Authors: Rebecca Shaw
‘Mummy! Mummy!’
‘Flick? I’m in the kitchen.’ Harriet turned to look as her daughter raced in from the hall.
‘Mummy! Ms Pascoe’s got the most enormous cat!’
‘What’s she like?’
‘She’s black, black all over. She’s got the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen – just the colour of your engagement ring. Green as green. And she comes to school, Ms Pascoe says, every day.’
‘I should hope she does if she’s a teacher.’
‘Oh Mummy, I’m not talking about her, I’m talking about her
cat
.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Harriet chuckled. ‘I really meant Miss Pascoe. What’s she like?’
‘It isn’t Miss it’s
Ms
Pascoe. Well, she’s just like her cat. She’s dressed all in black with the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen too. She’s so slender!’
‘Is that the cat or Miss Pascoe?’
‘Oh Mummy, grow up! I liked Mr Palmer, but Ms Pascoe, she’s going to be gorgeous. Daddy will love her.’
‘Will he, indeed. There’s your drink. Biscuit?’
‘Yes, please.’ Flick perched on a kitchen chair and blew a kiss to little Fran who had emptied the cupboard where Harriet kept her baking tins, and was sitting surrounded by them. She had a wooden spoon and was making a lot of noise pretending to mix a cake in the largest of the tins. ‘I’m glad I’m in the top class, because I’ve got Ms Pascoe all the time. Her cat hasn’t got a name.’
‘Why not?’ Harriet helped herself to a biscuit and sat down to talk with Flick, who tossed her long brown plaits over her shoulders out of her way and took a drink of her milk before answering.
‘She says it’s because she, that is Ms Pascoe, doesn’t know what the cat’s name is and she doesn’t want to upset it by calling it a name which isn’t it, if you see what I mean. So she just calls it Cat.’
‘Oh, I see. What about your Hartley and Chivers then?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that!’ Flick looked worried. ‘Oh dear! Do you think I’ve been upsetting them all this time, calling them a name they aren’t?’
‘I doubt it. They know when they’re on to a good thing. My guess is they’ve kept quiet about their names because they don’t want to cause any upset. They seem quite happy, don’t they?’
‘I wouldn’t want to give them split personalities. Just think if I’d called Hartley “Tiger” instead, when all the time he’s a quiet cat and wouldn’t say boo to a goose!’ She finished the rest of her milk. ‘Ms Pascoe’s cat sleeps on the classroom windowsill. We’re not supposed to touch her. She’s an untouchable cat, says Ms Pascoe. Touching is
verboten
. But it’s quite difficult because, as you know, I like cats. I have an affinity with them, Ms Pascoe says. Ms Pascoe says that cats
allow
us to look after
them
. We don’t own them like ordinary people think we do. Ms Pascoe’s cat is very intelligent, she says. I think I shall devise intelligence tests for my two and see how they score.’
‘Apart from the cat, was school all right – first day back and all that?’
‘Oh yes! Ms Pascoe says we’re going to have a wonderful time at school, now she’s come. I’m glad I’m not in Mrs Hardaker’s class – she looks a bit grim. So does Mrs Duckett. She was quite snappy with me when I went to the kitchen to get a clean saucer for the cat’s water – said she was the school caretaker and not a zoo-keeper. The twins started in the playgroup today. Beth cried, and cried. Come to think of it, she cried all morning.’
‘Oh dear. Poor Beth.’
‘Well, she is only just three.’
‘I know, but she’s always been the confident one.’
‘Well, she isn’t now. We could hear her all over the school. The rector came, because Mrs Neal couldn’t do a thing with her. Her face was all blotchy when he took her home. He had to carry her under his arm because she wouldn’t walk, and her legs were kicking and she was screaming. Good thing he’s big and strong, isn’t it?’
‘Oh dear. Still, it won’t last long – she’ll soon get used to it.’ Harriet asked Flick to play with little Fran for a while. ‘She’s missed you, and so have I, you being away all day, first day of term.’
‘OK. Come on, Fran, we’ll play with the doll’s house,’ and Fran trotted off after Flick. Harriet tidied the tins away, and began to make the evening meal.
