Once Upon A Winter (7 page)

‘Well, we don’t do that here. We try to work around the child, not the child around the work. Yes, we’ve got a curriculum. Yes, we have targets. But if you can somehow adapt the teaching style you use for each pupil, even in little ways, I’ve always found you get better results anyway.’

He sounded as if he was giving a pitch. Any second now he would whip out a laptop
and start flicking through a PowerPoint presentation.

‘I suppose that’s the beauty of smaller class sizes,’ said Nell, content to keep the conversation professional.

‘Yes, we’re lucky in that sense. While there were only fourteen children in Joshua and Freya’s year, until now, sixteen in total is still a good number for one class. Miss Perry and her teaching assistant can manage to get plenty of one-on-one time with each child.’

‘Miss Perry’s not here now, though,’ said Nell, ‘so I can’t meet her today?’

‘No, unfortunately. But she’s a very experienced teacher. It’s been her life’s work, you could say. She’s looking forward to meeting Joshua and Freya, and she’s very keen to work with your son.’

‘Well.’ Nell sighed. ‘This has all been very informative. Thank you for giving up your time today.’

‘Today,’ said Daniel, suddenly sounding anxious and fervent in an altogether different way. ‘
Any
day. Whenever. It’s no trouble, Nell. I’d like you to know that. I’m here if you need me. Or at the Annexe. You only have to knock if you want anything.’

Nell frowned, eager to slip away now. ‘I can change my own light-bulbs,’ she blurted out, and instantly realised how silly that sounded.

‘I - I’m sure you can,’ stammered Daniel, all professionalism gone, ‘but your dad did tell me before he left that he was glad you and your grandmother, and the kids, would have a man about the place while he was on this trip.’

‘Really?’ Nell bristled.

‘Listen, Nell - on another subject - Emma said that mentioning it might not be a good idea, as it was so long ago, but I feel I can’t just let it slide -’

‘Mum! Mum, this is really fun!’ Joshua lolloped towards them like an excited puppy. ‘I want to be an actor when I grow up.’

‘It was an astronaut last week,’ Freya reminded him, hot on his heels, her own cheeks rosy with exhilaration. ‘I really like it here, Mum.’

‘Good,’ said Nell, stroking their hair fondly, relieved that mortification had been averted and she didn’t have to have
that
conversation with Daniel.

She made a mental note to herself to murder her sister at the first opportunity.

‘We’d better be off,’ Nell announced, cursing fate - or the local education authority - or whoever was to blame for appointing Daniel Guthrie Deputy Head of her children’s new school. ‘Joshua, Freya, say thank you to Mr Guthrie.’

‘Thank you,’ chimed the children in unison.

‘No problem.’ He smiled, and seemed somehow relieved himself.

Joshua suddenly grabbed Daniel’s hand as they walked out of the hall. ‘I lost an incisor earlier,’ he announced proudly, pointing out the fresh gap in his mouth. ‘So the tooth fairy’s coming tonight. I’ve got to remember to put the tooth under my pillow.’

Daniel grinned down at him. ‘I bet you get more money nowadays than I used to. The rate of inflation affects the fairy world, too, you know.’

‘“Inflation
”,’ repeated Joshua. ‘Like that thing you do with a balloon?’

Nell speeded up, and strode on ahead, unable to conceal her frown but not wanting the children to spot it.

Daniel had probably received a three-figure sum under his pillow for every tooth he ever lost. Daniel’s father, Nathaniel Guthrie, had seemed to think throwing his money and his considerable weight around would make him popular, when in reality most folk had muttered ungraciously about him behind his back.

Nell couldn’t help wondering what that swaggering, imperious, ambitious man had thought of his son becoming a teacher, rather than Prime Minister or a billionaire industrialist. But it wasn’t a question she ever meant to ask, for the simple reason that it was personal, and she never wanted to do ‘personal’ with Daniel Guthrie again.

