by Leo McNeir
Moments later, Anne felt another hand on hers and looked down below Poppy’s chin to see a male hand in black leather gloves squeeze her gently. Black leather. A smile spread across her face. Donovan had come earlier than expected! This was no real surprise. With him, anything could happen. Poppy snorted and backed away. Anne looked round the horse’s face and her expression of pleasure changed to surprise and bewilderment.
“Hi, Anne.”
“Ronny.”
“You don’t look very pleased to see me.”
Anne withdrew her hand. “It’s just that –”
“I know. You were expecting – hoping – it would be someone else, right?”
Ronny moved closer, causing Poppy to back away. The horse shifted sideways to avoid some of the mothers who were clustered at the edge of the pavement. In so doing, she partially blocked access to the gate. Anne was aware that children were now pouring out of the building, slipping and sliding across the playground towards the exit. She was grateful to have the excuse of attending to Poppy so that she could avoid replying to Ronny.
The parents waiting by the gate dispersed to make room for Poppy, who was now slewed across the pavement.
Anne patted her on the side of the neck. “Come on, Poppy. Line up neatly, there’s a good girl.”
Ronny, no doubt trying to be helpful, began pushing Poppy clear of the gate. His actions only had the effect of moving her back towards the school entrance.
“Ronny, I don’t think that’s –”
“It’s all right, Anne.” Willow had managed to break free of the crush of parents and was standing beside Anne. “She knows what to do now. Steady, Poppy!”
The horse turned from the gate and backed into the roadway. Willow was moving forward to stand beside Poppy when she felt a hand grip her arm. Looking round she found herself being ushered out of the way by Mr Meadows.
“Can you please keep that animal under control,” he said in a stern voice. “This horse should not be on school property.”
Willow was wondering whether school property extended out into the road when she saw Margaret Giles coming through the gate, her face wearing an expression of annoyance. Before the head could get closer, Willow heard another voice coming from behind her
“Take your hands off my mother.”
Mr Meadows looked down to see Ben, standing with both fists clenched at his side.
“Now look here –”
“I won’t tell you again. This is your last chance.”
Amid murmurings from the parents who were looking on, Mr Meadows released his grip.
Don’t you ever do that again,” Ben said.
In any other ten-year-old child the words would have seemed funny, even ludicrous, but Ben invested them with a stern authority that belied his age. Before anything more could be said, he turned, patted Poppy on the neck and walked away.
Margaret Giles eased herself through the gathering of parents in time to see the horse, flanked by Willow and Ben, striding off down the high street. Anne set off to join them with Ronny Cope following in her wake. Margaret turned to frown at Mr Meadows but was at once distracted by a sound coming from the playground. The children, who were blocked in by the crowd round the gateway, were lined up along the perimeter fence. They seemed to be chanting, watching Ben as he walked away. Margaret cocked her ears to listen.
“Gifthorse, gifthorse …” It seemed to be just one word, chanted over and over again. “Gifthorse, gifthorse, gifthorse …”
Before Margaret could return to Mr Meadows, she was aware that Valerie Paxton was standing beside her.
“That’s the second time that boy has humiliated Mr Meadows in the past few days,” Valerie said.
A number of the mothers looked in her direction.
“Keep your voice down, please, Valerie,” Margaret said quietly but firmly.
“Well, it’s true.” Valerie spoke in a half-whisper. “That boy is too big for his boots.”
From the corner of her eye Margaret saw Mr Meadows walking across the playground towards the school, head bent, shoulders slumped. She felt like slapping Valerie across the face. Instead, she walked along the snow-encrusted pavement to silence the children who were still chanting as Ben, Willow and Poppy disappeared round the bend in the road.
Chapter 23
White Christmas
On her way to a meeting on Wednesday morning, Marnie had two surprises before she got out of the village. Pulling over at the shop to buy a packet of Polo mints, she noticed a taxi parked at the roadside. As she climbed out of the Discovery she recognised the driver, one who regularly brought clients to her office from Milton Keynes station. She walked over to the driver’s window.
“Hi, Rajeev. You’re not bringing someone to me, are you?”
“Not this time, Marnie. My fare wanted to look in at the shop on his way to the station.”
They exchanged the usual grumbles about the weather and Marnie went into the shop. She assumed she would see a neighbour from the village, but standing in front of the post office cubicle was an unexpected visitor. In dark blue Loden coat and wearing a black fedora loomed the unmistakable form of Maurice Dekker. Marnie called a cheery Good morning! to him across the shop and asked Molly Appleton for her mints.
“I think your Mr Dekker must be psychic, Marnie,” Molly said softly.
My Mr Dekker, Marnie thought. “Really?” she said.
Molly continued in the same quiet tone. “A parcel arrived for him this morning and before we can even phone to let you know it was here, he arrives out of the blue, just like that.”
Dekker signed for his parcel and turned to see Marnie at the counter. He seemed not have been aware of her before.
“Good morning, Marnie.” He raised his hat.
“Good morning. Your informal poste restante seems to be working well.”
“Yes, indeed.” His quiet voice had its familiar rasping edge.
“I’d invite you to call in for coffee, but I’m off to meet a client and you’re on your way to the station, I gather.”
