“It’s a pity your blokes didn’t spot them,” she said acidly.
“None of us are perfect,” he replied. “Now, off you go, and I’ll be in touch later.”
“Don’t ‘off you go’ me!” Lois shot at him. “It’s me the Gorilla wants to get his nasty paws on, not you!”
“Gorillas don’t have paws,” said Cowgill calmly. “See you later, Lois.” He had fortunately rung off before hearing her reply.
¦
Derek and Gran were sitting in the front room, the television on, and both were fast asleep. Gran’s mouth was open, and her upper set of false teeth had descended. Derek had a beatific smile on his bruised and battered face. Both were snoring, but not quite in unison.
Lois sighed. She need not have worried. All the way home she had scolded herself for going out working when Derek had only just come back from hospital, and now here he was, already with more colour in his cheeks, and looking wonderfully rested in Gran’s tender care.
He stirred and opened one eye. “Lo, duck,” he said, and closed it again. Lois turned off the television, and the sudden lack of noise woke them both.
“All finished?” said Gran. “Was it a big job? Why didn’t you ask Hazel to help? She dropped Josie off, and said she’d look out for you.”
“She found me,” said Lois. “And yes, it was a lousy job. The house was filthy. I sometimes wonder why I do it. Must be mad,” she added grimly.
“You didn’t have to,” said Derek, wide awake now. “Hazel and Bridie could have done it.”
“If you want a job done well, you do it yourself,” said Gran, illogically. “I suppose you didn’t want to off-load this nasty one on the others. That’s why you’re good at your job, dear.”
“And why we all love you,” said Derek, reaching out a hand and patting her bottom. She hated this, and he knew it, and her usual reaction was to fetch him one, if only lightly. Now she stopped herself in time.
“That’s taking advantage, Derek,” she said, and finally relaxed and laughed.
“Got to make the most of it,” he said, and pulled her down on his lap. Gran tactfully left the room, saying she was gasping, and it was time to put the kettle on.
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Forty
Prue Betts had dropped the bombshell whilst her mother was cooking supper. Her father was, as usual, sitting in the most comfortable armchair reading the
“Go round the world! What on earth are you talking about?” said her mother, and was in such a dither that she sliced into the end of her finger instead of the potato. After this diversion, with a fruitless search for a sticking plaster ending in Prue raiding the school first-aid box, her father joined them in the kitchen and asked what all the fuss was about.
“Oh, nothing,” said Mrs Betts quickly. “Just wasn’t looking what I was doing,” she added, shaking her head meaningly at Prue. But Prue took no notice.
“I’ve decided to take a gap year, and see the world,” she said boldly.
“All of it?” said her father mildly.
“There’s a group of us going,” Prue continued. “We’ve got it all planned out. We’ll be off in September.”
“Just one thing,” said her father, still in a calm voice. “What are you intending to use for money?”
“I’ve saved enough from the pub for my fare out to Australia, and after that we’re going to work our way round.” Prue was beginning to feel nervous. This reaction from her father was not at all what she had expected. “So you can forget me in your plans for moving,” she added. “I’ll be off to university when I get back.”
“Right.” Mr Betts walked forward and put his hands gently on Prue’s narrow shoulders. “Now listen, Prue,” he said. “You are not going round the world. You are not even going to the Isle of Wight!” His smile was small. “You are coming with us to Scotland,” he continued, “where I have almost certainly secured a good post, and – if I can get old Rogers to release me – we shall be there in time for the new school year in September. You have a place already at St Andrews University, and will take it up in October as planned.” He smiled kindly at her, sure that she would see reason.
She did not see reason. “No, Dad,” she protested. “We’ve decided, me and the others, and it is too good an opportunity to miss.”
Mrs Betts tried diplomacy. “Shall we discuss it later, dear, when your father and I have had time to think about it?”
“Nothing to discuss,” said Mr Betts quietly, and walked out of the kitchen.
Prue looked at her mother, her face mutinous. “I don’t care what he says,” she blurted out. “I’m going with the others. And I’ll be bloody glad to get away!”
“Prue! Please watch your language!”
“Oh for God’s sake, Mum, I’m not a kid any more. I know more about things than you ever did, and as for Dad, he just shuts his eyes and hopes I’ll stay his precious little bluestocking for ever.”
Her mother did not answer. She had been well aware that lately her husband had not been himself. In some ways, he had been easier, less dogmatic and more willing to listen to her point of view. He hardly spoke to her, though, and when he did, he seemed preoccupied with something other than the subject in hand. But this new plan of his to go to Scotland had been hatched without any consultation with her, and she was worried. Why did they have to move away so suddenly? Waltonby was such an idyllic village, and the school a privileged place for children and teachers, especially the head, who had almost total control over his little empire. There had been that unpleasant business with Mrs Whatsit, but that was all forgotten now. It had been one of his rare outbursts of temper, and this time, as usual, it had been something to do with Prue. The old woman had been making insinuating remarks. No, now she was getting on so well with Sheila Stratford, and if were not for this strange mood that had descended on her husband, life would be very comfortable. She had heard him say many times in the past that he intended to stay in Waltonby until the great School Inspector in the sky told him it was time to go.
“Leave it now, Prue,” she said wearily. “I’ll speak to him, see if I can get him to discuss it with you, at least. But I don’t hold out much hope.”
“Then I shall go without his permission,” said Prue. “I don’t need it, anyway. It would have been nice to have his help and blessing, but I’ll manage. Anyway, Mum,” she added, “what’s eating him lately? We can’t seem to get through to him at all.”
¦
Next morning, Prue got up late. As she came down the stairs to make herself a cup of coffee, she heard voices in her father’s study. “Who’s here, Mum?” she said, going into the kitchen.
Her mother shook her head. “Don’t know who it is,” she said. “Some woman…I suppose it’s a parent, but he doesn’t usually ask them into the house. She’s been closeted in there for half an hour. I expect he’ll tell us when she’s gone,” she added hopefully.
“Or not,” said Prue. “On present form, he’s just as likely to sidle off back to the school. And who’s taking his class while he’s in here, anyway?”
“The classroom assistant is holding the fort. He said he wouldn’t be long.”
On cue, Mr Betts was heard opening the front door and ushering the woman out. Prue went into the hall, and caught sight of the tail end of a blonde with shiny, curly hair, disappearing up the garden path. Her father said to the retreating back, “As soon as possible, Mrs Murphy,” then shut the door and turned. “Not eavesdropping, I hope, Prue?” he said, and added, “I’d like to talk to you for a minute, anyway.” He went back into his study and she followed.
“Well?” she said. Really, this was ridiculous. See me in my study at ten thirty. Six strokes of the cane for daring to grow up?
With what looked like a big effort, Mr Betts managed a smile. “Sit down, Pruedy,” he said. He hadn’t used this pet name for years, and she was at once alarmed. “Now,” he continued, “perhaps I was a bit hasty yesterday. Should have given you a chance to explain. Shall we start again?”
She couldn’t believe it, but after a short pause while she gathered her wits, they began to talk. Now he was all sweet reasonableness. It could be a good idea, after all. He remembered having had the same plan in his youth.
