Gifthorse: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  “So were you always planning to bring a German Christmas to Glebe Farm?”

  “Not exactly. I was going to give you all a kind of Christmas hamper as a present. When my plan went out of the window, I thought of doing it this way.”

  Ralph laughed. “An excellent idea. Christmas mark two in mid-January. I’m sure it must be celebrated somewhere at this time of year: the Urals, Siberia, Moldova.”

  “And Knightly St John,” said Donovan, unpacking a box of tree candles.

  *

  The two women studied Ben’s exercise books. Margaret had asked Mr Meadows to bring them to her office, but she had not invited him to stay for the meeting with the inspector. Eventually, Liz Truscott put down a book and took a sip of coffee.

  “That’s a lot of work in such a short space of time,” she said, “and all of it first class.”

  “I did wonder if you thought I was exaggerating when I told you about Ben.”

  Liz shook her head. “I’ve known you too long, Margaret. You’re quite right. This is outstanding.” She put down the cup. “But there’s more to it than just Ben’s ability, isn’t there? Something’s troubling you.”

  Margaret sat back in her chair. “Two things, actually. One of them concerns his relationship with his class teacher, the other is more general. It concerns all of us in the school.”

  “I thought it was interesting that you didn’t ask Mr Meadows to join us. Is there a problem there?”

  “I’m afraid Mr Meadows has been finding it difficult to cope with a pupil of such high intelligence. For some people a village primary school represents a cosy environment, like a family that makes no demands on its members. Mr Meadows is in that camp.”

  “You’ve not criticised him before, Margaret.”

  “He’s not been in this position before. He just wants Ben to conform, to be like any other boy of his age. In fact, Ben is completely beyond his scope and he finds it terribly unsettling.”

  “Could that have anything to do with why Ben isn’t attending school today?”

  “It has everything to do with it. There was an incident yesterday when Ben’s horse was outside the gate. Mr Meadows took hold of Ben’s mother’s arm and virtually hustled her out of the way. Ben threatened him, or perhaps I should say warned him off, and Mr Meadows backed down. It wasn’t the first time the teacher had been humiliated by the pupil.”

  “Are you saying Ben did it deliberately?”

  “No, not at all. He’s basically a good-natured boy. He just wasn’t prepared to tolerate that kind of treatment of his mother.”

  “You said he threatened Mr Meadows? In what way?”

  “It was a warning rather than a threat. He told him to let go of his mother and never touch her again.”

  “You witnessed this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ben didn’t threaten actual violence?”

  “No.”

  “You said you had two concerns, Margaret.”

  The head teacher stood up and walked to the small window that looked out towards the trees surrounding the church and its tower. It was one of her favourite views, like a picture postcard of English rural life.

  “It’s my main concern, really, Liz. It’s as if the whole school has failed Ben for no other reason than that he’s different. I want to rethink my whole attitude to what we do here. I don’t think we stretch the children enough.”

  “Your Ofsted ratings are very high.”

  “But perhaps we could make learning more challenging and exciting. It’s too late to help Ben, but it could benefit the other children.”

  “An interesting thought. Tell me, Margaret, how do the other children react to Ben?”

  “It varies. At first I think they were rather in awe. Coming to school on a horse, being a free spirit, doing such excellent work. But gradually they’ve come to follow the example set by their teacher.”

  “In what way?”

  “After the incident with Ben’s mother yesterday, they stood by the railings and chanted as he went off. They were chanting gifthorse, gifthorse.”

  The inspector frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think one of the pupils overheard me refer to Ben a short while ago as a gifted child. For some reason they made the connection with his horse and … gifthorse.”

  Liz Truscott glanced at her watch. “So where does this leave us? Where do we go from here?”

  “I’m not giving up on Ben. I’m going to talk with his mother and devise a programme for her to follow. I’ll try to keep in touch somehow, to offer advice when it’s needed. In the meantime I’ll try to find some way of helping them with the subjects he’ll face in secondary education.”

  “That won’t be easy, Margaret.”

  “No, and it’s only a start.”

  “What about the short term? Can you persuade him to come back to school?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe that’s something to discuss with Mr Meadows. In a way I feel sorry for him. You could say he’s been a victim of my generous approach to Ben. He needs a way of re-establishing himself.”

  “A victim? What do you have in mind?”

  “I don’t want him to lose face over this. Perhaps he should be the one to see Mrs Haycroft and explain our plans for Ben.”

  Liz Truscott stood up. “Not a bad idea. Do you think he could handle that?”

  “I hope so.”

  “It’s worth a try. Keep me posted how you get on. Meanwhile, I have a contact at the gifted child unit at the Open University. Let’s see if they can help.”

  “Thanks, Liz. Now it’s up to Mr Meadows. Let’s see what he can do.”

  *

  Donovan was investigating the capacity of the fridge in the cottage kitchen when he became aware that he was not alone in the house. The sound of boxes being opened and the rustling of packing material did not come as a complete surprise. He called out to be extra careful with boxes marked fragile; some of the tree decorations were made of glass.

  The young man and the boy worked companionably together for two hours, ending their labours by decorating Marnie’s tree.