The hint of a smile crossed Dekker’s face. “And your village bush telegraph seems to be working very well, too.”
“Sorry. I know your driver. We’re old pals. Will you be coming back this way?”
“Some time this afternoon, though I don’t know exactly when that will be.”
“Then please join us when you can. We never need much of an excuse to put the kettle on.”
Leaving the shop, Marnie was about to climb into the car when she had her second surprise of the morning. Rolling along the high street came the unmistakable shape of a Volkswagen Beetle, making its distinctive burbling sound. Its black bodywork was gleaming, though she knew it was a quarter of a century old. She waved a hand, and the VW pulled over to the kerb. Donovan climbed out, smiling.
Marnie thought he looked paler than usual. Not for the first time she reflected that he and Anne could be brother and sister, though she knew that was by no means the nature of their relationship. They had travelled to Germany a month or two earlier and Marnie was sure they had slept together. His customary dark clothes – that day he was wearing a black leather jacket, charcoal grey jeans and black boots – made a sharp contrast with his fair complexion and blonde hair. He stepped carefully onto the icy pavement and hugged Marnie.
“It’s good to see you, Donovan.”
“You, too.”
“You’re looking a little drawn.”
He waved the idea aside. “It’s nothing. Aftermath of the flu.”
“And you’ve really brought Christmas with you?”
He nodded towards the car. “It’s all in there. You’ve heard of meals-on-wheels, well, this is Christmas-on-wheels. Everything except the tree.”
“What, no tree?” Marnie feigned surprise and disappointment.
“Germans take a dim view of people who dig up their forests and cart them away.”
Marnie frowned. “I see a slight problem.”
�
��The field track? You’re thinking I won’t be able to get down there in the Beetle?”
“Exactly.”
“No probs, as Anne would say.”
“You seem very sure about that.” Marnie thought he usually seemed sure about most things. “You haven’t seen the track. We’ve had an exceptional winter up here. It’s not like London.”
“In the part of Germany where my family lives, it’s always like this in winter.”
“And?”
Donovan shrugged. “Snow chains.”
“Ah …”
“We all carry them. It’s a fag, putting them on and taking them off, but a necessary evil. Better than being stuck in a drift on a forest road miles from anywhere on a winter’s night.”
“Fair point.” Marnie looked at her watch.
“I’m holding you up, Marnie. You must get on.”
“No, it’s okay. I was just thinking …”
Donovan waited.
“Why don’t we load the stuff into my car to save you the trouble of putting the chains on?”
“Don’t you have somewhere to go?”
Marnie outlined a plan. After two phone calls they transferred boxes and parcels into the back of the Disco. Marnie’s client was happy to see her at any time that morning; the publican was happy for Donovan to leave the Beetle in the pub car park for as long as he wished.
*
After morning assembly, Valerie Paxton went on her usual rounds to collect the registers. She deposited them, together with the morning mail, on Margaret Giles’ desk. Opening the door to leave the room, she turned to look back at the head teacher, who was studying the register from Mr Meadows’ class.
“Will you be wanting to do dictation at the usual time, Mrs Giles? You’ve got Mrs Truscott coming to see you at eleven.”
“Yes, usual time.” Margaret laid the register aside and looked up. “You’ll be pleased that there were no horses at the gate today, Valerie.”
“Horses?”
“I see Ben Haycroft has been marked as absent.”
Valerie muttered something, but Margaret let it go.
*
As Marnie parked the Discovery outside cottage number three, she urged Donovan to visit Anne in the office barn. Once in the cottage she turned up the radstats, grabbed a broom from the utility room and opened the back door. She had another plan.
When Donovan opened the door to the office, Anne was kneeling with her back to him, pulling a set of architects’ drawings from the bottom drawer of a storage chest. Without looking round she called out.
“You’re going to be late for school. Is Poppy ready?”
Donovan paused. “I’m too old for school, and who’s Poppy?”
Anne spun round, lost her balance and sat down on the ground with a thud. Donovan crossed the floor quickly and pulled her to her feet. They were still in each others’ arms when they heard the door open and felt a draught of cold air waft across the room. Releasing each other, they turned to see Ben standing inside the door. Anne was about to speak, but Donovan got in first.
“You’re going to be late for school,” he said. “Is Poppy ready?”
Ben’s expression mutated from surprise to bewilderment to pleasure.
He grinned. “Not going to school, but Poppy’s always ready for a walk.”
“Why aren’t you going to school?” Anne asked.
“They don’t want me there. Everything I do is wrong.” He turned his gaze towards Donovan. “You look like you could be Anne’s brother, but I don’t think so somehow.”
“I’m Donovan.”
“I’m Ben. I came to see if Anne was going up to the shop. Poppy needs her walk. We could all go together if you like.”
Donovan declined on the grounds that he had to unload Marnie’s car. Anne told Ben she would be ready in five minutes and he dashed off to fetch Poppy.
“Nice kid,” Donovan remarked. “New tenants?”
Anne shook her head. “Ice-bound on a boat with his mum just beyond the bridge. Long story. I’ll tell you about it when we get back.”
