Meet Me at the Pier Head

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No. Wait here for Miss Bellamy. I shouldn’t be long.’

  Jack waited as instructed. He smoked a couple of cigarettes, plucked a few weeds out of a border, said cheerio to the deliverers of furniture, decided he was bored and went inside. The boss had left the door to his flat unlocked, so Jack made his way to the kitchen and set the kettle to boil. If Mr Quinn’s cat was going to die this evening, the poor man would be in need of a cup of tea.

  ‘Jack?’

  He turned. ‘Mr Quinn? You all right, Sir?’

  ‘It’s Theo unless we’re in harness, Jack. Or Ted, if you prefer.’

  ‘I thought I’d just put the kettle on, Sir – I mean Theo. What happened?’

  Theo swallowed. ‘I traded Tyger in for a newer model.’ Two tears made their way down his cheeks while he held up a tiny box with holes punched in the top. ‘This is Tyger-Two. Another stripy one.’ He sniffed. ‘I kept my hand on Tyger till I was sure he’d gone. Then the vet gave me this little article.’ He opened the box. ‘He was fished out of the brook with his brothers and sisters. Every one of them was saved. We have a terrific vet. So I seem to have won a bundle of trouble in a cardboard carton.’

  Jack peered in. ‘It’s all mouth,’ he said.

  Theo gave the kitten the bit of salmon Tyger had refused. ‘A lot of growing to do, Tyger. Now I have to train him,’ he told the caretaker.

  ‘No, you don’t. Dump him where the old cat used to pee, and he’ll make his own arrangements. For nights, find an old tray and put sand in it. You just watch – he’ll behave exactly the same as the old cat did. He’ll sleep where he slept, walk where he walked and eat you out of house and home.’

  Theo sat and lifted the kitten out of his box.

  ‘He’s handsome,’ Jack said.

  ‘A tiger in miniature,’ sighed the kitten’s new owner.

  Jack heard vehicles arriving and, as Theo appeared not to notice, he dashed outside alone. He spoke to Tia when she alighted from her MG. ‘Theo – I mean Mr Quinn – is a bit upset because his old cat just died, so he’s inside, Miss.’

  She brushed past him and walked into her landlord’s living room. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said. He was using a shirt cuff to mop up the tears. ‘I know,’ she continued. ‘When my pony had to be destroyed, I wanted to sue the vet. This happened just now, did it?’

  ‘Yes, and the vet gave me this ravenous little beastie instead.’

  She smiled. ‘Dry your eyes on him, Mr Quinn. Let the tears for the old cat be wiped away by the new. Incidentally, that’s one gorgeous kitten. There’s a man outside, by the way.’

  ‘School caretaker, Jack Peake. He’s here to help you get your stuff upstairs, as am I.’ He placed the kitten in a basket, followed Tia out and closed the door. No matter what, life moved. Poor old Tyger . . .

  Jack was standing at the side of the house, and he was covered in clothes of many colours. ‘The trunks are heavy,’ he explained to Theo. ‘She’s brought more frocks than bloody Lewis’s, plus about forty pairs of shoes—’

  ‘Shut up,’ Delia snapped. ‘You’ve still got the toy department to deal with.’ She walked upstairs with a pile of suits and blouses.

  ‘Toy department?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Rocking horse, dolls’ house, a bear and a rabbit.’ Tia’s face was serious.

  ‘Ar, ey,’ Jack moaned as only a Scouser can. ‘Me ma says I haven’t to carry nothing heavy on account of me trouble, like.’

  Tia folded her arms and tapped a foot. In her best Liverpoolese, she answered him. ‘Listen, la’. My ma’s bigger’n your ma and she’ll give you the rounds of the kitchen if you don’t shape. If you want trouble, she’ll ’ave you down that back alley with your arse on fire quicker than you can shout for ’elp.’

  In spite of his heartbreaking loss, Theo had to turn away in order to prevent his smile becoming laughter. Delia, by no means as pretty as her sister, reappeared and delivered a very damp raspberry in Tia’s direction. ‘You must have an outfit for every day of the year.’

  ‘Not Good Friday. I stay in bed on Good Friday and wear only black.’ She turned to Theo. ‘The furniture’s lovely, Mr Quinn. Amazingly good taste for an American.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Me owld feller’s an Irish Scouser, Miss.’

