Mickle took Theo back to school, led him back to the office, dragged blanket and bone from the bag and settled in a corner. Flabbergasted, the head of school sat at his desk and watched the wise dog watching him. ‘Why me, Mickle? I’ve never done anyone any real harm since I stopped killing Germans, I go to church occasionally, keep my hands clean and the garden tidy most of the time, I’m good with kids, help old people cross roads, change shirt and underwear every day – why me?’
Unimpressed, the dog yawned noisily.
Theo closed his eyes. Tyger and I are being marginalized. This evening, there will be five human females plus one canine female in my property. The odds are stacking against me and my cat; we will be buried beneath the weight of the tons of accessories that seem to accompany all members of the fairer sex – even Mickle has her box of stuff – and our personalities will be flattened.
I am so . . . happy. For the first time in my life and in the life of Tom Quirke, I feel hope taking root somewhere in the region of my diaphragm. Portia will understand; perhaps I’ll tell her everything if we can get some time to ourselves in Kent.
‘I have an ambulance,’ he told Mickle. ‘It’s been adapted and I’m having it painted blue, so I hope you don’t suffer from travel sickness. Right. You stay here, and I’ll go raid the teachers’ biscuit tin for you. It’s in the staffroom, so I won’t be gone long. Don’t say a word.’
Mickle sighed and settled down for a rest. She wouldn’t say a word.
Maggie was glad to have something to do. Up in Miss Bellamy’s flat, she was making a huge amount of scouse in two large pans. Southerners needed to learn that folk north of Birmingham knew how to live. Pickled beetroot and red cabbage were already on the dining table, and a stool had been brought in for Rosie, as there could be as many as seven or eight diners. It was possibly going to be a funny do, because Miss Bellamy had said last night that both Mr Quinn and her ex-boyfriend might be attending if she could contact Dr Heilberg. Maggie wondered why the girl didn’t collect something sensible like stamps or dried flowers, since men were difficult to store even in a place as big as this.
When she heard a car arriving, she turned the flames to simmer and looked through a front window. Ah, here he was in his little green MG with that big dog sitting in the back on the seat-level shelf that allowed no legroom for humans, though it seemed to be OK for a dog. Miracle had run away from Tom and Nancy this morning; she clearly wanted to live in better circumstances, with posh rugs and a garden.
Oh, God, the cat, the bloody cat. Is my hair all right? He’s one of those beautiful men who make every woman of any age want to look her best. I’ll take this pinny off. The scouse should be fine; I’ll just give it a stir. A squirt of Miss Bellamy’s perfume on my wrists – ooh, that’s nice – and I’m off. No, a bit of lippy and a dab of powder. Pull yourself together, Maggie Stone. You’re not on a date and you’re not eighteen, you hussy.
She dashed downstairs and along the side of the house, letting herself in through Mr Quinn’s – Theo’s – front door. As a guest on both levels, she could come and go as she pleased in either flat. When she entered the living room, Theo was standing in front of the fireplace, a finger to his lips. Maggie froze. A scrap of spiky, furious fur was clawing at the dog’s nose. Behind needle-sharp teeth, Tyger’s face was distorted into the very embodiment of absolute hatred and anger.
The Alsatian remained unmoved for a while before flattening the kitten under one huge front leg. Tyger blinked and hissed, though his enthusiasm for the task appeared to be diminishing fast. It was clear that the deceased Mr Martindale’s faithful companion was in no hurry. The bitch seemed to be smiling, pink tongue on show, ears pulled slightly back as if trying to create a non-threatening frontage.
When the hissing and spitting stopped, that same pink tongue began to wash the kitten. A few half-hearted swipes were attempted, but the canine rose above such innate nastiness. She knew cats, was familiar with their aggression, and had made lifelong friendships with several of the unpredictable bundles. This was a baby that missed its mother, and she would act as surrogate.
‘Aw,’ Maggie breathed, a hand on her chin. ‘Look, Theo.’
‘I’m looking,’ he whispered. ‘Mankind could learn a lot from this.’
Mickle edged her face forward, moved her foot slightly and picked up the kitten in her mouth before lifting her leg off his little body. She carried the tiny creature to her blanket, placed him on it, and began a thorough grooming of her new pupil.