“Okay. So you’re operating a dog-walking service these days?”
Anne laughed. “Sort of. Another long story. You may not believe it, but …” Anne refocused her eyes over his shoulder. “Oh look, there’s Marnie.”
Donovan headed for the door. “I’ll get on with delivering Christmas. See you later.”
Anne watched him go as she grabbed her jacket from the hook. She was pulling it on when she saw him glance to his right and stop dead in mid-stride. She guessed what had drawn his attention. He turned and looked back at her through the window. Pointing towards the track he mouthed one word: Poppy? Anne nodded. It made a change to see Donovan look flummoxed for once.
*
Margaret Giles was walking past Mr Meadows’ classroom when the bell sounded for morning break. It was no coincidence. She waited outside the door while the children poured out, smiling benignly as they remembered not to run. When she walked into the classroom Mr Meadows was sitting at his desk, stacking exercise books. He looked up warily as she approached.
“All well, Mr Meadows?”
“I think so, Mrs Giles.”
“I see Ben Haycroft is absent today.”
“Oh, yes.”
“We haven’t had any word about that from his mother, at least not so far.”
“Right.”
“You don’t seem unduly worried.”
Mr Meadows shrugged. “One day’s absence from school isn’t unusual, especially at this time of year. He might have caught a cold.”
“I think we both regard that as unlikely, don’t you? If it turns out to be more than just a one-day absence, I think you should contact Mrs Haycroft.”
“What for?” Mr Meadows’ expression was guarded.
“In your case, perhaps to apologise.”
“I don’t think that would be really necessary.”
Margaret walked towards the door. In the doorway she turned and looked at her colleague.
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Mr Meadows.”
Margaret walked quickly back to her office. She was determined that Mr Meadows would make amends for his behaviour towards Willow and Ben. It was a decision she would come to regret.
*
Donovan heaved the largest box out of the Discovery and lugged it into the cottage. Marnie picked up another and followed him in. She suggested that he dumped everything in the kitchen and sorted out the ingredients for Christmas in the sitting room. Returning through the tiny front hall, Donovan glanced into the sitting room and stopped abruptly.
“What’s this?”
Marnie stood behind him, grinning. “I thought it might come in useful.”
“A Christmas tree? You just happened to have one lying around?”
“It was still in its tub. We’d put it out on the patio. I just had to brush off the snow and … voilà!”
They became aware of movement behind them and turned to find Anne and Ben carrying boxes in from the car. In minutes everything was stacked in the kitchen. Ben asked if he could help Donovan when he got back from exercising Poppy.
“Can’t wait till after school, Ben,” said Donovan.
“I told you. I’m not going to school.”
“You must,” Donovan protested. “It’s important.”
“No. I’ve left.” He turned to Anne. “What did that woman in the school call me and mum?”
Anne looked surprised. “Do you mean Mrs Giles, the head teacher?”
“No, not her. She’s nice. The secretary.”
“That’s Mrs Paxton. And I don’t know what she called you.” Anne shuddered at the thought. “I wasn’t there.”
“I know,” said Ben. “She said we were … itinerants, that’s it, so I don’t go there any more. I’m just an itinerant.”
Anne retorted. “Ben, of course you’re not an –”
“Stop! Stop!” Marnie interjected. “Interesting though this conversation is, so
me of us have work to do, meetings to attend. I suggest we let Donovan get on with sorting out Christmas, and the rest of us go about our business.”
“Christmas?” said Ben. “Is that what this is all about?”
“Donovan was ill in Germany over Christmas,” Anne explained, “and he’s brought things back with him. We’re going to have a kind of second Christmas this evening.”
“You can come too, Ben,” Donovan said.
“But I haven’t got anything to bring.”
“Doesn’t matter. Bring your mum and dad, and Poppy, too, if you like.”
“Right,” said Marnie. “I’m off.”
And so they went their separate ways. By the time Anne and Ben reached the high street, the schoolchildren were already back in their classrooms. Only one pair of eyes observed them passing. Valerie Paxton was rising from her desk to announce the arrival of the primary education inspector when, through the office window, she caught sight of Ben riding bareback on Poppy along the road.
Just at that moment, Margaret Giles came out of her office. She shook hands with her visitor and pointed through the window.
“There, Liz, is the subject of our discussion this morning.”
The inspector turned and stared out of the window. “Good heavens! Not a sight you see every day. So that’s him. What a remarkable boy.”
“Not one of our success stories, as you can see,” Margaret said quietly. In a brighter tone she glanced at her secretary and said, “Coffee, Valerie? Please?”
Without a word, Valerie Paxton seized the kettle from the top of the filing cabinet and left the room.
*
Ralph called in on Donovan for a brief word before returning to Thyrsis to resume his work. He was astonished at how much Donovan had brought.
“How did you travel to Germany, Donovan?”
“I flew. Then I got flu. Then I flew back.”
Ralph smiled. “I see. You chartered a Hercules from the RAF?”
“Of course. Actually, most of the things I already had at home, been in the family for ages, old traditional German stuff. What I brought back was mainly perishables – Stollen, Christmas biscuits, Westphalian ham and sausage – that sort of thing, plus a few new tree decorations.”