She glanced at the clock. Four o’clock. Jimbo would be back soon. Harriet looked out of the kitchen window. She never liked the garden in winter. No snow yet though, thank goodness. It was already almost dark. This was Jimbo’s worst time of the year. Somehow the dark months didn’t suit his personality; besides which, December and January were his busiest time of the year for catering. By the time Christmas and the New Year were over he was exhausted.
The door banged. ‘It’s me. Boys home yet?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Darling!’ Wrapping his arms around her waist, Jimbo kissed the back of Harriet’s neck and said, ‘Mmmmmm. My darling. Where are the girls?’
‘Playing with the doll’s house.’
‘Flick OK?’
‘She’s fallen in love.’
‘Good God! Not yet, surely. She’s only ten.’
‘No, stupid. With her new teacher and the teacher’s cat.’
‘Ah! So how is this Miss What’s-er-name?’
‘
Ms
Pascoe, if you please. Well, Flick says you’ll love her.’
‘Will I, indeed. My word.’ Looking in the kitchen mirror, he stroked his bald head, straightened his bow tie, and grinned at himself.
‘Jimbo!’
‘Only joking. She’s Ms then?’
‘She is. Busy day?’
‘Very busy. Truth to tell, Harriet, the Store’s turning into a gold mine. I envisaged it as a front for our other activities and never really expected to do more than break even, but not any more. It stands in its own right now – so does the mail order. Your mother is in her seventh heaven; she was positively skipping round the mail-order office this afternoon. Christmas, with the new mincemeat and the new chutney and your idea of a hamper-for-one, broke all previous records. “Sadie,” I said, “you’re a pearl without price!” I’ve invited her for supper tonight. All right?’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘We’ll have wine, I think. Do the old girl good.’
‘Not so much of the old. She was only eighteen when I was born, you know.’
Jimbo laughed. ‘We’ll be able to run her a good long while yet, then.’
‘Ruthless you are! Completely ruthless.’
‘I’ve decided, this year, come hell or high water, the whole family is going to have a holiday together. You, me, the children …’ He heard the front door open. ‘That’s the boys home. Feed the brutes, quick.’
Harriet put a plate of biscuits and glasses of Coke on the table. ‘Come and get it!’ Fergus and Finlay strolled in. The two of them, though not twins, were the same height. Fergus had inherited his father’s heavy build, while Finlay was slightly built like Harriet and with his mother’s dark hair; they had Jimbo’s round head and face, with determined chins like their father’s.
They sat down. ‘Where’s the girls?’
‘Playing with the doll’s house.’
‘Thank God! Give us a bit of peace.’
‘Yes, your mother
has
had a busy day and hello to you both.’
‘Sorry, Dad. First day back and that.’ Fergus helped himself to a second biscuit. ‘I worked out today I’ve got five more years and two terms, counting this one, to do at school. I don’t think I shall last that long.’
‘Pity you can’t come running with me in the morning. Gets the old adrenalin flowing, makes a good start to the day.’ Jimbo threw a mock punch or two at Fergus’ head.
‘Thanks, but I much prefer slumping on the old school-bus, Dad. It’s a drag back and forth to Culworth, day in day out.’ Finlay stretched his legs out and by mistake kicked the table. Coke splashed everywhere. ‘God, what a mess!’
‘Calm down, calm down.’ Harriet mopped up the sticky pool.
‘What’s the new Head like? Can’t believe old Palmer’s gone for ever.’
‘
Mr
Palmer to you.’ Harriet chuckled. ‘She’s called Ms Pascoe, and Flick says Daddy will love her.’
‘Watch out, Mum. I can see the headlines now:
Turnham Malpas entrepreneur disappears with delectable new headmistress
.’
Jimbo aimed another playful cuff at Fergus’ head. ‘Grandmother is coming to supper tonight, so please, homework done, pronto pronto, then you can entertain her.’
‘Oh good, she’s teaching us poker. Have you any money, Finlay? You know she likes to play for high stakes.’
‘Harriet! Your mother is teaching your sons bad ways. Gambling at their age indeed!’