‘I
don’t like anything to do with PTA and school committees,’ said Nell, grimacing at her sister. ‘The other mums always manage to make me feel inferior. I only came to have a look at that veggie box you were on about.’

‘And here it is,’ said Emma sweetly. ‘Right next to this lovely selection of fabric scraps.’

Nell eyed the two wooden crates on her sister’s kitchen table with suspicion. One was full of seasonal fruit and vegetables, organically grown on a local farm and delivered to Emma every Tuesday. The other seemed to be nothing more than a huge mountain of scrap material. Denim, gingham, brocade and other odds and ends.

‘So,’ Emma waltzed on, ‘I can get Ted - the farm shop man - to deliver a box just like this
to you, if you want. It’s good value. And convenient. Dad used to order a smaller box, for one, but you’ll need something larger like this.’

‘A minute ago you were going on about Harreloe Primary needing my help,’ said Nell. ‘Now you’re going on about vegetables.’

‘Well, you asked me to.’ Emma was innocence personified again.

‘Just get to the point,
Em. We’ve got to get over to the school in a minute to pick up the kids. And then Nana wants crumpets with her afternoon tea. I haven’t got any. Do they sell them “to go” at Calista’s? I can’t work out if it’s a café or a takeaway first and foremost.’

‘A bit of both. Calista
’s usually has them on the menu, you should be fine. Now, back to this.’ She shoved the crate of fabric closer to Nell. ‘You’ve still got your sewing machine, haven’t you?’

‘Of course.’ Nell couldn’t bear to be parted from her long-serving Singer.

‘And you still make those shabby chic cushion covers? Like the ones you gave me last Christmas. I’ve got them upstairs on my bed.’

‘I still sew, if that’s what you mean - when I have the time. Which is hardly ever.’

‘Well, I showed them to Antonia - Toni - she runs the Friends of Harreloe Primary, and she thought they were gorgeous. Very on trend. And she asked me if I could ask
you
to whip up a few for the school Christmas fayre.’

‘What?’

‘You must have a bit more time on your hands, now that you’re not working. Nana isn’t a full-time job, is she? And all the mums clubbed together to get this box ready. Everyone contributed to it. There’s some thread buried under there, too, and if you do a pillowcase style opening, you won’t need to faff about with zips. It won’t cost you anything.’

‘Except all my leisure time,’ Nell pointed out.

‘But just think of the money we could raise! We’re after a new I.T. suite for the school. It would benefit Joshua and Freya, so you can’t say it’s nothing to do with you.’

‘I didn’t say it wasn’t anything to do with me.’ Nell felt the first trickle of guilt. Her sister was an expert at wringing it out of her.

‘I’m making cakes for the cake stall,’ said Emma. ‘I’ll be baking for days.’

‘So I’ve got to do my bit, too, is that what you’re saying? I’ve only been back in Harreloe five minutes. You could have given me a little more time to find my feet.’

‘Well, that’s why I waited a week. A week and a few days, actually. So, I’m sorry it’s last minute, but if you could make as many as possible, the same size as the ones you made me, for next week -’

‘Next week!’

‘Friday. You’ve got ten days. We could probably sell them at a fiver each, if they’re really nice. Could you do a heart appliqué design, do you think? And maybe some with flowers, and -’

‘You’ll get what you’re given,’ said Nell, frowning as she scooped up the crate and strode towards the door.

*

‘
Why don’t you run upstairs and tell Nana about your day?’ Nell suggested, as she clattered into the kitchen at Bryn Heulog, weighed down with all the paraphernalia the kids had conveniently forgotten to carry in from the car. ‘It sounds like it was another good day.’ She dumped lunch bags and book bags on to the gleaming, island worktop, next to the crate of fabric she’d already carried in.

‘Miss Perry dyes her hair to match her suits,’ said Joshua. ‘Adam
Kelly said so. This week it’s an orange rinse. Sometimes it’s pink. He reckons next week will be blue.’

