumed the shop would be run by a woman. In the dim light, the two things she took in about the man were his head of dark, curling hair and the fact that he was walking with a crutch and had a plaster cast on his left leg, the trouser leg rolled to the top of it. She also had the impression of someone solid and immensely strong. Gwen assumed this must be Lucy’s father. She could hear other children in the background and became aware of faces watching from the back of the shop. What a sodden spectacle she must look standing there!

‘How d’you do. I’m Miss Purdy – Lucy’s class teacher. I’m afraid she’s just had another fit.’

‘Mam!’ one of the boys shouted in the background. ‘It’s Lucy – she’s bad again!’

‘I see,’ the man said, and she heard that he was not local. He spoke differently from Lucy. ‘You’d better come in, then.’

Gwen manoeuvred Lucy carefully inside, along a narrow way between two rows of shelves. Lucy’s feet caught the handle of a broom and knocked it over. They passed into the back room, which seemed crammed full of people, boys mainly. Rosa, the pretty elder sister, easily stood out among them. The man indicated that Gwen should lay Lucy in the chair by the fire, and as she put the child down, Lucy began to come round. Dazed, she looked round the room as if she couldn’t think where she was, especially when she saw her teacher standing there.

‘You all right now, Lucy
fach
?’ the man asked, bending over her, and she nodded. She seemed happy to see him. In the light, Gwen saw that he was much younger than she had imagined. His hair was black, wavy, the face strong, dark-eyed and weathered looking and she saw a kind warmth towards the child. His voice was deep but soft. She was still trying to place the accent.

‘Miss Purdy?’ Lucy whispered.

‘Yes, dear?’

‘Was it you brought me home?’

Gwen nodded and saw the girl smile sleepily and her face was suddenly pretty. She could sense the man appraising her. Though he was standing slightly behind her, his presence was very powerful. She felt something coming from him that was abrasive, close to hostility, but it was not blatant enough for her to be sure and was belied by the teasing light in his eyes.

‘So you’re Miss Purdy,’ he said. ‘We’ve heard a fair bit about you.’

‘All good, I hope? Gwen Purdy.’ She turned and held out her hand, though she immediately felt somehow foolish for doing so.

The man hesitated, then a strong, rough hand took hers and shook it. ‘I’m Daniel, Lucy’s brother.’

‘I see.’ Gwen smiled, surprised. ‘I took you for the man of the house.’

Daniel Fernandez did not return the smile. ‘That I am when I’m here. There’s no one else.’

Gwen felt very awkward because of the serious, unwavering way he was looking at her. The crutch somehow added to his dignity rather than undermining it.

‘Thank you for bringing our Lucy home.’

‘Not at all.’ To herself she sounded posh now and prim, and she was conscious of her bedraggled appearance. All this seemed to put her at a disadvantage. She felt like a foreigner in what was obviously a house of limited means. This room was evidently the family’s only living room behind the shop, so that although it was sparsely furnished – other than the armchair by the fireplace there was a table and three chairs, and a dilapidated dresser stacked with crocks – it also contained the gas cooker and shelves, with a small scullery beyond, and everyone seemed to be squeezed inside. The room was lit by gaslight and the mantles ‘pop-popped’ in the background. The Fernandez children stood round, silenced by the momentous, unheard-of event of a teacher calling at their house. Once more, the man did not smile. He sank down, balancing on the arm of Lucy’s chair.

‘So – you’ve come to see how the other half live then, is it? See how the world’s workers get by?’ His tone was jaunty, but somehow provocative as well. ‘You don’t sound as if you come from round here.’

‘My family live in Worcester.’

‘Nice town, Worcester. Been through there myself. Comfortable place, I’d say.’

There was nothing in his words that was actually rude, but they were spoken as a challenge. Gwen saw he had decided to tease her. Despite the laughter in his eyes, it got under her skin.

‘You don’t sound local yourself.’ She met his stare defiantly. His eyes looked black in the poor light and to her bewilderment, as they faced each other, she felt the most peculiar sensation, as if all the hairs on her body were suddenly standing on end. She gave a shiver, then blushed, confused, feeling somehow that the man would sense the odd, electric sensation that had come over her. She was distracted by the sound of someone coming down the stairs, and then the door opened.

‘Daniel? What’s going on?’

‘It’s all right, Ma – it’s our Lucy, had another fit at school. This is her teacher, brought her home. Miss Purdy.’

Mrs Fernandez was small in stature but wide and large breasted. She seemed like a larger person than she was. She had round, rosy cheeks and striking blue eyes, which Rosa had evidently inherited. She nodded at Gwen, looked across at Lucy and saw she was all right, then turned back to Gwen.

‘Miss Purdy?’ Her accent was as strong as her son’s and it only then dawned on Gwen that they were Welsh. Lucy, however, spoke with a Birmingham accent like nearly all the other children in the class. ‘Brought our Lucy back, is it? Very good of you. Very good. And you’re soaked to the skin.
Duw
, Daniel, what’re you thinking, not offering Miss Purdy a cup of tea for her trouble? Kettle’s nearly boiled – come on now. Where your manners? Rosa, bring Miss Purdy a chair.’