‘Peace in our time,’ Theo said. ‘Five minutes, that took. We fought for six years, and I don’t know how many young Germans I killed to get to this stage. The planet would be a happier place without people. We fucked it up – sorry, Maggie, excuse my lingo.’
‘You’re right, though,’ she said. ‘We do fuck things up. There’s her at number four for a start, carrying on with him at number twelve while her husband’s on nights. There’ll be blood and guts from Ivy Lane to the Albert Dock one of these days. Yes, we make a mess.’
A soggy kitten curled into the dog’s neck and fell asleep.
‘Well, that was fairly quick,’ Theo said. ‘Have you done the scouse?’
‘I have. And I made a cake with Welcome to Liverpool wrote on the top. It’s a bit wobbly, cos I’m not much use with icing, but I done me best. The music’s ready – I just have to click a doodah on the wotsname, so we’re all right.’
‘You’ve done well, Maggie. Would you mind staying here in a supervisory capacity while I take a shower?’
‘Eh?’
‘Be the zoo keeper. Watch them.’
‘Right.’
While he showered, he found himself feeling a childlike excitement. For years, he’d lived in this magnificent house, all alone except for his cat. Suddenly, because he’d done the sensible thing by turning the villa into two apartments, the curtain had finally risen on the Theodore Quinn Show; he had a life. Tom Quirke had never provided that, because writing was done by isolated and often eccentric people who communicated through paper and ink and a typewriter. He’d met several, and some were socially inept, while many spoke only via their characters, choosing to step back and accept people’s love, admiration, praise, criticism, condemnation or whatever by proxy. At least I have my real life, my school, my children, my Portia. If I can just draw a line below . . . under all that went on before I reached the age of reason . . .
So Maggie thinks Simon Heilberg might be on the guest list if Tia can get in touch with him? I suppose he’ll be turning up, booted and suited in doctor mode, so I must wear my Sunday best. No, she wouldn’t like that. Not a suit, then. Slacks, white shirt with open neck, no tie, casual shoes and I wish I’d had a haircut. Still, I’ll look OK, won’t I? But so does Simon, and it never seemed to get him anywhere.
He dried himself, put on a robe and returned to the living room. Tyger was playing with one of Mickle’s ears. Maggie blushed. It was a while since she’d seen a man’s bare legs. They weren’t hairy, and he had nice feet, and she should pull herself together and get down to the Derby and Joan night at her local, find somebody nearer her own age and class.
‘Go and mind your scouse, Maggie,’ he advised. ‘I’ll open the red wine before I go to the station, let it breathe for a while. Exciting, isn’t it?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Oh, it is that, all right. And we can’t tell nobody. I remember seeing her a couple of years back in that film, Marking Time. Broke my heart, she did, and what a lovely dancer. When her husband got sentenced to death, our Doris ran to the ladies’ room until it was all over.’ She paused for breath. ‘Has she left him? Has she left Richard Bellamy?’
‘Yes.’
‘And this Rose Cottage – is it near their house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Won’t he be in a bad mood?’
Theo grinned. ‘Yes,’ he repeated, ‘but he’s being in a bad mood in London. Anyway, even if he comes back, Tia can deal with him. She’s afraid of nobody.’ He failed to remo
ve the pride from his tone.
‘She’s lovely, isn’t she?’
He nodded. ‘Quite a catch for Myrtle Street. She’ll enliven us.’
Maggie smiled; the enlivenment had already begun, and it showed in his eyes whenever the lady in question was mentioned.
The subject under discussion shouted from Theo’s hallway. ‘Nine for food,’ she yelled. ‘I’m going up for a bath.’
Rosie ran in. ‘Look, look, red shoes, Nana.’ The little girl immediately turned into a happy chatterbox. Theo, used to disentangling the excited outpourings of the young, managed to separate shoe shop from lunch with Dr Heilberg plus pretend wine in a posh hotel, the Walker Gallery from a picnic with Harry My Friend Without Legs, and the tide beginning to turn while tug boats pulled in a ship from oh, you’ve got a dog.
Maggie and Theo stared at each other. The child had been so quiet, so cowed and afraid. It was almost like a renaissance, because this was how she might always have been had her mother protected her from the likes of Tunstall.