‘She’s nice,’ said Freya, helping herself to a juice carton out of the fridge. ‘Really
funny.’

Nell had finally met the children’s class teacher yesterday morning, when she’d taken the kids into school ten minutes early, to introduce them to Miss Perry. A wondrous looking creature, tall and slender, with a salmon tweed suit, a matching cape and curly grey hair, subtly tinted with orange. Teaching was an obsession, she had declared unashamedly, having never been blessed with a husband or family of her own. Joshua and Freya had seemed fascinated by her.

While to Nell she had looked to be a throwback to some 1930s’ school mistress, the way she spoke about her work, and her modern approach to the children, belied her appearance.

Nell half-expected her to start popping and locking, among other dance moves. As if to reinforce the idea that she just might one day, Miss Perry had pulled out the latest mobile phone from a pocket in her cape. She had started jabbering on about an app that could sort out her grocery shopping for her. ‘It’s sending me an update,’ she’d said, by way of explanation to Nell. ‘Please excuse me. I won’t be a second.’

Nell, firmly entrenched in the past when it came to mobiles, had the most basic phone she could function with.

‘Do you think Nana would like a drink with her crumpet?’ asked Joshua now, wavering at the kitchen door.

‘She’ll probably want a cup of tea. Why don’t you ask her?’ said Nell. ‘Are you going up to see her, Freya?’

‘Later. Mum, can I have a crumpet, too, please?’

‘Save one for me,’ said Joshua, and after kicking off his shoes, he ran into the hall and up the first flight of stairs.

He hurried into his room and peeled off his red school jumper, almost taking his polo shirt up over his head with it. Pulling the polo shirt back down, he ran out again, dodging the floorboard that creaked - unlucky if you trod on it - as he headed for the second flight of stairs leading up to Great-Nana’s room.  

The old lady was asleep on her bed, propped up with so many pillows and cushions Joshua worried there might be a landslide one day that would topple the small, bony figure of his great-grandmother on to the floor. Although a better name would be pillow-slide, Joshua realised, wrinkling his nose. The large room always smelled musty and perfumey at the same time. And Mum kept it hot, with the radiators turned up to full, because she worried about draughts and Great-Nana catching a chill.

The old lady stirred, as if sensing someone was there. Joshua tip-toed over to the bed and sat down in the comfy chair beside it, patterned with roses. Thin eyelids - as fragile as moth’s wings, thought Joshua - fluttered and opened and the old lady registered his presence. A smile made her cheeks crinkle up like concertinas.

‘I was having such a lovely dream,’ she said drowsily, and sighed. Her fingers crawled across the bedspread to seek out his. Joshua knew the routine already. He gripped her hand, and helped her to sit up straighter by carefully adjusting her pillows.

‘You’re a good boy,’ she said. ‘Your father would be proud of you.’

Joshua glanced towards the door, half-afraid his mum would be hovering there, poised to whisk him away.

‘Tell me about my dad again, Nana Gwen.’ He looked back at the old lady, who didn’t like to be called Great-Nana within earshot. ‘You said how you met him at Aunt
Em’s wedding . . .’

‘Yes, yes, met him again. I knew him before then. I was dreaming about him just now . . . I was a girl. About your age. And -’ She stopped. Blinked. Turned towards Joshua as if realising where she was exactly and who she was with.

‘Your poor mother.’ His great-grandmother squeezed his hand weakly. ‘You must be a brave boy for her. There is so little she understands. So little
I
understand. But I saw the best of him, the kindness in him. Just a scared little girl, in need of someone to save her, and he did precisely that . . .’

Joshua sighed heavily. He wondered if anything Nana Gwen said about his father would ever make sense to him. She only spoke like this when she’d been asleep, as if her dreams were spilling over too vividly into her waking moments. The rest of the time she was as sharp as a pin from Mum’s sewing box.

Maybe they weren’t even talking about the same man anyway. Perhaps she was confusing Joshua’s dad with someone else. It had to be something like that really, because otherwise it wasn’t very logical.