  ‘Ah yes, I forgot. You’re half and half, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am indeed, and I’ve no idea which half is the more dangerous.’

  The banter continued until the van was unloaded. Theo carried the dolls’ house while Jack dealt with the antique rocking horse.

  ‘Come into my place,’ Theo said to the girls when Jack had left to catch a bus. ‘I made a chicken salad and an apple pie. My guess is that you’ve lived on snacks all day.’

  ‘We have.’ Delia eyed her companions as they entered Theo’s domain. As well as three adults and one kitten, there was another presence in the room; she could almost taste it. Theo and Tia scarcely looked at each other. Ah. Cupid was here.

  They sat at the dining table eating a delicious meal, welcome after many hours on the road. Delia, while appearing to concentrate on filling her stomach, watched her sister closely. Tia glowed. She had a habit of glowing, but on this occasion she was radiant, animated and talkative. Her voice was slightly high-pitched, while the subject matter was deliberately cheerful, designed to deflect attention almost totally from herself, because she was in hiding. She spoke about their journey, the appalling condition of public conveniences, her lovely flat and the dressing room big enough to accommodate her vast collection of garments and accessories. ‘I’m a magpie,’ she explained. ‘I collect things.’

  Delia took a chunk of crusty bread and tore into it, smearing a little butter on its soft interior. There were two Tias – or were there three? There was the carefree, runabout child who had dashed about just this morning on the green – was that only this morning? It felt like days ago. The Tia here and now was reacting to a very attractive man, her landlord and her boss. Messy. Elegant Tia emerged when required. Elegant Tia was another coat of armour. So was the child the only real Tia? Was the child going to become mother to Tia? What was the quote? Oh yes, the child is father of the man. So was this big sister still adolescent at the age of twenty-six? Or was there yet another side to this clever, complex female?

  Then the penny dropped; Tia, like Ma, was a consummate actress. ‘Thanks for the lovely meal,’ Delia mumbled. ‘I’ll go and do a bit of tidying. Bring my apple pie up, please, Tia.’ She left in a hurry.

  Tia found herself relaxing. Delia was an astute, intelligent woman with good instincts, and her presence had inhibited her older sister. Now, Tia could be herself, couldn’t she? Looking up, she saw that he was gazing at his new kitten. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  Theo shrugged. ‘It’s not the worst day in my life, though it comes in at about number four. Tyger was here when I moved in; he refused to leave with his owners when they went. I inherited him. Once again, I seem to have won a cat. That poor scrap was left to drown, so what could I do?’

  ‘He’s pretty.’

  ‘They’re all pretty till they start eating furniture.’

  She laughed.

  ‘My mom usually kept a cat,’ he mused, almost to himself.

  ‘Is she still in America?’

  He nodded. ‘She’s buried there, yes. In Georgia.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you came from New York City.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘Remarried. Living in Plainfield, New Jersey, and working in Perth Amboy. When I was old enough, I moved back to New York before coming to England.’

  ‘Ah.’ She paused. ‘May I help myself to apple pie? I didn’t realize how hungry I was till I started to eat.’

  ‘Of course. Cut a slice for your sister.’

  Taking this as dismissal, she excavated two portions of pie and placed a blob of whipped cream on top of each. ‘May I borrow spoons until I fi
nd my own?’

  ‘Please do. Oh.’ He gave her his full attention. ‘You’re going?’

  Tia felt heat arriving in her cheeks. ‘Er . . . I thought that was what you meant.’

  He stood up. ‘I imagine you need sleep, Miss Bellamy. It was a long drive. But before you leave, may I ask a small favour?’

  She nodded.

  ‘If I give you a key, will you look in on this little chap while I’m at school? He’s young, and he’ll miss his family.’

  She was suddenly sad. ‘I’ll do that with pleasure, Mr Quinn.’

  ‘Theo out of school.’

  ‘Very well, Theo-out-of-school.’

  At last, they looked at each other. She was very pretty, he thought. She was also clever, interesting, witty, funny and kind. And her laugh was cute, like bells tinkling – oh, stop it, Theo. You know the rules, and you should have waited for a male tenant.