Theo whispered to Maggie, ‘This is why we have to do it, Maggie. If Sadie makes a complete recovery, well . . .’ He needed say no more.
Maggie inclined her head in agreement. Sadie was her daughter, but betrayal was necessary, since the betrayal of Rosie was the bigger sin.
‘How is she?’ he mouthed.
‘No change; still in a coma.’
Rosie had now become the third occupant of Mickle’s blanket. With her head on the dog’s side, she fell asleep. This had been the happiest day of her life so far, and her dreams were pleasant.
Maggie’s pain and gratitude poured down her face. ‘I don’t know what we would have done without you and Miss Bellamy.’
‘Tia, Maggie. Miss Bellamy’s the schoolteacher.’
‘Yes, right. Don’t know how we’d have managed without Tia, then.’
‘And without whoever killed Tunstall. The police have hit a brick wall, I think. Now, stop weeping. You’ve enough on your plate with all that scouse. I’ll get dressed.’
‘She’s always wanted red shoes.’
‘Shut up, Maggie, or you’ll have my eyes leaking, too.’ He patted her shoulder before going into his bedroom. Leaning against the door, he closed his eyes. In five days, he would be enabling kidnap by driving Rosie and Maggie to Kent. He would be accessory before, during and after the fact. ‘It’s the only way,’ he whispered to himself. ‘She needs to be safe.’
They walked hand in hand down the platform while the huge metal dinosaur breathed its last until turn-around time, as Theo termed it. While the brakes were fully applied near buffers, smoke and steam filled the air. ‘Ma will be in Class One,’ Tia murmured, almost to herself. ‘She has her priorities right.’
‘We’re going diesel soon,’ Theo grumbled. ‘I’ll miss these monsters.’ He stared at his companion; she was a sight worthy of attention. ‘Class One?’ His eyebrows shot upward. ‘Can’t she read?’
‘Do you want a thump?’
‘Don’t answer a question with a question. And leave your hand in mine, because she knows. When she phoned to ask me to inform you that your dad was last seen screaming in Wardour Street, I told her about us.’
‘Us? What about us?’
‘That we’re beginning the mating ritual.’
She clouted him with her handbag. ‘She’s my mother. I should tell her when there’s something to tell.’
He grinned broadly.
‘You’re lying, aren’t you, Mr Quinn?’
He nodded, smile still in place. ‘I’m not lying about your father sacking his agent. The effluent hits the press this week – nothing will stop it. If the man has any sense at all, he won’t contest the divorce.’
‘Sense is a lot to ask, Teddy Bear.’
The grin remained in situ. She cared. The pet name she’d chosen for him, the facial expression when she looked at him, half shy, part happy, part confused, such clues presented no problem to either Theo Quinn or Tom Quirke. This precious and beautiful girl was growing closer to him, and her kisses were becoming greedy. ‘Hand in Hand,’ he said. ‘Quirke’s next book.’
‘Romantic?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On whom would be a better question. When I’ve unburdened myself to you, when you know the details—’
‘Ma!’ she screamed. ‘Nanny!’
Determined, Theo held on to her hand while they ran towards Isadora Bellamy and Joan Reynolds. He released Tia only when he picked up two small suitcases. The three women hugged each other for at least thirty seconds. As predicted by Tia, Isadora had dressed down, brown wig, brown jacket, brown skirt, brown bag and brown shoes.
Tia released her loved ones. ‘Ma, Nanny, this is Teddy or Theo. He’s my head teacher and my landlord.’ She paused. ‘And he’s my boyfriend, too, I suppose.’
Isadora looked him up and down. He was solid, broad-shouldered, tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed and very handsome. She held out her right hand while he put down the luggage. ‘I believe you’re a fan of mine, young man. It’s clear that you have good taste in women, because this daughter of mine is extraordinary.’ She shook his hand and introduced him to Joan. ‘Joan is responsible in part for the fact that my three daughters are brilliant, kind and lovable. She raised them while I worked my way up through the ranks.’
He felt the heat in his face; he had just shaken hands with a star. ‘I’ve met Delia,’ he said. ‘The only one I’ve missed is Juliet.’
‘You’ll meet her next week if you go to Kent.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘You do realize that Richard will leave London and run home to lick his wounds.’