  “You’ve got no lights,” said Ben. “Can’t have a tree without lights.”

  Donovan smiled. “Try that box under the table.”

  Ben pulled it out and removed the lid.

  “Candles? I thought we had enough candles about the place as it is.” He looked around the room, where every surface seemed to be occupied by candleholders. “Don’t they have electricity in Germany?”

  “It’s supposed to be the festival of light, Ben. Come on. Help me fix the candles on the tree.”

  Ben hesitated. “Before or after?”

  “Before or after what?”

  “I fetch the fire extinguisher.”

  *

  After a sandwich lunch in the office barn with Anne and Ralph, Donovan announced that he had to work on the Beetle and would walk up to the pub car park to collect it. He explained he would fit snow chains before attempting the descent of the field track. Ralph suggested he put the Beetle in the vacant space in the stable barn beside Poppy’s stall.

  Before setting off, Donovan made Anne promise not to look in at cottage number three; surprise was a traditional part of the German Christmas. He was about to leave when Ben appeared in the office. Anne admonished him.

  “Shouldn’t you be doing schoolwork at this time of day?”

  Ben looked shocked. “Whoever heard of working on Christmas Eve? Donovan says it’s the main event in Germany.”

  Anne gave him the heavy eyelids look.

  “I’m serious,” he persisted. “Anyway I thought Donovan might need some more help.”

  “It’s all done for now,” said Donovan. “But you can give me a hand with the candles later on, okay?”

  “What time shall I come?”

  Donovan looked at Anne. “Six o’clock?”

  She nodded. “Assuming Marnie’s back by then.”

  *

 
Snow fell for the first time that day as the sun was dipping towards the horizon between banks of clouds. The lights had been turned on in the school for the whole of the afternoon, and it came as no surprise to the observant when the first flakes descended to settle on the playground just before the last bell sounded. On his way to the head’s office, Mr Meadows became aware of a muffled cheer from the children leaving the building.

  Margaret Giles outlined her proposals to Mr Meadows and asked for his opinion. His hesitation and the confused expression on his face did not give her grounds for encouragement.

  “I don’t think I follow, Mrs Giles. You want me to be his form teacher even after he’s left the school? How can that be possible?”

  Margaret suppressed a sigh. It must have been the worst news he could receive, just when he thought Ben was out of his life forever.

  “It’s quite straightforward. Ben remains on the school roll as a peripatetic pupil. His mother will use the school’s books to teach him, keeping in touch with me by phone once a week. If she needs any other advice or support, we’ll provide that by correspondence. I hope we might also be getting extra materials to give him more challenges.”

  “I see. And where would we get these extra materials?”

  “I’m exploring possibilities with the county inspector for primary education. I’ll let you know in due course.”

  Mr Meadows made as if to stand, but Margaret stopped him with a gesture.

  “There’s something you need to bear in mind, Mr Meadows. You’ll be keeping your present class into the fourth year.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Which means you’ll be continuing your link with Ben Haycroft.”

  “Yes. Well perhaps you’ll let me know if his mother agrees, in due course.”

  Margaret shook her head. “I think it would be better from all points of view if you established better relations with Ben and his mother. I’d therefore like you to put the proposal to Mrs Haycroft in the first instance.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I suggest you go to see them after school tomorrow as a first step.”

  “But what would I say?”

  “I think perhaps an apology for let’s say, manhandling Mrs Haycroft would be a good start. I’m sure she’d be reasonable as soon as she realises you’re offering professional support to them both.”

  “You think so.”

  “I do. And I have every confidence in you, Mr Meadows.” She gave him what she hoped he would recognise as an encouraging smile. “It’s time to build bridges.”

  *

  Anne walked round to the stable barn mid-afternoon to see if Donovan had frozen to death. She found him wiping his hands on a rag, staring in at the engine compartment in the back of the Beetle, listening to it running.

  “I’ve come to see if you need anything. Coffee, tea, brandy, resuscitation?”

  “A little mouth-to-mouth wouldn’t go amiss,” said Donovan.

  Anne kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “That’ll have to do for now. I don’t want to startle Poppy.” She glanced across at the horse who was looking over the top of the straw bales in the adjacent bay. “And I’ve got to get to the post office.”

  “I’ll take you. The Beetle needs a test run. Just fitted a new fuel pump.”

  Anne glanced upwards. “It’s going to start snowing again.”

  Donovan rolled up his kit of tools. “I’ve got the chains fitted.”

  They were chugging past the school, the snow chains making a strange rattling sound, as the children issued out onto the pavement. Large flakes were falling straight down like a bead curtain in the still twilight air. With no horse waiting at the gate, it looked like any other school scene, cars parked at varying angles to the kerb, a small cohort of mothers gathered round the entrance. The Beetle rolled to a halt outside the shop.

  “Are you going to leave the car at the pub?” Anne asked.

  “I prefer to keep it down at your place.”

  “You’re not still thinking people might be looking out for you, are you?”

  Donovan shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that’s all over now.”

  “Good. Want anything from the shop?”