  Tia wasn’t aware of having reached any sensible conclusion about Theo Quinn; he confused her, and that fact might prove . . . where were her words? Diverting? Alarming? Apple pie. She put his spare key in a pocket, picked up the dishes and waited till he opened the door.

  ‘Good night, Tia,’ he said.

  She walked up the side of the villa to her own door, which Delia had left on the latch. A great deal of tidying had been achieved. ‘Delia?’ she called. ‘Apple pie for two. Thanks for all you’ve done.’

  ‘Coming.’

  They ate cross-legged on a rug in front of the fireplace.

  Delia, always hungry yet permanently thin, finished first. ‘That was some dance you two were performing down below,’ she said.

  Tia swallowed a mouthful of pie. ‘Dance? What dance?’

  ‘The Avoidance Tango. So busy not looking at each other, you chattering like a young gibbon, he concentrating on the kitten—’

  ‘He had his cat put down today, Delia. He was crying when we arrived.’

  ‘Oh.’ Delia held up her hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘OK, don’t shoot. He’s very attractive, nearly handsome enough to make me change sides. He looks like a gorgeous, sun-kissed Italian or Spaniard. And a man who cries is a man with soul.’

  ‘That’s a line from one of Ma’s films. Pa was in it, too.’ Tia went for a change of subject. ‘Do you think the divorce will happen?’

  ‘Abso-bloody-lutely. I’ve seen the preparatory paperwork, rooted it out of Ma’s bureau when she was in the garden with Nanny Reynolds. Pa is photographed with an assortment of young females, and Ma’s lawyer has collected signed statements. Oh yes, just you wait for a couple of weeks and it will be in all the gossip columns.’

  ‘I’d better get this place ready if they’re coming to stay. Will you help?’

  The younger sister yawned. ‘Tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.’

  Tia climbed over boxes and bags until she managed to reach her bed. Delia, bless her, had made it up with fresh, new sheets, blankets and eiderdown. Nightdress? Oh, bugger that; I’ll sleep in my underwear and clean up my act tomorrow. I should really have a bath, but I’m too . . .

  Her head hit the pillow and she was out like a light within minutes. She dreamed of cats, kittens and Dresden, her long-dead pony.

  The luminous hands of her wristwatch announced two o’clock when she woke in an unfamiliar room whose shadows were eliminated by a bright, full and low-hanging moon. Stepping carefully over her possessions, she went to close the curtains, and saw that she had probably been disturbed by more than moonlight. He was digging. A small suitcase lay on the grass behind him; he was burying his beloved cat.

  Tears welled in her eyes and spilled slowly down her face. Theo Quinn was a good, kind man. About six feet in height, strong and tanned, he was also decorative, sensitive and capable. Although she couldn’t see his face, she knew from the occasional movement of an arm that he was dashing saline from his cheeks, and she wept with him. A coat hung on the back of her door, and she longed to don it, run downstairs and hold his hand, but she wouldn’t. This was a private funeral and a private man, and Tia should avoid intrusion.

  As she drew her curtains towards the closed position, he turned to pick up the case containing Tyger. Movement in his peripheral vision made him look up, and he froze. Their eyes locked as if drawn together by some weird kind of magnetism. Madam was wiping her face on new curtains, ten shillings a yard plus lining and weights, plus maker’s fee. She was dressed in some sort of underslip with thin straps over her shoulders. And now, she stood as still as stone, watching him watching her.

  Come on, Theodore Quinn, pull yourself together. Come on, Tia Bellamy, pull your curtains together. It can’t happen, not now, not ever. Romance is for other people, not for you, Theo, because . . . Oh, to hell with the because. He picked up the case and placed Tyger in the grave.

  Tia returned to her bed. Delia might be right; perhaps the band was playing, and he and she were blocking out the rhythm. Simon would be here soon, Simon who loved her. Simon, who refused to take no for an answer, was relocating to Liverpool in order to wear her down. She would not be worn down, but he was persistent. His father was Jewish, his mother Christian, and Pa had hit the roof when he’d heard Simon’s surname. Pa might have been a great help to Hitler or Mosley, since his attitude towards minorities was appalling.

  She fell asleep eventually, this time dreaming about a tall, beautiful man standing over her as she reached for an old cat under a table, a striped animal that refused to come to her. The brown-eyed man smiled down at her while she crawled across a rug. ‘He’s a one-person cat,’ he said, his accent slightly American.