Yet something in Joshua compelled him to come up here every day
since they’d moved to Bryn Heulog, to try to catch his great-grandmother half-asleep, to hear her rambling about his father - whether it was true or not, made sense or not - because Mum rarely spoke about him willingly. No one in the family did except for Nana Gwen, although never when Mum was around.

Joshua was aware that he looked like his father, while his sister had the benefit of mirroring their mother. And looking like someone who had upset Mum as deeply as his dad had, was a burden Joshua bore daily. Mum never made him feel guilty about it, no one close to Joshua ever did, but it still felt unfair that he had to be such a strong reminder of something sad that had happened in his mother’s life.

‘Lad, can you do something for me . . . ?’ The old lady pointed a finger, as gnarled as an old tree root, towards the chest of drawers. ‘The bottom drawer . . . open it . . . Please . . .’

Joshua slid off the chair and crouched down. He opened the bottom drawer, as instructed.

‘The box,’ said Nana Gwen, ‘is it still there?’

‘This wooden thing that looks like a pirate’s chest, only smaller?’

‘That’s right . . . It isn’t as heavy as it looks, could you bring it to me? That’s right, put it on the bed . . . Good boy.’

It was scratched, and obviously very old, with black metal hinges and strap-things that went all the way round. Joshua placed it gently on to the patchwork bedspread beside his great-grandmother.

Great-Nana laid a hand on it, with what seemed to be reverence and awe. With her free hand, she gripped Joshua’s fingers again. ‘Now, listen to me, lad . . . One day, we may get to open this box . . . One day, we may be given the key.’

‘It’s locked?’ said Joshua, prodding the black metal keyhole. ‘What’s inside?’

The old lady’s thin shoulders managed a shrug. ‘I don’t know. This was only given to me for safe-keeping. It’s not mine.’

Joshua met her gaze again. ‘Whose is it then?’ But he knew the answer, before she even said it.

‘This chest belongs to your father. And your mother knows nothing about it. Must never know . . . At least, not yet.’

‘This is . . . my dad’s?’ Joshua stared with wide eyes at the wooden chest.
Whoa
. Was his dad a pirate? Is that why he’d had to go away all those years ago? Maybe to keep his family safe, Joshua speculated. Perhaps there were enemy pirates chasing him, and he’d left home out of necessity, not choice. ‘Do you think there’s treasure inside, Nana Gwen? It’s not as heavy as it looks, so I don’t think it’s gold.’

‘Possibly there’s treasure,’ she said wistfully, ‘of a sort. I hope I live long enough to see inside.’

‘Well, why would my dad give it to you to look after if he didn’t think you’d live long enough to keep it safe?’

His great-grandmother regarded him keenly, a spark in her eyes. ‘You’re right, lad. So it might happen soon . . .’

‘What will?’ Joshua felt his breath snatched away with a rush of anticipation. ‘How will we get the key? Will my dad - ’

But he was interrupted, and brought unceremoniously back down to earth by an irritated voice wafting up the stairs.

‘Josh! Mum wants to know - would Nana like tea with her crumpet?’

The headiness of the moment was lost. Joshua grimaced at his great-grandmother, who tried to smile reassuringly.

‘Quick,’ she said, ‘put the box away, lad . . . That’s it . . . Hurry . . . We’ll talk again another day. Go tell your sister I would like a cup of Earl Grey today.’

‘Earl Grey,’ Joshua repeated. ‘OK.’ On impulse, he leaned over and kissed his great-grandmother’s papery cheek. He inhaled a strange smell again, this time medicine-y, mingled with flowers. It was a bit like that stuff Mum put on her pillow to help her sleep.

‘Now, run, Joshua. Go,’ the old lady urged. ‘And remember that this is our secret. Yours and mine.’

‘I’ll remember,’ he whispered, and hurried to intercept his sister, before she stomped up the stairs and demanded to know what was taking him so long.