‘I’m not afraid of him,’ Tia said for what felt like the hundredth time.
‘That’s because you have his stubborn streak.’ Isadora smiled at Theo. ‘You’ll do,’ she told him. ‘Just stay one step ahead of her, because she’s quick. We lost count of the number of occasions on which she went missing for hours at a time. When the other two were growing up and getting about, she used to take them with her.’
Nanny Joan agreed. ‘She was naughty, but interesting.’
‘I’m pleased to report that there’s been no improvement whatsoever,’ Theo replied. ‘Come along now. Maggie’s scouse awaits us.’
Isadora smiled. ‘I’m travelling with this gorgeous young man, Joan. You must make do with my daughter.’
On the way home, Theo told Isadora about the welcoming committee. ‘They all know who you are, and none of them will talk.’ He reminded her about Maggie and Rosie and the plan to keep them in Kent until the child’s mother’s future could be assessed. ‘You already know Simon Heilberg. That should make seven, but Tia said nine, so I’ve no idea who the other two are.’
Isadora thought about poor Simon. He had altered the course of his life for Portia, and he would be heartbroken, though Madam had told him not to relocate to Liverpool. ‘Is Simon aware of the plan to abduct Rosie?’
‘It’s hardly abduction; she’ll be with her grandmother.’
‘All the same, the comatose mother is still the mother.’
‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘Yes, Simon’s aware. We shall throw ourselves on the mercy of his father. We need to know what happened to Rosie while her mom was entertaining clients.’ He pulled into the drive, leapt out of the open-topped car and rushed to open the passenger door. They walked towards Tia’s entrance to the property.
Maggie’s dulcet tones floated down the stairs. ‘Is that yous lot?’ she cried.
‘It is indeed,’ Theo shouted.
‘Wait there,’ Maggie ordered, ‘while I press the doodah on the whatsitsname.’
‘The which on the what?’ Isadora enquired.
‘No idea, sorry.’
Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’ crashed down to ground level.
Maggie came down with the noise. ‘Sorry,’ she said, taking fingers out of her ears. ‘It was Miss . . . it was Tia’s fault. She’s got that bloody gramophone tu
rned up to gas mark nine.’
‘Where’s Rosie?’ Theo asked.
‘She’s zoo-keeping.’
Isadora beamed. ‘What a fabulous accent.’
Maggie bobbed up and down as if curtseying to royalty. ‘I seen you in the films,’ she said.
The second MG arrived. Tia jumped out while Theo opened the door for Joan.
Isadora mouthed at Maggie, ‘Call me Izzy while I’m here. Remember I’m in hiding, as will you be quite soon. That music! She does this to me every time, though occasionally we get the “Ride of the Valkyries”.’ She glared at her daughter. ‘Look at her, Maggie – butter wouldn’t melt. Now, take me upstairs and I’ll turn Handel’s handle to simmer, then I’ll get washed and changed.’
By seven o’clock, Tia’s flat felt smaller. Maggie fussed about with sherry and glasses, while Rosie played on the floor with one solid, sensible dog, plus one lunatic kitten. Isadora and Joan shared the sofa, and Simon stalked about like a spare part. Theo and Tia had vanished. ‘Where are they?’ Isadora asked. ‘You see, Joan? She still does the disappearing act.’
Simon walked to the window and looked down at the front garden and pathway. Owner and tenant were standing together, his arm round her waist, her eyes looking into his. I am a damned fool, standing here looking at them standing there. He has my life in his hands, literally. I needn’t have put myself through any of this. She warned me repeatedly, but did I listen? No. I heard what she said, but didn’t heed it.
A Liverpool Echo van hove into view. The driver alighted, opened the rear door, and three other men jumped out. A middle-aged female left the van by the passenger door. She waited near the vehicle while four men carried a fifth up the path; the fifth man’s legs came to a full stop at knee level. Theo Quinn reached into the van and lifted out a flat piece of wood with a wheel at each corner.
When all had entered the ground-floor flat, the driver plus three men left in the delivery van. Eventually, Theo appeared in Tia’s flat. ‘Downstairs, everyone,’ he ordered. ‘We have a visitor who can’t walk. My table is set, and I’ll transfer the food. Rosie, take Mickle and Tyger down first.’
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