  ‘You’re a no-person man,’ she accused him. ‘Why?’

  He stared at her. Near-black wavy hair had tumbled onto his forehead. His eyes, usually so warm and friendly, were suddenly free of expression. ‘I must give you a copy of the curriculum,’ he said. ‘And a statement book for each child. That way, we can account for the progress and development of every individual.’

  Simon was pulling at her arm. ‘Go away,’ she ordered.

  ‘Come on, Tia.’

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Wake up now, or I’ll get a cloth and cold water.’

  The victim opened one eye. ‘Ah, it’s you, Delia.’

  ‘Who did you think it was? The Boys’ Brigade?’

  Tia sat up. ‘I was dreaming.’

  ‘Were you, now? About your beautiful landlord?’

  ‘Cats, if you really must know. I have to look after the new Tyger while Theo’s out. And I really wanted to observe at the school.’

  ‘Go, then. I’m sure I can kitty-sit.’

  Tia yawned. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost ten.’

  ‘What? Why didn’t you wake me?’

  Delia shook a finger under her sister’s nose. ‘Your royal highness, I am deeply sorry. But one’s bath has been run, and if one would kindly amble unaided towards the facilities, one might soak oneself and find clean clothes before one begins to pong.’

  ‘Oh, pong off, Delia. Take the key from my dressing table, go down and make sure the kitten’s OK.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  When Delia had left, Tia scraped her abundant hair into an untidy bun on top of her head. After crumbling sweet-smelling bath cubes into the water, she stepped in and allowed her aching body to relax. Delia was right; driving hundreds of miles in an MG was an uncomfortable experience. Should she sell Evangeline and buy something sensible? No. Twenty-six was surely rather young for sensible?

  Strangely, Juliet seemed to be the most robust and pragmatic of the Shakespeare trio. She loved her job, worked hard at it and stayed resolutely in Kent in case Pa needed help once the divorce was over. Perhaps Juliet was a saint in training? Or maybe she was just the one with the most common sense.

  Delia talked rationally, yet her commitment to modern music came high on the agenda. She was going to try to buy new drums here, in Liverpool, a city famous for its brilliant music shops. If Scotland Road’s instrument emporium was good e
nough for Americans, it was worth a visit by Delia Bellamy. ‘They cross the Atlantic to buy in Liverpool,’ she had said. ‘So I’ll take a look.’

  As for herself – Tia knew she was a born actress with absolutely no interest in pursuing that avenue. She liked children, wanted to work with them and to use drama as a tool, a vehicle that could carry pupils through reading, through self-expression and, thereafter, through life. It built character and confidence, attributes so important in areas where poverty and deprivation were apparent. ‘I am the light,’ she told herself aloud, wondering if that might be blasphemy. Wasn’t it from the Bible . . .?

  Delia entered the bathroom with a very small cat in her hands. ‘This is a good boy. I took him out and he delivered as ordered. Now, are you going to school or not?’

  ‘Not today. I’ll organize the dressing room, sort through my books and put up some pictures. Will you buy groceries when you’ve looked at drums?’

  ‘Of course.’ Delia paused. ‘Are we feeding the one below?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right. I just thought he might like us to return the favour.’

  ‘He isn’t driving all the way from Kent. And remember, he’s my boss, too. Some distance must be maintained.’ As the words fell from her lips, she knew she was lying. She wanted to know him.

  ‘As you wish, ma’am. I’ll make a pot of coffee. You get dressed and take over kitty-sitting.’

  When Delia had left in the rattling old van, Tia carried Tyger downstairs, fed him and took him outside where once again he performed his duties perfectly. This was a promising kitty. The garden was beautiful; it was apparent that Theodore Quinn took pride in his place of residence. There was a tiny summerhouse, a shed and a greenhouse. This was clearly a tidy, organized man.

  She carried Tyger over every inch of his immediate territory, talking all the while about the apple trees, the hedges, the thorns on the rose bushes and how to avoid drowning in the pond. ‘This is a magnolia,’ she told him. ‘Your master does well to establish one of these so far north. It may not flower every year, but you must respect it. You are one fortunate feline to be taken in by someone like Theo.’