  “There’s a wood-burner in the cottage. Do you have logs and kindling?”

  “That’s Ralph’s department. I’m sure he’s got everything.”

  Donovan turned the car while Anne posted the letters and bought a few essentials in the shop. When she came out and climbed into the elderly Beetle, she realised that music was playing.

  “What’s that? It’s nice.”

  “I’ve fitted a cassette player. This is a tape I’ve had for years, German Christmas carols from Mainz cathedral. I thought it might set the atmosphere for this evening.”

  Donovan drove slowly along the high street to protect the snow chains. By the time they had passed the school, the ice and snow on the road became thicker and Anne could feel and hear the chains biting into the impacted surface. The afternoon was turning darker by the minute, and the snow curtain was gradually becoming opaque as the headlight beams reflected off the tumbling flakes.

  Turning from the road through the field gate, they had barely gone twenty yards when Donovan slowed the car to a halt. Coming towards them, silhouetted against the snow field, Poppy and Ben were plodding up the slope. Anne wound down her window as Ben came over. He smiled in at her, brushing snow from his eyelashes.

  “You didn’t wait for me,” he said without reproach.

  “You didn’t come.”

  “I was busy doing schoolwork.”

  “On Christmas Eve?” Anne teased.

  “I thought I was under orders to get it done.”

  Donovan leaned over. “Are we seeing you later?”

  Ben smiled and nodded, but it was a grim smile.

  “What’s the matter?” Anne said.

  “Nothing really. It’s just, well, I still don’t have anything to …” He stopped in mid sentence and cocked his head on one side, listening. Music wafted out from the cassette player. A few seconds passed before he spoke again. “Or maybe I do.”

  *

  The wood-burning stove in the cottage sitting room looked to Donovan as if it had never been used. Ralph had told him where the logs were stacked, so he took the basket from beside the fireplace and headed out for the woodstore in the garage barn. As he stepped outside, the security lights came on. The snow had eased off, leaving a dusting of powder on the windowsills. Crossing the courtyard, Donovan tried to conceal his surprise when a male figure walked round the corner of the office barn. The two young men stopped and stared at each other in the subdued light. The new arrival spoke first.

  “Are you Marnie’s new tenant?”

  “No.” Donovan guessed they were both about the same age. “I’m visiting. And you?”

  “My name’s Ronny Cope. I live in the village. I’m a friend of Anne.”

  “Donovan Smith.”

  “Your face looks familiar,” said Ronny. “Have I seen you here before?”

  “It’s possible. Ralph Lombard’s an old family friend.”

  “Ah, I see.” Ronny relaxed visibly and nodded. “Well, I’d better let you get on.”

  “Sure.”

  Ronny turned towards the office barn while Donovan continued on his way, lugging the basket. He heard the office door open and close. Round the corner, he stopped and waited. After some moments he murmured, “Ben.”

  The boy was at his side in a second. “How did you know I was there?”

  “I saw your shadow.”

  “But I was behind you.”

  “I keep a spare pair of eyeballs round the back of my head.”

  Ben laughed softly.

  “You know that chap?” Donovan asked. “Says he’s a friend of Anne.”

  “He was up at the school yesterday. That was the only time. I’ve not seen him down here before.”

  “Why were you lurking, Ben?”

  The bo
y grinned. “Was I lurking?”

  “You were definitely lurking.”

  They began walking to the garage barn.

  “I wanted to see if you were doing anything else in the cottage.”

  “No. You’ve seen everything, but It’ll a surprise for the others. That’s how we organise it in Germany.”

  “Are you German, then?”

  “My mother was German.”

  “Was?”

  They turned on the light in the barn and located the stack of logs behind Marnie’s classic sports car under its cover.

  “Both my parents died in a road accident when I was about your age. Do you and your parents live on the boat the whole time?”

  Ben turned away and began putting logs into the basket. “There’s just my mum and me. My dad left us before I was born.”

  Donovan joined in with the logs. He made no comment.

  “Do we need any kindling?” Ben asked. “There are some bags of small sticks down here on the floor.”

  “One bag will do. Can you bring it? I’ll take the basket.”

  “Okay.” He picked up a bag and began following Donovan out. “Donovan? There was one other thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “I thought I saw someone in the shadows by the farmhouse.”

  Donovan stopped in the entrance and turned round. “When was that?”

  “Just before I saw you.”

  “Maybe Ronny?”

  “Not sure. Couldn’t see very well.”

  Donovan looked thoughtful but said nothing.

  *

  After two further trips to the woodstore, Donovan made a neat pile of logs behind the basket in the alcove while Ben went back to Glastonbury to change for the evening. Donovan set the fire in the stove and lit it before switching off the radiators on the ground floor.

  The final touch was to hang decorations in the windows. In the sitting room he attached a straw star in one window overlooking the courtyard and a balsawood outline of a Christmas tree in the other. In the upstairs windows he hung two more stencils, one depicting a gingerbread house, the other a heart with a candle in the middle. Behind each cut-out he lit a candle and went outside to inspect the result.

  Hearing footsteps crunching on snow, he became aware of Anne standing beside him.