‘Funny how they’re
my
sons when they’re up to no good. Clear off, boys, and get your work done.’ Harriet was chopping carrots furiously. ‘Poor little Beth screamed the school down this morning apparently. Liz Neal sent for Peter and he had to take her home.’
‘Poor little mite. She’s usually so bouncy. How can we possibly know what terrors they are experiencing?’
‘True. I’m wondering if it’s Caroline going back to doctoring that’s caused it.’
‘Ah, hadn’t thought of that. She can scream when she wants to, that child. I bet they could hear her all over the school.’
They could hear her all over the school on Wednesday, too. Peter took her and Alex in good time to give Beth a chance to settle before the others arrived. He stayed for half an hour and then tried creeping out while she was busy, but as he reached the door Beth realised what he was doing and began screaming again.
Liz Neal took hold of her and told Peter to go, so he did, but Beth would not be pacified. There was a knock at the door and in came Ms Pascoe. She shouted above the din Beth was making: ‘This won’t do, you know. We can hear her even with the doors shut. What’s her name?’
‘Beth Harris. She’s the rector’s little girl.’
‘Spoilt only child, is she?’
‘Oh no. Her twin’s here too. That’s him over there playing in the sand – the one with the reddish hair. Beth, darling, hush hush.’
‘I would have thought the rector would have brought them up better than this. Send for him or her mother. Where’s she?’
‘Dr Harris is taking a surgery this morning.’
‘I see. Well, we can’t go on like this. Either someone stays with her or she goes home. You’ll have them all crying if this continues. She didn’t cry yesterday, did she?’
‘She wasn’t here; she only comes Monday, Wednesday and Friday.’
‘I see. Well, that’s more than enough – but do something,
please
. OK?’ Ms Pascoe patted Beth’s leg but Beth tried to kick her and Ms Pascoe had to jump aside. ‘My word. What a hellcat she is.’
‘She is not. This behaviour is most unlike her.’ Liz struggled to contain Beth, who was trying to kick Ms Pascoe again. ‘She’s normally a very social being.’
‘Well, you must sort it out somehow. I’m teaching my class to meditate and this isn’t helping.’
Meditate? thought Liz. ‘Can I borrow your phone, please?’ she said aloud.
‘Of course. Gladly.’ And Kate Pascoe swept back to her class. There were twenty of them aged nine to eleven. Nine boys, eleven girls. Eager. Bright. Perfectly splendid material.
From her window where Cat lay sleeping, she saw the rector carrying Beth Harris home. She was still screaming and her sturdy little legs were still kicking out. Peter Harris’ face was briefly visible as he turned to check for traffic before crossing the road. His expression was a strange mixture of anger and distress.
Jimbo was in the Store on Friday busy serving his customers. His boater, short-sleeved white shirt and red bow tie, combined with the red-and-white striped butcher’s apron he wore, gave him a certain panache. This morning he sported a brilliant scarlet and acid yellow ribbon around his beloved boater. Jimbo’s particular brand of repartee delighted his customers, and there was plenty of it today; he was feeling particularly bouncy, having completed the year-end figures and found them so very satisfactory. He raised his boater in greeting to Pat Duckett.
‘Good morning, Mrs Duckett. How’s school this term?’
‘Mrs Duckett?’
‘Well, Pat then.’
‘Bring back Mr Palmer, is all I can say. The sooner the better.’
‘Oh dear – like that, is it? I was told your new Head was gorgeous.’
‘I don’t know who told you that, but from where I’m standing I wouldn’t ’ave said so. Still, early days yet. Things might settle down – new broom and all that.’
Jimbo leant forward and whispered in her ear, ‘If things are really bad, why not give your notice in and work for me permanently?’
Pat gave him a surprised look. ‘Really?’
‘Well, you’ll soon be married, so you won’t need the daily grind, will you, not to quite the same extent? And you proved yourself at the Show. Organised the refreshment marquee like a dream, you did.’
‘Did I?’
‘You know you did. I could find lots of work for you. I’ve so many requests coming in for catering that I shan’t be serving in the shop before long.’
‘You mustn’t give that up. You’re the reason people come in. They like your style – does ’em good. Oh dearie me, look, you have a visitor.’